#he does NOT do these expressions frivolously. they ALL MEAN SOMETHING.

[topaziraphale]

I have such a fun post cooking but I need to get home first to finalize it because I need screenshots :(

[xf-cases-solved]

headcanon/fic idea where during the cancer arc, mulder is over at scully's place on a saturday morning going over a case file (that probably could have waited until monday, but he wanted to check on her, and scully knows that, and mulder knows that scully knows, but they both just keep it to themselves). and at one point, scully checks the time and sighs and says she needs to call and cancel her nail appointment for that afternoon, and when mulder asks her why, she says it's bc her dr prescribed her a new med and it's giving her slight double vision, and "it's a common side effect and it's temporary, but i don't want to drive until i adjust to it, and it's not worth it to pay for a cab just for a manicure"

and mulder is like, "i'm not doing anything today, i'll take you"

and obviously scully dismisses the offer, but he keeps insisting, and the truth of it is, with all the constant med adjustments and (occasionally gross) physical side effects of medication and just being sick in general, she hasn't felt particularly attractive in weeks, and while it's not like she is trying to impress anybody, she takes a lot of pride in her appearance and how she presents herself to the world, and her nails are so brittle and the polish has completely chipped away from her last manicure, and honestly, this one little thing, no matter how inconsequential, really would go a long way to making her feel more like herself

so she eventually relents (which pleasantly surprises mulder bc she is stubborn af)

on the way there she's already apologizing for how boring he'll probably find it -- how frivolous and feminine -- and "it shouldn't take too long, i'll tell her to skip the hand massage," and mulder is like, "if you tell her not to give you a hand massage i will hold you at gunpoint until you let her do it" bc he is NOT about to let her skip out on some self-care bc she's worried he'll be judging her for indulging in something "girly"

(he knows she constantly walks a fine line between expressing her femininity and keeping it to herself bc she's worried it will make her male peers view her less seriously)

her nail tech immediately asks if mulder is her husband, even tho she knows damn well he's not bc she asks him if she's found a man yet at every gd appointment, and when she says no, the nail tech is like, "why not? he's handsome and he took you to your appointment, he seems like good husband material"

(they side step out of the conversation, but she is painfully aware of mulder's smirk)

her nail tech asks mulder if he wants a manicure too, and scully thinks she's probably joking, but mulder is like "hell yeah," and scully feels like how she does when he talks about aliens with random cops and witnesses with a straight face -- like, a little embarrassed, but also in awe of his complete lack of giving a fuck

so they are seated side-by-side and get manicures at the same time

mulder doesn't get any polish, but he lets his nail tech shape his nails and apply cuticle oil and, yes, give him a hand massage

he and scully have a brief debate about her nail polish, bc she always gets a super light pink or just a glossy finish (bc anything bolder would feel like overindulging in her femininity and she doesn't want to give any of her misogynistic peers more ammo), but mulder is mercilessly persistent, saying shit like, "that peach color would look good on you" (it wouldn't, she thinks, she's too pale for it) or "that burgundy one would match the new dark lipstick you got a while ago," and she's sat there wondering when the fuck he noticed something as trivial as the shade of her lipstick, and does that mean he's paid attention to other aspects of her appearance? and if so, what does he think of them?

(eventually she lets him talk her into an insanely light shade of baby blue, mostly bc he said it would complement her eyes and she was too caught off guard to tell him to stuff it, and the nail tech makes another casual quip about how good of a husband he would be, and a teeny tiny voice in the back of her head that she can barely hear is saying, "yeah, actually, he would")

when they're finished, he slips the nail tech his credit card while she is searching for her wallet in her overcoat pocket, and he does not look remotely remorseful when she reprimands him, that bastard

in the car, she can't help laughing at the way he keeps checking out his nails, tilting them so the sunlight hits them through the window and he can see how uniform and shiny they are (his nail tech talked him into a clear top coat)

he offers to drive to the chinese restaurant a few blocks from the lincoln memorial, bc she mentioned to him two weeks ago that whenever she is too nauseous to want food, she can for some reason always stomach that restaurant's egg drop soup, and even tho she's not nauseous rn and has also eaten enough egg drop soup lately that it actually sounds a little abhorrent, she says yes anyway, bc she's so touched that he remembered that small detail

they end up getting an order to go (she orders a full entree of vegetable shrimp along with her soup, and the look of relief and delight on mulder's face when he realizes she has an appetite for once makes her blush)

they go back to her place and watch The Thing, and then a rerun of jeopardy (they're pretty evenly matched in terms of useless trivia knowledge, but the final jeopardy question is "this man is the only doctor in history to have a 300% mortality rate," and scully was saying "dr. liston !" before mulder had a chance to process how that was even possible)

she gets drowsy early (another side effect these days), and mulder is discreet in not pointing it out, and instead makes an excuse about needing to feed his fish so he should probably get going, and once again, they both know what he's doing, but they both keep it to themselves

she walks him to the door, and before he leaves, he takes her hand. she lets him raise it up beside her face, even tho she's not sure what he's doing, until he says, "yep, i was right, these make your eyes even prettier," and like ??? what is she supposed to do with THAT??

in the end she does nothing except let him kiss the tips of her fingers, right on the light blue polish, and then lets him kiss her on the forehead. (she tries not to think about where else she'd like him to kiss her, and fails miserably)

they part with shy goodbyes, and it's only in retrospect that she realizes she hadn't actually thanked him, not really

when she is dressed and ready for bed, she slides under the sheets and calls his cell

"mulder, it's me," and somehow he sounds delighted to hear from her, as if they hadn't just spent the entire day together

"i just wanted to thank you for today. i really needed it"

she isn't able to express her gratitude in full, bc that would require being emotionally vulnerable and she's not v good at that, but she suspects mulder hears what she isn't saying anyway

"anytime, scully," he says, and she knows he means it sincerely. "my hands are so soft, i might have to make this manicure thing a regular occurrence"

she laughs

"goodnight, mulder"

"goodnight, scully"

in the morning, the first thing she notices is the blue of her fingernail polish, and the warm feeling it gives her stays with her through breakfast and all the way through the afternoon

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

A Tyrell in the Lion's Den (Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word count: 4.4k

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x Tyrell!reader

Summary: Y/n Tyrell carefully navigates the dangerous political landscape of King's Landing, balancing loyalty to Tywin Lannister while grappling with the growing uncertainty and peril that comes with playing the game of thrones.

My requests are open

________________________________________________________

In the weeks that followed, my relationship with Tywin became the most exhilarating secret of my life. Every glance, every whispered word exchanged in the corridors of the Red Keep, only served to heighten the thrill. But as much as I relished our clandestine encounters, a part of me couldn’t shake the unease that settled deep in my chest. Tywin Lannister was a man of power and calculation, and I knew that being involved with him meant treading a precarious path.

Our meetings grew more frequent, though always shrouded in secrecy. He would send a servant to deliver a note—a simple piece of parchment with a time and a place. Sometimes it would be his chambers, where we would talk late into the night about everything and nothing, the weight of our responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Other times, it was the godswood, where we would walk together in silence, the cool breeze carrying our unspoken thoughts.

And then there were the nights when we didn’t talk at all.

It was on one such night, as I lay beside him in the dim light of his chambers, that I allowed myself to wonder what it all meant. Tywin wasn’t the kind of man to indulge in frivolities; he was too focused, too driven. So why was he indulging in me? Was I truly more to him than a distraction, as he claimed? Or was I just another pawn in his grand game, destined to be discarded when I had served my purpose?

I turned to look at him, his face softened by sleep, the stern lines of his features relaxed in a way they never were during the day. For a moment, I was struck by how vulnerable he looked, and I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t love—not yet, at least—but it was something close. Whatever it was, it terrified me.

The next morning, as we dressed in silence, I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question that had been gnawing at me.

“Tywin,” I began hesitantly, fastening the clasps of my dress. “What is this to you?”

He paused, turning to look at me with that unreadable expression I was beginning to dread. “What do you mean?”

“This,” I said, gesturing between us. “Us. What does it mean to you?”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, but I could see the wheels turning in his mind, calculating, measuring. Finally, he sighed and walked over to me, taking my hand in his.

“This… is something I did not expect,” he admitted quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “But it is something I find myself unwilling to give up.”

His words were a balm to my anxiety, but they also left me with more questions. “And what happens when this becomes… inconvenient?”

Tywin’s grip on my hand tightened slightly. “It won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

I wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that this formidable man who had orchestrated so many intricate plots could somehow keep our relationship safe from the treacherous waters of court politics. But a part of me knew that no matter how careful we were, nothing stayed hidden in King’s Landing forever.

My thoughts must have shown on my face because Tywin’s expression softened in a way I rarely saw. “I care for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And I will do whatever is necessary to protect you.”

Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door. Tywin’s demeanor shifted instantly, the warmth in his eyes replaced by the cold calculation that so many feared. He released my hand and moved to open the door, his mask firmly in place.

It was a servant, delivering a message from the Small Council. Tywin took it without a word and dismissed the man, but I could see the change in him. The moment of vulnerability was gone, replaced by the Lord of Casterly Rock, the Hand of the King, the man who held the fate of the Seven Kingdoms in his hands.

“I should go,” I said, not wanting to overstay my welcome. “I’ll see you later.”

Tywin nodded, his attention already shifting to the message in his hand. I left his chambers, feeling a strange mixture of satisfaction and unease.

As I made my way back to my own rooms, I couldn’t help but think about what Olenna and Margaery had said. My grandmother’s warning about playing with fire echoed in my mind, and I wondered if I was indeed getting too close to the flames. But then I thought of Tywin’s words, his promise to protect me, and I felt a spark of hope. Maybe this wasn’t just a game. Maybe it was something more.

