#god this sounds so much like freud

[gnohomotho-blog]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

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Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

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A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

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You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

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In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

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Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[ketrin1607]

I apologize in advance for the abundance of text😅

I like the way the author of the Mojito Ennead draws. But her character Seth, as he was presented at the beginning of season 1, before, ahem, adult scenes with Gore, I liked more than the effeminate appearance and behavior of a non-man after (and it's not just about violence). At first, he was shown to us more as a classic badass badass) This is a cliche, but even it can be interesting to present if the plot is good and the character is charismatic.

Of course, everyone has their own taste, but for me this character remained a Seth only until those scenes. There can be no question about season 2 at all, even considering what he went through, I don't recognize in this character the one who was at the beginning, Mojito broke him for the sake of the genre.

I'm not a fan of such genres, but the theme of her comic was related to the Egyptian myth I needed, so I also got acquainted with it. I thought, what if we take exactly such a character as a basis and put him at the head of another plot?

I came up with the idea to try to combine the conflict of the unconscious Id and the Superego from Freud's concept and present it in the wrapper of the Egyptian mythology about the creation of the world. Ra may be the Superego who created order and peace, and the Egyptian god of chaos, Apop-the shadow of Ra, is Id. He was created from nothing, just like Ra, and cannot exist without him, just like Ra himself, who draws strength from the Duat - the unconscious.

In general, in my long drawer, the topic with the unconscious has accumulated for a separate story, not related to any myth, but as an original story, but it is very difficult to come up with and draw what the world inside the personality of his psyche will look like (not as childish as in the puzzle), and how such ephemeral ones will interact there characters like Id, Superego, Ego and its mental mechanisms. So, maybe I'll transfer this idea to a myth? Everything is much simpler here.

However, for the conflict in the plot and the appearance of the story, a shift from their stable existence is needed. This shift will be Seth, the god of war. I sketched out his concept. He corresponds to the original myth - a youthful, self-confident, cocky god who thinks a lot about himself. But as soon as he angers the god Ra, he has to lower his tone. I hope he doesn't copy Seth from the Ennead too much?) Because it's useless to hide, I was inspired by him.

I liked the idea of Mojito hiding the faces of the gods with a mask (it's just strange that only a part of the characters in them and the plot does not explain why not everyone wears them then). I will make this rule absolute and try to cover all the Egyptian gods with masks) And of course the skin - no Asians or whites - Egypt is always the sun, sooner or later the skin will become either tanned or red in such characters)

If leave his conflict with Osiris and the rest of the myth before the start of Seth's competition with Horus, then can somehow force Seth to get into the Duat before Osiris. In the Duat, he will make a deal with Apop to get out of the Duat and find his killer. In exchange, Seth must help Apophis infiltrate the world of Ra and seize power in Egypt. However, Apop will not tell Seth about all the nuances of this deal and will hide some of them in his own interests.

In a sense, this idea is an explanation of how Set, in Egyptian myths, the god of war and defender of Ra, became the god of chaos and evil, who was compared to Apophis) (in Reality life, believers simply split into pieces, rooting separately for Set and separately for Horus. The "sect" of Horus won, so the loser was demonized. Something like that in short)

It sounds good for the plot. Share, what do you think about such a concept for the beginning and development of the story?

[webbo0]

*Cowboy voice* “I Ain’t Quitting You”

Holland March x Jackson Healy

AO3 link

Length: 2,183 words

Summary:

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff." "Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —" "Oh my god, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!" AKA 7 things Holland March tries to help him quit drinking, plus the 1 time Jackson Healy helps him out. AKA Holland does NOT have an oral fixation, Thank you very much

Content/Warning: Idiot to lovers, Oral Fixation, Kissing, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, Sobriety, Quitting Smoking, Post-Canon, chosen family, 5+1 Things, technically it's 7 + 1 things, slight angst, Mature Content, implied/referenced sexuality

Authors Note: This is actually the first fic I ever published back in September '23, but I never posted it to Tumblr, so here ya go!

Original Notes:

Welp. I finally did it. Almost a decade in fandoms and it was Ryan fucking Gosling that made me cave and finally write fanfiction. Shoutout to the Goosecord for the motivation/encouragement to write this and for the feedback, especially @sandpapersnowman for helping me format this for AO3!! Y'all are the best!!

Anyways enjoy!!

***

"March, we gotta talk."

Holland jerks up and immediately regrets it when his head pounds and everything tilts about 270° too far to the left. He groans and falls off the bed. Bed? He doesn’t remember getting there. Or undressing, apparently, because looking down, he quickly realizes he’s wearing nothing but some embarrassingly old boxers. And Healy’s standing above him. Holland scrambles back into bed and covers himself in a blanket.

"Stop pretending I haven’t seen you half-naked before. You’re acting like a Victorian duchess."

"A man must preserve his — hrrk — dignity," Holland retorts back in a bad British accent, having to pause and suppress a wave of nausea halfway through his sentence.

Healy scoffs

"Dignity, my ass! Holly found you passed out on the diving board. You could’ve gotten hurt! Again!"

Holland feels suddenly defensive. "And why do you care? What are you, my fairy drunk-mother?" Not your best comeback there, March, he thinks.

"You’re my business partner; I have a vested interest in having an income, so forgive me if I want my co-detective alive to work with me. You need to stop drinking."

Holland rolls his eyes. "I’ve got it under control, Healy. I’m a big boy, y’know?" God, he wishes he could take a nap right now.

"March, I’m serious; you’re going to do permanent damage to your liver. Plus," Healy hesitates as if he’s trying to figure out a way to finish his sentence without sounding like an asshole, "it’s not fair to Holly. You’re the only family she’s got left; you have to be there for her. She’s a teenager now and needs someone to guide her through adolescent idiocy. You’re her dad, you owe it to her."

That wakes him up. He’s always pushed down the guilt he has over his behavior, but when Healy lays it all out in front of him like that? He knows he’s deluded himself for years into thinking Holly wouldn’t notice, but she’s not a kid anymore. And the thought of her as an impressionable teenager following in his footsteps makes him nauseous for a whole different reason.

He sighs.

"Alright, alright, cut my balls off, why don’tcha? But fine, I get it."

"Thank you," Healy looks relieved.

"I can’t just quit cold chicken, though, withdrawals can be dead—"

"Turkey"

"Hm?" "The phrase is cold turkey."

"No, I’m pretty sure it's chicken."

"Why would it be — never mind. And yeah, it would be pretty dangerous to just stop altogether. What if we cut it down to one drink a day?"

"One? No way, pal, three a day minimum."

"Three?! There is something seriously wrong with you, March."

"Hey!"

An hour of negotiations later, they settle on a begrudged compromise.

That was a month ago, and Holland was regretting ever saying yes to the whole stupid plan. To substitute for the flask he always took a swig from whenever he needed to calm his nerves, he kept an extra pack of cigarettes, so he was smoking twice as much as usual. And Holly isn't a fan of his new habit. It’s a Monday morning, and Holland sits at the table, sipping his coffee, while Holly gets ready for school. Healy had stopped by to drop off some paperwork for their latest case, and now, for some inexplicable reason, is making them all pancakes. He bites back a comment about him making a great housewife and instead turns to Holly, arms out for a hug. She had a big test today and has insisted on the Mandatory Good Luck Hug before tests since kindergarten. She makes a face at him.

"Ugh, Dad, you smell gross!"

Tchk. Teenagers. "Holly, it’s rude to say that to someone’s face."

"It's true, March, you smell like an ashtray had sex with another ashtray," Healy comments from his place in front of the stove, not even turning around.

"Yeah, and then their house burned down." Holly adds, "You do know those will kill you one day, right?"

"Pfft, no way! Doctors used to give these to you! My own father had a prescription for a pack a day!"

Healy turns around. "Didn't he die of lung cancer?"

"Yeah, why?"

Healy pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks like he has a headache brewing.

Holly waltzes into the kitchen and steals a pancake from the ever-growing stack.

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff."

"Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —"

"Oh my God, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!"

She still leans in for a half hug while wrinkling her nose, because tradition is tradition. As she walks to the bus stop, Holland considers her words. Was he obsessed with things in his mouth? He took a sip of coffee before anyone could notice his face flushing a lovely shade of magenta.

