#i may not understand you

[leolovesthings]

[ishouldsleepbut]

this came to me about 0.2 seconds after the stream ended

[jasperyourmutt]

Get me real drunk under the pretense you’re going to use my body in nefarious ways only to give me head scritches until I pass out and get a full nights sleep

[marshmellowtea]

trying to interact with cis woman-centric feminist media as a trans man (especially a gnc trans man) is a simultaneously bizarre and exhausting experience lmao. do you know how offputting it is to read about how men are the root of all evils in the world and how they'll never understand what it's like to be a woman when you literally have boobs and wear dresses and look far more like barbie than you ever will ken like please motherfucker i don't think i'm incapable of understanding your experiences actually. el oh el

[starmaker-astral]

I JUST REALIZED

HELP

I always had troubles figuring out how the stuttering from Aziraphale could say "I can't-" or whatever and some people made fun how the "aga-" sounded so I just thought it was a weird sound but nvm.

Then I randomly rewatched the last 15 minutes remembering that his look meant "do it again"

BUT NO. NOT JUST HIS LOOK BUT HIS STUTTERING TOO???

"Ag-" AGAIN ???????

AZIRAPHALE WHAT

I CAN HEAR IT NOW

Why am I so late 💀 I saw no one talking about it im confused

[wilcze-kudly]

I am definetly in the minority here, but I was always so deeply touched by Mai's confession during that scene.

There's just something about Mai's confession that makes me feel so unbearably sad. I think the first thing that hits me is just how... empty she seems in this situation compared to the rest of the Firesome Foursome. Zuko is angry™️ and lashing out, Ty Lee is sad and concerned and Azula is posturing. But Mai is just so devoid of even sadness around her chidlhood trauma.

It's sort of like she shut down emotionally to some extent, (even more than usual) especially after her fight with Zuko.

This is quite a common reaction to arguments from someone who was raised to be obedient and non-confrontational, so I'm not surprised she was acting like this.

Analysing Mai's behaviour on the beach is interesting.

She seems to try to reach out to Zuko in her own, tepid little way by greeting him, but clams back up when he asks her where "her new boyfriend" was. This leads to her smacking his hand away when he tries to reach out to her by asking if she's cold. They're both trying to mend the bridge, but end up escalating the conflict further.

She remains silent for a good while, but does speak up in order to defend Ty Lee from Zuko lashing out. Despite this, when Zuko persists, Mai doesn't push the issue, perhaps due to her upbringing to be placid.

Due to this, I find it intriguing when Mai mocks Ty Lee for attention seeking, since she had attempted to defend Ty Lee from Zuko's ridicule. But perhaps its due to jealousy or frustration by Ty Lee's freely expressed sorrow and trauma that made Mai lash out in her own way.

Or it's just because the writers didn't know how to jump from Ty Lee's traumadump to Mai's lol

This is where we get into the meat and potatoes of Mai's confession.

Ty Lee bites back at Mai and parrots Zuko's opinion of Mai being "a big blah" as he said.

Ty Lee : Well, what's your excuse, Mai? You were an only child for fifteen years, but even with all that attention, your aura is this dingy, pasty, gray ... Mai : I don't believe in auras. Zuko: Yeah, you don't believe in anything. Mai : Oh, well, I'm sorry I can't be as high-strung and crazy as the rest of you. Zuko: I'm sorry, too. I wish you would be high-strung and crazy for once instead of keeping all your feelings bottled up inside. She just called your aura dingy. Are you gonna take that?

I think what's interesting here is that while Ty Lee saw Mai as recieving the attention Ty Lee had craved, Mai seemed to receive less loving, parental attention, and more scrutiny. Mai's parents also seem to be actually rather neglectful emotionally towards Mai and them just leaving Tom Tom unsupervised behind a screen in Omashu leaves me questioning if they actually cared that much.