But even as I tried to reassure myself, a new fear crept into my heart. What if I was falling for Tywin Lannister? And what would that mean for me, for my family, for the future we had so carefully planned?

Days turned into weeks, and the tension in the capital continued to rise as Margaery’s wedding drew nearer. The city buzzed with preparations, the streets filled with merchants and nobles from all corners of the realm. It was a grand event, one that would cement the alliance between House Tyrell and House Lannister, and everyone was on edge.

Margaery, ever the consummate bride, handled it all with grace and poise, though I could see the strain in her eyes. We spent hours together, going over the final details of the ceremony, the feast, and the countless other events that surrounded the wedding. But even in the midst of all the chaos, she never missed a chance to tease me about my “distraction.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet about a certain someone lately,” she remarked one afternoon as we tried on our dresses for the wedding. “Has the lion finally lost his roar?”

I shot her a look, though I couldn’t help but smile. “Hardly. He’s just… busy.”

Margaery arched an eyebrow. “Too busy for you? I find that hard to believe.”

“He has a realm to run, sister,” I said, adjusting the delicate lace on my sleeve. “I’m hardly his top priority.”

“Perhaps not,” Margaery agreed, her tone thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t matter to him.”

Her words made me pause. Did I matter to Tywin? Or was I just another complication in his already complicated life?

Before I could dwell on it too much, Olenna swept into the room, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of our attire. “Well, don’t you both look lovely,” she said, her tone approving. “It’s a wonder the entire court isn’t tripping over themselves to catch a glimpse of you.”

“Not all of us need to be the center of attention, Grandmother,” I said, earning a chuckle from her.

“True, true,” Olenna conceded. “But a little attention never hurt anyone. And speaking of attention, I trust you’re still keeping our dear Lord Tywin on his toes?”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t suppress the warmth that spread through me at the thought of him. “I suppose you could say that.”

Olenna’s expression softened. “Just remember, my dear, that men like Tywin Lannister are not easily swayed. If you’ve captured his interest, it’s because you’ve shown him something he’s not used to seeing.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Someone who isn’t afraid of him,” Olenna said with a knowing smile. “Someone who doesn’t cower in his presence or seek to curry his favor. That, my dear, is a rare thing indeed.”

I thought about her words long after we had finished our fittings and returned to our rooms. Was that why Tywin was drawn to me? Because I treated him like a man, not a monster? And if so, what did that mean for us?

The night before Margaery’s wedding, there was a grand feast in the Great Hall. The room was filled with the finest lords and ladies of the realm, all dressed in their most opulent attire, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. Music filled the hall, and laughter echoed off the walls, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

Tywin was seated at the head table, his expression as inscrutable as ever. I caught his eye a few times throughout the evening, and each time, I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. But we were careful to keep our interactions to a minimum, knowing that the court’s eyes were always watching.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed more freely, I found myself slipping out of the hall, needing a moment of respite from the noise and the crowd. I made my way to the gardens, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the feast.

I wasn’t alone for long. A few minutes later, I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, and I turned to see Tywin approaching, his expression unreadable.

“Couldn’t stand the festivities any longer?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I smiled. “Something like that. And you? Surely the Hand of the King has more pressing matters to attend to.”

Tywin shook his head, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not tonight.”

We stood there in silence for a moment, the tension between us palpable. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Tywin,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “What happens after the wedding? What happens to us?”

He looked at me, his gaze intense. “We continue as we have,” he said simply. “Unless… you want something more.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “And if I do?”

Tywin’s expression softened, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Then we will find a way.”

________________________________________________________

The wedding of Margaery and Joffrey was a spectacle unmatched by any in recent memory. The Great Sept of Baelor was adorned with garlands of flowers, the air thick with the scent of incense and the murmurs of the gathered nobility. As the High Septon pronounced the young couple husband and wife, the cheers from the crowd were deafening. Yet amidst the celebration, I felt a chill, as if the gods themselves were watching with bated breath.

The feast that followed was equally grand, with tables groaning under the weight of lavish dishes and endless goblets of wine. Joffrey, in his typical fashion, reveled in the attention, making crude jokes and ordering the musicians to play increasingly raucous tunes. Margaery played her part perfectly, smiling and laughing at her husband’s antics, though I could see the strain in her eyes. This was not the life she had dreamed of, but it was the one she had chosen—or rather, the one that had been chosen for her.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere in the hall began to shift. The laughter became more forced, the smiles more brittle. Something was wrong, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I scanned the room, searching for the source of my unease, and my gaze landed on Tywin. He was watching Joffrey with an expression I couldn’t decipher—something between disdain and calculation.

And then it happened.

Joffrey, in the middle of a cruel jest, suddenly began to choke. At first, the guests thought it was part of the act, laughing along with the king’s apparent discomfort. But when he fell to the floor, gasping for breath, the laughter turned to screams. Chaos erupted as everyone scrambled to understand what was happening. Margaery knelt beside her husband, her face a mask of horror, while Cersei screamed for the maesters.

I stood frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. Joffrey’s face turned purple as he clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging with terror. It was a gruesome sight, and yet I couldn’t look away. I could hardly breathe myself, the shock of the moment pressing down on me like a weight.

Tywin remained seated, his expression unreadable, though I could see the tension in his posture. He was watching everything, taking it all in, and I realized that he must have known something like this could happen. Perhaps he had even expected it.

In the midst of the chaos, a thought struck me like a blow: this wasn’t just an accident. Someone had poisoned the king. And if Tywin had anticipated it, then he was either involved or already planning how to use this to his advantage.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine. If Tywin had a hand in this, then he was far more dangerous than I had ever imagined. But before I could dwell on it, Joffrey gave one final, convulsive gasp, and then he was still. The hall fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the ragged breathing of those closest to the king.

Cersei’s wail of grief shattered the silence, and she rounded on Tyrion, who had been holding the goblet Joffrey had drunk from. “He did this!” she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at her brother. “He poisoned my son!”

Chaos erupted once more as the guards seized Tyrion, and I felt a surge of panic. Tyrion couldn’t have done this—he wasn’t capable of such a thing. But as I looked at Tywin, still calm amidst the storm, I realized that the truth didn’t matter. What mattered was how this tragedy could be used, how the pieces of the game would move in response.

I needed to leave the hall. I needed to think, to understand what was happening and what it meant for my family, for Tywin, for the realm. But as I turned to go, I felt a hand on my arm. I looked up to see Margaery, her face pale and drawn.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t leave me alone.”

I nodded, squeezing her hand in reassurance. Whatever was happening, we would face it together. We had no choice.

As the night wore on, the Great Hall became a place of mourning and fear. Joffrey’s body was taken away, and the guests were ushered out, leaving only the closest members of the royal family and their allies behind. Margaery and I sat together, our hands clasped tightly, while Olenna hovered nearby, her sharp eyes taking in every detail.

Tywin approached us, his face set in a grim mask. “Margaery,” he said softly, “you should rest. The day has been a long one.”

Margaery shook her head. “I can’t. Not until I know who did this.”

“We will find the culprit,” Tywin assured her, his tone as cold as ice. “But for now, you must take care of yourself. You are the queen now, and the realm will look to you for strength.”

The queen. The words hung in the air like a curse. Margaery had wanted to be queen, but not like this. Not with the blood of her husband still fresh in the minds of all who had witnessed his death.

Reluctantly, Margaery allowed herself to be led away, and I followed close behind, my mind racing. Tywin’s words had been carefully chosen, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye. He had a plan, of that I was certain, but what it was, I couldn’t yet fathom.

Back in our chambers, Margaery collapsed onto the bed, her composure finally breaking. “What do we do now?” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “What will happen to us?”

I knelt beside her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “We do what we must,” I said, though the words felt hollow. “We survive.”

Margaery nodded, though I could see the fear in her eyes. She was strong, but even she wasn’t prepared for the storm that was coming.

As I sat with her, trying to offer what little comfort I could, my thoughts kept drifting back to Tywin. What role had he played in this tragedy? And more importantly, what did he plan to do next? I had aligned myself with a man of immense power, but that power came with a price—a price I wasn’t sure I was willing to pay.

The days that followed were a blur of tension and uncertainty. Joffrey’s death had plunged the court into chaos, and the search for his killer consumed everyone’s thoughts. Tyrion was imprisoned, accused of regicide, though I knew in my heart that he was innocent. But proving that was another matter entirely.

Tywin took control of the situation with his usual ruthless efficiency, organizing the investigation and ensuring that the realm remained stable. But his actions only deepened my suspicions. He was too calm, too prepared. It was as if he had been expecting this all along.

One evening, as I made my way back to my chambers, I found myself face to face with Tywin. He was waiting for me, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low.

I nodded, following him into a nearby room where we could speak in private. Once the door was closed, I turned to him, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” I asked, unable to keep the accusation out of my voice.

Tywin regarded me with a cool, measured gaze. “I suspected that something was afoot,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know the specifics.”

His words did little to ease my fears. “And you just let it happen? You let Joffrey die?”

Tywin’s expression hardened. “Joffrey was a liability,” he said bluntly. “His death, while unfortunate, opens up new opportunities for the realm. Tommen will be a better king—a more pliable one. The realm needs stability, and this is the way to achieve it.”

I stared at him, shocked by his callousness. “And what about Margaery? What about our family? Do we mean nothing to you?”

Tywin stepped closer, his gaze intense. “You mean more to me than you realize,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “But you must understand that this is the game we play. Power requires sacrifices—sometimes even those we care about.”

