#so the whole point is that there's other ways and we will always try for something better

[pearlymel]

Sylus remembers clearly the day he found out you were both having twins. Twins, as in two babies as yours and his first children.

How you almost passed out when the doctor delivered the news, but he was quick to tell you that everything would be okay.

He's going to be the best husband for you, and for the twins..?

they sure were going to be a handful.

“Sylus!” Sylus' head snapped towards the kitchen, where your voice had come from, “come get your son before i cook him!”

He knew that you were joking. Probably.

the kitchen, one hand holding his little girl's hand guiding her along. "Now, now," he called out as he entered the kitchen, "No cooking the children, sweetie.”

You let out a sigh when you watch the boy run away while letting out giggles, his face and hands full of white flour.

Seeing this, Sylus let out an exasperated sigh as well, his gaze shifting from his running figure to the mess of flour on the floor. "Sorry about the mess he made," he muttered before looking over at you, a sheepish smile on his face. "Go to your brother,” he urges the girl next to him, she nods slowly before running off to him.

“I'll feed him to the ducks one day.” You say with determination, still focused on trying to make this dinner a success after the mess.

But Sylus chuckled at your threat, knowing all too well that you were only half-serious. He could see the twitching in your eyes, but he also knew that you loved both of your children dearly, even if they could be a handful sometimes.

”Though I suspect he would probably find a way to befriend them and make a mess with them.”

“.. why are you right?”

“because i know my children,” he says proudly, then makes slow steps from behind you to not alert you so suddenly, his arms snaking around your waste with his chin resting on your shoulder, “what are you making?”

You smile, “dinner.”

"Smartass," he teased, "I meant what kind of dinner are you making?” he whispers calmly, a soft conversation between you two, with his thumb rubbing ideally on you.

“hm, i could be dinner… but oh well.” you sigh dramatically and he laughs quietly.

You couldn't even continue because you hear a faint “ewwww.” Coming from the corner.

You both glance back at the two heads peeking out from the wall, and you roll your eyes.

"and here I was, having a moment with your mother," he said to them, his voice still low yet amused. "You two really have a knack for interrupting, don't you?”

Your little girl was the first to speak, “it was his idea.” She started quietly, her fingers fidgeting together, but her brother only gasped, “she's lying!”

"Oh, really now?" he’s skeptical, and he approaches both of them with his arms crossed, “Hmm, it's always the innocent ones who lie, isn't it?”

“but I'm not—”

“liar.” The little one huffs and looks away with annoyance, but the minute he could hear his sister im the verge of tears, he knew he messed up.

Sylus was quick to notice her distraught demeanor, his heart clenching slightly at the sight of her on the verge of tears.

"you," Sylus pointed out at the other twin, his voice firmer and authoritative, "did you cause the mess?”

…

Sylus let out a deep sigh, his stern expression softening slightly. He knew he was just being a mischievous little boy, but he also had to nip such behavior in the bud.

"You know better than to blame others for your pranks,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Apologize to your sister.”

The girl sniffled, the threat of tears subsiding as she accepted her brother's apology. She wiped away her stray tears with the back of her hand, a small smile forming on her face.

Sylus nodded approvingly, he patted both of them on their head gently. "There we go, now go back and play together.”

This whole time you were watching the scene with the biggest smile on your face, and Sylus was already prepared for your upcoming teasing words.

“and the father of the year goes to.. you.” ... except he didn't expect this rare sweet statement of yours. He's reminded of why he put a ring on it in the beginning.

"What can I say?" he replied, his voice filled with pride. "I have a talent for handling troublemakers." He placed both of his arms on the counter to your sides, boxing you in, "though, to be fair, they get their mischievous streaks from their mother," he added, and you gasp before turning around. burnt dinner it is.

[eregyrn-falls]

^^^^^^ !!!!!

There's so much I'd like to add but it would be carrying coals to Newcastle. Great post! (And a lot of great tag-rants in the notes, too.)

I did want to add one thought to this set of tags from @achromaticegoist, about the punch in particular.

It took me a long while to realize it, but not only is the punch reflective of a whole lot of things about Ford's state of mind on his arrival back through the portral... but, it also serves as some really interesting closure (and I'm not even sure the writers realized it).

In the episode, it's told out of order, so we see the punch FIRST. But later in the ep, when we see the fight that led to Ford going through the portal in the first place, what happens is that he and scan are scuffling, and there's that moment when Ford pushes Stan off with his foot and inadvertantly presses Stan against the glowing (apparently red-hot) symbol on the side of the control panel.

Stan screams in pain, of course. And immediately, Ford is suddenly worried, and contrite. He says, "Stanley! Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! Are you alr-"

And Stan punches him in the face.

That punch is what sends Ford stumbling out into the portal room and falling against the activation lever; and landing inside the danger zone. Ford does get up, but before he gets a chance to say anything else, Stan shoves the journal into his chest, Ford begins to float, and the disaster unfolds from there.

We don't spend enough time thinking that, basically, from Ford's point of view (if he replayed those last moments over and over in his head, as he probably did), the last things that Stan did to him was: punch him in the face, and then shoving him into the portal. The latter was accidental (though disastrous); but the first kind of wasn't. Ford stopped fighting, switching to concern and apology. While Stan lashing out due to the pain is understandable, Stan's punch is what prevents the fight from being over.

Ford coming out of the portal 30 years later and immediately punching Stan in the face kind of creates a book-end with that earlier punch from Stan, doesn't it? Ford getting to hit back the way he didn't (wouldn't?) 30 years ago. (He stands up, but he just stands there angrily staring at and listening to Stan as he approaches. He doesn't try to leap at Stan again or try to wrestle him for the book, etc. Was Ford, effectively, done fighting the moment Stan got seriously hurt?)

As I said, I'm not sure the writers were thinking about that consciously. I don't remember hearing them comment about it (i.e. that Ford's punch was a mirror of the punch that Stan gave him 30 years prior). But I do like to look at what's written and think about it in terms of, these scenes are deliberately written, the way it goes and the details included are chosen, often at the end of a long process of collaboration. I think that what's chosen for the final version is always very interesting.

And I just don't often see people discuss that moment where Ford stops fighting, and immediately becomes worried and apologetic. Not least because, like... up to that point in the series, we haven't seen Stan be apologetic very often. A few times, yes! And it's always notable when he does it. It clashes with the exterior he presents to the world; the man for whom saying "Please" gives him physical pain, etc. Some of which is meant for laughs, too! And some of which is just the product of being hardened by experience and so on.

It tells us something, I think, that Stan truly getting hurt, and screaming in pain, is enough to end Ford's desire to fight. That even after 10+ years of estrangement, he's that ready to be concerned for Stan; and that he's that ready with an apology. Later reads of Ford (post-portal) will portray him as the man who won't say "thank you", and I have other thoughts and feelings about that. But getting back to this, it's the show's choice to have Ford stop their fight and make a slight turn towards a sort of reconciliation. When they could have easily just had him and Stan keep fighting and struggling and the portal turn on because of that. It's such an interesting writing decision; and I just don't hear people dig into what it means for the characters very often.

What's your stance on Ford as a person? Honestly, I believe that for thr majority of canon he is a bad person. But I believe he grew. Still not great though XD

(Love him anyways obvs)

I disagree entirely! I think he's equally as good a person as any of the other main cast.*

*Except Mabel, who, as we all know, is always right about everything.**

(**This is a lighthearted joke. For the love of god, I don't want Mabel discourse in my inbox.)

His biggest sins in the show:

After telling his brother that he was thinking about changing their shared life plans, and then discovering that his brother had gone to the high school that night for no good reason and gone to the science fair for no good reason and messed around near Ford's science project for no good reason and broke it and didn't tell Ford about it... Ford believed Stan did it intentionally and held a grudge for it. You know what, it WOULD be pretty damn hard to believe it was an accident.

Hilariously ill-equipped to cope with Fiddleford's mental health. A guy who responds to "I have anxiety" with "have you tried yoga, it helps me" isn't a bad person, he's clueless. "Character cheerfully enacts a bad idea while a loved one in the background goes NO PLEASE DON'T DO THAT" describes half the episodes of Gravity Falls.

Was successfully manipulated by a professional manipulator into believing his best friend wished him ill. Man, what a terrible person Ford is for being manipulated by a manipulator and saying cruel things to somebody he'd been genuinely convinced was trying to harm him.

??? Didn't say thanks to a guy he was still mad at after the guy fixed a problem he himself had caused. This is a solitary example of stubborn bad etiquette, jesus christ. There's half a dozen different reasons why it makes perfect sense Ford wasn't in the right mindset to feel grateful, this is not something worth indicting his entire character over.

He had high ambitions, which everyone seems to lambast him for, but high ambitions that wouldn't have required doing anybody harm! (Until the professional manipulator started manipulating him into harming the people around him, but we are going to demonstrate some reading comprehension and not blame Ford's underlying morality as a person for things he never would've done if not for Bill's bullying, con artistry, and outright lies.) Like, what is it that he wanted to do with his life? Use his talents to get rich and famous? Shit, that's exactly what Stan wanted to do with his life. It's what Dipper fantasizes about doing with his life. Even Mabel, who thinks about her long-term future the least, dreams big with her art & performances and is already making big money off cheap-ass commissions. What terrible people they all are, for—let me check my notes here—uhhh... unrealistically fantasizing about achieving success in life by doing the things they're good at.

When their dad accuses Stan of lying as a child, Ford puts his entire summer on the line to defend Stan even though he knows Stan is a habitual liar and has no reason to believe Stan is telling the truth this time.

When his new college roommate he barely even knows gets laughed at for proposing an outlandish scientific theory, his first emotion is outrage at this injustice and he drops everything to convince his already-despondent roommate that he was right and help him prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

When he moves to a new town, he tries again and again to befriend his new neighbors, and fails not because he's rude or a jerk, but because he's awkward as hell, tells terrible jokes, and sucks at identifying phoenixes.

When Fiddleford gets hurt around him, he cares about it, feels guilty about putting him in that position, doesn't want it to happen again, and tries his best to help even though he's bad at helping.

When he gets kidnapped by a weird holiday folklore creature, he concludes without even thinking about it that he's now in charge of protecting and rescuing the kidnapped kids. Yeah, then he immediately starts hollering at the folklore creature for trying to impose his religious beliefs on Ford and the kids—but like, Ford was right tho, he just had bad timing.

When he discovers that the Northwest family committed atrocities against their poorer neighbors a century ago, his first instinct is to march up to their house, find the first Northwest he can locate, and give them a piece of his mind for it. Like, this won't even FIX anything. He's just THAT OUTRAGED over the injustice.

When he sees what he thinks is a fortune telling fraud conning the people, he attempts to debunk her because he's mad to see someone cheating other people with lies—and when he can't debunk her, he just leaves her alone rather than harass her about it. Typically, if assholes think somebody's doing something wrong but don't have any proof of it and fail to get proof when they look, they decide they're right anyway and keep giving that person shit. Ford doesn't give her shit. That's the opposite of an asshole move.

When he discovers his Portal To Knowledge (And Fame & Fortune) is actually a Portal To Doom (But Still Possibly Fame & Fortune, Maybe Even Godly Power), he isn't tempted for a second to keep working on it anyway. There is no moment where Bill manages to tempt him. No matter what Bill offers, no matter how long Bill offers, never, at ANY point, does Ford have a SECOND of "but what if I did make a deal with the devil?" the way so many heroes in similar situations often do.