Mai deflects, not adressing Ty Lee's question, but rather focusing on the nebulous concept of auras instead. When Zuko butts in, trying to rile her up, Mai gives a sarcastic apology. I find it very interesting that she sets hereself so aside from the others in terms of her not being "high strung and crazy", because it really shows the difference in Mai's upbringing and that of her companions. Azula and Zuko were raised to be leaders and fighters, and their "firebender instincts" were encouraged, while Ty Lee persumably had to compete for attention with her siblings. While Mai was raised with the :be seen and not heard" mentality.

Now is also a good time to mention that I think Mai has almost comically obvious signs of depression, which wouldn't be a stretch.

Zuko calling Mai out for not getting angry over Ty Lee insulting her aura leads me to my next point. Persumably, being a child raised by parents like Michi and Ukano, Mai wasn't allowed to voice her discomfort, offence or upset. Hell we see this in Omashu when Mai complains about being bored and Michi basically shuts her down and tells her to enjoy it.

I mean look at the expression Michi gives Mai when she starts complaining about being bored, a very normal teenager thing to do.

And when Mai finally does speak her mind, it is no less heartwrenching.

Mai : What do you want from me? You want a teary confession about how hard my childhood was? Well, it wasn't. I was a rich only child who got anything I wanted... as long as I behaved and sat still, and didn't speak unless spoken to. My mother said I had to keep out of trouble. We had my dad's political career to think about.

The first thing that jumps out at us is how Mai presents her trauma. She doesn't explicitly express any pain or sadness, despite it being rather obvious to us. This is in stark contrast to the rest of the group. Ty Lee and Zuko are both very open about their negative emotions, hell, even Azula admits that Ursa's actions hurt her.

But Mai? Mai kneecaps her complaint. This can also be seen as an effect of her upbringing. No complaining, no making herself inconvenient for mom and dad.

We also see the theme of conditional love, an implied idea that Michi and Ukano would only give Mai affection or gifts if she acted the way they wanted her to. Now conditional love from people who are meant to raise you will fuck you up.

The comics also add that Michi actively told Mai scary stories about the Kemurimage to keep her in line. Now, telling kids stories about magical beings to get them to behave isn't anything new, but it appears to be so bad that Mai had nightmares over it. Also we're in a world where spirits actually exist, evil chidnapper spirits don't seem too far out the realm of possibility.

Also as someone who got raised by a heavily Catholic mother who made me believe I would burn in hell for an eternity if I even mildly displeased her, I do sympathise

Azula: Well, that's it, then. You have a controlling mother who had certain expectations, and if you strayed from them, you were shut down. That's why you're afraid to care about anything, and why you can't express yourself. Mai : You want me to express myself? [Stands up and yells.] Leave me alone! Zuko: I like it when you express yourself. [Approaching, attempting to put a hand on her shoulder.] Mai : Don't touch me! I'm still mad at you. Zuko: My life hasn't been that easy either, Mai. Mai: Whatever. That doesn't excuse the way you've been acting.

I love when Mai yells at Azula for frying to psychoanalyse her. Like Azula was right, but it understandably upset Mai, and it's a good thing she expressed that. It means she's growing.

I also do adore that Mai does not let Zuko get away with acting out, particularly towards her. I like that the writer's didn't just have Mai give Zuko a free pass because he had a shitty life and she actively called him out on his actions. It's probably my favourite part of their relationship. And Mai expressing so much anger and upset is a perfect crescendo to her little scene.

I don't know why but Mai confession scene just holds so much weight and emotion for me, I can't help but feel something whenever I watch it.

Also, side note, I find it an interesting detail that Azula's confession only came after the fire was extinguished. Perhaps it wasn't intentional but it kinda feels like its symbolising that the light "went out" for Azula (at least narrativewise) and that while Zuko, Ty Lee and Mai would be able to get out of their shitty situations and from under the Fire Nation's influence, she would not.

