#the DEPTHS of which i am in love with him

[shallowseeker]

"We see a glimmer of emotional despair and blame lobbed at Cas which is… fascinating" out of curiosity and for clarification, what was the emotional despair lobbed at castiel? im reading the transcript and am not quite sure

Confession: This is conjecture on my part.

I feel like this scene in Ouroboros is ofc course directed at all of Dean's loved ones, as they were all working to convince Dean to stay alive.

But imho, here: Dean's squared up to Cas.

And Cas squares up to him,

while Sam's body instinctually takes on the body language of a peacemaker between them.

(Also// We as audience have the diner scene between Dean and Cas fresh on our minds: DEAN: "Okay. But if -- if you don't we still have Plan B. ... Coffin. Ocean. Done.")

Sam's not exactly "getting it," but I think his subconscious must understand something of it, maybe...

///

I think the emotional despair that seems be more directed at Cas isn’t blame in the traditional sense but rather a reflection of Dean’s internal conflict.

I think Cas represents something Dean deeply struggles with—his own desires.

Cas, along with Jack, symbolizes hope and the possibility of a particular kind of future happiness, which Dean has been convinced that he’s not "allowed" to want. He has to be covert about it, to take a meager, starved kind of approach to his own happiness. (Note: Dean is allowed to enter family units and support others, but he's rarely allowed to "need" something/someone for himself in earnest.)

There's 14x10's almost-happiness: "DEAN: This bar -- This bar -- This bar -- I've never had anything this nice. Rocky's still isn't for sale."

And 2x20's DJINN CARMEN as she walks up to him, taking his face in her hands, kissing him* CARMEN: We can have a future together. Have our own family. I love you, Dean. Please."

And of course 8x17's DEAN: "I know you're in there. *CASTIEL raises his angel blade, ready to strike.* I know you can hear me. Cas... *DEAN's voice breaks, pleading.* It's me. *CASTIEL stands there, blade at the ready, light glints off the blade.* We're family. We need you. I need you."

And what's even more sickening? AU Michael's words later work to inflame this: "If only Dean had used that coffin when he had the chance."

(Aside/// And likewise, The Empty's deal works to convince Cas of the same thing, that he's not "allowed" to feel personal happiness or express love without dire consequences!)

/// Anyway, I think Dean’s decision not to say goodbye to Cas and Jack in 14x12 does stand in stark contrast to his other behaviors: hugging Sam, eating last meals with Mary and Donna, etc. I think this difference highlights how unique and emotionally complicated his relationships with Cas and Jack are. Dean’s reasoning—“I don’t need to get shaky on this thing”—reveals his fear of losing resolve if he faces them directly. (It's even unlike Lisa, whose goodbye was bittersweet but clean.)

In a nutshell, saying goodbye to Cas and Jack would force Dean to confront the depth of his attachments, making it harder to follow through with his sacrifice. (Or, per the script, it would make Dean himself "too emotional.")

SAM: You know, Mom hates this. I hate this... And Cas and Jack, you haven’t even told them. DEAN: Okay, well, yeah, that’s because I’m not good with the whole big goodbyes, alright? I-I-I don’t need to get shaky on this thing. SAM: Wouldn't be the worst thing.

Overall, Dean fears his resolve will weaken, that his emotions will spill out uncontrollably, revealing more than he intends, or that his goodbye would overburden Cas and cause him strife—because, much like Cas with his Empty deal, Dean doesn’t want to burden him.

Both Dean and Cas share a deeply ingrained sense of self-denial, prioritizing protecting others over addressing their own emotional needs.

I feel like The Gorgon’s line in Ouroboros, “Oh… you definitely want things,” brings this to the surface, as does AU Michael’s taunts. All season long, Michael asked his victims: "What do you want?"

Notably, Dream!Pamela says to Dean: "Why do you always want what you can't have?" And finally, AU Micheal's: “If only Dean had used that coffin when he had the chance.”