His words chilled me to the bone. I had known Tywin was a ruthless man, but this… this was something else entirely. He was willing to sacrifice anyone, anything, to maintain his grip on power. And I was beginning to wonder if I had made a terrible mistake by aligning myself with him.

But even as I questioned my choices, a part of me was drawn to his strength, to his unwavering resolve. Tywin Lannister was a man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals, and in a world as dangerous as this, perhaps that was exactly what I needed.

“Where does this leave us?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Tywin reached out, taking my hand in his. “It leaves us exactly where we were before,” he said. “You are still important to me, and I will protect you. But you must trust me, even when things seem uncertain.”

Trust. It was a dangerous word, especially in the world we lived in. But as I looked into Tywin’s eyes, I realized that I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to survive, I had to trust him.

I nodded, though the doubt still lingered in my heart. “I understand,” I said quietly.

“Good,” Tywin replied, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “We have much to do, and the game is far from over.”

________________________________________________________

The days following Joffrey’s death were consumed by a whirlwind of activity. The court was in a state of upheaval, with every noble and servant whispering about the poisoning and the ensuing chaos. The trial of Tyrion Lannister loomed large on the horizon, casting a shadow over everything. Cersei was relentless in her accusations, demanding justice for her son with a fury that brooked no dissent.

Margaery was a picture of stoic grief, playing the role of the mourning widow with impeccable grace. Yet behind closed doors, she was deeply troubled. The death of her husband, even one as detestable as Joffrey, had left her vulnerable, and she knew it. The power she had been so close to securing was slipping through her fingers, and there was little she could do to stop it.

One evening, as we sat together in her chambers, Margaery voiced her fears. “What will become of me now?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Joffrey is dead, and Tommen is just a boy. Cersei will do everything she can to keep me away from him.”

I took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Tommen is kind-hearted and easily influenced. With time, you can win him over. And remember, you have grandmother by your side. She is a formidable ally.”

Margaery nodded, though the uncertainty in her eyes remained. “But what if Cersei succeeds in keeping me away from Tommen? What if I’m cast aside like Sansa was?”

I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The truth was that Margaery’s fears were not unfounded. Cersei was ruthless and would stop at nothing to protect her remaining son. But I couldn’t let Margaery lose hope. “You are the Queen, Margaery. You have the support of the Tyrells and the goodwill of the people. Cersei may be powerful, but she is not invincible.”

She gave me a small, sad smile. “Sometimes I wonder if I was ever truly meant to be queen. Joffrey’s death feels like a sign that I’m cursed.”

“Nonsense,” I replied firmly. “You have the strength and the intelligence to navigate this storm. And you have me. We will face whatever comes together.”

Margaery’s smile grew a little stronger, and she leaned her head against my shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

As we sat there in silence, I couldn’t help but wonder what Tywin’s next move would be. He had assured me that everything was under control, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were more twists and turns ahead. I needed to be vigilant, to protect both Margaery and myself from the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the Red Keep.

A few days later, I received a summons to meet with Tywin. I wasn’t surprised—he had been unusually distant since our last conversation, and I knew that something was brewing. When I arrived at his chambers, he was seated at his desk, a map of Westeros spread out before him.

“Sit,” he said, not looking up as I entered. I obeyed, taking a seat across from him. For a moment, there was only the sound of the crackling fire, and then Tywin finally looked at me.

“The situation is more complicated than I anticipated,” he began, his voice as cold and calculated as ever. “Tyrion’s trial will be a spectacle, and Cersei will stop at nothing to see him executed. However, there are those who believe in his innocence—people who could prove troublesome if they were to act on their convictions.”

I nodded, understanding the implications of his words. “You want me to keep an eye on them?”

“Precisely,” Tywin said, leaning back in his chair. “You have a unique position within the court. You’re close to Margaery and the Tyrells, and people tend to underestimate you. Use that to your advantage. Find out who is sympathetic to Tyrion, and report back to me.”

It was a dangerous task he was asking of me, but I knew better than to refuse. “And what of Margaery?” I asked carefully. “She’s worried about her position now that Joffrey is dead.”

Tywin’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained calculating. “Margaery will be fine, as long as she remains useful to us. Tommen will need a queen, and Margaery is well-suited to that role. But she must not overstep her bounds. Cersei will be watching her closely.”

I swallowed, knowing that Margaery’s future depended on a delicate balance of power. “I’ll do what I can,” I promised.

Tywin nodded, his gaze piercing. “Good. Remember, loyalty to the Lannisters will be rewarded. Betrayal will not be tolerated.”

With that, he dismissed me, leaving me with the weight of his expectations on my shoulders. As I left his chambers, I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of dread. The game of thrones was becoming more dangerous by the day, and I was walking a very thin line.

Over the next few weeks, I began to carry out Tywin’s orders, subtly gathering information from those around me. I listened carefully to the conversations in the court, noting who spoke in favor of Tyrion and who remained silent. It was a delicate dance, one that required me to be both discreet and cunning.

Margaery, meanwhile, was doing her best to maintain her position. She spent more time with Tommen, charming him with her kindness and winning over the young king’s trust. But Cersei was never far away, her presence a constant reminder of the danger that surrounded us.

One evening, as I was returning to my chambers, I was approached by a figure I hadn’t expected to see—Varys, the spymaster. He moved silently, his expression unreadable as he blocked my path.

“A word, if you please,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, glancing around to ensure we were alone. “What do you want?” I asked warily.

Varys smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been very active lately, gathering information for Lord Tywin. But I wonder, do you truly understand the game you’re playing?”

“I understand enough,” I replied, though my heart was pounding in my chest.

“Do you?” Varys’s tone was almost pitying. “Tywin Lannister is a powerful man, but his power is built on fear and manipulation. You are valuable to him now, but what happens when you’re no longer useful? The Lannisters are not known for their mercy.”

His words struck a nerve, and I felt a surge of anger. “What are you trying to say?”

Varys sighed, as if disappointed by my response. “I’m saying that you should be careful where you place your loyalties. The winds of change are coming, and when they do, those who are too close to the Lannisters may find themselves swept away.”

With that cryptic warning, Varys turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me with more questions than answers. His words lingered in my mind, fueling the doubts that had been growing since Joffrey’s death.

[coralchoral]

honestly thinking about the sonadow twitter takeover and how the plummeting to earth thing very much affected Sonic a lot more than it affected Shadow. like in a previous takeover Shadow even made it a positive memory about Sonic trying to save him.

Meanwhile in Prime, Sonic has a moment of saving Shadow from falling into the void that's very reminiscent of that other fall (in the same way Prime has a lot of motivations and references that only make sense from a fandom insider perspective).

Sonic also gets repeatedly tilted, loud and anxious, (which I'm pinning more on RCS's/whatever writer's sense of humor, as is all the voice acting gags) and is coping badly any time Shadow comes out ahead. I think Sonic's insistence on his ability to grow chest fur is as big a Cope as floaties=fashion statement.

But really, Sonic's repeat date suggestions and Shadow's own descriptions of Sonic's behavior (dragging out their races, etc "just to annoy me") reads, whether romantically or platonically, that Sonic just really wants to spend time with Shadow.

He feels he needs to justify it, though, insisting that he and Shadow have something other than occasionally getting in each other's way ("two sides of the same coin") (friendly competition being "why you keep me around-" seemed like odd wording to me).

Needing to make it meaningful, because that's what Shadow wants out of a relationship- Shadow /says/ he dislikes Sonic for being frivolous and inauthentic, that (for instance) his hugs don't mean anything, and that he doesn't want "(Sonic's) kind of hug."

Sonic really wants to spend time with Shadow because he's also intimately aware that that time is limited. Either Shadow's patience (and/or social battery) is limited and he's liable to make a batman exit if he doesn't want to be somewhere (not that we've ever seen Shadow do this in canon, he seems to awkwardly/quietly hang around as if he doesn't realize he can just hit the bricks (or he likes being there and has no idea how to express it re: smiling at Big the Cat) ), Or Sonic and Shadow will get caught up in their own lives again and not see each other until Fate Deigns to Allow Them to Cross Paths Once More.

And Sonic misses him.

(This ties in with my Sonic Frontiers is the Saddest Game Ever posting from a while back, too. Sonic is lonely AF and Needs Other People to Talk To or he'll start talking to the walls and robots, and Shadow will almost always either talk back or groan in exasperation, which is as good a reaction as any.)

All this, plus Sonic's opinion flip-flops (shopping with Amy vs shopping with Shadow, opinion on Orbot) could be either (Sonadow Optimist) Sonic is Down Bad and not even conscious of his mirroring Shadow/trying to appeal to Shadow, or (Sonadow/overall Pessimist) Sonic trying to appeal to the Most Popular Character Right Now and getting increasingly desperate as he is rebuffed.

A few of these Twitter Takeovers have had moments of Sonic in particular getting thrown off and not really able to recover. (which makes me question what the writing is like, if there's any at all and these VA's aren't just riffing on an outline. Considering they don't talk over each other constantly, there must be something like a script, but it also does occasionally feel like a bad roleplay (and I've been a bad roleplayer).) It leads to a Something Is Wrong feeling in the "We're doing this for fun" question-answering joke show. Sonic needs therapy. (We all need therapy.)

Meanwhile, Shadow really is pulling out all the grunts, groans, and whines with Sonic that, if scripted, would be egregious as hell to read or write. He doesn't make these noises in the games (or shows, really?) mostly because there's a sort of efficiency necessary to production that cuts out that interpersonal realism and partly because it's annoying? Shadow, you're the annoying one?