You ever notice that? So often moral moments in the show are presented as choices the characters make. Will or won't Dipper give Bill a "puppet" in exchange for knowledge. Will or won't Stan fight a pterodactyl to protect Mabel's pig. Will or won't Mabel hand Bipper the journal. Ford is never given a "will or won't he" moment over Bill's threats, offers of friendship, or offers of infinite power—he steamrolls straight past them without a second of consideration—because, to him, the selfish, cowardly, easy choice ISN'T EVEN AN OPTION. He doesn't even SEE it as making a choice because the possibility of doing the wrong thing is invisible. A character who wavers first before turning Bill down would look more noble for "overcoming" temptation—it's harder to notice just how much stronger Ford's moral compass must be to not even feel temptation in the first place.

Greed and pride never tempt him to join Bill's side. Exhaustion, despair, and fear never tempt him to give up. He bears up under weeks, possibly months of extreme sleep deprivation, physical torture, psychological torture, emotional torture, threats of death, threats of brainwashing, threats to his family. He doesn't hold up so that he can pat himself on the back for being a hero—if that was all it was he would've gone "screw it, this isn't worth it and nobody would know I'm the one who gave up" a week in—he does it because he simply knows it must be done and because he's so isolated (half because of Bill's influence!) that he believes he's the one who must do it, all alone.

Thinking he has to do it by himself isn't egotism or pride; it's helplessness. He thinks no one else stands a chance. He thinks he's alone.

And, when he discovers his Portal To Knowledge is a Portal To Doom, he immediately feels guilty. No trying to deny the situation to protect his ego. No shuffling the blame off to someone else. No "maybe the apocalypse could have a silver lining!" No locking the door and trying to ignore the problem. He blames himself for being fooled—he IMMEDIATELY takes full responsibility for his actions—and he CONTINUES to take responsibility FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS.

He takes more responsibility than is even warranted—he treats himself like he's an idiot for believing in an APPARENT GOD who's been practicing manipulating humans for thousands of years and who had never given Ford reason to believe the portal was anything but what Bill said it was. He beats himself up to no end every single time his past with Bill comes up. He even keeps beating himself up thirty years later when he's shoving warning notes to future readers in Bill's evil unkillable book!

When he falls into the multiverse, he dedicates his entire life NOT to finding a way to rescue himself, but to finding a way to permanently stop the CHAOS GOD who's still at the threshold of destroying Ford's world and countless others. He makes himself a hated criminal in the process, just to stop Bill. He's ready to spend the rest of his life trying to protect a world he doesn't think he'll ever see again. He does it because, as he sees it, somebody has to stand in between the children and the obnoxious folklore cryptid menacing them, and he's the only adult in this damn cave with the skills and knowledge for the job.

When he gets home, he doesn't tell his family about Bill and his quest because he's afraid that doing so will get them involved and endanger them too—and because he's too deeply ashamed of himself and his mistakes to stand the thought of his family knowing about the horrible things he's done (AGAIN, WHILE BEING MANIPULATED BY THE GOD OF MANIPULATION).

He loves his great-niece and great-nephew the second he lays eyes on them; he nevertheless tries to steer away from them to keep them safe from Bill; and yet he caves to the very first temptation to emotionally bond with his great-nephew he gets, because in spite of his noble "keep them safe" intentions, he wants so so badly to be close to his family.

As pissed as he still is at Stan and even though neither of them can look at each other without hissing like cats, he still makes an attempt to start bridging their divide by inviting him to play DD&MD.

When the apocalypse happens, he immediately puts his life on the line to try to kill Bill.

And when he's captured, isn't fazed for a second by Bill's offers or threats... until his family is threatened. The exact thing he'd been trying to avoid & prevent from the very start.

And when he's reunited with Fiddleford, his immediate reaction is to point out that Fiddleford's well within his rights to hate him—which isn't a new revelation, it's not like Ford had to do any soul-searching to reach this conclusion, he'd concluded that 30 years ago the instant he realized Bill had played him and that he'd been lied to about Fiddleford.

And then he tries to kill Bill again.

And then he's ready to sacrifice his own life to kill Bill—and the only reason he doesn't is because he has a metal plate preventing him from making the sacrifice... but, Stan doesn't have a plate. If Ford hadn't had the metal plate, he would have gladly done the exact same thing Stan did—and he would have thought it was right for him and only him to make that sacrifice, because it's VERY clear he feels (and has felt from the start) that this is all his fault and he's obligated to fix it.

Over and over and over, these are Ford's two defining character traits: getting so pissed off at injustice that his common sense shuts off and he goes into terminator mode until he's righted this wrong as best he can, even when he can't actually do anything about it; and feeling like he's Atlas, weighed down with the full responsibility of fixing everything he's done wrong and made to believe that, for everyone else's sake, he has to do it all alone. Even when doing so puts himself in harm's way, even when he has to put his entire life on hold for it, even if it might cost him his life. Scrape off his awkward social skills, his loneliness, his nerdiness, his endless curiosity, his zealous love of the strange, his starry ambitions, his yearning for recognition and success—scrape his personality down to the bone and that's what you're left with. A man who believes in defending the exploited so strongly that it makes him a little stupid.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that you probably don't think Stan's fundamentally a bad person, and that you probably think that isn't even worth questioning. Stan's made a whole career out of swindling people, conning them out of as much money as he possibly can, stealing, lying, committing a long list of goofily-named crimes, and attempting douchy pick-up artistry on women; and to cap it all off, he held the safety of the entire universe hostage to demand a goddamn "thank you." Don't send me any "But he had reasons—" "But it was only to—" I don't need it, I don't want the essay, I'm not arguing that Stan's a bad guy, it's fine.

But. You can look at Stan's moments of cruelty and unkindness, his uncharitable thoughts, his character flaws, and think, "that doesn't define him. He's more than his cruelest moments and worst mistakes. He's imperfect, but he cares so much and his heart's in the right place, and beneath all the flaws his core is good."

And if you can't do the same for Ford, it's not because he's a worse person. It's because we got two seasons with Stan and five and a half episodes with Ford—and while we saw Stan yearning to fish with the kids or encouraging Mabel to whoop Pacifica's butt at minigolf or crying over a black and white period drama or punching zombies to save his family, we only saw Ford at the worst moments in his life and under the stress of a prolonged apocalyptic crisis—and, it so happens, all the moments he was pissed at the guy we spent two seasons learning to love.

Ford's got moments of cruelty and unkindness, uncharitable thoughts, and character flaws. But, at his core, he's a good person, and he always has been, and he still is.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 3 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3])

lilia: falling through time, desperately trying to help alice

agatha: bitch I'm trying to save myself!!!!! oh she's so awkward when she thinks lilia's going mad. she's a moment away from grabbing a broom and going there, there like in that 30 rock scene

I know they had a relatively low budget for this show and it was such a blessing in disguise. they invested in great sets and instead of cgi they relied on classic cinema tricks that I find so satisfying?? Idk if it's just nostalgia talking. here they simply move the camera away for a moment, lower the lights and move the actor in position, and it makes for an amazing jumpscare.

baby lilia asking 'vuoi vedere?' do you want to see? because it is a choice for lilia. for a long time she chose not to use her gift- she was simply too powerful, she saw too much, and the knowledge of the future scarred her and made her an outcast among others

alice's smile at seeing a vision of her mom T-T

why inconvenient? what was jen doing? she was an obstetrician and midwife. she was helping women out with herbs and pagan knowledge passed down from mother to daughter. Back in the day midwives were struggling to get their skills recognized in an increasingly male dominated field, they were advocating alternative treatments for women constantly humiliated by condescending modern doctors - from forced bed rest to insane asylums to lobotomy in worst case scenarios. think Charlotte Perkins Gilman's short story, The Yellow Wallpaper. think about everything that happened to Virginia Woolf.

we know that alice was a teenager when lorna died in a fire. she wasn't well, alice says, and we see now that she had a drinking problem. it's equally possible that the demon got to her or that she set herself on fire out of desperation. and if lorna could feel her own mother dying, alice could too.

daang great zombie makeup on the teacher lady

lilia when her incredible abilities made her able to see Death: burdened by knowledge way beyond the scope of humanity she goes into exile

agatha when her incredible abilities made her able to see Death: you know what I'm gonna tap that

I saw people saying that because the Road wasn't real nothing that happened in the show mattered, that they all died for nothing. I disagree completely, and not only because Billy's chaos magic is so astonishingly powerful that he can create a functional Road out of thin air. like, it wasn't a trick, he made it real. But more importantly, what happened to these women, their experiences, their growth on the Road is real. Even if Billy didn't do it on purpose, even if it's fucked up that a teenager can essentially go, you know what would be cool? if they all experienced their deepest trauma! but that's the point, that's the point, that's the whole damn point of the show. life is chaos and nonsense and heartbreak, it's up to you to find a meaning where there isn't any. look at lilia! the lesson is not that you're going to die, but what you choose to do with the cards that you're dealt, with the time that you're given.

while Patti clearly has an american accent, she is speaking correct sicilian, tutti morti su' - they could have had her talk in italian and hardly anyone would have noticed, but they went above and beyond with the details. the latin in the show is also rather impressive, like they actually hired experts rather than relying on google translate

agatha has gotten too used to run leaving a pile of bodies behind. not so easy to consider them just food when you have to live alongside them and witness their feelings, is it?? first wanda and now this!

@perpetualanon pointed out yesterday that agatha also had selfish reasons for wanting to save billy, i.e. she didn't want to risk him being poisoned because who knows what horrors a hallucinating billy could create. Yes! exactly that! it's always worth saying that when agatha has these fleeting moments of compassion and altruism it's in the context of a whole lotta selfishness. i think of her as that drawing of Stitch's badness level, her whole body is almost filled to the brim with awfulness and there's only a thin layer of goodness that she's constantly trying to smother. her actions on the Road are almost entirely selfish, but for the first time in centuries she's surrounded by people, like Lilia here and Jen and Alice and especially Billy, who are accidentally nurturing her almost atrophied good side. and lemme tell you she's pissed about it!

of course these two don't know what a sous vide is, one is dirt poor and the other eats people.

I'm gonna take a stand for zoomers here, he might have never learned what counterclockwise means, but millennials like me would also have hesitated and tried to picture it in our minds. because a lot of us lack spacial intelligence and are generally rather dumb

the shock and terror on her face when she hears nicky crying

another great special effect achieved only with lights and the cast shuffling out of frame

they show the darkhold because they need to mislead viewers and can't give nicky's story away just yet, but doesn't it make sense that agatha would see it? all these centuries blaming rio, and deep down agatha is haunted not by Death, but by her own actions and choices. the way she kept Nicky isolated and unsafe. the way she insulted his memory by going on killing sprees instead of letting herself mourn. the way she used the darkhold to corrupt her soul more and more, because she was never brave enough to confront her guilt.

kathryn hahn really said, do you want Emotional Devastation???? do you wanna see a woman SUFFER? do you want your heart put through a blender??? I can do that in TWO seconds

agatha wants to NOT DIE so badly that she has to drop the clown act and give jen a proper pep talk. because she knows what makes people tick and she can uplift just as well as she can destroy, she can help jen because she knows her so well. there's always that potential there, all of agatha's talent and her intelligence and experience could shape her into a great mother and sister in a coven. a potential that evanora refused to see and that will likely never be fulfilled.

and the irony, the irony of never wanting to hurt jen, to deliberately avoid going after her - because she's a midwife. because nicky was stillborn, because she had to give birth alone in the woods. agatha believes with all her heart that jen's work is fundamentally good and important. and yet she was the one who bound and tortured and violated her. she was so fucking focused on herself that she didn't even realize she was tramping and destroying everything in her path like a mad steamroller. she allied with the enemy, she went against her community's best interests. there's a lot to think about there, I really want to explore it more

patti during that hot ones episode

NOW YOU GUYS REMEMBER HER. and of course it's alice who does

your internalized stereotypes are really testing lilia's patience, billy (and while they consider the oven sharon is writhing and dying on the table)

how it started: jen pushing lilia out of the way

how it ended: "you are my sister in the craft" 🥲

I love you patti lupone

alice is strong! alice is noble! alice is pure of heart!

gee i wonder why

they had to add a goonies poster in billy's room because of this scene, but i guess disney didn't want to buy the copyright so the poster says "the goofballs"

agatha shoving everyone and then kicking jen twice for good measure

my guilty pleasure is watching reactors on youtube (don't judge) and everyone, everyone had my same reaction to sharon's death: she is not really dead. it was too unceremonious, too sudden. you cannot have debra jo rupp unconscious for half an episode and then get rid of her like that, she's too talented, too funny, how can they keep the humor up without her? if sharon is gone they don't want to watch anymore! no, they're gonna bring her back for sure, they're witches, they're going to find a way.