:(

////

Cas makes Dean want to stay, a feeling that unsettles him precisely because of how powerful it is. Perhaps, it stirs up frustration because it's something he can't seem to control, even after all this time.

This is a frustration that Dean largely directs at himself, but I think it occasionally spills over into his interactions with Cas because of the vulnerability Cas represents. (Note: All this isn't even factoring in Cas's well-meaning attempts to shield Dean, which winds up making Dean feel shut out.)

///

And of course... all hail 2x20.

John instilled hero virtues in Dean by teaching him that sacrifice and duty were part of being a hero/family caretaker, even at the cost of his own happiness. This mindset is clear in Dean’s painful reflection, where he questions why he has to carry the burden of saving others while his own life and the lives of his loved ones are sacrificed:

DEAN (to John): "Course I know what you'd say. Your happiness for all those people's lives, no contest. Right?" But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero? (begins to cry while talking) What about us, huh? What, Mom's not supposed to live her life, Sammy's not supposed to get married?  Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad? (pause) It's... (Dean's lips tremble. Silence. We hear the sky rumbling. Tears begins to falls on DEAN's cheek.)

[hishighnesstheprincess]

so what's your overall thoughts on the movie??

General: sa2 still clears and specifically I think the sa2 lore for the ARK trio (Shadow Maria and Gerald) is a lot better, but this was pretty good (sometimes even great) for a movieverse (loose) adaptation of sa2. I did not like Gerald though, I think his crusty ass should have been left in the 70s

Specific thoughts under the cut (spoilers obviously)

My main criticisms rn is that it basically just feels like a watered down version of sa2, from most of the main story beats to the lore to the characters etc. Obviously I was not expecting them to have the same amount of depth that the games managed to give to Shadow's story from both the extra content that comes along with the games (like the manual that confirmed Maria's illness) but I feel like cutting out stuff like Maria's illness and her wish just left the story feeling neutered in some very important ways. The other big thing I didn't like was Gerald in general. Like yeah he was kinda funny the first two acts, but then he keeps the goofy schtick up while Sonic and Shadow are trauma bonding and kicking ass in space and idk. If they wanted to show him as a more evil version of Eggman maybe have him just actually be more evil for the final act. Ideally he should have behaved more menacing after dropping the "You're no Maria" line. Also the pacing was fast as hell, and apparently the film cut relatively important stuff like explanations for how Gerald was alive at 110 years old (he was licking that Shadow quill apparently) and also led to stuff like Shadow's entire arc being kinda rushed.

Aside from those though... I kind of loved it???? Big surprise coming from me I know, and I do wonder if it's just recency bias, but I think this is easily and by far the best project the films have put out. If you've seen both trailers for this film you can predict how 95% of the plot is going to go along with the character arcs, but they're still decently effective (for everyone except Gerald). The goofiness does get to be a bit much sometimes and my god I wish they would just let movie Sonic be quiet for once in a while, but towards the later half it starts getting really good. The parallels between Sonic and Shadow are well-made and impactful. Super Sonic and Super Shadow are hype. The action is fucking fantastic (if you go to these films just for spectacle you ABSOLUTELY want to see this one). And the found family stuff is the best it's ever been. If you like Wachowski sibling content, and specifically Wachowski sibling angst, you will be feasting. Tails and Knuckles fans, GO TO THIS MOVIE. I won't say why but you'll fucking love it

Depending on my mood, it's a 6/10-8/10 from me

Random thoughts

The non-game human characters are the best balanced that they've ever been

The game human characters are not well balanced at all lmao

Even if movie 4 will inevitably be less hype than movie 3, I can honestly see it maybe being the best so far which is 100% my own bias

Amy's design is cute as hell and Metal's design is awesome as hell

I'm kinda glad Jim Carrey is (presumably) gone ngl

I hope they keep the energy Sonic had in the third act and mid-credits for the rest of the franchise, even if it will obviously be less intense than when he was literally trying to kill someone

I am going to make so many fanfics where movie Sonic suffers bc I adore him so much (/negative) (/positive)