The first thing he tries is Holly’s initial suggestion: gum. He gets a shit ton of flavors to try to find one he won’t get tired of. He settles on Bubblicious watermelon wave. The idea is largely effective, and Holland's smoking is cut down to what Holly decides is a "normal amount."

Unfortunately, Holland has the manners of a barn animal, so after only nine days of chewing with his mouth open non-stop, Healy is about to strangle him.

"March, buddy, I’m glad this is helping with your ‘mouth thing’," he starts. Holland opens his mouth to protest before Healy quickly cuts him off to finish. "But we have to figure something else out before I make the ‘arm incident’ look like a harmless prank."

Holland shuts up. No problem, he’ll find something else. He was getting tired of the gum sticking to his teeth anyway.

Holland’s next plan; a toothpick. More similar in shape to a cigarette and they last much longer. Bonus points: Holly thinks he looks “far out”. This plan lasts about 3 seconds before he gets a splinter in his gums. Toothpick is out.

Plan C is to just chew on the end of his pen as he works. Holland thinks it makes him look distinguished. Healy’s just kinda grossed out. Everything is fine until he finds a break in their case, jumps up in excitement, and promptly inhales the pen cap. Healy has to use the damn Heimlich maneuver on him, frantically grabbing him and squeezing harder than Holland thinks is necessary. But what does he know? And, wow, he definitely isn’t thinking about how Healy's strong arms feel around him.

When Healy silently hands him a teething ring meant for fussy toddlers, Holland almost punches him (attempted sobriety has him more on edge than usual). But hearing Holly’s muffled hysterics around the corner instantly dissolves his irritation. Something about Jackson and Holly working together just makes his heart flutter.

And sometimes, when he’s sure no one is looking, he’ll hold up the ring on a chain around his neck to his mouth. Softly, not biting or chewing, just letting it rest between his lips. And no matter what Jackson softly asks him one night, tears are not falling down his face. Those are the nights he really regrets cutting down on his drinking.

It’s when he starts keeping a lollipop in his mouth most of the day he notices Healy acting… Different. When Holland’s doing his work, going over papers and poring over phone books, he lets himself loosen up. Often he’ll tap his pen in random patterns, or jiggle his leg up and down (which drives Healy crazy), or more recently, he’ll hold his lollipop between his fingers like a cigarette and slowly lick circles around it. It’s a mindless behavior that helps him concentrate, but for some reason, Healy doesn’t like it. March can tell. He notices Healy glance at him and then darts his eyes down as if it weirds him out just to witness it. It hurts; Healy knows how much Holland is trying to be better, why would he judge him for how he’s coping? He tries to brush it off, wondering why it bothers him so much; he should be used to people not getting him by now.

They’re sitting next to each other on the couch in Holland’s living room, working on their latest case. It’s late at night and Holly is sleeping at a friend’s house for a birthday party. Holland is losing himself in the details of this case (who kidnaps a pet snake??) when he senses Healy’s attention on his mouth, which he currently occupies with a new blue raspberry lollipop.

After the fifth time Holland catches Healy staring at his mouth he snaps.

“I know I’m a fuck-up and everything but can you at least try to hide how much you —"

He’s cut off when something covers his lips. Oh. When Healy covers his lips. With his mouth. Oh. Holland’s brain takes about three seconds to catch up with what’s happening. Jackson’s kissing him. Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Jackson must’ve taken his frozen state as rejection because he quickly pulls back. Holland almost whines from the loss of contact.

“Fuck. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry, Holland,” Jackson runs a hand through his hair, clearly panicking, “You’ve just been such a goddamn tease with the fuckin’, whatever it is you’re doing with those lollipops and I couldn’t hel—”

This time he’s cut off from finishing his sentence by Holland grabbing his face and kissing him so hard he’s distantly worried about breaking Jackson’s nose. Holland’s hands rest on the side of Jackson’s face and cup the back of his neck, bracing himself in a desperate attempt to hide how much he’s shaking. Jackson’s lips are firm and his 3-day-old stubble is rough against his skin; one of his hands automatically threads into Holland’s hair, and the other hovers over his side before settling on his hips. He squeezes and the feeling goes straight to Holland’s dick. He lets out a wet groan into Jackson’s mouth who responds with a deep rumble.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jackson growls, pulling away from Holland to let him catch his breath.

“Tell me,” is all that Holland responds, dipping his head and latching his mouth to Jackson’s neck, drawing out a strangled gasp.

“Since the day you fell asleep on my shoulder during that stakeout, and grabbed onto me like a fucked-up koala. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you,” Jackson is visibly struggling to keep his composure as Holland's fingers move to the buttons on Jackson's shirt, frantically undoing them and pushing his hands under the cheap cotton. Holland moves his mouth down his neck, biting and sucking and doing things with his tongue that must be good because Jackson is making sounds that frankly should be illegal.

“Maybe Holly’s right, you really have a fixation on —”

Jackson yelps before he can finish his thought because Holland bites down hard into the soft skin of Jackson’s shoulder.

“Please don't mention my daughter while I’m giving you hickeys, it’s weird,” Holland mumbles while sucking what is sure to be a large dark splotch into Jackson’s collarbone.

“What I’m saying,” Jackson starts, as he grabs Holland's hair and jerks his head up to look him in the eyes, pupil’s blown. Holland would’ve whined from the loss of contact if he wasn’t moaning from Jackson’s hand tugging against his scalp.

“What I’m saying, is that maybe you just need to be doing something useful for once with that pretty little mouth besides drinking and talking non-stop.”

“And smoking, can’t forget all the smo—” Jackson shuts him up by shoving the thumb of the hand not tangled in his hair into Holland’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He moans around his hand in a way he knows must sound obscene. Jackson curses as Holland simultaneously starts sucking his fingers like it’s his job and fumbling with the buckle on Jackson’s jeans.

“God, you are something special, Holland,” he murmurs softly, and Jackson says his name with such reverence that if Holland doesn’t get the other man’s pants off immediately, he might explode.

He drops to his knees between Jackson’s thick thighs, because if everyone and their mother were so insistent he has this ‘mouth fixation’ or whatever, he might as well blow their expectations out of the water.

Heh, blow. Good one March.

He stares at the crotch of Jackson’s jeans, already starting to drool.

___

After that night, Holland sticks with the lollipops (now sugar-free, because his dentist nearly had a conniption when he last went in for a cleaning). No longer worried about Healy’s judgment, he loosens up and allows himself to fidget weirdly in peace. And if he and Jackson are alone on the nights when needs a little help with his mouth thing (because fine, yes, he might have a little fixation. Sue him), and he’s having a particularly hard time not turning to his vices? Well, that’s between him, his gag reflex, and Freud.

***

Hope y'all enjoyed!!! You get bonus points if you find all the other Ryan Gosling movie references Again, this is the first full fic I've written so any and all feedback is welcomed!

[milfronin-archive]

HI THIS IS THE SONAVERSE BACKSTORY LORE POST

Hello and welcome hi this is Sunny's big ramblepost about Sonaverse :+)

Sonaverse is where I put my ocs that are liek, my fursonas, and stuff like that.. Most of them are technically fursonas because im a very deep and varied critter lol. But yeah I wanted it to be fun and more unique than just like. Well It's Earth! So I came up with some fun worldbuilding touches hehe :3

One note before we start: Whenever I say the word "Human," that is a BLANKET TERM! "Human" refers to any creature with the intelligence equal to or surpassing a Homo Sapien. Because there are furries and humans and elves and demons and angels and robots and on and on and on.

The rest will be under the cut to not give you a mile long post to scroll through but It would make me Very Very Happy if you read it :+)

SO TO BEGIN.

At the very basest there are three sort of base inherent energies about the world that affect everything, sort of like thermodynamics or, like, gravity. I stole those psychology (?) terms because I like how they sound and Freud was a quack and I can do what I want I don't care.

-Id, being originally defined as like, wishful thinking, illogicality, desire, etc. is the name given to, essentially, magical energy. Magic! You know magic. You can do a lot with it. Id is associated with life, growth, movement, warmth, things of that nature. ID IS NOT INHERENTLY "GOOD" DO NOT MAKE THAT ASSUMPTION.