And then Alice dies, and it's unfair, it's too sad, she just had her big victory! that doesn't sit right with you, that the writers would do her so dirty. And then Lilia dies.

Wanda said it from the very beginning: we cannot reverse death, no matter how sad it makes us. Some things are forever. Sharon's death was horrible and uncomfortable and senseless on purpose, because these shows are about the exploration of grief. How can you make peace with the impossible? How can you reconcile yourself with a nice fun lady dying after losing her last shred of agency, scared and alone and forgotten? Didn't she deserve so much more than being just a casualty of witchfolk drama? And how can you reconcile yourself with someone as good and as wonderful as Alice dying in such a cruel way? What about the death of a parent? of a spouse? of a child? What about your own death, as inevitable and inescapable as your birth?

I'm posting this one early cos I didn't sleep last night and I wanna take a nap now 🥲 when I'm tired i ramble, I knew that already. sorry-y!

we get to episode four tomorrow, and y'all know what, or rather WHO, that means!

[swappermanent]

Gym Crush (Part 2)

Read Part 1 by @exploratorytfs.

It’s been a year and a half since the swap, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about how crazy it all was. You might be wondering—why would I trade the life I had? I mean, I had it pretty damn good.

Before all this, I was hot. Not just passable, but the kind of hot that turned heads. I had worked my ass off to look the way I did—hours at the gym, eating clean, all of it. And then there was Edgar. God, Edgar. This dude was a walking Greek statue: broad shoulders, a thick chest, veins for days. I mean, it wasn’t just the muscles; it was the way he carried himself. Confidence, swagger, like he knew he could get whatever he wanted. And yeah, I guess at the time, he was my boyfriend.

But even with all of that—being hot, dating a hunk like Edgar—I just couldn’t do it anymore.

You’re probably thinking I’m nuts. I mean, guys like Edgar don’t come around often, especially not for guys like me. Let’s be real, most dudes who look like him wouldn’t even give a trans guy like me the time of day. So, yeah, I was lucky. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I should’ve been happy, but the truth is... I wasn’t.

Why? Well, Edgar. He wanted me to be this perfect, submissive, fem bottom. And look, I’ve got nothing against that. There are guys out there who rock that vibe, who own it, and good for them. That’s just not who I am.

I know, I know—saying this out loud would probably get me canceled in half the gay bars across the country. But I really am masc for masc. Always have been. I’m not saying it to be some sort of gatekeeper or anything; it’s just... that’s what I’ve always wanted for myself.

And it’s not just about who I’m attracted to—it’s about me, too. My whole life, I’ve been trying to prove I’m man enough. To the world. To other guys. Hell, even to myself.

Transitioning was the first step, obviously. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to look the part, you know? That’s why I inked myself up. And the gym was my second home, but even after countless hours of sweat and dedication, I could never quite bulk up. No matter how much protein I shoved down or how hard I lifted, my frame stayed twinky.

Don’t get me wrong—there were plenty of guys who loved me for it. I mean, twinks are kind of a whole thing, right? A lot of guys would’ve killed to look like I did, but that wasn’t the point. It didn’t feel like me. I didn’t just want to be a guy; I wanted to be a man. The kind of man Edgar was.

And Edgar... he didn’t see me that way. Sure, he’d call me hot, touch me like he couldn’t get enough, but then he’d taunt me. He’d weaponize my body. Every time he called me “pussy boy” or made some comment about how he was more of a man than I was, it chipped away at me. He might’ve thought it was playful, but to me it was cruel. And I couldn’t take it anymore.

Initially, I thought if I just stuck it out, maybe things would change. Maybe he’d see me differently, respect me more. He didn’t. My self-esteem tanked. I started dreading the time we spent together, and eventually, I just... stopped putting out.

And of course, that’s when things really fell apart. Edgar doesn’t do well with rejection—big shocker, right? So yeah, I wasn’t exactly surprised when Edgar came sliding back into my DMs after. But honestly, I wasn’t planning on responding. I’d already been down that road, and I’d told myself after the last time—no more.

Still, when I saw what he was pitching, I couldn’t help but be curious. Swapping bodies with a cis guy? At first, I rolled my eyes. Like, thats even possible. But the more I thought about it, the more curious I got.

The guy Edgar had in mind? Not exactly a stunner. When Edgar sent me his photo, I remember staring at it for way longer than I should’ve, trying to pick out anything redeeming. The dude was... average. A little too soft in the face, a little too plain. But, to be fair, there was some potential there. Barely.

His eyes were nice, though—kind of soulful, in a way that made you think he might be a good guy deep down. And the kicker? He was taller than me by a good 6  inches. That alone had my interest. But let’s not kid ourselves; the real selling point was the fact that he had a cock.

That was the dream, wasn’t it? My own cock. I’d spent years dealing with the disappointment of not being able to fully live out the life I wanted. Transitioning had given me so much, but this? This was the missing piece. In this kid’s body, I could finally live out the fantasy that had been sitting in the back of my mind for years.

I could be the top I’d always wanted to be. I could take guys home, pin them down, and breed them with my own cock and fill them with my own cum. No more strap-ons, no more awkward positioning—just me, fully in charge, giving them EVERY. SINGLE. INCH.

Maybe with a little muscle here, a little polish there, I could make it something great.

So I said yes.

I’m not gonna lie—the first year in this body wasn’t easy. Adjusting to a new frame, new habits, new... everything? Yeah, it was a grind. But if there’s one thing I’ve always had, it’s work ethic. Between that and this body’s naturally high testosterone—and okay, yeah, I might’ve dipped into some steroids here and there—I’d say I built myself up pretty damn good.

Look at me now. I run my own training service. I mean, it’s not like I’m the most skilled coach out there or anything. But honestly? That doesn’t seem to matter much. Guys line up for my programs, and we all know why. They don’t just want my advice—they want to look like me. I’m walking inspiration. Living proof that the dream is achievable, or at least that’s how they see it.

And man, the way people treat me now? Everyone’s calling me “bro” or “dude” every other sentence. Not that they didn’t before—I’ve always leaned into that vibe—but there’s something about hearing it now that hits different. Maybe it’s the weight of my cock swinging in my shorts as they say it. It’s like the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Everything just feels... right.

And the best part? This manhood of mine? Oh, it’s gotten around.

I mean, come on. Looking like this, how could it not? Guys want me. They crave me. They crave my fleshy, thick, no kidding, natural, beer can of a cock throbbing inside of them.They’ll do whatever it takes to get a night with me, and honestly, who could blame them?

[hehe-69]

Solavellan haunts my every waking moment, I can’t stop thinking about them, thinking about Solas.

Veilgaurd Spoilers

Imagine knowing you cannot give to me all of you because you are still bounded to the will of someone you called “friend”. Bounded and enslaved to a purpose and wanting so desperately to leave that purpose behind so that you could have them and give them all of you.

But you can’t, they have your heart, they consume you completely but you cannot. You are ruined and twisted.

Thats a different level of pain, wanting, yearning, waiting, for 10 STINKING YEARSSSS but knowing you can’t give them what they deserve, what you so desperately want to give them, that you cannot HAVE THEM.

And believing you are too far gone for them to love you, that you are to twisted and rustiness to be loved but they still do, they FORGIVE you after you lied and betrayed them and all you have to do is stop but you can’t.

You’re bounded to this purpose because of the enslavement to someone who stole you from the fade you loved and twisted your purpose in ways that no other spirit has been twisted.

And finally you are free, but you wouldn’t dare ask them to go with you not after all you’ve done. But they choose you again forever and always. They choose to love you and they love you willingly and unconditionally in such a mind bogglingly beautiful way. It makes me SICK and the most wonderful of ways.

I wish we got to see more of Solas and Inky, they are so complex and beautiful and pure in their love for each other.

Inky’s love makes Solas pure again, it makes him whole again, it makes him him again. It makes him something more than he was in the beginning, it gives him hope.😭😭

The fact that his fist decisions that aren’t influenced by Mythal is him seeking atonement and choosing to be with Inky and letting himself BE LOVED FOR ONCE.

They make me want to write again

I will never not choose them to have their happy ending I physically cannot do it not after everything they’ve both suffered.

Varric died trying to save Solas I feel like not redeeming Solas goes against what Varric sacrificed himself for. He loved his friends so deeply he risked his life trying to save him from himself. Varric always wanted happy endings to his stories and for his friends, the least I can do is honor him by giving this one the one he wanted. The one that Solavellan DESERVES.

This game is, at its core, about many different shades of love and devotion and the many ways that it can be twisted to distorted beyond the point of recognition.

I mean LOOK AT HIS FACE WHEN HE LOOKS INTO HER EYES IM GONNA PUNCH A TREE

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 16

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15

Aside from bathroom breaks, Eddie doesn’t leave his room for two days. Friday bleeds into Saturday, bleeds into Sunday, and Eddie wallows in it. Wayne knows him well enough to not bother him, but Wayne also knows him well enough to barge into Eddie’s room Sunday morning without even knocking.

“Up, boy,” he says gruffly, turning Eddie’s overhead light on. “Your eggs are getting cold.”

Eddie groans, and tries to roll over to bury his face back into his pillow, but Wayne grabs him by the ankle and yanks until he goes tumbling out of the bed.

“Wayne!”

“I ain’t asking,” Wayne says, storming out of Eddie’s room without closing the door.

As is his right, Eddie whines and rolls around on his floor for a minute until he can finally find the will to get up. Clearly knowing that it would take Eddie a minute, Wayne’s just plating eggs and potatoes as Eddie walks into the kitchen, still clothed in only his boxers and the same shirt he’d been wearing when Carver’d kicked his ass on Thursday.

They settle across from each other at their dingy table, Wayne letting him get a few bites of breakfast in him before the interrogation he knows is coming begins.

“What happened?” Wayne asks, pushing his own plate away so he can focus on staring Eddie down.

Eddie swallows his bite of potatoes, throat suddenly dry. But, he wants to tell someone, he wants to tell Wayne, who, no matter how Eddie fucks up, is always in his corner.

“I’ve been getting these letters,” Eddie starts, using his fork to play with his food so he doesn’t have to meet his Uncle’s eyes as the whole sordid tale comes out.

He tells it like he experienced it: thinking it was a joke at first before getting wrapped up in the letters, finding out it was Chrissy, trying to connect the living, breathing girl to the words on the page.

And then, Harrington, strong and sure as he defended him from Carver, taking care of his wounds in the aftermath, lying to him for months until he couldn't get away with it anymore.

Wayne just listens without interruption while Eddie talks about Jeff’s betrayal, the fear in Chrissy’s eyes, the defeated slope of Harrington’s back as he’d walked out the door, going god knows where with his car still at the quarry where he’d left it.

When Eddie’s finally done, Wayne hums and pulls his now-cold food back in front of him, picks up his fork and starts to eat. Eddie watches him, gobsmacked.

“Wayne?” Eddie asks, moving his hand up and down in front of his Uncle’s eyes, checking to see if the old man can even still see him. “That’s all you’re going to say? Hmm, and then back to breakfast?”

Eddie scowls as he forks another potato into his mouth, chewing as he continues his tirade. “Where are your wise words, old man? Why the hell’d you even make me get up if this is all I was going to get?”