I think it would be best if the next movie was just Sonic, Amy, and Metal. I love the sibs but this being in live action, if the cast keeps getting inflated every individual member is just going to have so much less time. Maybe Sonic and Amy get kidnapped to Little Planet or something

I want them to keep her crush on Sonic but also her spunky and somewhat violent and irrational attitude. If they kept Knuckles gullibility they should also keep her flaws

Shadow and Maria's story may be infinitely more compelling in the games but them in the movies is just more entertaining idk what to tell you

They gotta give Maddie something to do. She is literally just Tom's +1 at the moment please god give her something to do

I do not feel bad about the GUN commander guy at ALLLLLLLL lmao i think he shoulda died choking on his own blood. bitchass

you still don't need to watch the knuckles show

[rarazzioli]

Wilbur Cross headcanons because I accidentally got fixated on this BASTARD.

Feel like he isn't a fan of sweet tasting things, Green apples in general have a more crispy, sour taste to them than red apples. And bro sure does love those so I think he's more of a sour guy. Which honestly might just be canon and I'm an idiot sooo eughh

Music taste wise I think he might like Will Wood maybe, He could probably fuck with Insane Clown Posse as well. BUT but also I think he would be more into classics, Frank Sinatra and stuff like that. Probably also likes country or something I am afraid.

This fucker would drive the most BUSTED UP truck ever stick with me on this one okay chat. like, rusty and just on its last breath. One of the side mirrors is taped on with ducktape or something.

Looking like THIS

When He's like stressed tf out or just like pondering, he would just pace back and fourth. For like...hours on end. I could just see him doing that. probably also does that goofy ass deep sigh and raking a hand through his hair thing.

Speaking of hair, it would either be THE most greasiest thing to ever be touched by human hands or like Silky in a way. No in-between. Either he puts little to no effort into his hair or WAYYY too much.

Bro would smell like a mix of alcohol and fucking like gasoline. like REEKIN. Wiggly probably likes it tho he's a freak

I hate this guy so much I made a Spotify playlist after him as well, sooo dropping the link in here heh...

[lamemaster]

Marred Music

Request: @liar-anubiass-blogGood day🫶🏻 I hope you are feeling well, congratulations on the upcoming holidays 🎊 Fingolfin/Maiyar reader Ulmo. Timeline before Nolofinae's courtship of Anaire, everyone was just waiting for it to happen, but there had been some kind of strange pause for a long time. And then at one of the dinners where Finwe's entire family was present, Fingolfin finally takes the floor and informs everyone that he is breaking the agreement and will not court Anaire. He says that his heart and mind belong to another. When Finwe wants to object, Fingolfin says that he has already explained to Anaire that he loves another. Everyone is shocked. And then in the silence, the intrigued Feanor (who is delighted with the prospect of conflict) laughs and asks for whom he is trying so hard. Plus or minus so. I hope you can extract something worthwhile from this😅maybe a little drama? Nolofinwe deserves to get a cool Maiar wife and wipe Feanor's nose with this)))

Genre: Drama & angst

Pairing: Fingolfin x Maia Reader

Summary: When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I love your ask! And Fingolfin over Feanor any day but this one turned out very different (I'm so sorry). But once I started writing there was no stopping so please expect some more chapter ig. First time writing Fingolfin yee-haw

Chapter 1|

Reader POV

“It is not your fate to be with the second eldest of Finwe,” Namo declares, his voice cold yet resolute, echoing through the desolate halls of his domain. The restless winds swirl around him.

You lower your gaze to the ground. The rippling waves of the lake lap softly at your feet, their touch tender, almost reverent, as though the waters themselves grieve with you for what cannot be undone.

“I understand,” you whisper, though your voice trembles under the weight of the words. Fragile, hollow, they carry a sorrow that coils deep within you. A void left by something Namo has stripped from your soul.

An act you must obey from the words of your lord. An act that was done for the betterment of Arda. Yet, the pain grasps your heart and flows from your eyes. 