-Superego, being originally defined as rigidity/morality/stuff like so, is basically anti-magic, like how there's matter and antimatter. It's the fact that things end, death, slowing and cessation, cold. SUPEREGO IS NOT INHERENTLY "EVIL" DO NOT MAKE THAT ASSUMPTION. I know I said this like twice but people love to think "death is EVIL!!" no its fucking not okay if nothing died thered be way too much shit. Mf hoe /like that one post.

-Ego, being the thing that keeps both of them in check originally, is now... The same thing essentially. It is still an energy that permeates reality, but it is more prevalent in humans. Everything contains it, but humans contain FAR more ego, which allows them to sort of manually balance their own levels of Superego and Id. It will do it automatically naturally just due to how they interact, but people can shift it however they like. They can't shift it astronomically in either direction though, because the results are... Not ideal.

SO. Earth is... Different.

-Earth has multiple different planes of reality. [Well. Technically the entire universe does, but Earth's specifically will be relevant later.] There's the mortal plane, where... Mortals go. Big surprise there. There's the spiritual plane, where creatures comprised more prominently of Id reside, fae and supernatural creatures and the like. There's the plane of Divinity, where all things along the lines of gods, demons, angels, and things like that reside. This one is split up differently, being heaven, hell, and Paradiso [that one's where real gods and stuff reside.] You don't like... Go to heaven or hell though. It's just where angels or demons live. They're like the spiritual plane but theyre mmore unique manifestations of Id with distinctly divine touches. Reincarnation is real and people know that it's real but there's not really a way to carry stuff over. Reincarnation super is real though and like everyone knows it.

-Earth has rings! This is because I think it'd be cool if Earth had rings. Those edits of what it'd look like from the ground if Earth had rings like saturn were cool as hell and I'm like well yuppp.

-Earth has three moons! Luna, Aegis, and Cassanova. I haven't developed much about these yet but I think it'd be cool if Earth had multiple moons.

-And... Something else that needs its own section.

So like what's the catch besides that.

Well a long time ago Earth used to be more normal, in that its axis was actually Normal and Upright. However, later on, but still really really far in the past, some guy that was pissed off about nobody paying attention to them said "I'll give you people something to remember," and did the, still to date, largest and most intensive incantation to ever be recorded. Nobody actually knows how they did it, but what happened resulted in an absolutely massive crater on the planet, and the utter concentration of magic actually shifted the Planar Axes. The Metaphysical Axis was shifted drastically, causing a torrent of Id to spill forth, and saturate the planet with it, making literally everything more magical.

This metaphysical axis shift also means that Id-composed creatures [Spiritual plane, Divine plane] could enter our plane FAR easier. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as most things live in relative harmony now. However this is a minor problem as now non human demons (and some human ones), prone to mischievousness can and do rather frequently enter the mortal plane, infesting places. Due to this, demon hunting is a somewhat common occupation, and it's treated like an exterminator job, essentially.

Due to this, Earth has some more unique changes as well!

-Oxygen content is higher, resulting in creatures having the capability to get a lot larger! Megafauna are back on the menu. -Plants grow a lot more! Most cities are much more "solarpunk" looking. Plantlife and vegetation is seen not exactly as sacred, but a place with none of it anywhere is generally accepted to be incredibly dry and boring and distasteful. Almost all locations have plants growing on them inside them, the like. Magic helps sustain them but they all sort of magically manage to make stuff work fine. And that's the main bulk of it all :3 Here's some other little notes:

-Magic and Technology work hand in hand in a lot of things, most technology is magically powered as well. -I make the lore stupid as fuck like tf2 lore almost cause I feel like it and it's funny to me. Shit like Abe Lincon pictured on the penny, rocket jumping. -The city it "Takes Place In" [where all my ocs go] has a building that's sort of its highlight called the Gaia Archive. Think of it like the Library of Alexandria on steroids. Mass collection of all of humanity's knowledge, digital and physical, a combination museum and library and archive and anything else of that nature you could think of.

Soooo thats abt it for the basics :3 If you have any questions or stuff puhLEASE ask me I looove talking about it. Thanks for readinggggggg :333

[marionluth]

Chapter 4 is up ✨

All I Want For Christmas (is us)

“What have I told you about eavesdropping?”

Harley didn’t miss a beat. “To not get caught while doing it?”

Peter chimed in with a marginally more sheepish, “And to always have a good alibi ready.”

Tony pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing. He was going to have a long talk with Past-Tony about the pearls of wisdom he’d been handing out to these two.

“Okay, fair,” he said, dragging out the word. “But let’s try again. What has Mom told you about eavesdropping?”

At the mention of Pepper, Peter’s face fell slightly, while Harley rolled his eyes.

"How much did you hear?" Tony asked with a huff.

“Enough to know you’re both stubborn idiots who can’t see what’s right in front of you,” Harley deadpanned.

Tony glared at him. “You wanna elaborate on that? What exactly am I not seeing here, Dr. Freud?”

Harley matched his glare but remained silent, while Peter averted his eyes. And there was the thing Tony hated most. The way his boys looked at him sometimes— like they wanted to say a million things but didn’t know how. Or didn’t think he’d listen. He felt something tug hard in his chest. Was it guilt? Defensive anger? Maybe both. Whatever it was, he swallowed it down, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth to stop himself from snapping again. Harley’s words stung, but not because they were wrong.

“Okay,” Tony tried again, voice carefully even. He could do patience. He could be the adult in the room. “How about this? You tell me exactly what you heard, and maybe we can then have an actual conversation. Sound good? Great.”

“You’re only asking so you know what you need to keep lying to us about,” Peter said, huffing in that annoying way only teenagers could. Tony’s jaw clenched, because annoying or not, Peter’s comment was spot on.

“Lie’s a strong word,” Tony eventually shot back, leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees. “Omit is more like it.”

Harley stared back at him, unamused. “We just got bits and pieces.”

Tony stiffened, bracing himself. Had they heard about the proposal? God, he hoped not.

“But we’re not idiots. We can tell you still care about each other, Dad,” Peter said, his voice quiet but piercing all the same. He had a look in his eyes— that uncanny, Stark-patented X-ray stare that made Tony feel like he was smashed between glass slides under a microscope. His foot started jiggling.

“We can see this is hurting both of you,” Peter continued seriously, “so why don’t you just try to—”

“It’s not that simple, guys,” Tony cut in, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know it’s not. I know you’re still young, but you’re not that young. Things are… complicated. Adult relationships…” He trailed off, words floundering as he gestured vaguely at the air, hoping some miraculous phrase would pop into his brain. Nope. Nothing.

Lordy, he sucked at this.

[sukirichi]

holy shit long rant ahead

"Like-like you're looking for the man who courted you two years ago, the one you truly wanted to marry. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, because you're not going to find him. He never existed in the first place. Whatever it is you're looking for, you won't find it in me," *shit here we go again audio with head in my hands*

"Get out of your head. Just because I did all those things for you, doesn't mean they meant something. Are you forgetting I spent two years of my life trying to win you over, and I never once felt something for you other than tolerance?" When your face fell, triumph washed over his features. "That's right. You remember now, don't you? She's the one I want. Everything I do is for her. Don't forget your place."

Man idk how the princess heard this another time without breaking down in rage cause either this man is going down with me or nothing. Princess where is your self respect? PICK YOURSELF UPPPPPPP THIS MAN LEGIT RUNS ALL OVER YOU AND all we do is cry and yearn for more LIKE WE NEED TO BLOW IR*S AND HIM UP ATP BRING THE BIG GUNS OUT I NEED KUROO AND HIS ROOSTER LOOKING ASS TO POST THAT ARTICLE ASAP

“Your mother's sniffles was the last thing you heard before the sound of a fist connecting with skin resounded in the area. Pulling back, you gasped at what you saw.”