Wayne hums again, clearly just to piss Eddie off, then finally answers, “you needed to eat.”

Eddie stares at him, mouth hanging open half-masticated potatoes on full display for anyone to see. Not that anyone’s going to because Wayne’s gone back to polishing off his breakfast.

“That’s it?” Eddie demands, throwing his fork down in a huff.

Wayne sighs, like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here and finally puts his fork down to meet his nephew’s eyes.

“Finish your breakfast, and we can talk.”

Eddie whines, but dutifully scarfs down his plate, never breaking eye contact with his uncle, like they’re in a stand-off. And in a way, they are.

Once done, Eddie tosses his fork across the room into the sink just to prove a point, leans across the table and glares at Wayne. Because he’s an asshole, Wayne takes another sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact, before finally opening his mouth to speak.

“You like this boy?” Wayne asks.

Eddie sputters and stalls out. “You—I—what?” Eddie asks, fisting his hands into his greasy hair.

“It ain’t an unreasonable question,” he replies. “You’re talking about the kid like he’s a knight in one of those little games you like so much.”

“I—no I wasn’t!” Eddie cries, cheeks burning at the implication.

“Mmmhmm,” Wayne replies, eyebrow raised as he drinks more of his coffee like what he’s saying is of no importance at all.

“Wayne,” Eddie says, leaning over the table to clutch at his shoulders, ribs protesting at the pull. “I’m not gay.”

And that, out of everything, is what gets Wayne to put his mug back down and take Eddie seriously. “You ain’t?” Wayne asks, eyebrow raised. Eddie shakes his head, eyes wide. “You sure? There’s an awful lot of men in leather on your walls.”

Eddie squawks, sinking painfully back into his seat. “That’s Metallica.”

Wayne squints at him. “Is that one of them code words y’all use to stay safe?”

Eddie stands up, chair screeching against the linoleum floor. “It’s a band, Wayne!” Eddie cries, at a loss for what the fuck is happening. “I’m not gay!”

Wayne looks up at him, both eyebrows raised enough to scrunch up his forehead, wrinkling his mostly-bald head. “Well, alright then.”

Eddie stares at him, brain buzzing with even more questions than he’d had before. How long had Wayne thought he was gay? Why? What did he do?

Was he really okay with it?

Eddie turns on his heel and marches out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom without another word. He slams the door and collapses onto his bed, gut squirming with all the thoughts churning in his head.

*** 

Chrissy isn’t surprised when Eddie doesn’t come to school on Monday; she is surprised when Steve does. He’s got bags under his eyes and Robin Buckley super-glued to his side, but he’s still there.

She can’t help the way she runs into his arms, leaving Jeff behind without thought. Steve catches her—he always does, pushing his hands beneath his letterman jacket to grab at her waist and pull her in. They sway there in the middle of the hallway, all their classmates jeering around them.

Chrissy doesn’t care; she’s spent the entire weekend thinking about the crushed look in his eyes as he walked out of the Munson trailer without a backwards glance

“You’re okay?” she asks, face pressed into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

He runs his hand up and down her back as he responds, “I will be.”

She pulls back to smile up at him and reaches up to brush a floppier-than-usual lock of hair behind his ear. “Walk me to class?”

He links their elbows, and does just that, Jeff and Robin falling into line behind them, Robin prattling on about some movie marathon her and Steve had had at her house over the weekend. 

Chrissy’s just glad he wasn’t alone.

Steve sighs, shoulders slumping as he says, “I’m sorry, Chris,” he says, not looking her way. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into my mess.”

She stops abruptly enough that Robin stumbles into them and bounces back, cutting off her stream of words mid-babble to squawk at them. Chrissy doesn’t acknowledge her, too busy standing on her tippy toes so she can grab Steve’s shoulders and yank him down to her level.

“You listen to me, Steve Harrington,” she demands, looking into his big, bewildered eyes. “Your mess is my mess, okay?”

He’s still just staring at her, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, so she digs her nails in hard and says, “forever,” with as much finality as she can muster.

He keeps staring at her, looking like he’s about ready to burst into tears in the middle of the hallway. Finally, he says, “come over tonight?” more a demand than a question.

She drops her grip on him and nods, content.

Chrissy doesn’t ask questions when Steve leads her over to Robin in the cafeteria. It’s easy to take that last, final step into social suicide with him at her side. 

They fall into their usual routine that night—they watch trashy TV neither would admit to liking to another living soul, and paint each other’s nails.

The lack of letter writing sits like a dead body between them.

“He won’t tell anyone,” Chrissy says, tightening her grip on his hand when he jerks. Chrissy keeps carefully painting his nails, her favorite pink, not looking up at his face. The color suits him—it’s not fair, but everything does. “He promised.”

Steve doesn’t ask for clarification, they both know who she’s talking about. “You believe him?”

She thinks about that torn, guilty look on Eddie’s face and replies, “I do.”

She finishes his pinkie and settles his hand down on her own knee to dry, knowing from previous experience that if she gives it back, he’ll ruin all her work running his hand through his hair.

“That’s good,” he mutters, looking down at his own hand, tilted so far forward that even when she looks up, his hair’s flopped too far into his face to see his eyes. “It still hurts.”

Chrissy sighs. She’d seen this coming all those months ago when she’d helped pen the first letter. Had seen the writing on the wall like it was she herself that was writing it. But, she’d helped him anyway, hoping to salvage his safety, if not his dignity.

She can only hope she has.

“I know,” she replies, biting her lip against apologies he won’t accept. “But, we’re in this together, okay?”

Steve’s fingers twitch on her leg, but he doesn’t pull away. “Even with you and Jeff?”

“You figured that out, huh?” she asks, and that’s what finally gets him to look up at her with a raised brow, making her laugh.

“I mean, you told me you were going to ask him out,” he starts, before leering over at her. “And you two aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Tell that to Eddie,” she replies, wanting to swallow the name back down once it comes out of her mouth, but it’s too late—it’s already been said.

Steve smiles wryly as he says, “well, he’s not exactly the most observant, is he?”

He has her there. Steve himself, no matter how hard he tried, wasn’t subtle with his affections: the compliments, the stuttering over his words, the blushing. But none of it had done more than make Eddie give Steve suspicious looks, like there was some sort of game he wasn’t in on.

There was, but even without knowing he was playing, he’d still beaten Steve.

“No, he’s really not.”

Steve hums, picking up his hand to check if it’s dry before moving onto painting her nails. He picks his favorite yellow for her, even though he knows it washes her out. She holds out her hand and doesn’t complain.

“I really like him,” Steve says, quietly enough that it’s barely audible over the murmur of voices coming from the TV.

“I know,” she whispers, watching the flickering sadness on his face by the illumination of the Harrington’s big television screen. “I love you. You know that, right?”

He pauses in painting her nails to meet her eyes, smiling for real now. “I know,” he says, stroking the skin on her wrist with the free fingers not holding the nail polish applicator. “And you know what? This was all worth it if I got you out of it.”

And then he just goes back to painting her nails like that wasn’t the most romantic thing anyone has ever said. Eddie Munson can fuck himself; Chrissy’s going to be buried in Steve’s letterman jacket and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

*** 

Eddie doesn’t go to school on Monday. He’s too busy rereading the secret admirer notes—the notes Steve Harrington left him—like if he reads them in the right order, it’ll all snap together in his brain in a way that makes fucking sense.

And it does, sort of. It’s like sorting out a bunch of puzzle pieces after finally knowing what the shape of the puzzle even is. Some parts of the letters just jump out of the page, the longer he looks. In the end, he processes this the way he processes everything: he makes a list.

   Proof that Steve Harrington is my Secret Admirer:

   1. I’m not trying to bully you.

   2. I wish I was brave enough to tell you. Brave like you.

   3. I know you don’t like them, but I like sports.

   4. My favorite color is yellow, like the sun, and sunflowers, and all those happy, bright colors.

   5. But my eyes? They’re brown, but nowhere near as pretty as yours.

   6. I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty.

   7. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?

   8.   You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’.

A jock afraid of Eddie labeling them as a bully? Check. Favorite color, the same one Steve Harrington had painted his nails all those weeks ago? Check. Rich enough to have a piano that’s just not played? Check. But the most damning part of all: Chrissy was never in Mr. Danver’s class with him last year, but Harrington was. And Chrissy? Her eyes are bright, translucent blue.

The longer he looks at those two incriminating bits of evidence, the stupider he feels. It was never her, and from the looks of it, they hadn’t put much effort into pretending it was. It was always Harrington from that first, forever-lost letter that they’d stuffed in his locker.

And the longer he pours over the letters, the less he can picture Chrissy sprawled on her bed, writing each letter with a shy flourish before spraying it with a puff of her favored scent. No. It’s Harrington, frowning down at the page because words have never come easy to him; it’s Harrington sleeping with Eddie’s letter placed gently beneath his pillow; it’s Harrington who’d made Eddie smile like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

And now that he thinks about it, wasn’t it Harrington whose eye he kept catching from across the cafeteria? Harrington who’d stutter over his words around Eddie, but still told him he was a good storyteller?

Harrington who wanted to go to his show. Chrissy hadn’t even remembered Corroded Coffin’s name. 

Harrington had–of course he had. 

And he can picture that, too now. Harrington in the crowd in his stupid polo with his bright yellow nail polish, sticking out like a sore thumb in the gruff crowd at the Hideout, beautiful brown eyes trained solely on Eddie.

He can still feel the way his pulse had ratcheted up when they were in the bathroom, Harrington between his spread thighs, palms warm against his tender ribs, sucking all the oxygen out of Eddie’s lungs with how close he was.

It’s too much.

“Hello?” Jeff’s mom sounds curt over the phone, already fed up with Eddie calling before he’s even said anything. Eddie doesn’t care; he can’t when he needs Jeff this badly.

“Can I talk to Jeff?” he cries out, hand shaking around the receiver as he listens to her grumble, but she still shouts for her son to come pick up the goddamn phone. 

“Hello?”

Eddie should wait until he’s sure Jeff’s mom is no longer in hearing vicinity, but he can’t, too wound up tight to keep from blurting out, “am I gay?”

There’s a moment of silence that Eddie can barely breathe through before Jeff says, “uhh, Eddie?” in such a bewildered voice that Eddie sort of wants to punch him.

“Yes, yes, it’s me,” he says, words spilling out over each other. “And I’m sorry about what I said, and you’re sorry that you kept secrets from me—we can do that later, Jeff!”

“Uh, oka—”

“Now, am I gay?” he’s panting by the time he’s done, not having taken a single breath during his tirade. He’s waiting for Jeff’s confirmation or denial, but all that comes down the line is his quiet breathing. “Jeff?”

“Uh, shit, we’re doing this? Okay.” Eddie can almost picture the fed-up palm Jeff’s rubbing against his face, as if it’s somehow Eddie’s fault that Jeff is taking so long explaining the squirmy nebulous feeling in Eddie’s gut. “I don’t know man, why do you think you’re gay?”

Then, Eddie does what he should have done all along, and spills everything to Jeff, from the first letter all the way up to Steve Harrington’s bitchy little speech in the quarry as he put himself bodily between Eddie and Jason Carver.

“—and then he kneeled between my knees like that’s a normal, straight guy thing to do and just like, put his hands in my shirt!” Eddie whines, long since having settled onto the cold linoleum of his kitchen floor. “I mean, what the hell?”

“I think you’re forgetting one important fact, dude: Steve’s not straight.”

“Which brings me back to my question!” Eddie replies, trying for breezy and landing on whiny. “Am I gay?”

Jeff hums down the line like he’s really thinking about it this time. “Well, when he was touching you,” he starts, like that already doesn’t have Eddie’s face flaming, “what did you feel?”