[heymacy]

IAN GALLAGHER + his journey with bipolar disorder

╰┈➤ “At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of." - Carrie Fisher

[theminecraftbee]

it's fun because the things that appeal to me most about the three canonical evil clones/twins of hermitcraft are similar, but they're all different.

evil x appeals to me because he is very much Just Some Guy, for all that he's an evil force of nature; when he's sympathetic, it's because he's Just Some Guy who's been shackled to the terrible fate of being "evil", but when he's a villain (like in season eight!), the things that make him villainous also aren't the supernatural aesthetics, but the ways he is also the evil of being just some guy. for all the lightning and thunder and echo of xisuma's appearance, he isn't anyone special. (xisuma is.)

helsknight appeals to me for almost the opposite reason: this isn't just some guy, this is you, explicitly, a demon that possessed your clone and possesses all the things that are bad about you, magnified. he's a mirror, inherently, in his very creation. in the stories where he's a threat, he's menacing because he's a mirror of someone we should like; in the stories where he's sympathetic, we must confront how much of ourselves are also mirrors. (what happens if you don't like what you see in those mirrors, anyway?)

empires!false is somewhere in-between; she's not a mirror but she is the result. she's learning something you'd rather have forgotten about your past, and at her most sympathetic, we feel for the way she's been cast aside so false can 'fix her', the things done to her memory. at her least sympathetic, though, she's reflecting these pains onto others; violence begets violence, and even with it missing, the past begets her. there's no looking at empires!false without seeing the echoes of what false did to her. (there's no looking at false without it either.)

............then they also all appeal to me by being ridiculous failguys but like if you want to be DRAMATIC ABOUT IT, the ways they appeal to me are like the above,

[starrydragoness]

Hii, i hope this doesnt sound too weird or anything (im really new to requesting), but can i request a safeword scenerio for dr Ratio? Maybe he is uptight because of some idiots he had to deal with, or nervy because of overworking, and in bed he starts to talk and move harsher than usual, making his s/o safewording. If possible please also how he would take care of them afterwards, thank you :D!

A/N: Thank you for your request! I do hope this is what you had in mind :) Implemented some of my own hcs into this, so I do hope Ratio isn't too OOC. I just don't see him as mean or harsh with his s/o as I see some people portray him as- Gosh I can ramble sm about him, I'll stop here. Please send more Dr Ratio asks/requests in, I'd love to ramble about him

Content: NSFW, mdni! Ratio being a secret sap inside(?), gn reader but can be hinted at female anatomy, no pronouns used

Fervent thrusts of his hips into yours knocked the air out of your lungs, sending your eyes rolling back into your head as shameless moans flew from your mouth in a torrent. Veritas seemed completely insatiable, groaning into your ear and whispering dirty things.

“You’re so tight, did it take so little to get you all wet and worked up, hm?” It was like he was scolding you.

You could’ve guessed how his day has been, judging solely from the bruising grip he had on your hips. You would’ve asked about it had he not all but cornered you and stolen your breath away with an onslaught of kisses and nips to your neck and chest. Clothes were torn off from you and him all the same, but somewhere along the lines it became apparent his frustration began to blur, work anger seeping into this intimate and vulnerable moment as his hips pistoned into yours with little regard. It wasn’t like him, in all his stubbornness and in all pursuit of knowledge he’d never treat you like a piece of meat. He had made a mess of you, a heap of flailing, boneless limbs and hickeys and bite marks along your collarbone and chest.

A lewd squelch accompanied the slapping of skin as his cock rammed into you. “Ve-Veritas-” you panted, hands moving from around his back to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and leaving behind red crescent moons. “Slow down, ngh-” Those words fell on deaf ears, your moans and small whimpers being the only thing echoing in his mind. One of his big hands unlatched from your hip and came up to your throat, his fingers squeezing lightly on the sides until you felt yourself getting dizzy with pleasure, but it was all too suffocating, too overwhelming and so overstimulating, you felt your heart race and cold sweat break over your skin. 