How wretched was such affection that had weakened you to a weeping mess. Why had tales of Melian and Elwe not warned you of such an end? Why had you not looked for the tale of Miriel instead? Then perhaps you would have held your heart closer. Away from this misery. 

In the vast, cold expanse of the valley, the only warmth comes from Namo’s hand as it rests lightly on the top of your head. The touch is solemn, neither cruel nor kind, offering comfort even as it deepens the ache in your chest.

You feel your composure unravel, the fragile mask you wore dissolving into a raw sob. A sound that echoes through the stillness, as acute as any note in Ilúvatar’s song.

You sink to your knees, the waters rising to embrace you. Their cool caress mingles with your tears, which fall freely, carried away into the depths.

“What am I to do? What music is this?” The cry bursts forth, anguished and pleading, your voice breaking against the unyielding silence.

Fingolfin POV

He had been but thirty loar of age when he first met you—an ellon barely beyond the years of growth, still enchanted by the orchards of Ingwe, his maternal uncle who ruled the Vanyar.

It had been during one such visit, a special occasion meant to introduce the newborn Findis to the court of the Vanyar. It was a tradition Indis upheld diligently, just as she had for Nolofinwe, and Lalwen before.

Escaping his sister’s relentless questions, Nolofinwe had wandered off, eventually finding himself climbing a peach tree to marvel at a tiny nest perched on the topmost branch.

The cool winds of Taniquetil whispered through the air, mingling with the waning light of Laurelin. Enthralled, he studied the intricate weave of the sparrows’ nest, snugly cradling two eggs amidst scraps of fabric.

When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

The fall might have been disastrous. One that would have left his brother Curufinwe in fits of laughter for weeks, had it not been for you. Swiftly, with a fluidity that reminded him of a hawk diving for prey, you caught him mid-fall, your movements swift and precise.

“Stealing younglings is hardly moral,” you chirped. Your head tilted sharply as you studied him, your movements sudden yet graceful, and your golden eyes narrowing in brief suspicion before softening with curiosity.

Nolofinwe barely registered your words. Now that his feet were on the ground, he could only stare at you in wonder.

You stood tall, radiating the ethereal presence of the Ainur. The golden light of Laurelin seemed drawn to you, pooling around your form. To his awestruck eyes, you were wondrously fair, your back graced by wings of a great eagle, folded neatly yet trembling slightly, as though ready to spread and take flight at any moment.

Your sharp nose and piercing gaze of your features- similar to that of the maiar of Manwe. The curious tilt of your head became more pronounced as you stepped closer, your gaze darting over him with a quick, assessing flicker.

“Second-born of Finwe,” you trilled, as though testing the sound. Then, almost imperceptibly, you ruffled your wings, an instinctive motion that made Nolofinwe flinch as though he were being considered for retribution for disturbing the nest.

A newfound interest lit your eyes, the same fascination with which one might observe a fledgling testing its wings. And then without a word you were gone. As if done assessing that Nolofinwe, indeed did not hold any intention to harm the eggs.

From that day forth, eagles became his most cherished beings. A sudden, fervent love for birds blossomed within him. A devotion his maternal uncle wholeheartedly approved, though he never fully grasped its origin.

Beside his bed, a small basket of peaches always rested, their soft fragrance weaving through his room like a whisper of memory. Each breath carried him back to the moments he could not forget the gentle music of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the majesty of your wings.

To Indis’s great curiosity, peaches became her son’s most beloved fruit. What had once been a passing taste grew into a quiet obsession.

Even the peach orchards of Valinor, which he had rarely noticed before, became his frequent sanctuary, a place where the scent of the trees and the murmur of the breeze spoke to a longing he could never quite explain.

Reader POV

“How is it that Melian came to love Elwe?” you ask Eonwe, who stands vigilant beside you. Your brother, ever steadfast, serves your Vala, the King of Arda, Manwe Sulimo, as you do.

A gentle breeze stirs the air in the halls, coaxing the wayward vines to release their blooms, which fall like whispers to the ground. You watch their descent, lost in thought, as the question lingers between you.