Eddie puts himself back into that moment, thighs splayed pressed open by the heavy weight of Harrington’s body, Harrington’s big, warm hands running over his skin, his worried golden brown eyes roving over Eddie’s face.

“I felt like I was on fire,” Eddie whispers, feeling that same heat now pooling lower in his gut.

“…in a good way?” Jeff asks.

Eddie’s brain goes static, full of too much to differentiate good from bad, if that’s a distinction that ever existed at all. Eddie makes a questioning noise in his throat, knees twitching restlessly where they’re crossed in front of him.

“Okay, okay, uhh—hmm,” Jeff hums across the line. “Did you want to move closer or away?”

Eddie closes his eyes and thinks, imagining that trapped, warm, overwhelming feeling of being caged in by Harrington’s body. “Both?”

Jeff hmms again, clearly trying to think it through. Eddie can’t blame him—this is the most confused he’s been in his entire life, and Jeff doesn’t even have an all-access pass to his brain to try to pick answers out of–not that it’s currently doing Eddie much good.

“Do you want to try kissing a guy?” Jeff asks. “I’d do it, if it was for you, dude.”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles, lips puckering in disgust, “ew, you’re like my brother.”

Jeff laughs at him and replies, “so you don’t want to, not because I’m a guy, but because we’re like brothers? Sounds pretty gay, dude.”

“Oh.”

Jeff doesn’t say anything; he’s always been good at sensing when Eddie just needs a minute to think. But this time, he doesn’t think a minute will cut it, so he continues with a, “hey Jeff?”

“Hmm?”

“I really did mean it, you know.” He squeezes the phone tighter against the side of his face, like that will help his sincerity ring down the line. “I am sorry, and we should talk about it, but I can’t yet.”

Jeff still doesn’t reply, but his breathing is steady and sure down the line, settling Eddie’s anxious heart down to a little flutter.

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, dude,” Jeff replies gruffly. “So, you’ll still call me?”

Eddie smiles. He’s missed Jeff, is the thing. They’ve been so distant lately, and no matter how well Eddie and Gareth get along, he’s no Jeff. “Or accost you at school, whichever comes first.”

That makes Jeff laugh; Eddie lets the sound warm him. “Okay, but I’m serious about the kissing thing!” Jeff replies, “Come over and I can plant one right on y—”

Eddie hangs up on his friend, feeling more himself than he has in days. No matter what happens, he has Jeff.

[vladdyissues]

Lately Ive seen some awful things about antis and haters making threats and getting artists banned from Tumblr and X. Im new to the Phandom and love pompep but Im scared i'll be targeted if I write and share pompep fics. How do you manage sharing your work so bravely?

Firstly, welcome to the Phandom—and especially Pompous Pep! I have a simple protocol for enjoying a drama-free Tumblr experience:

Preventative Action

1. Find your community. Follow other Pompep fans and supporters and reblog their things. Don't be afraid to leave nice tags; we love and welcome interactions :) You can also join the Pompep Discord server if you enjoy chatting (DM me for details).

2. Turn off anon asks. This will solve 99% of all potential problems, and you can turn it back on whenever you want. Antis are cowards who prefer to hide behind the mask of anonymity. They seldom have the courage to say something with their whole username.

3. Block the obvious haters. This is a big fandom, and at some point you're likely to come across people openly hating on pompep, either on their bio, pinned posts, or comments. Block them. For an added layer of protection, add their username to your Filtering Options.

4. Tag your work appropriately. When posting, make sure your work is tagged correctly (the #pompous pep tag is especially important) so people who like pompep can find it and those who want to avoid it can block the tag. Use Content Labels when applicable.

5. Try to avoid using the platonic tag (#badger cereal) and the romantic tag (#pompous pep) at the same time. Some fans are really touchy about this. I'm not, and I think there are legitimate cases where use of both is applicable, but if you want to minimize friction, just stick with one tag or the other.

If you're not sure which tag to use, ask yourself what your intentions are with your art or fic. Is the goal a romantic relationship? If so, use the pompep tag. If it's truly ambiguous and could be seen either way, use the platonic tag first. You can always add another tag like "okay to tag as pompep", just to let people know they can interpret it however they please.

Responsive Action

If the above guidelines aren't 100% effective, here's what you do:

1. Don't feed the trolls. If you receive any negative asks in your inbox, it's important to NOT engage with them. Delete them, ignore them, don't let them get to you. Antis thrive on attention, so let them starve. Eventually they'll move on when they realize they're not going to get a rise out of you.

The same goes for any negative comment left on your work. Just delete it, block the person who left it, and pretend it never happened.

These asks and comments may come in the form of questions. Example: "How can you ship Danny with Vlad? That's [insert gross accusation here]" Resist the urge to answer these questions. They are not made in good faith. This person just wants to start an argument.

2. Report any harassment. If by some chance you receive a seriously hateful ask, like threats of violence or abuse, take a screenshot for proof/safekeeping, then report the message and the user if they're not anonymous. If the ask is anonymous, use the meatball menu (•••) at the top right to report the message and block the anon.

Final Words

It takes time to develop a thick skin and Don't Give A Fuck attitude, but it can be done. You are a phan. You have every right to be here and enjoy this fandom in peace, just like everyone else. Anyone who believes in harassing others over silly things like which cartoon characters should be allowed to kiss clearly has nothing better to do with their life. The sooner you shut them out, the happier you'll be.

Regarding media: Artists attract a lot more negative attention than writers for reasons I won't get into right now, but if you're mainly a writer, you will enjoy a much quieter fandom experience. Wherever you post your stories—I recommend AO3; DM me if you need an invite—follow the same advice there as I've given here: make sure your work is tagged correctly; support your fellow Pompep fans by reading and commenting on their works, building that community; moderate comments if you're concerned about negativity; block and mute users if they give you any trouble, and you'll enjoy a much more positive fandom experience.

There is strength in community. When you start making new fandom friends, you'll feel a lot less lonely, and that will give you the confidence you need to really have a good time here.

Wishing you the best, anon!

[y-rhywbeth2]

Volo: 'When there are two or more, [Bhaalspawn] will destroy one another until a single heir to the throne of blood remains.'

First: Imoen and Charname, who can get along perfectly fine, laugh at you and their siblings.

Second: nitpicking.

'The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny. Chaos will be sewn from their passage. So sayeth the wise Alaundo.'

Sarevok mentions his studies of prophecy saying a child would be able to take their father's place, but I've never actually seen that part of the prophecy, and he's the only other one we ever see trying to replace/become Bhaal. The Five are Bhaalists who want to serve him, and the majority of the other Bhaalspawn seen had little to no idea what they are and are basically either convinced by Bhaal to start serial killing for kicks, or just trying to survive for the most part.

And the prophesised child was one specific Bhaalspawn in particular - as Bhaal himself says, 'strange amongst [their] kin' - there was never any chance of another Bhaalspawn being heir. It was just vague enough that Sarevok thought it could be him.

The follow up prophecy was all about how the Bhaalspawn are all going to die and give rise to the reborn god of murder (which one way or another, happens) with a brief nod to 'you're the Chosen One' in the opening line:

'The wheels of prophecy e'er turn, Gorion's ward hath come. Crossroad of past, present and future, the one forseen, the one foretold. That which hath past is ne'er truly gone, history repeats though mortals chose not to see. War and bloodshed be not new to the Realms, a god that once hath been may be once again. Armies march and cities burn, the rivers froth with tainted blood. The corpses of those born not innocent feed the inferno of boiling hate. Bhaal's Servant deceived, Five led down a false path, a hidden traitor lurks in thy midst. The Servant of Bhaal knows death and destruction, The face of an ally, the mask of a foe. The Children of Bhaal bring death to the land, they slaughter each other, and feed their Father. Death and betrayal walk together, a river of tainted blood doth not cleanse. The storm approaches; we speak no more.'

The prophecy is over, the main point of the prophecy (all Bhaal's kids are going to die in a giant mess and Bhaal will be reborn) came to pass, and the heir bit never applied to anybody but one who is no longer viable: the God of Murder hath risen people, the Throne of Blood has an occupant: We know who the heir was, and now it's irrelevant because Bhaal's back in driving seat, case closed.

As the statues outside the temple mock, Alaundo's prophecies are over and irrelevant, put them down already. The Dark Urge is not heir to the Throne. Nor is Orin, nor is Sarevok, nor are any of them. Durge and Orin and any future Bhaalspawn are playing in a whole different game, with different rules* and aspirations. *Except for 'kill your sibling, bring death to the land and empower your Father.' Those are always on the rules.

[robjn93]

Concerning Convergence Batgirl and Detective Comics Rebirth, do you think Tim was too much of a dick in convergence given the not talking to her, saying she wasn't ready, and expecting them to get back together because she was batgirl again. The sudden romance rekindling felt a bit left field.

As for TEC Rebirth a common criticism is how Steph felt mainly defined by Tim and was just mainly his GF throughout that arc. Do you feel the same way?

LOVE THESE QUESTIONS for the first point i would normally agree but this was a complicated stage for both tim and steph. tim being a dick, considering everything he was going through and the whole ‘steph’s dead but not really’ makes sense from his side. its complicated

may be controversial but i wouldn’t mind steph ‘fake dying’ as long as some writer handled meaningfully steph’s side of the story, how she just had to pretend she didnt exist for a year and how essentially her mother was miles away and she couldnt even ask her if she was okay and take care of her. i think it would also make an interesting commentary on ‘deciding to lie for batman’ and ‘being batgirl’ to appeal to someone who will never accept her, but we know it will never happen. sighh.

but back on the subject:

what i like about timsteph is that they are not perfect, they are not just ‘i love you and will ignore your flaws’ but more ‘i love you and your flaws, i love you unconditionally in spite and because of your flaws’ and it’s something that the writers in the red robin/batgirl era have been handling well in my eyes but i might be biased. in a situation where tim acts hard to reach, steph trying to get a rise out of him is her way of reminding him of ‘the good times’ and make him loosen up.

personally i didn’t feel like the timsteph’s romance rekindling came out of nowhere mostly because they never really… broke up? they were forced to be separated by the whole ‘fake dying’ and, before being able to set their issues aside, bruce ‘died’ too and tim went berserk so it’s natural their original feelings are still up and running.

as for the ‘he liked her again now that she was batgirl’ i mostly feel like it was just an (average) giant ‘foot in mouth’ tim drak-ian situation. he is an ass that sucks at explaining his feelings, even worse since he spent a year trying to detach himself from his feelings and is now (awkwardly) trying to piece his life back together and failing so he deserved that punch. always does i fear.

but in general i think that convergence, as admittedly a bit rushed as it is, was the perfect way to put them back together. they’ll have to pry the klimt inspired kiss from my cold dead hands.

onto the second one, much easier to agree with because I DO. GOD. i ADORE tec 939-940 but i can’t for the life of me enjoy rebirth steph. i don’t blame tynion cause the damage comes from within (looking at you, new52) but yeah absolutely. in a just world, the timsteph death speech moment would be written in a much better setting where steph actually had other things going on in her life but i cant ever win

[igglemouse]

Unfortunately, my idiot 'sister' Dre has decided that she will be visiting me more often to help me adjust to life on this silly planet of yours. She thinks it's her duty to be as annoying as possible and wants to apparently teach me how to ear. Yes, eating. You beings still do this. On Sixam, we absorb the nutrients we need or just take capsules but as I understand it is an entire thing for your kind. Seems like a waste of time and resources to me but according to Dre I must do it to help blend in with silly little creatures.

So over a bowl of what you call apple salad, messy, sticky, slimy, apple salad, we talk. I tell her about my first day and about the human I've met, the one with the light hair? "She was cautious," I say, staring at this bowl of junk before me. "She didn't appreciate the whole tongue flicking thing," I point out, remembering the moment of uncomfort between us.