Unrelated, everybody latched on to Sonic's "Go off, King" but nobody even noticed Shadow's "Deal With It."(sunglasses drop) How soon we forget the sacred texts and/or the deep magic, I guess? (It's an old meme, but it checks out!)

[pep-rambles]

Lucifer is a Swiftie headcanons because I kin this man so much I am projecting my other hyperfixations on him

But also I mean c'mon,

Look at him

yes there is RadioApple in this

-It probably started from Charlie. When she was in high school (post emo phase obviously) she may have enjoyed Taylor Swift (maybe Fearless got her through her senior year because I can't stop projecting) Lucifer started listening to try and have something to bond with his daughter about. But about the time Charlie kind of lost interest is about the time Lucifer doubled down on his obsession.

-He has been to basically almost every Eras concert, usually in really good seats because many a swiftie has offered to sell their soul for tickets. He said keep your soul just let him tag along.

-He is definitely an Evermore stan mostly because of relating too hard to the divorce narrative of it.

-Speaking of, Charlie has threatened to lock him out of his Spotify after catching him on the floor crying to “Champaign Problems” on repeat too many times. She never would but most definitely tried to ban him from listening to it for a month.

-She then caught him crying to “You’re Loosing Me”

-Angel Dust is most definitely  Beyhive (killer bee probably) and though initially joking that they are rivals the two men bond over their love for the two queens of pop, recommending songs and videos to each other.

-Angel is a Reputation Stan though 

-After one of Lucifer’s many tiffs with Alastor,  Charlie is expressing her frustration asking her dad why can’t they just get along and Lucifer explains that he doesn’t trust Alastor because “I think his ever-present grin is a little troubling” and is a little upset when she doesn’t get it 

-One day, Luci is sitting in the Lobby doing his work while listening to Taylor on shuffle. He’s casually minding his own business jamming out to one of her poppier love songs and Alastor wanders in commenting on the “Obnoxious trite little diddy” Lucifer doesn't even hesitate to take the bait

L: HOW DARE YOU! SHE IS A TALENTED GODDESS!! A DOWNRIGHT MUSICAL CHAMELEON! You are such a snob Alastor! Good music didn't stop getting made after your tiny little lifetime.

A: I never said it did but it's certainly not this frivolous noise!

L: Oh, you uninformed uncultured cur! She is a fucking poet!

He then proceeds to play examples for Alastor of her most creative and heart wrenching lyrics (he absolutely makes Al sit through all 10 minutes and 13 seconds of ATW) 

After all that though Lucifer will never get Alastor to admit that he finds T.S. musically talented (or that Lucifer did in fact catch Al tapping his foot a couple times)

        -Alastor does come to Lucifer, after a bit of research, admitting that though he does not find her music enjoyable, he respects her business cunning. Luci figures that's good enough. For now. 

-because I bet my non-existent Eras tour tickets that Lilith was a hater. I’ll leave it at that.

-OP works at Barnes & Noble and let me tell you there are about 80 different Taylor Swift magazines that even my swiftie ass thinks is excessive but Lucifer has every single one

-including the Taylor Swift paper dolls magazine (yes this is a real thing). He probably gets a few because he convinces Charlie to use them as a team building activity.

-He has at least 3 copies of each of the covers for the 2023 TIME Person of the Year magazine. 

-Also all cardigans. On a casual day he definitely lounges in them and has a set rotation of when to wear each one (and I am totally not gonna draw that nope)

-Well, it seems Lucifer is no longer crying to the depressing break-up songs on repeat but now he seems to be angrily listening to “Gorgeous” on repeat. Charlie asks him about it and he goes full denial mode “No no Charlie I'm not thinking of anyone specific, I've just been really into this song lately.” Everyone else in the hotel, besides Alastor, has already figured out what's going on

Alastor: If I have to hear that obnoxious noise one more time I will reduce that tiny maniac’s room to rubble as well as the abode of whatever sad sack is making him play it.

Angel: *knowing smirk* I'm gonna hold ya to that one, Antlers. 

-Al may very well hear it one more time if Lucifer uses it as his confession song (I don't fully commit to this headcanon, I just think it's funny) 

-Anyway boy’s probably in his Reputation stan Era b/c LWYMMD is like his long overdue big F-YOU to Heaven song 

btw this is NOT gonna end at these headcanons I am running with this idea like scissors.

@nunalastor

@julsiemagne

@nose-nippin-fun (I know you're not a swiftie but we talked about this so idk if you care I can un-tag you if you want)

[sturnswrites]

protective!matt gifts innocent!reader a special something for all the hard work she does for him...

You stretched your arms above your head, a satisfying crack breaking the stillness of Matt’s office as you finally looked up from your work. The quiet hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of papers were the only sounds in the room. The office was empty, everyone else having left hours ago, but you’d insisted on finishing your latest design revisions. It wasn’t unusual for you to lose track of time here; Matt’s office felt oddly safe, almost comforting, even in the late hours.

As you reached to shut your laptop, something caught your eye—a small, neatly wrapped box sitting on the corner of your desk. It hadn’t been there earlier. Your brow furrowed as you picked it up, the faint crinkle of paper loud in the silence. The wrapping was simple: dark blue with a small silver bow. Your name was written in Matt’s unmistakably sharp handwriting on a tiny card tucked under the ribbon.

Curiosity piqued, you carefully untied the bow and lifted the lid. Nestled inside, on a bed of soft white velvet, was a delicate gold bracelet. The chain was thin and elegant, catching the light with a subtle shimmer. Dangling from it was a tiny charm, engraved with your initials in delicate script. Your breath hitched as your fingers brushed against it.

You blinked, your heart racing as a mix of surprise and warmth settled over you. It was beautiful—thoughtful in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Do you like it?”

The low, familiar voice made you startle. You glanced up to see Matt standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders framed by the darkened hallway behind him. His tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was undone, giving him a slightly disheveled look that somehow made him seem even more effortlessly put together. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and his expression was unreadable, though his blue eyes were fixed intently on you.

“Matt,” you breathed, holding the bracelet delicately in your palm. “You…you got this for me?”

He shrugged, his jaw tightening. “Saw it and thought of you,” he said gruffly, but there was a softness in his gaze that contradicted his tone. It was as if he couldn’t quite meet your eyes for too long, and the faintest hint of pink dusted his cheeks.

You stared at him, the weight of the gesture sinking in. Matt wasn’t the type to make frivolous purchases or offer gifts lightly. Every move he made was calculated, intentional. He hadn’t just seen this and thought of you—he’d chosen it, planned it, and left it on your desk while you were too engrossed in your work to notice.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to do this.”

His lips twitched into what might have been the ghost of a smile. “I wanted to.”

There was a pause, the kind that felt too heavy and too full of unspoken things. The office suddenly felt smaller, the space between you charged with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

“Why?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you immediately regretted it. “I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it, but…why me?”

Matt took a step into the room, his movements deliberate. He stopped just short of your desk, leaning slightly against the edge. “Because you deserve it,” he said simply, his voice steady but quiet. “You’ve been working harder than anyone, staying late, pushing yourself. I see it, even if you think no one does.”

Your chest tightened at his words. It wasn’t just the bracelet—it was the way he noticed things about you, the way he cared in his own subtle, guarded way.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, looking down at the bracelet again. The charm felt cool and smooth against your fingertips, grounding you in the moment.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, his voice softer now. “Just…wear it. And maybe remember that you don’t have to do everything alone.”

His words hit deeper than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was nod. You slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, the delicate chain resting lightly against your skin. It felt like a promise—a quiet reminder that, in his own way, Matt was looking out for you.

When you finally looked up, his gaze was on your wrist, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. “It suits you,” he said, his tone almost absent, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “It means a lot.”

Matt pushed off the desk, his hands sliding out of his pockets. For a moment, you thought he might say something more, but he simply nodded, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a small, fleeting smile.

“Good night, then,” he said, his voice low and warm as he turned toward the door. “Don’t stay too late.”

As he walked away, you caught yourself staring at the doorway long after he’d disappeared, your heart still fluttering in your chest. The bracelet glinted faintly under the soft light, a silent testament to a man who said so little but somehow always managed to say just enough.

----------------------------------------------------------------

[stormyrainyday]

how vengeful gasher subverts the beach episode: a study on tetsuya watarigani

for mayblade day 8 - beach

i mentioned earlier today that because of ATLA the words 'beach episode' deal unfathomable psychic damage to me, and it got me thinking. ATLA's "the beach" is iconic for being a subversion of the typical beach episode, a trope which usually entails a bunch of characters from a show getting together in a low-stakes, kinda fanservice-y self-contained plot. they get together on a bright summer day and small shenanigans ensue, and by the end of it they all grow and get a little closer as friends.

beyblade definitely does have an episode like this: metal masters' "we meet again! wang hu zhong". team ggg train on the beach, get into mild conflict, meet with old friends, and come out of the experience smiling and having bonded as friends. we even get the characters dressed up for the occasion

do you know, however, what other episode takes place on the beach? episode 5 of metal fusion: vengeful gasher

if you are like me, vengeful gasher won't even really register as a beach episode to you at all. sure it takes place on a beach, but it is so far removed from what a beach episode typically entails that it's hard to call it one. i'm going to argue, however, that this is what makes the episode compelling to study in this lens.