Veritas groaned into your ear before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, bottoming out inside you over and over and over again until he felt you squeezing his shaft and fluttering around him. 

“Y-Yellow! Yellow!” 

Veritas quickly lost his hold on your neck, his body reacting faster than he had time to process it. All he knew is how uncomfortably tight his throat became when he heard you squeak out the safe word, his whole stomach churning as he pulled away. And only then did he really see how reckless he had become.

Your teary eyes stared up at him, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths to quell the fire within your lungs. You swallowed thickly, averting your gaze in what you could only understand was embarrassment but as he stumbled over wordless questions, his mouth opening and closing as he slid himself out of you and all pleasure forgotten, you couldn’t help but look back at him and open your arms in a silent plea for a hug. "Just hold me.."

He obliged without a second thought, his big arms enveloping you in a warm embrace, but he was hesitant to touch you after hearing the safe word fall from your mouth. 

He rolled onto his side, dragging you with him and letting your curl up against him however you wished as you hid your face in his chest. One arm was safely secure around you while the other hand absentmindedly ran through your hair, soothing your nape in hopes to bring you further comfort.

“My.. dearest.. What have I done? Are you in pain? Did I hurt you?” his tone, much softer and so full of concern, licked at your ears and sent a shiver up your spine. He sounded more hurt than you.

Once you regained your breath you broke away from his chest and looked up at him, all disheveled and messy with eyes still glassy. 

“I’m sorry.. But you were.. quite overwhelming- You came home and you wanted to be intimate, and that’s okay. But you were starting to take out your frustrations on me, Veritas..” you told him earnestly. There were no lies between you, and Aeons knew he’d know if you lied to him. He grimaced at your words, not because you said them, but because he couldn’t believe he allowed himself to fall that low. You felt him huff, felt his warm breath against your skin and he pulled you closer. 

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for- It is me who should be saying so. And I am so sorry.. I.. I don’t know how I lost myself so..” he trailed off, his eyes swallowing you in their plea for forgiveness or perhaps they were telling you to scold him - he really didn’t mind, as in his head, right now he felt as if he betrayed your trust. His facade of perfection crumbled as he gave into these animalistic urges and he hurt you along the way.

Sighing, you pushed yourself up a little until you could peck his cheek. His lashes fluttered as he took in the sight of you, blinking at you before leaning in to press his lips against your, the palm of his hand resting on the small of your back and pressing you against his warm body.

“Are you hurt?” he asked again, looking into your eyes. 

“Sore.. probably gonna turn into a plum later from bruises-” you tried to lighten the mood with that little joke but Veritas instead let out a sound bordering between a sigh and scoff, clicking his tongue as frowned, angry at himself. “I’m sorry…” he whispered as his arms dragged you along with him and his other hand pressed at your nape to pull your head to his lips. One, two, three, four and many more kisses fell all across your face, making their way all around before reaching your lips, upon which he placed the softest of kisses.

“I’m sorry.. I'll.. You stay here while I go and draw us a bath. I’ll be quick” He’d say as he pulled a blanket over you before sliding from underneath you. 

“Don’t forget the bath salts” you smiled, teasing him and holding onto the fingers of his hand, not allowing him to peel himself away from you just yet, and this prompts a smile to tease his lips but he is not yet ready to really forgive himself until he has soothed your bruises away.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes while his cheeks flushed as he pulled away after nodding his head firmly in return

“When have I ever forgotten the precious bath salts?”

Ⓒ starrydragoness. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[ratsreading]

Thinking of what it must be like to be loved by a ship like the Perihelion. I think it must be a little like being loved by a god. A minor god and one with true personality, a god from a pantheon, with limited power and no claims to be all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving, no claims of being the One True God. And yet, a god. Its mind so powerful it can be present with you and yet in a hundred other places simultaneously, it holds you safe inside of it - or not (as Mother Nature holds us safe on Earth - or not). It can rain destruction when angered or help you if it wishes. Inside of its realm (itself), within its dominion, it sees all, controls all (not other people, but the very ground you walk on, the air you breathe). Outside of it, it can help you if it sees what is happening, but is not in control of everything. If you are within its reach, it is there, present with you always, a voice in your head, a friend (because this god spaceship loves you).