Eonwe turns his gaze toward you, a hint of puzzlement crossing his features. His attention shifts, now entirely on you. He has little fondness for the songs and tales of the Children of Iluvatar, yet even he cannot deny that this particular tale weighs heavy on the memory of most Maiar.

Melian, the first among your kind to forsake the blessed lands of Aman. Hers was a path followed by many, though few remained in Middle-earth as she did.

“Iluvatar revealed a purpose for Melian,” Eonwe replies at last, his voice steady, though touched with reverence. “Their love is woven into the fate of Arda itself. A union that will bring forth the rest of Iluvatar’s music in the days to come.”

“Does Melian love the Firstborn King as we love our lord?” you ask softly, turning to meet his gaze. “Or is hers a love like that of our Lord and Lady? An eternal love.”

Resting his spear against a column of intricately carved marble, Eonwe exhales, his eyes distant as they wander eastward. “Much sorrow will this love cost her,” he murmurs, his tone heavy with foreknowledge. “Yet joy, too, she will find—this, our lord believes. Love in Arda Marred comes with a price.”

Your thoughts drift unbidden, carried away like the falling petals. You think of the elf from weeks past. The elfling from ages ago who had once climbed a tree to peer into Yellen’s nest. A chance meeting so simple, yet one that lingered through the passing years.

Through letters, through feasts, through fleeting encounters too brief to satisfy, and through the careful delivery of trinkets now hidden away in your room, far from prying eyes.

Nolofinwe. His name sings to you in every moment of Laurelin’s light and Telperion’s shadow.

It is a love distinct from your devotion to your lord. A tenderness set apart from the bond you share with your brother.

You have hidden it well, shielding it from the omnipresent song of Arda, whose marred melody seems to reach for all things pure, twisting them into its discordant strains.

But had you forgotten? Forgotten that he, your beloved, is a part of that same melody? That no matter how you might try, you cannot shield him from the song of which he is an inseparable note?

The mercy Iluvatar bestowed upon Melian to love Elwe was hers alone. It was never yours to claim.

Fingolfin POV

“My mother named me Aracáno,” Nolofinwe explains, his tone thoughtful. “It means ‘the high chieftain.’” He blushes faintly, the memory of childhood teasing surfacing unbidden. “Though as a child, I didn’t think much of it. My brother Feanaro often mocked me, calling me the chieftain of snotty elflings.”

He chuckles softly at the recollection, his hand holding yours in a snug grasp. Hidden away from the rowdy feast of rains, Nolofinwe has finally stolen a moment with you, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

It had been no small feat to slip away, especially with your brother. Eonwe, the mighty Chieftain of the Maiar, ever watchful. For days, Nolofinwe had been haunted by uneasy dreams of spears and falcons, as if even the thought of drawing close to you invited his disapproval. Yet here you were, close enough to touch, and for this moment, all those fears seemed inconsequential.

Clad in the luminous bloom of Telperion’s light, you were a vision he could not bear to miss. And as always, in your presence, the words spilled freely from him, unguarded and sincere, a rarity even among those he trusted.

“And then I let Arafinwe cho—” He falters mid-sentence, his words dissolving into silence as your wing extends, wrapping gently around him. The soft, downy warmth envelops him, and for a moment, Nolofinwe can only look up at you, pleasantly dumbfounded.

You tilt your head slightly, your golden eyes studying him. “Is it too warm?” you ask, already beginning to fold your wing back.

But Nolofinwe shifts closer, leaning into the embrace with a soft sigh. “It is pleasant,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. His hand lifts instinctively to comb through your feathers, his touch reverent and light.

The story he’d been telling fades entirely from his thoughts. All that remains is this quiet moment, the warmth of your wing around him, and the quiet peace he finds in your presence.

Feanor POV

A Maia?

Curufinwe nearly laughs aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. Surely this is some elaborate jest, another one of Nolofinwe’s ill-advised attempts to outshine him.