(for the purposes of this analysis i'll be talking about the second half of the episode as the beginning half is more what i consider necessary setup for the meat of it. so when i say vengeful gasher, i am, for the most part, talking about gingka and tetsuya meeting on the beach onwards)

the most obvious difference in the two screenshots is the time of day. a beach episode usually takes place in a bright, sunny day, and that makes sense; that is when it's a good time to go to the beach. furthermore, the sun and light often symbolizes energy and life, as well as happiness. good, fun things happen in the daytime, and that makes it a good setting for a feel-good episode.

in contrast, the main part of vengeful gasher takes place at night time, a time that is usually more somber, reflective, or even sinister depending on the genre. this also makes sense: gingka is not here to have fun. he's here to confront a guy who's been going around the city and intentionally damaging beys (something that is shown to be pretty devastating to the blader, especially later in the season during the reiji fight).

The beach is deserted of all other people as well; it't quiet, and much more serious. Though tetsuya is a minor gag villain, at this moment the audience doesn't know this. He has hurt kenta's friends, he's kidnapped madoka, and he's expressed serious desire for confrontation. The stakes of this fight are, for this point of the season, incredibly high. This is a far cry from the frivolous conflicts that typically characterize beach episodes.

It is over the course of the remainder of the episode that we learn tetsuya's character is antithetical to what our characters believe about beyblade. tetsuya is a liar and a cheat, and not above using petty trickery to get his way. his goal of fighting isn't to win battles or form rivalries; all he wants is the opportunity to damage other peoples' beyblades. this point will be important in a second so hold on to it.

the episode then comes to tetsuya's Traumatic Backstory™️, where we learn that once he was upstanding and had someone for whom he deeply cared for, but due to a betrayal, he has now given up on others entirely and only engages with them as a means to deploy his petty tricks. he has no desire to engage with gingka's lessons about friendship and solidarity

this is well and good, and pretty normal villain stuff. tetsuya is then defeated and madoka returned (by benkei-- we'll get to him in a moment). they explain that gingka won because his friends were there for him, and for a second he truly seems to be taking it in. he's then offered an olive branch. madoka forgives him and tells him not to scratch beys any longer. she even offers to repair mad gasher, so long as he apologizes to the people who's beys he damaged.

of course, tetsuya being tetsuya, and this episode being an anti-beach episode, basically spits in the face of the peace offering. he runs away, unconvinced.

as stated earlier, beach episodes usually resolve with the group of friends having had fun and feeling closer to each other after whatever minor challenges occurred during their time there. people had fun, and the episode wraps up nicely in a self-contained story.

the power of friendship isn't entirely absent from this episode but it is at play in varying degrees

madoka, kenta, gingka, and kenta's friends certainly are closer after the experience. they are our conventional protagonists, so the conventional beach episode trope works on them

similarly, benkei is an antagonist, but he walks away from this episode conflicted about the nature of his relationship to gingka and his friends. he doesn't know why he helped madoka, and contemplates at the sea alone after the fact. he is a villain character that gets converted later, and the normal beach narrative magic works on him too.

tetsuya, on the other hand, outright rejects the concept of friendship. he stands by his revenge and reappears later hell-bent on causing problems for everyone, whether it be setting traps in the survival battle, telling sob stories during battle bladers, or pretending to be friends to make main characters let their guards down. the key thing about tetsuya is that by now, we understand that he is a joke character. his tactics are slimy and he has no real strength as a blader and relies on dirty, if comical, tricks to get his way. thus he subverts the typical narrative that would be at play in this style of episode

tetsuya's tricks in episodes going forward all rely on the similar tactic of subverting expectations. the most obvious example is when he told the crowd at a match that he had to win for his dear sick friend, taka, and moved them so deeply that his opponent forfeited the match (the punchline was then revealed that take was a crab).

all of this to say: tetsuya is a gag villain that relies on playing with expectations, and his introductory episode shows this in his actions (we expect a normal bey battle, and we get pulled into increasingly ridiculous ways to cheat). however, the way the episode takes a common trope-- the beach episode-- and turns it on its head is also representative of tetsuya as a character, and thus serves as more or less as an excellent way to show what to expect from him going forward, even if the symbolism isn't immediately obvious when watching.

it's also fun to note how it's a pretty unserious trope they chose to subvert for one of their most unserious villains. i thought that was a neat touch.

a few other things i thought were interesting but didn't know how to fit into the essay below the cut

no one had a good time in this beach episode: tetsuya lost, kenta is angry at his friends' beys being broken, madoka got kidnapped and put in a sand pit, and benkei is conflicted emotionally at the end of all the events. this is extremely typical of an encounter with tetsuya going forward

this episode bears some surface level resemblance to the ATLA beach episode: it also takes place at night, has minor villain(s) of the series recount the traumas that turned them into the people they are today, and EVERYONE crashes out-- no one has a good time. however, despite also being a subversion of the trope, the ATLA episode is very, very serious tonally and serves an entirely different function to its own plot than vengeful gasher.

tetsuya gets covered in mud in the final round against gingka. oftentimes in literature, a character getting submerged/covered in water symbolizes a pivotal turning point in their development (as water often symbolizes baptism or rebirth). however, tetsuya is covered in mud-- in other words, dirty water-- which could symbolize how the opportunity for the change of heart was there, but he is too jaded and corrupted to embrace it

similarly, the fact that madoka simply has to turn gasher upside down to reveal the smiling face in the scratches represents that the potential to change is in tetsuya and has been all along. he, however, is making the active choice to reject it.

also on the topic of being covered in water: tetsuya's major change of character from a selfless guy to one driven entirely by revenge takes place after he is thrown in the snow, and it starts to snow around him. by the time he confronts taraba and echizen though, it has stopped snowing, meaning his change of character is complete

tetsuya taking on crabs as his representative animal reveals insight on his character too. just as crabs have a hard shell and pincers to protect their soft abdomens, tetsuya keeps his own demeanor, well, crabby and snaps at anyone who attempts to genuinely connect with him. he is still a vulnerable person, and he believes the only way to protect himself from getting hurt again is to prevent exposing that vulnerability ever again.

thanks for reading! if you noticed more please talk to me about it please i love tetsuya he's unironically one of my top 5 favorite characters in this series please he's so fucking funny i need more love for him

[toushindai]

I realize I've now written two sizeable Hades II fanfiction in which Olympian gods juggle their less-prominent (or less-stereotypical?) aspects. This wasn't intentional and I don't have any particular plans for it to become a pattern, but it IS interesting. To me at least.

⬇⬇ blah blah blah about my own headcanons below the cut ⬇⬇

The idea in general of domain-as-compulsion is fascinating and I would say even lightly touched upon by the game--mostly surrounding Eris, who likes who she is and loves sowing discord like no tomorrow, but at the same time resents that it makes her detestable to all others and resents that she wasn't born with a choice to become someone people might like. Ares, whom she admires, expresses some sympathy for her:

The goddess Eris is quite unpopular up here, and I suspect also where you reside. But I have certain sympathies for her, shunned as she is. We cannot change our nature; we deathless gods, we cannot even be destroyed, it seems.

Which is... quite a line. It seems very likely that Ares is speaking from a place of real empathy here, as he is likewise quite happily engrossed in his own fixations but regarded as off-putting at best by all of his relatives. That the gods cannot be destroyed/permanently killed is something that has come up repeatedly in the midst of this existential threat the Olympians are currently facing, but it takes on a different tone in this line, I think, or maybe I'm reading too much into it...?

All this to say that instead of thinking of the Olympians as people, precisely, I've been thinking of them as core urges with personhood built around them.

Dionysus is the desire for joy and ease and revelry, who quite genuinely and sincerely believes that all problems ought to be solved by having a drink together. As incongruous and slightly grotesque as his in-your-face partying is, I actually do find his commitment to the idea that you can fix anything by talking it out rather commendable. In too much is never enough, I did mean to extend some sympathy to him--more than Prometheus does, at least--in that he is quite genuinely out of his depth when asked to participate in a war. In his preferred aspect, at least, he has nothing to offer by stifling his partygoing nature just to be miserable and haunted and frankly scared like all the rest of his family. Thus he is partying as hard as he can to escape the horrors, and this is understandable if not admirable. But in TMINE one of the horrors he is trying to outrun is his own self, the switch to wild, violent, uncontrolled madness. And I think that is an understandable thing to fear and to fight against: insensate either way, perhaps, but a change from revelry and laughter to tottering shrieks of uncontrolled emotion. From deeply chill to unspeakably intense. That this is as much a part of him as the revelry is not inherently a comfort. I think it's understandable for that to be something Dionysus is afraid of. The idea that his entire personality, all his desires and preferences and joys, can switch in an instant.

Aphrodite in all is fair in war is having a more complicated time of it. For a number of reasons. The shift is already underway for her: with Ares gone and a war at her doorstep, her aspect of war has awoken. But no one save for Hephaestus recognizes this in her; they see her as a frivolous hedonist playing dress-up when she picks up her spear. Additionally I think there is a part of her that would prefer to be a hedonist in a thematic new outfit. At the same time, though, "love" and "war" come from the same place inside of her: a deep, jealous desire to possess everything. It's only that love can more easily and more joyfully satisfy itself. So that is the aspect that is more comfortable for her, and the one she has inhabited for aeons ever since Ares came into his power and took War from her. (Which was itself a complicated time; it was something like an honorable duel, and they both know it was natural and nearly inevitable, and they love each other fiercely in spite of it, but if in Hades Game canon Hephaestus was a choice made by Aphrodite rather than Zeus declaring it for her, I think that choice was made in the aftermath of her one-time death at Ares' hands.)