OH THE SATISFACTION I FELT HERE SWEET HEAVENS I wish someone recorded it and we could watch it all over again cause UM LESGO WWE 🗣️🤺 never have I ever loved a father this much cause he SLAYED LEFT NO CRUMBS AT ALLL #curedmyfatherissues

“Want me, you pleaded silently, at least want me. Just a little bit.” pookie 🤠😟😞 cmon we better than this

“Rintaro hadn't mean to. Sure, he was careless and never used protection, but he thought little of it. Iris® cycles were irregular and they never worried if she missed her period. She was always on the pill - all because of him, since Kiyoomi wouldn't have touched her anyway.”

he’s one sick bastard I hope he rots imagine cheating on your wife that you claim to love, doing it in your shared bed AND without protection like babe the article was so deserved by god

and the ending sentence,,,,,just made me so sick because as much as I hate rin and ir*s, I think I hate the queen and the king more because the issues started with them. with the king being an absolute whore and having kids with random ass women LIKE WHERE IS THE VASECTOMY GET HIS TUBES TIED and the queen being a bitch to rin his whole life just to find out my man got issues for nothing??? not defending him at all but to find out that all he knew as his “home” and family (even tho they sucked) were all never really his,,, I can see his heart breaking with the image he had of his family in his mind in the form of drawings made by his inner child, torn in half,,,,,,,oh I am about to be SICK

(and once he finally found his real home aka princess, bro fumbled it up BADDDD like if I was him I would beg for forgiveness + repent + burn the castle with the queen in it <33 (not the princes, tobio pookie you are coming home with me)

bro’s mental health must be in a delicate state, I hate him but I am also worried for him 🥲

- Freud anon is in shambles btw

THE HERE WE GO AGAIN AUDIO AAHJKA SO TRUE he just keeps on going back and forth like decide already!! 😭 do you want us or not!!

the self respect is… there, just buried under very deep layers of still hoping for something good. but also like we can’t really blame dtd!yn for acting this way because rintaro was FINALLY changing and being the husband we wanted him to be! the whole romantic dinner setup, working on the beach house together, and not once even mentioning iris????!!? BRO WAS DEDICATED. but then yeah he really just had to ruin it all again UGH. “all we do is cry and yearn for more.” actually real.

the daddy issues tag im crying 😭 sending all my love and hugs to you anon. BUT YES omg I loveeee our dad so much in DTD because he really said fuck around and find out! dude literally did not care that he was punching a royal because his daughter was more important than their titles! our parents in dtd are soo parents goals I love them <3

nauh bcos rintaro is careless and CRAZYYY. not only did they do it in OUR bed but he did it raw like! I would’ve thrown up ngl. AGHJSKA the vasectomy LMFAO. unfortunately it’s his duty to have many children and he fulfilled that part VERY well, just yknow… they really should’ve specified to him that he had to have kids with his wife and not other women. but yes I agree! all the problems really started because the king and queen hated each other (or more like, the queen hated him for how he treated her, and the king just didn’t care about her at all. he just knew she’d be a good queen and he needed someone smart and capable in leading the country so he can slack off. terrible, terrible man.) YES OMGGG THE DRAWINGS STOPPP I GET SO SAD EVERYTIME I THINK OF RINTARO’S LIFE WAS STOLEN FROM HIM AND ALL HIS ISSUES, EVERYTHING THAT HE FUCKED UP, HAD BEEN FOR NOTHING! and now he’s fumbling so bad too like bro is losing everything that should’ve never been his in the first place ugh.

YES! we protect and love tobio in this house!! and I agree </3 rintaro is going through a lot and it honestly goes two ways – it’s either he does worse things to cope, or he completely shuts down and forgets everything that happened. I’m not sure which one I prefer…

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

My internet provider was straight up playing me before because it took 3 hours to download the ep last week and with the new internet, 20 minutes this week, so anyway I took random notes while watching and just gonna post a couple of them in one hit before scrolling my dash:

1. “Anybody can get a guy to bang them once.” Oh, can they, Dennis? Can they?? Sounds like a man speaking from experience, huh.

2. Jack to Charlie regarding “play dates” together and him saying “You don’t remember,” oh that hurts my heart, Charlie having to repress memories of him. And then the extra creep factor with the fucking ice cream truck, good lord, I’m starting to think Jack murder is more and more possible this season.

3. “Don’t mind my friend, he’s schizophrenic.” “I am, yeah.” I know it’s like a joke here, but I like schizotypal Charlie headcanon so I choose to see this as a win. (Spider in my ear vibes though <3)

4. Dee and Mac asking “why” and “how come” Dennis has a system to get men and him shhing them, oh yeah it’s all coming together, he’s used this system fr, and the truth and something else is gonna come out, baby.

5. Love The Waitress is Getting Married vibes from Dennis helping Mac and Dee on their dates the way they tried to help Charlie.

6. Girl, how did Dennis get that bottle open over that guy, this man lives off of beer and air, he’s a weak, frail Victorian maiden who would absolutely get Mac to open jars in their apartment constantly.

7. MOMMY ISSUES DENNIS REAL. Okay so we’re all in agreement we’re gonna transport Den “back to a time when he was a snot nosed little bitch who depended on the most important person in his life for absolutely everything, the person who inflated his ego, who made him feel powerful but also powerless, the person whose validation he’s been seeking his entire life.” I’m SCREAMING. “The way to make a guy fall in love with you is to make him feel like you are his mommy.” GIRL, WHAT THE FUCK, Freud would like a word, I could write a whole essay on this scene alone, but I’m sure someone else already has, but oh my god they’re bringing up how Barbara’s influence really messed with him, inflating his ego, making him the golden child and holding him up to these perfect standards, but he’s trying to maintain that perfection even after she’s gone and realizing he can’t, making him powerless. He just wants the illusion of power! he doesn’t want to have to work for it this much. Head buzzing with incoherent thoughts but there are thoughts here I may come back to just aaahh.

8. On another note, I really liked their acting in this one, especially the S.I.N.N.E.D. scene, their deliveries were all great, they seemed to be having fun and it was sooo cute.

9. A boy in love with Johnny so he can’t be with anyone else, but Dennis is Johnny, Dennis catfish real, Dennis controlling anal beads real, what fever dream is this fucking episode, a boy in love with Johnny, Johnny dennis Dennis Johnny, I’m losing my mind.

10. “I’m Dennis, I’ve always been Dennis” and Ireland’s “You’re you, you’ve always been you” parallels and Mac’s need for solid and clear labels of identity, but Dennis’ continually vague notion of his own self, and Mac remaining completely clueless this whole season, not seeing what’s right in front of him, the blowing jokes, Dennis and his system for men, Dennis is Johnny, while Dennis is starting to realize maybe what he wants and continuously gets more aware, and it leads to mental health day, aaah idk!! So much!

11. I love how everyone was deep dive analyzing the Frank Dennis scene and it was just him telling him he got anal beads in his ass 😭

12. The chess opponent looks a lil like Donald to me.

13. Full ass blast 😭 I hate how this show makes me insane regardless of that.

[acatinafancyhat]

Doing my due diligence and watched 1993-5 Belgian Chess! It’s in dutch, but unfortunately the sound quality is not great so i could only guess at what they’re saying most of the time. The translations are quite different from the 2008 Dutch version i got that far... Fortunately it’s a boring London copy so there’s not that much going on anyway 🙃

And yet i had thoughts, therefore it is shouting into the void time! 🥳

Act 1

- Starting off with... statues sitting at a chessboard? Arbiter is here. People dance around the statues like they’re praying to the chess gods during Story of Chess. Real.

- This Arbiter looks so stressed and irritated already. The players haven’t even shown up yet u don’t know what’s coming your way my friend

- Merano folks have shown up in full lederhosen :)

- Real smoke to show Freddie’s train arriving that’s cool! Ohh and this Freddie’s going hard on the washed up rock star vibes. Not sure he looks like a Freddie to me though...

- Freddie walks out after Entrance, so Merano people start assaulting a random tourist guy instead. He looks confused. Then concerned. Then runs off-stage screaming. The Merano experience! :D

- Freddie and Florence Established Relationship but their chemistry is Off. Hmmm.

- This Freddie plays a chess computer (except. There is no computer. Only Disembodied Robot Voice and Freddie speaking his move into thin air.) and he also does push ups. Broadway influence?

- Commie Newspapers and Press Conference are both so slow...

- Wait no it’s speeding up for PC chorus but that’s Not Better. I don’t get this timing it sounds very wrong

- Punching a reporter, check!

- Anatoly and Molokov look like college professors but in different ways (Anatoly is your homeless depressed comp lit guy, Molokov teaches law and delights in assigning too much homework. the AU is real to me)

- Some guy is watching Anatoly do Where I Want to Be. Is he a bodyguard? Idk...