Beside him, Nerdanel discreetly stomps on his foot, a warning meant to temper his reaction. But it does little to dissuade him. The sight before him is far too amusing to ignore.

Seated beside a straight-backed Maia, with magnificent wings slightly fluffed in what Curufinwe assumes is either nervousness or pride, sits his brother, Nolofinwe.

Feanaro had every intention of interrogating you later about the beads woven into your feathers. How they managed not to hinder your flight was a mystery worth solving but for now, his attention is wholly consumed by the scene before him. A pair indeed. A couple of trolls.

“So… this is your suitor?” he asks, his voice laced with poorly masked amusement. The effort to suppress his laughter is futile; from the glowering look on Nolofinwe’s face, it’s clear he’s failed spectacularly.

You, however, remain utterly unbothered, your posture as straight and vigilant as a guard on duty.

“Yes, I reckon I am indeed the one your brother courts, Crown Prince Curufinwe,” you reply, your tone cool and precise, as though delivering a patrol report.

For a fleeting moment, Curufinwe is struck by the urge to test you—to see if the obedience typical of Manwe’s Maia extends to you. Would you follow his orders with the same unflinching diligence?

The thought alone is nearly enough to make him laugh again, but Nerdanel’s second, more forceful stomp ensures he stays (relatively) composed.

From the prideful look in Nolofinwe’s eyes, Curufinwe can practically see him preening, as if to say, Look at this marvel I’ve claimed.

The Maia beside him, however, seems to be fighting a very different battle. Your gaze flickers just barely toward the chandelier above the table, a glittering temptation. You try valiantly not to let your eyes linger, but the effort is almost painful to watch.

A preening peacock and a gullible eagle. What a pair indeed, Curufinwe muses with a ghastly bout of fondness he absolutely refuses to acknowledge.

[incinxrate]

❝ I feel like such a hypocrite, Kyojuro. I do not want to kill anymore. I don't want to be bound to that man anymore. I love the way you always speak to me, like I am a human. How you have never been terrified of me. Yet I am too afraid to ever even imagine trying to break this curse and become a human again.... ❞

He couldn't help but melt even more at the gentle ministrations upon his features. Long peach lashes sliding closed. As those warm digits traced every indigo mark. Cupping, tenderly squeezing, ruby dusted cheeks. Combining through pink locks, massaging his scalp.

❝ Would Hakuji completely consume me? Or would it just be still me in Hakuji's empty body? I don't know who or what I would even be.... ❞

Pale brows scrunching lightly now, a crooked smile tugged on the demon's lips. Chuckling softly through the quiet tears that still fell.

❝ Not to mention all those tedious things humans have to every single day. No thank you. ❞

Dull amber hues snapping open now. Kyojuro leaning even closer, resting that wide brow upon the upper moon's forehead. Meeting the demon's eyes with an unwavering gaze and again Akaza just let go. Allowing Kyojuro to comfort and soothe him. Ease away the hurt and despair within Akaza...

Akin to poison buried so deep...

in his many centuries as a demon Akaza never once thought of himself as good.

And yet, the manner of which Kyojuro spoke to him, the way he touched him. The way in which he peered at Akaza with only a look mixed with pride and hope. It make Akaza feel, truly feel, like he might be saved. That he was someone worth looking at.

❝ Hakuji was deemed a demon even long before I was born... ❞

A person, just like Kyojuro, born with a strength unlike most others. Kyojuro was a humble and noble man. Surely using his innate gifts to help the weak. Like he defended a gravely injured Tanjirou the very night they met. Saved him from Akaza's impending fists.

And Hakuji? He had used his strength in the only way he could at that time. Within the depths of the slums of the village. He had tried his best. It mattered naught how many beatings he took from the magistrate. Nor how many indigo lines that marked him as a criminal they tattooed on his forearms. As long as he could buy medicine for his father. Food. He could not care less about the consequences that befell him.

Until it had all come careening down. As he returned home after getting a fair amount of money. Bursting through that decaying shoji door. To find his father strung up upon the ceiling.