In writing AIFIW I thought back to a line from dirt and mud (and flesh and blood), my (Thanatos)/Ares/Aphrodite fic, which I am very vain of: "[Aphrodite] sparkles like this, bright with confidence and self-love, sure of herself like ever-starving War could never be." Hades II's take on Ares almost has me second-guessing that thought, because I have never seen a more obvious example of Moisturized, In His Lane, and Flourishing than his new portrait. He's so in his element and relaxed that he feels less malicious and less intense than his Hades I portrayal at first blush. That was something that made writing AIFIW challenging at first, because it's hard to find that same starvation in him now. In the end I concluded that he is circumstantially much more at peace, given all that's happening. It's Aphrodite, instead, who has been haunted by that starvation, made driven and dangerous by it. War is an uncomfortable compulsion for her, but one which she in no way tries to fight; it makes her feel empowered and vicious even as it leaves her starving. It isn't her preferred aspect.

Anyway. godhood as compulsion = hot. That's one takeaway here. No wait I hopped in the shower and immediately thought of a more intelligent takeaway. The takeaway is, the gods do not have as much freedom to be who they want to be as mortals do. (and that's hot.)

[dballzposting]

Vegeta's the way he is stemming all the way back to his cold and difficult childhood. And so I kind of really like the idea that if someone from way back when (Tarble) came back into Vegeta's life and he had a chance to reconcile with all that then it would have a positive effect on Vegeta...

Like everybody is fully expecting Vegeta to not like his brother. And to even be openly annoyed by him. And Tarble is kind and sincere and well-meaning. And so it feels likely that Vegeta will just cross his arms and maintain a distance.

And he DOES do that .... sort of. But instead of leaning against the wall he stays at the table. And instead of closing his eyes he keeps them tightly fixed on Tarble like he's studying a rat. But it's a side-eye and he thinks he's being subtle. And his arms are still crossed

And he never says anything and he just listens and lets Tarble say whatever he wants, and when Tarble does purposefully pause for Vegeta to comment, there's a long pause, but Vegeta doesnt blow him off and he does say something eventually. Even if in his normal life it's something that he would just stay silent on. Tarble has paused purposefully and Vegeta is interested in dispelling that tension, whereas in the rest of his life he has no stake in the conversation and he does not feel the tension. Tarble pauses and Vegeta says one frivolous sentence and then Tarble keeps talking

It's like this becasue Vegeta is surprised at the affection he is capable of harboring. Every time Tarble is kindly and peaceful it grows. It's becasue when Vegeta was a kid his potential for love was absolutely discouraged and locked up and he had no one to teach him love and he had to HATE to survive. But he had a baby brother who took to that lesson much harder and would often express sadness or weakness and would attempt anybody for comfort. And Vegeta always rebuffed that obviously. But he saw it. He saw what was possible.

Now he's seeing Tarble again but he's grown and calm and secure in himself. It's just a sight that is gently healing. And despite the rough times they shared, Tarble comes to him with forgiveness and a readiness to love.

And Vegeta would be surprised at how little conflciiton he feels inside about it. He's choosing to keep his arms crossed but inside he just feels easy affection. We are at times of peace, we have control over our lives, everyone is alive and healthy. There's no reason he can't love his brother. He just never did that before. But he was always capable of it

I think they should play like children do becasue they never got to before. I think you should hear from the other room the same kind of running and thumping you hear when your cats are playing. I wanna see Vegeta give Tarble a piggy back ride

[stargazing-sapphire2]

Bloom and Decay 1/2

Summary: A look into Henry’s life, of how his relationships blossomed and thrived, and eventually withered and decayed.

TAGLIST: @thatonesillyducko @deeptrashwitch @gunnrblze @maymaylyn @milkteaarttime @blacktacmopsi @me-is-confused @seraphiixiao @imagoddamnonionmason

Family Day…how it means to those who are not shy about openly demonstrating affection for their other half and children. Many expressed it in different ways; whether that was giving gifts, some organized trips or spending quality time together in the home. Everyone was always happy on this day; children gathered about, hearing stories about the shenanigans Mom and Dad got up to when they were their age, whether they be endearing, embarrassing, or fascinating.

Such a thing was never in Henry’s family.

As a child, he never truly understood the significance of it. He had only just begun to understand the world around him, but his parents had never sought to teach it to him. His mother openly proclaimed it to be a useless and meaningless day, just another date on the calendar of every year. His father, while less vocal, more or less express his distaste for it through physical action, whether that was a cold stare whenever Henry asked him about it, or would brush him off with a stiff, “Go to bed, son”.

Henry knew his family was not a typical one. There was no Father going to work all day, the Mother stayed in the home to look after the children, while the Father would come to the open arms of his family, all the stress and frustration from the day simmering away and replaced with joy and gratitude.

Such was never a thing in Henry’s family.

At a young age, he was acutely aware of the…complexity of his parents’ relationship.

Truth be told, he would hardly consider it to be complex. They did not like each other, plain and simple; perhaps they only tolerated each other for the sake of their son, or the benefits this marriage granted them. A business contract, a convenient arrangement.

It was almost an insult to call it as such, when the truth was right in one’s face, despite the poorly disguised attempt to present it as so.

Henry could recall what he was told by the adults around him; that he was too smart for his own good, a clever boy, gifted child, bright eyed and intelligent, too mature for his age.

He wished he was not, and perhaps it would have spared him decades of grief and disappointment.

Watching other children his age spend time with their parents and families, and feeling that stab of envy deep within his heart. There was an agonizing sense of longing that lingered, of him desiring something he knew he would never have, regardless of what he would do to achieve it.

When he had asked his mother about, as to why the three of them never did any activities together, she merely furrowed her brows, mouth pressed into a tight line.

A look of annoyance, he knew for a fact.

“And why are you asking?” She questioned. “What does it matter, Henry?”

Henry, a boy of eight years old, shrank back down on his seat as they sat at the dinner table. His father remained passive, watching his wife and son in silence as they spoke.

“I…I saw other people doing it too,” Henry said, quietly, avoiding his mother’s gaze.

Julianne huffed at his response.

“Never ask me that again, Henry,” she said, her voice cold. “And worry less about such frivolous activities that other children your age choose to partake in.”

Those were one of many phrases that would be forever engraved in his mind.

Henry sighed, slumping at his desk as he pressed a hand to his forehead.

Once upon a time, he thought that if he did everything he was told, that if he played by the rules, he could be set for life, that he could achieve his dreams and have it good if he just did what everyone told him to do.

But what would you call making the army your entire life? Spending the majority of your days swamped with paperwork, directing your men out on the field and that they return with their lives intact, or having to bury good men and women, who died premature deaths?

Times like these often required a form of detachment, typically out of one’s control.

In this line of work, you often had no choice but to do so. Someone you fought alongside with, shared meals and quarters with, would be turned into a grease stain, while you would live on, and have no choice but to continue about your life. Another body thrown into the war machine, another senseless casualty that would eventually be forgotten, like others that came before, and met the same fate.

In the back of his mind, Henry wondered how his story would end, how the final chapter would be written as the end would eventually close in on him.

Would he die an old man, surrounded by family? Or would he meet his end on the battlefield, shredded by machine gunfire as he choked on his own blood, a cacophony of the dying screams of soldiers rang around him, the very last sounds he would hear before Death came for his soul.

Perhaps, only time would tell.

[seafoamreadings]

week of may 21st, 2023

aries: your ruling planet, mars, is more or less always in an impulsive if not downright belligerent mood. he is particularly agitated throughout this week due to a series of squares. it is ok to feel and express anger, but don't let it destroy your life, even in small ways.

taurus: nothing that happens this week is without significance for you. others may have you believing that you're crazy for seeing what you're seeing. but it is the truth on a level they don't have access to but you currently do.

gemini: this year's season is off to a mainly peaceful, yet very earthy-watery start. airier geminis will feel a bit suffocated and swampy from this. the remedy is to embrace those elements with some exposure to nature but to do so in the fresh air, and wind if you can get it.

cancerians: overall it is a calm week, and it is probably nice to have mars out of your sign as well since you can rest more than you have in a while. you might find yourself a little moody at times, and while it's important not to let that overpower your peace, those fluctuations are all trying to tell you something. best to listen.

leo: the vibes this week are hot mars/moon combos with some tense water & earth squares. it can be a little like trudging through thick mud, which is probably not the luxury you're after in life. still, it's temporary and it's the hand you're being dealt. at least do it in some fashionable boots, or more literally get through it by finding all the small pleasures you can.

virgo: you tend to flit about in a fast way that seems nervous to many, and maybe really is. but the strong taurus energy these days helps to keep you as grounded as you're meant to be, and while you may get impatient at the slower pace, it's just what you need.

libra: although air signs normally feel weighed down by large amounts of earth/water energy like there is now, libra fares better than most when a large fraction of that comes from her sister taurus, as it does now. that venusian glow gives you every edge you need.

scorpio: many scorpionic folks still feel the old/ancient/traditional affinity of scorpio with mars. before pluto was known, mars was the strongest known energy affiliated with your sign. all the mars and nodal activity now will, at first glance, have most of you feeling quite frazzled. but a closer inspection reveals immense amounts of overarching power.

sagittarius: jupiter applies toward a nodal alignment perfecting by the end of the week. things that were so mundane as to be practically unnoticeable to you before suddenly start to take on more and more karmic, synchronistic, downright magical and alchemical meaning. no coincidences.

capricorn: where others see mountainous impassable obstacles, you see a nearly flat traversible surface, or at minimum, a clear pathway through. if you don't see it, you're not really looking. first analyze why you don't want to see and progress, then just go. it's not even a case of "walk and the path will appear." the path is there, just walk.

aquarius: pluto was clanking all around in your sign last week. still retrograde there at your 0 degree, but considerably quieter now. mars-pluto vibes may continue for several days, but they're going to wear off a bit all week.

pisceans: sweet icthus, you'd better get to writing and talking. it doesn't need to be frivolous, fictional, or particularly creative, but it can be. what it does need is to be heartfelt and informative. then share it. with strangers if you must, but there's a manifesto of some kind within you that is ready to emerge.