- Anatoly’s chess second also looks like a college professor what is this (Perpetually Anxious Uncomfortably Freud-Loving Psychology Professor vibe for him)

- “No one can deny what kind of times these are” I guess they are neither difficult and dangerous nor encouraging now. They are simply. A kind of times. You can’t deny it. 👍

- Lmao Walter and Molokov almost get in a fight at the end of Diplomats, Arbiter has to break them up

- Walter and Molokov are on Arbiter background dancer duty!!

- After doing Hymn, Arbiter calls Walter back. They both start laughing maniacally. Strange and disturbing...

- Anatoly and Freddie have both suited up for Chess

- There’s a group of background people behind them just kind of rhythmically swaying in place??

- Freddie fake flips the board it looks so silly. Don’t be a coward let him throw the actual board! Freddie board flipping rights!!!

- This Walter is so ready to fight everybody. Molokov, Freddie, his own camera crew. He’s a hands-on kind of spy.

- Side note I like this Florence actress much better for her than Dutch Florence

- Der Kleine Franz brings back the lederhosen

- Mountain Duet on an empty stage with Anatoly sitting on a chair and Florence standing across the stage. They haven’t even greeted each other. The Flonatoly is truly non-existent so far

- Awkwardly standing opposite each other now as they sing...

- He’s touching her and i cringe.

- This has so little going for it i’m sorry, worse Flonatoly development than RAH fr. Depressed professor Anatoly has no discernible personality he just Stands There. Florence actress does her best to look charmed but she has nothing to go on it is not working for me

- Freddie is SITTING ON A BENCH WATCHING THEM KISS the camera was zoomed in on Flo & Toly idk how long he’s been there 😶

- He loses the match, stalks off, angrily takes off his shirt and shoes and throws them at the wall... Goes to get a robe and a bottle of booze...

- Drunk Freddie during Florence Quits high key Worries me

- He’s so tense fr

- Punches a wall after she leaves

- Floor time even before PTC starts

- Oh okay there goes the robe. This is a weird time for him to be shirtless?

- Aaaaand more floor time for the Sad Man

- Florence comes back!!!!! And puts her coat over him djskskaldgsh What.

- And then we get Florence Someone Else’s Story while she’s sitting with him he’s sleeping(?) on the floor with his head on her knee and she’s like. petting his head. Wahh...

- Okay i mean it’s sweet i guess but they just did Florence Quits so is this really the time???

- Also uncomfortable Freudian vibes tbh

- Anatoly and the Press is slow. Anthem is fast. Make up your mind people >:(

- Toly looks distressed during Anthem. He asks Flo for a hug at the end aww (i'm still not into it)

Act 2

- Hey they translated ONIB i’ve not seen that before actually

- “we’ve barely recovered from those lederhosen” he says. me too buddy, me too

- I think this is the tamest ONIB Feddie i’ve come across so far. he’s just hanging out, the Bangkok people aren’t paying too much attention to him or he to them 🤔

- Reporter Freddie wears a flower blouse and he has a little paper notepad. he looks like he’s on vacation. Real Tourist Freddie :)

- Soviet Machine aka Socially Awkward People Having a Party

- Viigand sits quietly off to the side playing chess while everyone else gets super drunk and dances around, wins the social awkwardness contest

- Lol one guy does the high ooooooo and everyone is so startled and annoyed! Molokov smacks him in the head!

- Freddie looks hyped to do Interview the hard way

- Anatoly takes a step back when he sees him he looks very nervous hehe

- Whyyyyy is this one also slow???

- Oh nope awkward speedup again

- Florence and Svetlana both wearing red in The Deal hmmmmmm

- The Freddie/Anatoly part of The Deal happens over the phone? They’re standing on opposite sides of the stage :(

- Florence/Freddie is irl but for the “who’d ever guess it” verse they don’t look at each other they’re standing next to each other facing the audience i don’t like it :c (also another weird tempo change ugh)

- IKHSW direct translation not flipped!! (thank god) however i have no idea where they’re supposed to be right now

- They’re still both wearing red outfits but Florence’s is a suit and Svetlana’s is a dress the effect is Something. They look more alike than most Flo and Svetas it’s giving me Thoughts.

- They exchange a look at the end and Flo gives Sveta a little nod and then they walk off together i support this :)

- Everyone stands so far apart all the time in this production idk... and every time they get close to each other it’s uncomfortable... only Queens have any kind of chemistry.

- Fun fact instead of chanting the championship years in Endgame they say “first champion... second champion... third champion”

- Freddie and Sveta are off in a corner together watching the game??

- Freddie joins the party to point an accusing finger at Anatoly but we’ve had Talking Chess so i’m not sure what his issue is right now (lyrics are sadly unclear to me)

- Immediate Flonatoly hug after he wins. this Florence just can not make up her mind

- And now she’s telling him to leave

- Freddie is still here. watching them. again. O_O

- Walter tells Florence he’s not sure her father is alive, kisses her forehead and walks off. She should kill him.

- The End

So uh yeah okay that was a Chess. No regrets i will watch them all 🫡 but i hope you make better choices than i did.

Tl;dr on the off chance someone was on the fence about watching this (nah) please let me assure you that You Don’t Need To Do That! You will gain nothing and lose 2+ hours of your life :) Maaaaybe watch Florence Quits, Pity the Child and Someone Else’s Story if you’re a huge Florence/Freddie fan and have nothing better to do!

[nekooru]

I’ve been having headcannons on the brain, and I’m really curious if you have any about Freud. Not much is really known about him other than the fact he gathered the heroes, made a spirit pact with Afrien, and was an extremely powerful mage.

₊ ☾⋆ freud headcanons ⋆⁺₊⋆

dragon master freud.

synopsis: headcanons about freud and his life after the heroes' fight with the black mage.

tags: maplestory, freud, angst, headcanons, small drabble

wc: 968

a/n: yess freud's journey is smth i think about often.. he was the biggest mvp against the odds of being a human in that era (he didn't have resources for his research like neinheart did, and wm had his little mages runnin around for him) i think about how much trauma he must've had to be the only one to come out of that fight basically physically unscathed while his friends sacrificed so much, and all the other things he went on to accomplish after the fact. he was truly a genius, and i think his intellect could only be rivaled by white mage and neinheart (imagine if neinheart was charismatic and could fight in other ways besides smackin a bitch w a big book!!) SORRY THINGS GET A LITTLE ANGSTY 🥲

headcanon

˙⋆⁺₊⋆.

☾. everyone who knew freud would agree that he's a rather strange individual who embraces the nuances of life. for instance, while others would see a future of arduous roof repair when looking at the holes in the ceiling of his house, he saw a window to the stars by night and a convenient light source during the day; an improvement onto his home, even if it was... rough looking.

☾. despite the vast amount of people that gravitated towards him, freud found a way to make each and every person close to him feel special. his charisma seemed neverending. although, besides afrien, he considered eunwol to be a particularly precious friend; it was a rarity that freud would meet someone nearly as open minded as himself, and he enjoyed conversing about philosophy through countless nights with eunwol. afrien— well, dragons tend to be proud and opinionated beings. when freud was in the mood for intellectual debate, luminous was also somebody he would turn to. luminous could be dry, but his realistic ideals would often spark freud to think more deeply.

☾. he was lightning in a bottle. an unequivocal genius, a steady leader— an inspiring friend, who seemed to always know the words to bring forth one's inner potential. despite the fleeting existence of lightning, how amazing is it that freud managed to provide the turning points for a dormant war yet to awaken for centuries?

☾. however, after the battle with the black mage, he began to change in the smallest, quietest ways. walking the world alone when you're so used to the warmth of companionship can be gruelling.

☾. at some point, he would have gladly wasted an afternoon playing with a young monster, sketching it in his notebook when it finally tired itself out. but he had no time, now. he was on the unmerciful clock of the human lifespan, and the sounds of ticking he imagined were nearly maddening. he could only smile blankly at the little monster, shoo it away with his leg, and continue his trail.

☾. although he still offered his skills to those in apparent need, he no longer sought out problems to solve himself. his research took priority. the secrets of transcendents, what came before them, how to kill a god... he had only delved into the surface of what the heart of the world was to create the seal stones. there was so much more to learn. and, in addition, he had to make sure his comrades wouldn't be forgotten as someone or something worked to erase their history. it became an obsession, and obsession has a way of dragging along a human body past it's limits.