[cuntbrow]

pov you're two besties being touched up under limned radiance before creating gay history

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[otome-dissection]

nah cuz say what you will about the new yakuza live action but this shit is fucking gay

[cannibalistic-deer]

It baffles me that I've seen people say "Alastor is canonically sex and touch repulsed" as a reason people "shouldn't" be shipping Alastor sexually/romantically.

Why assume that the sex repulsion applies to every relationship in his life, permanently? Some aces are sex favorable, or may develop more favorable feelings for specific people, even if otherwise repulsed.

And the same applies to touch repulsion. That's such a weak argument. Alastor canonically, and very clearly, is okay with or possibly even enjoys touch in specific situations. He does seem to be touch repulsed in general, but again, there are specific people it doesn't apply to. (Rosie is the best example, since with anyone else it is more brief, but Rosie touches him, and is the one initiating that, frequently.)

All types of attraction, or comfort levels with different manners of affection, are fluid. This isn't ever an excuse to invalidate real people who are telling you their identities, but it does mean that assumptions really can't be made about what a person would or wouldn't do.

And this type of thinking is what really leads to invalidating real people, because even if you think "being asexual means never having sexual attraction," and then an ace person shares that they think they might have experienced sexual attraction at some point but still identify as ace... then you have to be open to that. You cannot put sexualities in boxes. This applies to all sexualities.

I'm a fictive of Alastor myself, and I am sex repulsed, so I understand the discomfort, but I also understand that people are not harming any real, living person by making fanworks where Alastor is having sex. It also doesn't mean they're inherently rejecting his asexuality.

If people want to ignore Alastor being aroace completely, that's different. Alastor is canonically aroace (or asexual at minimum), and he always will be. But jumping to conclusions about what people think because you're too naive and stubborn to understand that sexuality and attraction doesn't fit into tidy little boxes is harmful and is a way of thinking that must be changed.

This became longer than intended because I was mostly thinking about the "Alastor is touch repulsed to everyone!" claims some people make, which are frankly incompatible with canon. But the rest of this post is also true.

[fist-of-vengeance]

hey. can people please stop parroting "stan only regained his memory because it's a disney show" like it's an objective fact and somehow a storytelling flaw? because that's reductionist and straight up untrue. stan regaining his memory is not a random deus ex machina, it's clearly established earlier in the season that the memory gun isn't permanent via mcgucket's storyline. as soon as mcgucket watches the tapes in society of the blind eye, he begins to gradually heal and regain his memories. it makes perfect sense that mabel's scrapbook (and in journal three, stan and ford's old home movies) would function the same way for stan.

realistically, stan probably wouldn't have remembered his entire life in the span of a week, but his recovery is obviously being condensed for the sake of pacing. there's a ton of awesome fanworks based on the idea that he's still recovering new memories long after the end of the show, particularly from the darkest period of his life when he was homeless and estranged from his family. but that's not relevant to the finale. what matters for the show's purposes is that stan remembers the events of the past summer, so that his goodbye with dipper and mabel at the end of the episode holds dramatic weight. because THAT'S HOW YOU WRITE A STORY.

[wolfythewitch]

To add onto to what I mentioned about aroace stuff, I think it's just in general. sometimes I look at ships and I don't get why they like each other? Like I think it's cute but when I think about it a little bit, I don't really understand it fundamentally. That could either be a product of being aroace, raised heavily religious and conservative, or a weird concoction of all three lmao

I think this is part of the reason why my favorite pairings are usually already established/married. Otherwise I just! Don't understand