[abeautifulblog]

thoughts on the Barbie movie

Finally got around to seeing the Barbie movie -- I think some of its messaging could have been clearer, but on the whole it was a lot of fun, and one of the most visually-innovative things I've seen onscreen in ages. So much stuff these days bills itself as "deconstruction," when more often than not it's just a mean-spirited mockery of something the writers don't actually understand. The Barbie movie is deconstruction done right, by people who are deeply in the know about the material (which in this case equals the entire Barbie mythos/ideology), and love it anyway, warts and all. Good deconstruction is both a critique and a love letter.

The theme that the movie understands and communicates most clearly is about the impossible, contradictory directives that are constantly put on women -- "you need to be assertive, but you mustn't be a bitch", etc -- and how unfair it is that half the population isn't given the same respect and the same chance at success. Barbieland flips the script so that the Kens are the empty-headed ornaments while Barbies run the world (which I suspect is what made a lot of men so viscerally uncomfortable with the movie), but that's also eventually recognized to be just as unfair as the Real World where patriarchy reigns.

What's a lot muddier is the messaging around how exactly men participate in the patriarchal oppression of women, and how the patriarchy harms them too. Because patriarchy is a pyramid scheme -- and not all men are on the top of that pyramid, nor can they all be. It convinces men to strive for an unattainable ideal of masculinity (not unlike the unattainable ideal that Barbie represents for femininity, actually!) and then penalizes those who fall short for not being "man enough," and paints it as a personal failing, not one that's baked into the system.

A lot of the gags around Ken Discovers Toxic Masculinity legitimately had me in stitches, because oh my god, too true, but then it didn't really offer any conclusions about it. Granted, this is the Barbie Movie not the Ken Movie, and he already gets more of a character arc than female love interests usually do, so I'm not going to rend my garments all "BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MENNNNS??"..... but if you're not going to follow through on toxic masculinity, then maybe better to leave that particular can of worms unopened. There's more than enough for feminism to talk about without it.

Personally, I would have preferred if Ken weren't an antagonist -- if he'd just been the supportive himbo boyfriend who cheerfully follows Barbie on her journey of self-discovery, and backs her every play, and has never had a mean thought in his empty head, which is kind of what the promo materials led me to expect -- but that would have been an entirely different plot. (Possibly one in which Ken encounters the real world and finds that the men there think he should tone down his self-expression (for coming off as too GAY) and be less of a simp for his girlfriend, and he's like, Wow that sounds terrible actually, no thank you!)

In any case, I don't envy the women who are now having uncomfortable conversations with their husbands and boyfriends who got mad about the movie and went on the offensive. Because this is not a movie that softshoes its message to coddle to men's fee-fees -- its male characters are largely mocked and/or marginalized, and I imagine that a lot of men who saw it, and who haven't ever examined their privilege, came out of it feeling personally attacked, and reflexively wanted to attack it in turn and reject everything it's saying.

To which I'm like… y'all need to sit with your feelings for a minute. Remember that one movie taking the piss out of men does not actually make a single dent in the power and privilege that men enjoy in the real world. And then think about the fact that media BY men (which is most of it) routinely treats women the same way -- frivolous and sidelined, ornaments and sex objects. And the fact that we consider that the normal way of things -- that women are expected to watch themselves being portrayed like that and enjoy it.

(A line that I think should have gotten more weight is at the end when Barbie says, "I want to be the one doing the making, not the thing being made," because it's such a clear, straightforward articulation of the subject vs. object distinction.)

Storytelling-wise (to put on my nerd-for-narrative hat), the third act of the movie runs into difficulty with the fact that this is not about human characters, but about anthropomorphized archetypes of femininity and masculinity -- and how do you write a narratively satisfying "ending" for things that don't actually end? And how do you do that within the context of not just a doll world, but the Barbie world, with a gender-unequal status quo that isn't actually going to change either? With the conflicts they set up, I'm not sure there was a wholly satisfactory way to end it.

But anyway, none of that detracted from my enjoyment of the movie -- it's fun, heartfelt, thought-provoking, a continuous source of pleasure and novelty for the eyeballs, and consistently hilarious. Definitely worth the watch.

(And if you want some feminist-themed media that does do a complex exploration of how the patriarchy fucks men over too, even the men who think they're winning at it, I recommend Agent Carter, it is so so good. (The first season, anyway. 😑) There are five notable male characters in it, and the only one having a good time is the one who's declined to buy into society's narrow idea of what constitutes acceptable masculinity.)

[lipstickmarks]

Morticia Cubed

Sweet Morticia (1964) - Carolyn Jones’ morticia was the most sweet tempered and good natured version. She was gentle and peppered in “dear” and “darling” in every sentence to everyone she cared about, not just Gomez. The way she cared for her plants and kitty cat, feeding them, soothing them with words, referring to herself and gomez as mother and father. She also had anxiety!! let’s not forget!! she was constantly overthinking, espousing some statement and then immediately recanting it. Famously, while standing up and then sitting down in her chair. She said herself that she “lives in constant fear that someone is going to come along and take” gomez away from her. Morticia seems to have some insecurities which probably stem from Ophelia being the favorite and nearly marrying Gomez herself. Let’s not forget, they got very close to being married. They were already at the alter and it looked like there was no way out. Morticia doesn’t show it as outwardly as Gomez but is as madly in love with him. Seeing him almost married to someone she already felt inferior to probably traumatized her. Even though everything worked out in Tish’s favor, she probably still carries that fear. After all, she regards Gomez as handsome, romantic, dynamic, sweet, selfless, and caring. Why wouldn’t someone else come along and realize that? Also, in the episode where Morticia and Gomez have a fight, it only happened because she thought Gomez’ play-acting had truth to it. “I knew it. You do think I’m wasteful!” And she probably only thought that because it’s what she thinks of herself. The Addams’ do have a very abundant catalog of frivolous items and she might be afraid that Gomez does or will eventually resent her for it. Again, this could stem from her upbringing as the less favorable child; mother frump giving ophelia everything she wants and resenting morticia for needing anything. The poor baby 🥺 That’s also why it’s all the more lovely that Gomez is so generous with his affection and words of affirmation bc Trish probably really needs that reassurance that she is the center of his universe. As a mirrorball child, it probably means the world to her. Now, this (and their relationship in general) could be perceived as Gomez being more in love or their love not being equal but they just express themselves differently. (consider candace and jeremy from phineas and ferb. equally obsessed, just expressed in different ways) Gomez’ love language is physical touch and words of affirmation while Morticia’s is acts of service. (they both love quality time. they’re together 24/7!) Gomez makes it known to the entire world that he loves Morticia for her mind, body, and soul. and Morticia, as someone with anxiety, probably doesn’t outwardly express her love. I, myself, am an anxious introvert and I don’t vocalize a lot of things/am generally quiet and not talkative. Not being vocal doesn’t mean the love isn’t there. She loves Gomez in other ways. Like memorizing the entire catalogue of Addams, what they did, when and where they lived, and what they like???? hello, wife goals. She’s always looking out for Gomez too. When she thinks he’s lost everything, she puts everyone in the family to work including herself! When Gomez gets amnesia, she does everything in her power to jog his memory without hurting him and even had to delegate clubbing him on the head to someone else because she couldn’t bear to hurt him 🥺

Also! Morticia is a cryer! the way her lower lip quivers when something really gets to her (and the way Gomez swoops in with a worried “querida?🥺” and a comforting touch… SWOON). Very much a cancer rising.

In the same vein, Morticia is an empath. She always considers other people’s feelings, is thinking of ways to thank people who have visited the Addams house (“we ought to send them a gift, dear!”), and considering how and why someone is particularly sad, ill, upset, out of sorts, etc. and coming up with ways to fix it! Even when Gomez is overwhelmed with his love (lust) for her, she put that aside to focus on the problem at hand. At her core, she is a mother and a caretaker. She’s a gentle, caring, sensitive soul and I love her.

Sexy Morticia (1990s) - Morticia has always been a knock out but they had more room to go full sexy smokeshow with Anjelica Houston’s iteration in the 90s. 60s Morticia was always quelling Gomez’ lust with a stroke to his chin and a promise of “later” but 90s Morticia dialed up the horny to 11. She was allowed to reciprocate Gomez’ lust and vocalize her own. Her first lines were alluding to the wild, crazy, demonic, hedonistic sex she and gomez had the night before and how she wants her black blown out like that again! She has more of a commitment to the dark arts, as was the trend at the time with grunge. Her makeup, wardrobe, and general appearance leaned more into the femme fatale and thus, she became every 90s kid’s sexual awakening. Long Live Anjelica Houston.

Stern Morticia (2019) - I have such a soft spot for the animated movies. They do have their issues as a lot of the jokes were purely made to pander to a modern audience (squad goals, billie eilish, etc). but they’re not without their merit. Casting Oscar Isaac as Gomez Addams was a stroke of brilliance. Now that being said, this is my least favorite version of Morticia. She’s much more stern, with Gomez, with the kids, with grandmama. She very much wanted things a certain way and was upset when the status quo was changing (i.e. wednesday wanting to go outside or go to school) it just came off as controlling. The writers took Gomez and Morticia (a passionate, indulgent husband and a caring, seductive wife) and watered them down into head in the clouds x no nonsense. It was upsetting to see.