☾. whispers resounded across the people of maple world. dragon master freud has changed. and where is his dragon, anyway?

☾. but the rest of his life wasn't spent in that way. there was an event; a chance of fate that he would see something that could take him back to his roots and remember why he gathered his friends to fight in the first place. he did what he needed to finish the work he started before resuming a habit of selfless aid. to protect those that cannot protect themselves, that is what he lives for.

☾. he moved slowly as he returned to afrien's cave in rien. his once model posture slouched under the weight of his old bones, and his hair was a shade of white that could be compared to the snow around him. his bright blue eyes had faded over. as he reached out to pat the snout of his old friend, the insignia on the back of his gnarled hand began to glow, and afrien's golden eyes slowly opened.

"my friend," afrien mumbled, although even such a quiet tone for him echoed around the icy walls. "you've grown... old."

freud laughed, and for a moment, his expression was youthful and carefree, as it was before everything happened. "had to happen sometime, afrien."

"yes. it's everything i wanted for you." afrien paused to consider his next words. "was this life everything you wanted, too?"

freud's eyes crinkled as he smiled softly, running his hand gently along the scars of his dragon's snout. he remained silent as he reflected on his long years. his first thought was, no, growing old wasn't as fun or enjoyable as he wanted it to be. but the first thought is always a result of the inherent selfish nature that all humans are born operating on. his second thought was, yes, i was able to ensure our legacy, and give my friends and the warriors of the future a fighting chance at beating the black mage, as well as any other entity that might threaten this world.

"...yes," freud finally replied. "it was lonely without you and the others, my afrien. but i've done so much with my life; i'll never have regrets of not doing— or being enough. i'll always be eternally grateful to you, you know. for giving me such an opportunity."

afrien looked down at his master, and his lips pulled back into as much a smile as a dragon could muster. somehow, he knew that this was the last time they would meet. the curse of the ice began to lull him back to sleep, and he fought to keep his eyes open, desperately trying to memorize every detail of freud.

freud's smile widened and he leaned his wrinkled forehead against afrien's scales. "it's okay. sleep, old friend."

freud sat with the king of onyx dragons for a long time after he had fallen asleep. when he finally got up to leave the cave, he looked over his shoulder, watching afrien's body heave slowly. tears ran down his cheeks as he turned away for the final time.

˙⋆⁺₊⋆.

☾. like/reblog if you enjoyed the story !

masterlist: x

my dms are open if you’d like to chat maplestory/fics!! :>

[ideemthatsheyetlives]

I know this is the very last thing that C.S. Lewis intended with the book but there is more than one passage in That Hideous Strength where Jane Studdock is written as if she's attracted to women and it's hilarious that Lewis had no idea that people would ever interpret it that way.

"Freud said we liked gardens because they were symbols of the female body. But that must be a man's point of view. Presumably gardens meant something different in women's dreams. Or did they? Did men and women both feel interested in the female body and even, though it sounded ridiculous, in almost the same way? A sentence rose to her memory. 'The beauty of the female is the root of joy to the female as well as to the male, and it is no accident that the goddess of Love is older and stronger than the god.' Where on earth had she read that? And incidentally, what frightful nonsense she had been thinking for the last minute or so!"

In pretty much every other way this book is, like, the most heterosexual book of all time but I'll take what I can get.

"At that moment the door suddenly opened. Jane turned crimson as she shut the book and looked up. The same girl who had first let her in had apparently just opened the door and was still standing in the doorway. Jane now conceived for her that almost passionate admiration which women, more often than is supposed, feel for other women whose beauty is not of their own type. It would be nice, Jane thought, to be like that - so straight, so forthright, so valiant, so fit to be mounted on a horse, and so divinely tall."

All. Of. This.

[dummie2aad]

Lawlu sexy Gift 🔞 (Eng & deu)

Englisch:

Short description:

It's Law's birthday and after a nice day with Luffy, Law unfortunately had to go to work for a short time and didn't get home until 8:00 p.m. During those 3 hours, Luffy got ready for Law.

View Luffy:

I really wanted to please Toraro, but I didn't know how. So I asked Nami and she sent me a video and told me to watch it and then dress up and lay me in the bedroom. How did I get here? Well actually before I met Toraro I had zero sexual experience or knowledge. But after our first time, I really loved sleeping with Toraro. After our 2nd time he had enlightened me a bit more about sex and the body and so on......But still I didn't know that much, at least not enough to do something for toraro. I watched the video, the video was called "How I can really spoil my partner". Pamper Toraro? Shishishi that sounds good. The video started and oh my goodness ssh that looked difficult but the guy in the video seemed to like it so Toraro would like it too. Well then I just need an outfit.

Law's point of view:

When I got home it was pretty quiet, no lights were on except in the bedroom. I took off my shoes and bag and went into the bedroom. The door was ajar, I opened the door and..........silence.........(Law just died, kidding 🙃 Law got such a bad nosebleed that he just died). I saw Luffy lying on the bedroom in MAID OUTFIT!!!!!!!! The outfit was extremely short and sexy. Luffy: "Hello Trafi, I thought you would like a second gift". I scowled as I rushed at Luffy and stripped off everything but my pants. Just as I was about to pounce on Luffy, he pushed me onto the bed and whispered something to me. Luffy: "Just lie there and enjoy it". He wanted.......Okay now I was curious. So I sat back and enjoyed. Luffy slowly crawled down on me until his face was on my waistband. He took off my pants so that I was only wearing my boxers. I was already rock hard. (The moment I saw Luffy in Maid Outfit). Luffy started sucking through my boxers and massaging my balls. Oh god that feels good. Law: "Ahhhh~ Luffy-ya~". Why is he so good at it? Law: "Luffy-ya~ Please put my boxers down~".

View Luffy:

So far Toraro seemed to like it. Good. I took off his boxers and immediately took his entire member in my mouth. Traffy groaned and gripped my hair with his hands. I felt that he was about to come now.? He pushed me all the way down before he came in my mouth. But he was still tough. Well then I could continue. I handcuffed him to the bed. I've been pretty tough too. Law: "Ride me Luffy please~~". Luffy: "As you want traffylein~". I took off my rather womanly underwear, still wearing the maid outfit and showing my bulge, and stretched Law's length. I took his member and slowly inserted it into me until it stopped. L: "Ahhhh~ Traffy~" Law: "Luffy-yaaah~". I started to move slowly, up and down, up and down, over and over again. I kept getting faster. Me and Toraro groaned. I was getting faster and faster and Toraro bumped his hip against me. We became faster and louder. I felt my burrow tighten and came, as did Traffy with 5 final powerful thrusts. I dropped down next to him, exhausted. Luffy: "Did you haaaa, like it~", Law: "It was wonderful, thanks~". I snuggled happily into Traffy's chest (his handcuffs were already off) and wrapped myself in his arms.

Deutsch:

Kurze Beschreibung:

Law hat Geburtstag und nach einem schönen Tag mit Luffy musste Law leider noch kurz zur Arbeit und kam erst um 20:00 Uhr Nachhause. Während dieser 3 Stunden machte Luffy sich bereit für Law.

Sicht Luffy:

Ich wollte Toraro unbedingt eine Freude machen aber ich wusste nicht wie. Also hatte ich Nami gefragt und die hatte mir ein video geschickt und sagte das ich es kucken soll und dann verkleiden und mich ins Schlafzimmer legen. Wie ich hier her gekommen bin? Naja ich hatte eigentlich bevor ich Toraro kennengelernt hatte, Null sexuale Erfahrungen oder Wissen. Aber nach unserem ersten mal liebte ich es wirklich sehr mit Toraro zu schlafen. Er hatte mich nach unserem 2. mal ein bisschen mehr über Sex und den Körper aufgeklärt und so weiter......Aber dennoch wusste ich nicht so viel, zumindest nicht genug um was für toraro zu machen. Ich kuckte das video, das video hies „Wie ich meinen Partner so richtig verwöhnen kann". Toraro verwöhnen? Shishishi das klingt gut. Das video fing an und ach du meine Güte ssh das schwierig aus, aber dem mann im Video schien es zu gefallen, also würde es Toraro auch gefallen. Gut dann muss ich nur noch ein Outfit.