"Zer, did you go through any of the body language experience I sent you?" She asks, her wrigglers wriggling a little violently. Annoyance. She's looking at me as if I'm the stupid one. Do you see what I mean with her? Why I loathe her so?

"N-no..." I admit, feeling some of the heat from her eyes. "That first one you sent me was like five hours long. I didn't have time for that!" I say jabbing at a slice of apple and refusing to bring it closer to my mouth.

She groans as if she is dealing with a child. "That was the shortest one, Zer. These creatures speak through body language, small things, things you must learn if you expect to blend in. You can't just go flicking your tongue out, it reminds them of one of their creatures here, snakes, I believe they call them, and other various reptiles...reptiles? Scaly, egg laying-"

"Ugh!" she's explaining them to me because I also did not study about the other animals on this planet. "Maybe it is the snakes who should be in charge!"

"So, what did you do for your entire trip here?" Dre looks at me and she's clearly judging me. "Did you study anything?"

"I played the video games you sent me," I reply proudly. "As I understand it, they are the main delivery of knowledge for this species." I fold my arms, pride steaming through me, because it was clear to me that these 'games' are a vital part of your education system.

Dre's chuckling tells me I am wrong and that I perhaps have made another mistake. "I sent you those for your own amusement, Zer. There is nothing to be learned from those things. They're just there to waste time."

"Ugh! You are trying to sabotage me, aren't you Dre?" DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN WITH THIS ONE?! "You've always been jealous of my status in our birth group! Always been envious of my-"

"We have the same status-"

"And yet you are beneath me," I remind her, gaining the upper hand. She needs this, she needs constant reminders of her place among her siblings. I am the one destined for greatness, I am the one who has been gifted this world to mold and do with on my own.

"Any ways," she sighs as dramatically as possible. Do you understand now why I loathe this woman? She does this a lot, by the way, and it's always unwarranted. "This woman, Tammy? I doubt she is S.I.B."

"Oh, and please tell me why you think this, oh great Dre."

"Ah, you'd know...something is off about those types. They are human and yet..." her wrigglers twitch, fear? "It's hard to explain. There's a lot going on here on this planet and half of it I can't explain."

Dre's certainty that Tammy isn't S.I.B does little to make my day better because she seems pretty creeped out about the whole thing. As for Tammy, I was very nice to her, right? I decide not to dwell on it, I'm sure I'll meet her again and will win her over.

I spend the rest of my morning recycling because, frankly, someone on this planet has to. I think I've mentioned that there is plastic everywhere on this planet, everywhere. I get it, it's a versatile little resource and you can use it to make almost anything and everything but that doesn't mean you should. The sheer carelessness of your species confounds me but at least you'll have me to clean up your messes.

I remind myself that I'll need to keep up with your news if I'm going to take over this planet but I admit, your so called 'leaders' are absolutely insane. Democracy, a scam system ran by inferior beings such as yourselves, is a failure. How does anything et done with everyone going in ten different directions? Inefficient, chaotic, and just simply stupid. We Sixams have it right, one world, one leader. Simple, effective, orderly.

The rest of my day goes as you might expect, nothing remarkable, just a steady routine of doing, well, nothing. That is until my idiot assistant shows up. Again. She seems determined to haunt me and the mere sight of her around my garbage little home would get my wrigglers wriggling if only they were out to wriggle.

She thinks she's here to help, I'm sure, but all she does is point out the mistakes she thinks I'm making or smirking in my face as if she knows all the answers. One day, when this planet is mines, she'll understand her place. For now, I'll do my best to deal with her.

This time she's here to educate me on how you beings court one another. Apparently, she thinks this is information I need to know, I disagree. "So, you're telling me they do this physically?" This sounds messy.

"Yes, Zer," she looks exasperated again as if she's losing patience with me. "So you really have learned nothing on your way here?"

"Why should I?" I shoot back. "They are clearly a primitive life form."

"That may be but you have to know that things are different here. Like I've mentioned, they procreate physically still and quite enjoy it, it is pleasurable for them, it drives a lot of their social interaction-"

"Uh huh," I wave my hand dismissively, the less I know about this the better I think.

"You, Zer are quite attractive. So the men here might hit on you-"

"Hmmm, to what purpose?" I ask the question I should not have asked.

She sighs and then transmits me a message of what you beings do when you want to procreate. I am quite frankly disgusted. The male puts his what in your what and then?!?! No thanks! On Sixam, the male covers your eggs in his sperm, completely in private, and then you swallow them, like pills, although this is only the terrestrial option. Either way my head is shaking at the thought of what you humans do.

"That will absolutely not be happening when it comes to me and I am insulted that you'd show me such a thing! ESPECIALLY mentally!"

I do not waste much time kicking her out of the house, my house, shoving her through the door as if doing so would banish the mental images she's cursed me with. On Sixam, we are past such things!

"I am sorry Zer but I figure you need to know!" She insists, stumbling out of the house, trying to get back in my good graces of course. "The males here on this planet can be quite aggressive when wanting to-"

"Yes yes Dre, please do not bring this up again," I cut her off, the images of your kind pressed up together doing who knows what stuck in my mind. "Put on your disguise too you silly little thing!"

I spend the rest of the day doing nothing but taking in the world around me, my world. It is a strange and chaotic planet but I must admit, there is beauty here. It is hidden beneath layers of smog, but beauty nonetheless. The colors, the landscapes, the resilient of life on this planet is inspiring in a primitive way. I'll do what I can to save this dying world but I am no hero, of course, because I intend to polish it and present it as a rare gem before the great Sixam empire. After all, what's the point of conquering a planet if its not worth ruling?

Zer Avoi ~ Episode 1.3

[yaseraphine]

RANT ABOUT THERAPY AND WHY IT'S NOT MY CUP OF TEA 🤡

+ trying to guess the therapist's rising and our synastry and ranting about it cause I am tired man (and too sensitive lol)

Really messy post btw just a disclaimer lol

Just had my first therapist appointment since 2021 and what can I say....it was REALLY awkward. I don't know how people are able to spill their deepest traumas like that bro she just sat down and told me to talk 💀 like what I thought she would interview me or start the first appointment with pre-made questions to make a profile, regarding my background, family relationships,etc .. It was really messy and I was so confused throughout the whole thing.

I understand it's a privilege to afford therapy (it was 60euros for 45 minutes lol of course it is) but it is much more complex than just spilling your guts to a random with a degree.

Something about me is that I always thought i didn't really need therapy, no matter how painful a situation was for me. And it wasn't only therapy, it was also opening up to my own friends 💀 i could take care of myself like i always did anyways so whats the point of paying for it ? I understood people who needed it and felt helped by it. But it just wasn't for me. I have realizations on my own consistantly thanks to my self-awareness and trained and developped intuition.

What pushed me to go back to therapy even though i was , and still am, very skeptical in its effectiveness on me, is that this year, I realized asking for help won't actually kill me and that i have my limits as a human being.

I fear this appointment just unfortunately kind of validated my initial more negative feelings towards therapy and the idea that I don't really need it.

As a really introspective and painfully self-aware person who has a hard time asking for help (but is actively working on it), I really don't know what kind of therapy could help me, really. I know I probably have a few blind spots, but it's so out of my comfort zone to open up like that. I kind of hate it.

I want to keep an open mind, and probably try another therapist but damn if I don't f*ck with any, it just feels forced .. I trust divine timing for that because I don't really want to put myself in such a situation again.

Right now, I feel dirty knowing a random woman knows about my deepest traumas in a really messy and all over the place way. She has fragments of my soul, and despite me having somewhat giving my consent for it, it was too fast. Maybe it's my 8th house moon conjunct Lilith (1181) in Leo that is speaking but I feel literally violated. Strong words but this how uncomfortable it was for me.

Guessing the therapist's rising sign and ranting about 12th house synastry...

Random but I think the therapist in question had a Virgo or Leo rising... I already said it's the most common rising signs (especially virgo) and I am losing patience. We probably had a 12th house synastry that's why our exchange was really weird and scattered. She kept on making weird faces while I was talking telling me she didn't understand what I was trying to say.... I know it all too well because EVERY single person I knew or had interacted with that had a leo rising, my interactions with them were like this. I was saying stuff and it felt like it went in one ear and got out in the other. Like they could hear me but not listen and understand what i was trying to say. This kind of reminds me of Willy Wonka's relationship with Mike TV or wth his name is, in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Tim Burton's movie. Wonka always said stuff to him whenever he opened his mouth like "I cannot hear a single thing you say because you're speaking gibberish"or whatever. (Me being Mike TV and Leo risings being Willy Wonka).

This is how every single one of my interactions with Leo risings went, no matter their gender or age. It was always like that.

[imadhatt3r]

It's a late Friday evening in Midorijima, and that means that it's time for the weekly Benishigure meetup at the Black Needle. It's always a good opportunity to meet new members, get drunk, and have some fun with the other guys you'd usually miss due to conflicting schedules. Today's meeting is a bit more special- Aoba decided to join in, which he doesn't always do. He's the boss' boyfriend, but he's not officially a member himself- he has, however, gotten close to the gang in the time they've been together, so everyone just treats him like an honorary Benishigure, which both makes him happy, in a way, and annoys him to no end, given all the attention he recieves and the fact that he's a subject of never-ending jokes and bits (in a friendly way, of course).

Everyone's a bit drunk by now, laughing and toasting for anything that comes to their heads, no matter how small and insignificant. Koujaku is smoking a cigarette and sipping on his sake, taking it all in and quietly enjoying seeing the people he brought together. Aoba had a bit to drink too; He rarely does, but something tempted him to drink today- perhaps a desire to join in and fully enjoy the atmosphere was stronger than his usual convictions.

The conversation turns to relationships, as it always does at some point when a group of drunks congregates.

"Wait, how long have you two been together? Like, a year?" One of the Benishigures asks as he turns to Aoba and Koujaku. "That's pretty impressive, I gotta admit- it's probably the longest anyone stayed with Koujaku"

He barks a laugh, like he was suprised at how funny he found his own joke. Aoba looks at Koujaku with suspicion, but he only responds with a grin and a sly look in his eye- completely unmoving, cigarette still held in his teeth.

"You thought about tying the knot yet? I'm telling ya, if you managed to keep him around for a year, that means you gotta have something special going on."

"I doubt any shrine would be willing to do the ceremony for two guys." Aoba rolls his eyes. He's mostly trying to convince himself; Both he and Koujaku are respected in their local community, so he has no doubt that their potential union would be honored. He thinks that this whole "being in a relationship with a man" had sunken into his mind by now, but in moments like these, he really worries that he will never internalize it fully.

"Since when do you need a shrine?" The Benishigure snorts dismissively and waves his hand around with no grace at all; His eyes have a spark in them that already tells Aoba that he came up with something only a drunk could make up. "You're already with your friends and family, right...? And everyone's wasted on sake...? All we need now is for the lovebirds to smooch." He grins. "I can even be your official, if you want"

He raises his mug, beer and froth sloshing with his uncoordinated movements and begins to chant "KISS! KISS! KISS!", his yell echoing through the bar. All the other members at the table quickly abandon whatever they were talking about and join in, not knowing what they're cheering for, but knowing that it's paramount to see their leader and his boyfriend make out at the table this instant.

This unrest finally rouses Koujaku. He knows that Aoba doesn't enjoy being the center of attention, and especially not when he's being goaded into doing something by a bunch of rowdy, drunk dudes. He usually trusts his men to know when to cool it when it comes to teasing Aoba, but it seems like alcohol might've clouded their judgement.

He grabs his cigarette between his slender fingers and opens his mouth to speak. Before he manages to make a single sound, Aoba is pressing his lips against his, tasting the smoky flavor of the kiss. The room erupts in cheers, and the clinking of glasses and mugs raised in toast adds to his overwhelmed state.