[warpaway]

and so comes the timeless question: what do you gift a genius?

dorothea knows she’s not as well-versed as he is in any subject matter. she doesn’t know what kind of texts would impress him, or which ones might be deemed particularly recondite. neither is linhardt the type for frivolous trinkets that mean nothing in the face of knowledge. she spends a week and a half turning the question over in her head. then, finally, the revelation strikes. it's not about what to give a genius, she realizes—rather, what to give a friend. there’s more to linhardt than just his brilliance, just as there is more to her than her voice. they have always offered each other companionship and freedom of choice. she sees no reason to stop now.

when the day arrives, dorothea has made her decision. with a triumphant smile, she presents a small pastry box, carefully wrapped, setting it gently before them as she takes a deliberate step back. "lin! happy birthday~! ♪♫ may you have many more years of fruitful research!"

she watches him closely, and then, with a sudden shift in her posture, her expression changes. "although... i do hate the thought of you spending today tucked behind a desk." there's something dancing in her eyes now—excitement? playfulness? "so, i have a proposal for you. if you'll indulge me, that is." dorothea clears her throat, the edges of her lips twitching. "after you’ve had your cake," she continues, "i’d like you to come with me into town. there’s an old acquaintance of mine who's visiting—a collector of sorts. i’m not entirely sure what they have in their possession, but i know the objects are old and one-of-a-kind. after a bit of conversation, they've agreed to make a special exception just for you. you’ll have the pick of any singular collectible there, no questions asked."

she pauses, letting the offer hang in the air. "what do you say? a little company, some casual browsing... it might do wonders for the mind, yeah?"

since the day had begun, linhardt feels some restlessness stirring inside them. there's something about today, they feel, that they should be witnessing, but they keep coming up blank. the truth behind the restlessness is just out of their reach, on the tip of their tongue, nagging fruitlessly in the back of their mind.

so, he intends to spend it the same he might spend every day. alone. studying. research. it is, after all, what he enjoys doing most, even if the restlessness makes it a little more difficult today. what did he forget?

dorothea arrives with the answer. there's hardly a moment between her producing the strange little box for them and the words that make it all clear - happy birthday.

linhardt's hands reach for the box before she's even finished talking. a glimmer lights up his previous half-lidded gaze, almost as though he's suddenly wide awake. he's got the box opened before she continues with an addendum, and only that prevents him from instantly digging in.

on a normal day, they may hesitate in their answer, but today the restless nagging has proved to be the only internal reminder they have that they are, almost suddenly, an entire year older. they offer their friend a warm smile, obviously pleased with both the gift and her secondary offer.

"thank you, dorothea," they reply. "that does sound interesting. to be honest, i'd completely forgotten what day it is. no wonder i'm having trouble focusing even on what i like. i'm not sure if your contact will have anything interesting, but... taking a look couldn't hurt anything. browsing oddities can be quite the fun diversion, i'd say."

his eyes return to the cake. it's pristine, pleasantly iced, and it looks like a fluffy dreamland of sugar - as though it may melt on the tongue.

"did you... intend for me to share, or can i have this treat all to myself?"

[yaminerua]

Rimmer discovering that his real father was the gardener Dennis and managing to find a way to be proud of himself for becoming a second technician in the space corps because he figures his real father would have been proud of him for getting that far warms my heart in a kind of bittersweet way;;

He’s had his entire world turned upside down. His father, or rather the man he has always thought of and believed to be his father, is in fact not his father at all. The weight of constantly not living up to expectation, constantly disappointing, lagging behind his brothers, never being Rimmer enough in his father’s eyes takes on a new light when he learns that he is a Rimmer only in name, not by bloodline.

His real father was a gardener, and yes Rimmer referred to him as a babbling imbecile when he was first told, but clearly Dennis was good at his job, good with his hands in practical ways. Maybe he wasn’t an academic type, maybe he even had the same struggles that Rimmer himself experiences and that’s what led him to something more hands-on. But he’s good at what he does and was presumably happy to do it too.

When Rimmer is hearing the news, he’s told he no longer descends from a line of Austrian princes and French royalty but artisans, gardeners. People the Rimmers would look down on but whose individual skills are still very much a valuable and precious thing.

Lister jokes that a billion piece jigsaw finally falls into beautiful place but in a way he’s right.

Rimmer has been shown in the books to have enjoyed creative things in his youth. He was all too happy to colour in maps of the solar system with extreme care and attention to detail, and later in life he colour codes his revision timetables until they resemble minor works of art themselves. And although it’s a deleted scene there’s also a moment where we see him trying to paint miniature models with the aid of a hologram box. So even now something of that has survived as a minor hobby. It’s clear there was a burgeoning creative streak in him that was squashed by his family’s lack of appreciation for art and crafts. Something they surely viewed as nothing more than frivolous time-wasting pursuits, unlike something productive like becoming an officer. Something menial in their eyes despite the very real skills needed to create something with your own hands.

Given enough encouragement to pick up a craft and stick to it he would probably find that it comes to him a lot more easily, a lot more naturally than studious, complicated academic stuff that requires lots of reading and memorising and calculating. He’d find that he’s good with his hands, and a practical learner who retains things much more easily when he’s able to work at it physically. And he would surely enjoy expressing himself through creative endeavours a bit more if he could just give it a chance.

I understand that he still wants to have a goal to aim towards, and since he’s spent his entire life and most of his borrowed time as a hologram attempting to become an officer then of course he’s going to be reluctant to give it up. He’s spent so much time trying to become an officer, what’s the point in giving up now? I guess it’s something that would take time for him to really consider letting go of. It has defined so much of his existence for so long but so much of THAT was dictated by the expectations of a man he now knows isn’t even his real father.

When he played that message from his father it was to try to free himself from that. He even says that although he was only supposed to play it after he became an officer, by playing it beforehand it means he doesn’t care what his father thinks, that he’s free of him. But that’s easier said than done.

It would have been nice to see him leave that goal behind, to shed it along with the weight of all the other expectations that were placed on his shoulders, to cast aside the mould he was never able to make himself fit no matter how hard he tried.

But I think that with everything his life has been it’s to be expected that it would be a slow, gradual process. How do you throw away everything you thought you had to be all at once? What’s left of yourself when everything you’ve become was built around those expectations? Who will you become afterwards?

I hope he figures that out and makes peace with it someday;;

[astrophobica]

the one where patton and remus get married and nobody’s happy about it (logince)

warnings: emotional turmoil

Logan's hand stopped millimeters from pushing the venue bathroom door open. Why would he do something like that? Because on the other side he could hear someone crying.

Not normal crying, either. They were heartwrenching, bitter sobs that sounded like they were trying to be muffled, though the attempt wasn't working too well by Logan's determination. He hesitated a moment longer, then made up his mind and pushed inside.

Roman Prince, brother to the groom and best man to his now-husband stood hunched over one of the pristine sinks with a tearstained face that betrayed him even as he scrambled to hide it from Logan and look casual. "Oh- hey."

"If you don't mind me asking," Logan said slowly, not moving from where he blocked the exit. "Are you alright?"

Roman snorted, though the effect was lost on his blotchy complexion. "Take a wild guess, Sherlock."

"I'll take that as a no." Logan stiffly started to raise an arm as a halfhearted offer for a hug, but lowered it gratefully as Roman just stared at him. "Would you like to talk about it to a stranger?"

The other scrubbed at his face with the heel of his palm before replying, "And why should you care?"

"There's a kind of simple grace achieved through letting problems go to people who aren't affected by it," he replied. "It seems you could use someone to tell it to."

Roman studied him for a few seconds, then sighed and looked back at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "...I was in love with Patton," he admitted, in a voice so soft that Logan had to strain to hear it. "Oh, who am I kidding- I still am."

Oh, Logan thought.

"I imagined this as my wedding, my big day with the love of my life and a happily ever after," he said, fingers curling on the edge of the porcelain sink. "What kind of a fool was I?"

"The worst kind," Logan whispered, throat closing as he thought of sleepless nights spent on frivolous DIY science kits, of yelling facts over documentaries playing on cable, of stolen jam and pineapple anchovy pizza and blue hair dye that came out looking sickly green. "The kind of fool that loves with all his heart, loves to the point of watching them go with a smile on his face and an ache in his chest." Roman blinked, looking back over at Logan with a curious expression.

"...You wouldn't happen to be speaking from experience, would you?"

"I am." He didn't meet Roman's gaze. "Quite coincidentally, it was one of the grooms from today as well."

"Patton does have a way of making people fall for him, doesn't he?"

"Not Patton." Logan left him to connect the dots.

"...My brother?" Much to Logan's chagrin Roman started snickering, and while it was an improvement over crying he found he didn't much care for it. "You fell for Remus?"

"Stop it," Logan snapped. "I should've known better than to try and help-"

"No- wait, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry," Roman hastily amended, reaching after him as Logan turned to leave. "I just- I thought it was funny- we're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

He hesitated. "I...suppose we are."

Roman looked at him for another moment, then pulled out a pen from his breast pocket and snatched a paper towel from the dispenser. He scribbled something on it, then handed it to Logan. "My number," he elaborated, looking sheepish. "If you wanted to talk after the whole...yeah."

Logan folded the brown paper into a neat square and tucked it into his pocket with a tiny smile. "Duly noted. I'd suggest washing up a bit before going back out to deal with the wolves," he added, motioning at his cheeks.

Roman flushed in embarassment, turning back to the sink to splash water onto his face. "...Thank you."