Sicht Law:

Als ich nachhause kam war es ziemlich still, nirgendwo brannte Licht außer im Schlafzimmer. Ich zog Schuhe und Tasche aus und ging ins Schlafzimmer. Die Tür war angelehnt, ich machte die Tür auf und..........stille.........(Law ist einfachmal gestorben, Spaß 🙃 Law hat so heftig Nasenbluten bekommen das er einfach mal tot ist). Ich sah Luffy im MAID OUTFIT auf dem Schlafzimmer liegen!!!!!!!! Das Outfit war extrem kurz und sexy. Luffy: „Hallo Trafi, ich dachtedu hättest gerne noch ein zweites Geschenk". Mein Blick wurde finster als ich auf Luffy zustürmte und alles bis auf meine Hose auszog. Gerade als ich mich auf Luffy stürzen wollte, schubste er mich auf Bett und flüsterte mir etwas zu. Luffy: „Bleib einfach liegen und genieß es". Er wollte.......Okay jetzt war ich gespannt. Also lehnte ich mich zurück und genoss. Luffy krabbelte langsam an mir runter bis er mit seinem Gesicht an meinem Hosenbund war. Er zog mir die Hose aus, so das ich nur noch meine Boxer anhatte. Ich war jetzt schon stein hart. (In dem moment in dem ich Luffy im Maid Outfit sah). Luffy fing an durch meine Boxer durch zu lutschen und meine Hoden zu Massieren. Oh Gott fühlt sich das gut an. Law: „Ahhhh~ Luffy-ya~". Wieso kann er das so gut. Law: „Luffy-ya~ Bitte mach meine Boxer runter~".

Sicht Luffy:

Bis jetzt schien es Toraro zu gefallen. Gut. Ich zog ihm seine Boxer aus und nahm sofort sein ganzes Glied in den Mund. Traffy stöhnte auf und grief mit seinen Händen in meine Haare. Ich spürte das er jetzt schon kur vor dem kommen war.?Er drückte mich ganz runter bevor er in meinem Mund kam. Aber er war immer noch hart. Gut dann konnte ich weiter machen. Ich band ihn mit Handschellen ans Bett. Ich war auch schon ziemlich hart. Law: „Reit mich Luffy, bitte~~". Luffy: „Wie du willst traffylein~". Ich zog meine ziemlich weibliche Unterwäsche aus, das maid outfit hatte ich noch an und man sah meine Beule, und bereitete mich über Law's länge aus. Ich nahm sein Glied und führte es langsam in mich, bis zum Anschlag ein. L: „Ahhhh~ Traffy~" Law: „Luffy-yaaah~". Ich fing an mich langsam zu bewegen, rauf und runter, rauf und runter, immer wieder. Ich wurde immer schneller. Ich und Toraro stöhnten. Ich wurde immer schneller und Toraro stieß mir mit seiner Hüfte entgegen. Immer schneller und lauter wurden wir. Ich spürte das mein Bauch sich zu zog und kam, genauso wie Traffy mit 5 letzten kräftigen Stößen kam. Ich ließ mich erschöpft neben ihn fallen. Luffy: „Hat es dir haaaa, gefallen~", Law: „Es war wunderbar, danke~". Ich schmiegte mich glücklich an Traffys Brust (seine Handschellen war schon ab) und er schließ mich in seine Arme.

My wattpad acount:

Fanilein100

(Eng)ONE PIECE 1; Oneshot, Lemons, Pics, Description, Chats, x reader, x OC,

[cast-you-dxwn]

❓ (For Lute & Ori 🥰)

For Loot

Does my muse trust yours?    “I trust her with my life, with my home, with any of my possessions. I do not trust her to do what is best for herself…I do not think I can trust her to do what is right of her own volition.”

Does my muse dislike yours?

”Dislike? I like Lyriel as much as a father can like his child. I love her with every fiber of my being, I adore her presence, every moment spent with her is a blessing.”

Would my muse kill someone for yours?

“I would, I have, and I will continue to do so. I will stack body upon body. I will rip, and tear, until it is done.”

Would my muse kill your muse?

“I could never bring myself to do such a thing, I cannot imagine a situation in which I could raise a hand to my Lyriel, much less my blade. If by some…horrible twisting of fate I found myself in a situation where she was…asking for it, if she were suffering, I…perhaps.”

Would my muse save yours? 

“At any time, in any place, under any circumstance. I try, every day. To guard her from some demon in the Pit, child’s play, she could do such a thing herself, but…saving her from herself is another matter entirely.”

Does my muse find your muse attractive? 

“Leave my home and never return, Sigmund Freud. Of course my daughter is very beautiful, I am glad she has started to let her hair lengthen…I remember, when she was young, when I would tie her and her sisters hair into braids…I was terrible at it. But perhaps she might allow it again.”

Is my muse disgusted by yours? 

“Never. She has done terrible things, I am not without my sight. Disappointed at times? Perhaps. But never disgusted. She did not ask for any of this.”

would my muse go on a date with your muse?

“SIGMUND YOU DAMNABLE CUR- Obviously not in the spirit of the question asked. I would, and have, certainly taken her on outings. Activities, food, other such things. I believe that humans sometimes refer so such outings with their children as such.”

would my muse kiss yours?  

“Forehead kisses are a staple of my arsenal of paternal affection, I will not be deterred by eye rolls.”

would my muse betray yours?   

“A wide scope of potential actions. I am sure my castigation of Adam brought her a sense of betrayal, though perhaps not, as she knows my feelings about the man. In any other circumstance? No.”

my muse’s favorite thing about yours is ____

“Her artistry. Pedestrian, I am sure it seems, but I mean in all senses. Her skill with a brush, with her guitar, with her blades. These things that she loves enough to put so much care into…aside from that it is difficult to pick something, I simply…love her. I love that we can still sit and smile…after it all.”

the thing my muse dislikes about yours is_____

“Her bloodlust. Strange it may sound, from a man mired in violence from his very first breath, but, as I try to say to her often: Killing, when done righteously, is a chore like any other. Yet this, too, as so many other things, was not her decision.”

For Ori

Does my muse trust yours?   

“Implicitly. Oriana has never been anything but forthright, utterly honest in our interactions. She is one of few I have ever known who conduct themselves in such a way.”

Does my muse dislike yours?

“No. Quite…quite the opposite. She is amongst my dearest of confidants, the equal of my most trusted Legates. I am very fond of her…very…very fond.”

Would my muse kill someone for yours?

“In a heartbeat. Any who would attempt to harm such a…an angel as her would meet a swift, messy, and inglorious end.”

Would my muse kill your muse?

“No. I cannot fathom a reason that I would ever have to do so, any reason where I would be so inclined. She is very dear to me, I do not believe I could pluck a feather from her wings.”

Would my muse save yours? 

“I…I will. God be my witness, sitting upon Thy throne. I will.”

Does my muse find your muse attractive? 

“I think it is an undeniable fact that Oriana is an exemplar of beauty. Any who would deny such a fact have not any manner of aesthetic appreciation. That said, yes. I do. Not simply in the skin-deep, but in her manner of conversation, the tenderness of her touch, the depth of her care, the…the sound of her laughter. Yes.”

Is my muse disgusted by yours? 

“No. I am disgusted with those who took advantage of their positions. Of her. One boulder upon the mountain of reasons that the Councilors must die.”

would my muse go on a date with your muse?  

“I would like that very much. I suppose much of our time together could count as such. When the children were put to bed and we simply conversed for hours. We are terrible dancers, but more than once we fumbled through steps, doing our best not to step on each others feet. I would…like to take her dancing.”

would my muse kiss yours?  

“Yes. I would. Were she willing. I will not lie and tell you that the thought has not crossed my mind more than once.”

would my muse betray yours?   

“No. Not her confidence nor her trust. If she has one stalwart, then by the Throne, let it be me.”

my muse’s favorite thing about yours is ____

“Her care. Not just for me, you understand, but for everything. I do not think I have ever heard from her a vindictive word, witnessed a callous action. I am in awe of it, in truth, and perhaps that is what made me…I digress, I apologize.”

the thing my muse dislikes about yours is_____

“Her loyalty to those who would later betray her. Betray our the children. It was not her fault. Not her doing, of course. I wish I had been more…just- just more. For her. Someone she could put her faith in and not have it be turned upon her.”