In a way though, Koujaku is oddly gleeful about it all; He never expected to get married, or at least not like that- when he was younger, he'd probably imagine a serious, grim ceremony where he's forced to marry a girl he never saw before, one that was chosen by his father in order to strenghten their family's position in the criminal underword. Nowdays he has no family he could invite to such a ceremony, but the Benishigure are the closest thing he has, and he loves them like he would his own blood, so getting married while listening to their howls and cheers is probably how he'd like it to go anyway. As for Aoba... Being able to be around him in any capacity was a dream come true; Koujaku knew that he himself is never going anywhere anyway. But thinking about Aoba pledging his loyalty to him with such fervor, and in front of so many other people... He's just happy he's not a crying kind of drunk. Instead, he chooses to cup Aoba's head with his free hand, gently rustling the short, stiff hair right at his hairline.

On the next day, Aoba doesn't talk about the kiss, but when Koujaku tries to talk to him about it, he can see that Aoba remembers it all happening by the way he stammers, badly puts on a facade and downplays the whole event. Koujaku just laughs; He knows that Aoba needs to process it- he knows him well enough to know how he behaves after events like this, and Koujaku is, if nothing, a patient man. Besides, Aoba was always adorable when he was in that part of processing something, so he really doesn't mind.

Benishigure who are "in the know" sometimes call Aoba "bride" to mess with him, or ask Koujaku to say hi to his "wifey" from them. Mizuki finds out from them through rumors that the Black Needle hosted their very first wedding/reception when he happened to have a night off and he can't live that down. As for Aoba and Koujaku, they don't really consider themselves an officially married couple, but the bit is nicer to carry out than they thought- jokingly talking to eachother like an old married couple comes to them more naturally and is more fun than either has expected.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 3 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3])

hey hey, it's episode 3 Through Many Miles of Tricks and Trials and we're on the Road, witches!

Agatha knew All Along (that Billy created the Road), evidence number 1 out of 646132.

And see how they added black bars in this episode? They're getting ready to switch aspect ratio like they did in Wandavision

but like, she's not wrong. you see that sharon's not wrong, don't you? she has been kidnapped by witches. again.

agatha's grimace when they say it's all her fault. which a) it totally is and b) she never expects other witches to be supportive of her anyway

oh sharon, you beautiful fish out of water. we all laugh at her, meanwhile she's PANICKING. HARD.

this particular group needs to figure out how to do that first, Billy. but hey, they'll get there. sort of.

Jen, looking directly at agatha: why is this MAGICLESS HELPLESS lady coming with us on a deadly mission, whose sick idea was this? she has no business being here!

Sharon, her voice drowned by everyone else: see that's what I've been trying to tell you~

Agatha deflecting hard, like the coward she is: HEY THIS IS MY GOD FRIEND MRS HART YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT

a very scared coven looks at agatha for answers, because she's the only one who's ever been on the Road.

agatha, who's never fucking been on the Road and made up the whole thing: I've bullshitted my way into this mess, I'll bullshit my way out of it. live laugh love bitches!

I'm looking at this scene clearly for the first time now that I've brightened it, and wow, the others are worried, but sharon looks so scared, always so scared

billy is having the time of his life, and you'd think agatha would step in at some point and warn him about what he's done. but nah. let's wait and see. as long as she's covering her own ass.

lilia looking at billy's sigil like, damn that's some neat handiwork, wonder who did that. she sounds like a cool witch.

agatha totally insults stuff when she's impressed with it like some cheap anime tsundere

lies.

but see how she puts her whole body between billy and the others? super protective mama

HOW COULD YOU GUYS LOSE HER SO QUICKLY. it's funny and all, but this is exactly how she'll die: they'll forget about her until it's too late.

it's so clever what they're doing with sharon, and it's so clever that they chose debra jo rupp for it, because she's so delightfully funny. I've talked already about how the comedy in the first few episodes is deceptive. sharon is living in a horror movie and you're not supposed to see it quite yet.

you think she's a funny old lady upset about losing her purse. you think maybe she's gonna find out she's magical and join the coven, who knows! so much fun, so many possibilities! you don't think that this is a woman in her 70s who was brutally tortured by a witch only a few years back, you forgot the lesson from wandavision. this evening she was tending her garden and now she's god knows where with a bunch of those very witches she's sure to be terrified of, kidnapped by a neighbor she thought she could trust. think about that, she's not going home, ever. I'll elaborate more at the end of the episode, but this is a show about the inevitability of death. sharon is like nicky, doomed by the narrative, and it'll take you two or three or four rewatches to fully see it and to make your peace with it.

alice tenderheart, alice braveheart jumps to the rescue with no esitation. she is a protection witch. she protects.

agatha stands in the back and (pretends she) doesn't care, like some asshole.

hey agatha, hey agatha? fuck you. fuck you agatha.

she's pulling all this out of her ass. she might as well be doing fart noses right now

my headcanon is that this is where Billy dreams to retire with Boyf in their golden years. you know he thinks about that sort of stuff

thank you to @friedwizardwhispers for pointing out that agatha is also in awe of the Road and the magic it took to create it. she is! look at her here, she's scared but also excited, she's fundamentally a nerd who's always hungry to learn and discover more about magic and spellcraft. she hates the witch community but she's also obsessed with it

now look at this sequence: agatha demonstrates once again that she knows Billy is behind all of this. only she goes about it with hints and metaphors because - you know - she's a damn fucking coward

sharon has gone through all the stages of grief in twenty minutes: denial (this is a kidnapping!), anger (this came from talbots, you can't have it!) bargain (okay, okay, okay, catching my breath, okay), depression (I don't know how do you expect me to walk and walk and walk when there is nowhere to walk to!) aaand now she's accepted her fate. time to get drunk. and die.

"That would be such a bummer." WOULD IT NOW BILLY. WOULD IT BE SUCH A BUMMER IF SHARON DIED SO SENSELESSLY? WOULD IT SEND AUDIENCES THROUGH ALL FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF TOO IF SHE WAS KILLED LIKE THAT??? IT'S ALMOST AS IF THEY'RE DOING IT ON PURPOSE OR SMTH BILLY

what I'm saying is, the writers are truly basking in some cruel irony right now. especially considering that billy is going to feel so responsible about sharon's death

the others look back at the house, agatha is the only one looking at billy, she's the only one who understands the implications of the exchange between billy and sharon. I imagine her process being something like "this is really going to hurt the kid later -> should I say something? -> should I step in? -> should i...? -> ... ->nah"

so the moon in the sky and the color of the leaves on the Road depend on the trial? is that why they were blue just now? I need to pay more attention to stuff like that

sharon takes a deep breath, sighs, goes into the house last.

sudden aspect ratio change! not my favorite outfits, but I love those pants on kathryn

see you tomorrow peeps ❤️

go to episode 3 part 2

[theharellan]

My rough thoughts/interpretation/reflection of Solas and his relationship with Mythal after a first playthrough. It's subject to change on future playthroughs, but probably by inches (if I can ever get my audio fixed). Note that while I am trying to base all of this on canon, there is reinterpretation involved, as I do feel Mythal/Flemythal/Morrimythal was neutered somewhat in the writing process.

Spoilers for the whole of DA: The Veilguard.

When I roleplayed Solas I mostly played the relationship as benign, in large part due to her being another character whose role in Solas's life was gestured at but never defined. Which in some ways, is still true, but I think at this point it's impossible to deny she had a negative impact on him (to say the least). Since moving into fic writing I started to lean into the darker implications of their relationship, and while for the sake of rp I'm adaptable, I do still want to talk about my feelings regarding them.

I believe Solas, by aiding her, is culpable in many of the crimes they committed together- make no mistake of that, but he is also a victim of her. She says at the end she used his wisdom as a weapon, but she also used her benevolence as a tool to manipulate him, appealing to his knowledge of her nature to get what she wanted.

Her coaxing him to take a body after he states outright that "he has no wish to live as humans do" (I'm going to ignore the confusing implication that humans were around) is but the first betrayal she subjects him to, and imo the greatest crime she commits against him, specifically. At least in canon, the game skirts around the issue of vallaslin, but if the "he didn't want a body but she asked him to come" is true, then it would follow that the follow-up, "he left a scar when he burned her off her face" would also be true.

The second would be rising to the heights of the gods, and calling him the traitor for rebellion. Morrigan calls Mythal corrupted 'Retribution,' and that may be true of Mythal after her murder, but I believe long before that her benevolence had gone awry. From what I can tell, we have no concrete timeline for Elvhenan and what the gods did before and after her death, and therefore no idea what Mythal even means by tempering the other evanuris. Slavery almost certainly existed, which honestly is enough for me to say she was doing a bad job. Past codices indicate that her punishments were not just so much as exact:

"Mythal, in her wisdom, interceded in an argument between Elgar'nan and Falon'Din. With clever words, she convinced them to settle their grievance through a battle of their champions. Elgar'nan and Falon'Din agreed, and set their champions against each other rather than declare war among the gods. May those knights long be remembered, and Mythal's wisdom be praised." (x)

This and the codex describing Mythal's judgment characterise her tenure as a god as being far from bloodless.

There are also indications that not all had as much faith in Mythal's ability to see reason or cede power:

"Solas always thought" is the key phrase for me in this note. Not "we," but "Solas."

What this all means for Solas is that Mythal someone he has a deep, ancient connection to, but also someone who has hurt him deeply, violated him, used him.

And he doesn't want to face that.

Solas is quite capable of admitting his mistakes, even as he is moving onto the next one literally in the same breath... but Mythal's mistakes are never addressed by him, even at the finish, when he is holding the pommel of the knife out for her taking.

I think Solas navigates around the wrongs committed against him throughout the course of their knowing each other. His rage against the mages who forced Wisdom to take a body, to kill, may lead him to murdering them, but he never directs such anger at Mythal. He can't. The regrets he has about her literally flake and dry upon the walls of the Lighthouse because he can't. He can't face her remnant in the FadeAnd it's only at the end where he receives any catharsis in the matter, any admittance of wrongdoing against him (albeit without apology).

So in most interactions with Mythal, Solas will be very close with her, at best brushing up against the sides of where there relationship chafes. Always willing to believe the best of her, and her death granting him the mercy of being able to persist in that belief.

I do also believe their relationship was entirely platonic, albeit at such an intensity (on his part at least) that I'm certain there was talk. Luckily, I've spent ten years with Thora and Solas doing the ground work for Solas having deeply intense platonic relationships that match his romantic ones for their dedication and devotion.

[uracutieraka]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : who even are you

↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳ

masterlist

volυмe : ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇▉

It was a normal Tuesday, you had just woken up to the sounds of your alarm going off.

It was quiet in your home. It always was so you weren't too concerned. Your parents had gotten this small apartment mostly for you since they traveled for work and you were tired of being dragged along with them on their eccentric and over-the-top 'adventures'.

Your parents were anthropologist who traveled the world trying to discover a long lost civilization or something. They were never clear on what they did you were just assuming at this point in time.

You went through your normal routine, shower, eat, makeup, hair, get dressed, ect.,

7:30 A.M. Time to go.

You were from the U.S.

Born in a small midwest town 15 years ago. Not A lot of people where you were from had quirks. Actually nobody did. It was the appeal of your small town. The whole point someone would move there. So when you were born, you immediately were an outcast.

You spent your whole life nearly being made fun of by kids from school, snickered at by adults in the grocery store, and targeted by pretty much any authority figure. You weren't a bad kid by any means but when you turned 12, after being treated like one your whole life, you started lashing out. As any kid would. You cut your hair and dyed it, started acting out in class, and failing school. Which where you're from was next to blasphemous.

As you approached the (absurdly sized) campus you started to get a pit in your gut.

what if they don't like me? what if they think I'm weird? or worse...what if they don't talk to me because I'm joining so late in the year

They were dumb thoughts but still valid nonetheless.