[dnickels]

They are spoken by Mammon, part of his contribution to the fallen angels’ debate about how best to respond to the failure of their rebellion against God. Milton writes of Mammon that ‘even in Heaven his looks and thoughts/Were always downward bent,’ fixated on the golden pavements rather than divine glory. Mammon argues against further conflict with God, suggesting instead that the fallen angels should focus on beautifying their new surroundings with ‘gems and gold’:

Our greatness will appear Then most conspicuous, when great things of small, Useful of hurtful, prosperous of advérse, We can create; and in what place soe’er Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain Through labour and endurance.

These are the lines that Freud seems to have annotated. It’s always difficult to know how much weight to place on marginalia of this sort – whether it indicates passing or serious interest – and the question is both more tantalising and more vexed when it comes to Freud. His interest in gold – especially as a symbol of human faeces – is well known, and in ‘Character and Anal Eroticism’ he wrote: ‘We know that the gold which the devil gives his paramours turns into excrement after his departure ... Indeed, even according to ancient Babylonian doctrine gold is “the faeces of Hell” (Mammon = ilu manman).’ Freud might have been struck by the passage in Paradise Lost because it brought him back to a figure involved in a series of substitutions and transformations – words, gold, shit – that were of enduring interest to him.

If we do not flee quite so rapidly into the symbolic realm, however, and attend not only to the significance of the speaker but to the possible resonance of the words themselves, then Mammon’s plea for the fallen angels to beautify Hell sounds remarkably like the aim of psychoanalysis. To ‘work ease out of pain’ is the purpose of many therapeutic approaches, from Socrates to contemporary self-help books. But to create ‘great things of small,/Useful of hurtful’, sounds more specifically psychoanalytic: hurt is not to be recovered from, or left behind; our formative lacerations are not simply to be got over; hurt is itself useful for creation. And the route to these possibilities involves making ‘great things of small’, just as Freud would attend not to abstract questions or to character types but to the smallest, slipperiest, most incidental parts of experience: slips of the tongue, shards and flashes of our dreamscapes.

[rviner]

Tarquin chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Maybe I thought I could turn you." he laughs at his own joke for a second but waves a hand. "Sorry. That was awful." he clarifies but raises an eyebrow back at her as he plays along with the jest, though there's a glint of something deeper in his eyes. "Me and Felix, really? Are you trying to insult me?" he feigns offense but hums a small chuckle about Jakob. "God, yeah. At least it's obvious me and Tav's aren't twins. Those two...like they were grown in the same lab." he quips, with nothing but well humor jabs at their friends. "Then again, Freud had a field day with pretty much everything, didn't he? As my mum says, he was a bit of a twat."

Tarquin takes a sip of his drink, his gaze steady on Emine as she speaks. The word friends shouldn't sound so uncomfortable, nor sit so uncomfortably on his tongue. But it does. He ignores the slight twist in his chest when she echoes the word to him and nods with a smile. Listening to her, Tarquin feels a familiar pang of something akin to regret, but he keeps his expression neutral. "You don’t have to apologize, Em." he reassures her with a soft nod. "We both did what we thought was best, not really a...rule book for that sort of thing." he shrugs, feeling a tension drop away from the more honest discussion, no matter if he hates how everything is now. "If it means anything, you didn't push me away as hard as you think. I just wanted you to be okay." Tarquin adds, though he also doesn't clarify the embedded sentiment to those words. He takes his glass in the next second, moving it closer to Emine's for a small toast. "I guess this can be a new beginnings sort of pizza thing on a Tuesday. The past is the past, hey?" even if he finds his emotions lingering over the things that were, and what they could have been.

Emine snorts, waving a finger. "Well, you did date me despite those allegations, so maybe you don't really believe it." She raises a brow despite knowing he's joking. Even though times have changed, and things are different between them, he's still a good person. A kind person. And you pushed him away. "I'd say maybe Felix is your long-lost brother, but then I see Jakob skulking around and it ruins the theory. Poof goes my doubts." She snaps her fingers for emphasis. "But you're right, Freud probably would have a field day," Emine asserts and is grateful that they never squabbled. Not really. Their relationship hadn't been long, but it had run deep. Tarquin had never made her feel like she couldn't be herself or like she needed to prove anything. Emine swallows. "We are, yeah." Friends. That's what you wanted. She nods in agreement, all too ready when something stronger to drink comes along. "I did, you're good," the witch reassures, taking a hearty sip of her aperol spritz as she tries to sort her thoughts.

"I know. You were really understanding and wonderful about it all," Emine glances up at him. "And I know I pushed you away anyway," she admits. "You weren't bratty. You just did what I asked. Which is what I thought I'd wanted." She doesn't clarify that she isn't sure if it's what she'd actually wanted in the end. Because the past is the past. She knows better than most that you can't go back and change things. Emine frowns a little. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Tarqiun." She apologies for the first time since she'd ended it. "I want to be able to do things like this," she gestures between them. As friends, right? Right. "But I could've let you help more, and I should've been kinder." Emine had retreated, trying to keep herself together and finding it hard to accept help from anyone, even Tarquin. Especially Tarquin. So kind and understanding and present. And she'd shut the door. "I'm sorry I wasn't."

[tears-of-boredom]

Saying that i only remember my dad ever smelling of cigarettes sounds kinda sad and like "shitty father" shit, but actually i think he had some weirdly strong cologne that he wore, but he also smelt of cigarettes constantly, so I couldnt tell the two scents apart.

[rachaeljurassic]

So, part two of Sunday's double bill

😁

Questions?

Has Jack learned ANY lessons from Paddy?

Has Phryne recovered from Jack actually touching her with purpose?

Has Dot recovered from being shouted at by Hugh?

And is Jack allowed to arrest Hugh's mum?

🤔

Also though, how painful that the reason Dot gave, right at the beginning, for not thinking it was a good idea to date Hugh has turned out to be the reason that all this is happening

😢

Ah, lots of floaty ladies

😊

Oh dear, Aunt P

😞

OMG it's just getting worse

😨

Oh, she's hosting a sanitorium, and things are a bit much

"They're far too wealthy for that, they're just unwell"

🤣

Sounds about right!

And who the HELL is THAT????????

*reluctant* 🥃

Where's HUGHHHHHHHH???????

😭

"Miss Fisher, at last"

His face, trying to ignore that other policeman on the floor

😐

And Phryne tells Jack exaclty what happened

😆

And then stands up in the most suggestive way imaginable

🥵

"Shall I leave now"

NO JACK, JEEZ, you are STILL not getting this!!!!!

🤦‍♀️

Hugh's gone fishing. Nooooooooo. Shut up Constable Interloper!!!! He IS coming back, stop upsetting Dot.

😡

Oh but his face throughout his first experience of Phrack Murder Investigation synchronicity

😦

Yes, you get on with the searching, the lady and I will be interviewing suspects.

The Constable *what the hell kind of operation IS this?*

😆

Oh HOW DARE that woman talk about Arthur like that!?

😡

But at least she's getting some information, although who knows how reliable it is

OK, I'm thinking that it's not Betsy who was consumed with lust

😂

And I have to say that outfit Phryne is wearing, I LOVE that top thingy (fashion is NOT my forte, I have no idea hoe to describe it lol)

Oh god I love the way Aunt P said

"very bed hebit"

😂

Oh poor P, I don't like you being sad

🙁

My god that new guy is very keen

But how long has Hugh been gone

😢

MACCCCCCCC

😍

OMG that whole exchange about the "electric massager"

🤣🤣🤣

Phryne and Mac having the BEST time EVER!

"A what?"

Phryne and Mac's coordinated look at him

😂

Their expersions throughout

😏

Mac leaning forward on the table to get the BEST POSSIBLE VIEW of this, because it's gonna be good

😆

Jack going from

🤔

to

😮

to

😳

"Have you seen one before?"

*Nods* oops *shakes his head* damn *how do I play this without looking like an innocent fool but also without looking like I'm TOO into that stuff?*

And strangely Jack doesn't see the point of this line questioning

😂

Mac and Phryne do though

😏

"Mr Freud would be terribly interested in that"

Oh Mac, you've decided to join in on the torture, I'm sooooo glad

😍

Phryne's very interested too

🤭

And Mac and the end trying SO hard not to laugh

😂