0:57 ————|——— -2:10

You felt stupid. sososossoosososoo stupid. HOW do you forget your whole binder on the first day? You were panicking. People in the halls were staring and whispering.

"who's that?"

"its the middle of the semester I didn't even know UA took transfers that late?"

You felt like all eyes were on you. Because they were.

You looked extremely different than the other students here.

For starters your hair was long and dyed, neatly curled, with giant pins that looked like bones in it.

Big round eyes and black eyeliner with matching black nail polish on your short up-kept nails.

You had ripped black stockings under your uniform as well.

Not going to lie you looked pretty emo compared to the rest of the students. Very out of place in this foreign country all together.

You ignored the comments and mad your way to the classroom.

god I'm an idiot for joining this late in the year.

as you stepped through the door you approached the long haired man standing behind the desk at the front of the room.

"Hi, uhm, are you, uh," you looked down at the folded paper you had pulled from your pocket prior to finding the classroom "Aizawa?"

the man looked down towards you, "I am. And you are?"

he gave you a quizzical look.

"Oh sorry. Im y/n. Im, erm, new, hah"

oh my god what is wrong with me? why am I being so awkward?

"Ah, I should've guessed. Take a seat at my desk until the other students arrive. We can figure out your seating arrangement after you're introduced."

As students piled in the gave you questioning looks.

After all there was a random girl sitting in their teachers seat.

As soon as the bell rang you felt the pit in your gut get 10X's deeper. You wanted to sink into the chair behind you. They were all staring.

A loud grunt from Aizawa pulled all of the classes as well as your own attention to him.

"Class, this is a new transfer student from, uh where are you from? Actually just get up here and introduce yourself."

oh no. nononono.

you stood up taking a giant breath while simultaneously wiping your hands over the front of your uniform jacket. As you approached the podium you had run over the words in your head.

"Hi."

"..."

Silence. Why weren't words coming out your mouth?

You watched the faces of your new classmates turn from blank stares to a range of emotions.

"uhm, sorry let me start over," lets try this again "Hi. Im y/n. Im from the USA, a really small town, haha, and uhm my quirk is that I can, Uhm, well basically, I can, Its kind of hard to explain really but-"

"Basically she can manipulate sound waves to the point she's able to talk to animals." The teacher had stepped in.

"Well, kind of, I can basically reform any sound wave into what I want to. Wether I want it to be quiet or loud or even restructure It completely, which I can do for animals and make them speak like, you know, regular, like us humans do."

"Woah neat so is it a manipulation based quirk?!"

you looked up from your twiddling thumbs to see a green haired boy looking at you, with a huge smile and stars in his eyes at the new quirk he had never heard of.

"Yeah I guess." You shrugged.

"Awesome!" he said

And with that you sat down at an open desk in the far back corner.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Lunch had rolled around after a boring morning of doing basic school work and you were sat alone in a booth at the far end of the cafeteria.

suddenly a large hand smacks down on your table.

"Hey," a gruff voice spoke up, and finely you look up to be met with harsh crimson eyes and spikes blond hair. "So like what's your deal?"

wow hes blunt

"My deal?"

"mhm" he mumbled like the answer would be obvious.

"Uhhh, I want to be a hero? what's your deal?" you said dragging the letters out and shooting an eyebrow up.

"Hey! I ask the questions around here!"

You stood up quick leaning closer to the boys face leaning across the table.

"You really want to yell at the girl who can control sound waves?"

He leaned up, obviously not used to someone standing up at him like that.

"You're acting like a bratty toddler. I thought this was a prestigious school not an overpriced daycare." you said while walking away and dumping your tray of food.

"H-hey! get back here you idiot! Do you know who I am?!" he was raging behind you stomping to follow you, desperate to catch up and make you apologize.

You just kept walking. After all, you're not one to be messed with. There's a lot about your quirk that he doesn't understand and you're not trying to teach him everything about it now teaching him a lesson.

You're walking the halls now looking at all the different places you had yet to see.

Suddenly you hear someone approaching you. Harsh foot steps smacking the ground.

You turn around to met with the boy who you had just walked away from in the lunchroom.

"Wait up!"

You stop in your tracks, crossing your arms while you wait for him to catch up.

"look," his hands are in his pockets and his eyes are looking towards the wall to the right of you. "Im just confused as to why UA let you in this late into our first year."

"Well-" you begin but are cut off by the boys yelling.

"AND IM SCOPING OUT THE COMPETITION!" he was now crouched and pointing at you with a seriously insane look in his eyes.

"Bro. Chill. Im just here to train."

He was frozen in shock.

"huh?"

"I SAID I'm just here to train."

and with that you walked away.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

The end of the day came quick after that.

Soon you found yourself walking home with your earbuds in.

though the sounds of footsteps were trailing behind you. As you looked back you saw the green haired boy from class earlier, you had come to learn his name was Midoriya.

He was followed by the blond boy who was annoying you earlier.

"Hey! Y/n right?!" Midoriya called out.

"Hey! Yeah! You're Midoriya?"

"That's me!," A wide smile crossed his face.

damn hes happy

"So I wanted to ask you more about your quirk? I've never heard of something like it. Its like a manipulation quirk AND a music based quirk."

As he rambled to you, you snuck a glance at the boy behind you.

Cutting off the boy in front of you, you asked a question.

"Who's that?" pointing to the boy who was now approaching you and Midoriya.

"Huh- oh that's Kaachan. Or Bakugo Katsuki." you didn't listen as he kept rambling on about your quirk again.

Bakugo had now come and joined you two, standing with his hands, yet again, in his pockets.

"What are you extras talking about?" He scoffed.

"You." you rolled your eyes at his ignorance.

"WHA- whatever."

'saved it." he thought

He in fact did not save it.

"Yeah. Whatever. Anywho, bye Midoriya."

And with that you went home. Not excited for the next few days to come.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Can i request an older izzy fic where the reader is being a brat and izzy spanks her and fucks her

Warnings: smut, angst, spanking,if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You weren’t even sure what the fight was about at this point, all you knew was it wasn’t going away and he wasn’t talking to you.

Izzy was always one to run from his problems and distance himself from bad situations, including when you two got into fights.

It wasn’t often but they happened, they usually ended in you just forgetting about it because it wasn’t worth your relationship, but this one seemed different.

He was ignoring you, blatantly so. He left early and came home late and slept as far to the other side of the bed as he could. Last night was your last straw after he slept on the couch.

You woke up early to try to talk to him but he wasn’t hearing it. “Can we just talk about this?!” You yelled as he pulled his shoes on. At his lack of response you spoke again. “If we don’t then what’s the point?”

“What’s the point in what?” He asked, not bothering to turn to you.

“In us, Izzy!” You yelled. He froze, his hand on the doorknob. “You always do this, we never talk about anything and we just pretend it’s fine but it’s not!”

He was quiet for a long time, unsure of what to say. He did have to leave, he was using it as his excuse to leave early every morning, work. “Get yourself ready, I’ll be home earlier and we’re going to a party.” He said and left.

Your eye nearly twitched. A party? He was going to fix this with a fucking party? You’d go, but you were coming with your own plan.

You did whatever for a while but when you got a text telling you to started getting ready you listened, Izzy still loved you and he knew you took a long time to get ready because you like looking your best and taking your time, he wasn’t going to rush you just because you were fighting.

You put on the dress you almost always wore on date nights with Izzy; a short red dress with a slit up the side, low neckline and it was tight on your waist. It was perfect for revenge.

You did your makeup to match and when he got home he stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing you finishing up your look with harsh lipstick. “You think you’re leaving in that?”

“Of course not.” You said, he let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the closet. “I know I am.” He stopped again and spun around to look at you.

“Babe, you can’t wear that to the party.”

“Don’t call me that.” You said, standing up and heading out of the room. “Hurry up, I’ll be waiting.”

That one hurt. He’d always called you babe but now you didn’t want him to? He was quick to get ready and head down to meet you in the car, checking your makeup in your pocket mirror from the backseat.

“What are you doing?” Izzy asked after getting in the drivers seat, looking back at you through the rear view mirror. He was getting scared now, after everything it seemed to be finally crashing down.

“Going to a party.” You said before looking over to him. “What are you doing?” He didn’t respond and just started driving, sitting in silence the whole way there.

He got out of the car before you, you went to open your door but he did it for you and took your hand in his. “Just stay with me. Please.” He said, looking down at you with pleading eyes. You rolled your eyes at him, he kissed your forehead and you walked in.

As Izzy got older he found the parties died down, less dancing and fucking in the halls, no more drugs but there was alcohol, just nothing fun, wine mostly.

The first chance you could you left Izzy to go mingle, specifically to take your pick of the crop and make him more jealous.

You spent your time outrunning him and chatting, drinking.

You found yourself in another man’s lap while he told you about some war or something, he was younger and studying something about it. You weren’t really listening and he jus kept talking so you pretended to be interested.

“You know, I’ve got models of the whole thing back at my place.” He said, running his fingers through your hair. “You could come take a look at them, we could keep talking?” His intention seemed genuine enough, he’s not the one that pulled you into his lap. You felt bad, to an extent.

Then again, what really was the harm?

Someone grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet. “She’s got a home with her husband.” Izzy said through gritted teeth, holding you tight to his side, hand still gripping your arm.

The man sputtered out apologize but Izzy wasn’t hearing it as he drug you out of the house and to his car, getting you in the passenger seat before circling around to the drivers side.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He asked as he started driving back home. You didn’t respond, staring out the window back at the house. “I asked you a question.”

“And I didn’t answer.” You snipped. He let out a heavy sigh.

“What we’re you hoping would happen? That you’d leave with another man? What then?” He asked, eyes flickering to you occasionally as he spoke, tone firm and full of anger. Then a realization hit him. “Were you just looking for attention?” You glanced at him a moment. You did want attention from him, enough of this fighting, you wanted him to talk. “Looking for a punishment?” Now he had you hooked.

This wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone out of your way to make him jealous, it wasn’t the reason you did it this time but you’d take it, it had been so long since he last touched you.

“When we get home I want you to go get ready for me, alright?” He said, moving his hand to your thigh, giving it a squeeze. You nodded in understanding and did as he asked as soon as you stepped through the front doors, going straight to your shared room and stripping, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for him.

When izzy came to join you he was in more comfortable clothes, having gone to the laundry room and pulled out a clean t-shirt, he took his pants off, leaving him in just his boxers and you could see the imprint of his half-hard duck already.

He sat down next to you and kissed your cheek, arm around your shoulder. “I love you, I do, you know that, right?” He asked, you nodded. “We’ll talk about it after, promise.” You smiled at that and kissed him back. He let you, moving his lips against your own, but he had to pull away eventually and when he did he gestured for you to lay over his lap, hips on his thigh and presenting yourself for him.

“Count for me.” He said, squishing your ass. “Out loud.”

He raised his hand and it came down hard on your ass. “One.” You said, trying not to make a sound because you knew it would just make it worse. Another smack. “Two,” then, “three… four…” Up to ten when he gave you a break, running his hands through your hair to calm you as you cried.

“How many more do you think, sweetheart?” He asked, knowing he wasn’t getting an answer. He inhaled deeply as he thought of something. “Here, I’ll fuck you, but you gotta keep counting.”

You looked up at him with wide, tear filled eyes. “You-you’ll do that?” You asked, sniffling softly.

He nodded. “Want to make my pretty girl feel good… and then we’ll talk, but I need you to know now that I’m not just letting you leave, I love you and I want to keep loving you.”

You sat up and straddled his lap, kissing his cheek, though all you wanted was to hide your face in his neck. He encouraged you to do so, rubbing your sore, stinging red cheeks.

“I take it back.” He said, kissing your shoulder. “I won’t make you count.” He lined himself up with you and pushed into you.