Lifelessly swaying.....

Why do sick people...feel the desire to apologize so much?

It wasn't their fault. Yet his father needlessly, ceaselessly, repeated apologies saying things that Hakuji could not even comprehend. That Hakuji should live his life for himself from now on. Yet protecting his father....

It was his life. His sole purpose within this shitty world.

And after that he was....lost.

Utterly adrift.

From there on his tattered soul only grew more and more cracked. So wholly consumed in misplaced anger. As he aimlessly wandered the streets. Looking for victims for his grief and his wrath....

❝ When I was child....Father died too.....He killed himself... ❞

The words from Akaza are a mere whisper at first, as it seemed that he took a shaky breath to gather his thoughts. He remained steadfastly silent, his gaze never once wavering from the distressed young man, for that was what he saw.

Not a demon.

Not upper moon three.

Not a killer and a monster.

All he saw was a man, a human in pain and that needed his help.

He knew that speaking of such things was never easy, especially for someone as closed off as Akaza had been.

Memories of his own loss swelled up inside him, of the day he had found his mother lifeless in their small home, her body a canvas for the golden artistry of the sun. It was a pain that had shaped him, a sorrow that had driven him to become the man he was now.

He knew that pain intimately, and seeing it reflected in the eyes of others that he cherished was a dagger to his very core.

His mother, she had been a gentle soul, the only light in his early years. But the harsh realities of existence had stolen her away as well, leaving him and his younger brother to fend for themselves.

Her death had been swift and cruel, a victim of the fragile way life was, but she had taught him everything he needed, his greatest teacher and inspiration on the person he wished to become.

It was the night that had changed his life forever, the night he had made a promise to his grieving sibling.

A promise to protect him, to be the shield that she could no longer be. It was a vow etched into his soul, a silent pact that had guided him through the darkest of days and the most brutal of battles.

Yet, even as he had watched his brother grow from a toddler into a child, he had never been able to shake the fear of losing him too.

He had power and strength, he wished to protect everyone.

Even his fathe, whor had once been a mighty warrior, a man feared and respected. But grief had consumed him like a disease, turning him into a shadow of his former self.

He had sought solace in the bottle, and in the end, it had taken everything from him—his dignity, his strength, and ultimately, his life. The stench of sake had permeated their home, a constant reminder of the man he had lost.

“And it was used against you …” He said, his warm palms, cup his features and rest there, pressing in against his cold flesh and offering him warmth. “Whatever you did.” He whispered. “It is never too late.” As he leaned in and rested his forehead against his own. “To correct your mistakes.”

[wildsaltair]

Sunrise Smiles

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (fluff, with a few tiny hints of spice)

Word Count: 2.5k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @yourloverslost, @russtybird, @saltwaterburns, @dovellici, @ay0nha, @bat-gwuck, @melintowriting, @nananyang, @enhydralutris-t, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with more obsessive tenderness and passion for my beloved husband Maximus :) I've been looking forward to sharing this one — it's short but really sweet. This one takes place sort of after "Tender Fires," in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where they fall in love and after much mutual pining finally become lovers. This is another favorite of mine, and I hope y'all enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You have been lovers for exactly one week now, and still you are shy waking up with him in the mornings.

The first rays of dawn wake you both at the same time, cascading over the bed and illuminating Maximus' fine features as if he were a god. You are still amazed at the feeling of waking to find this man beside you, his arms wrapped around you and his skin wonderfully warm against yours.

This morning, you wake with your back pressed against his front, one of his arms thrown across your waist and his face buried in your hair. You can tell he is awake by the way he shifts you to fit against him more easily, but he seems content to lie still for a few moments while you wake up.

This entire arrangement is so new, so foreign to you. During the day when you go about your chores, you can’t help blushing when your mind returns to the night before, remembering the passionate way he makes love to you. Even now, enveloped in the warmth of your bed, the idea that this is real life almost seems impossible.

Once he has shifted you where he wants you, he inclines his head to one side, just far enough that he can kiss the side of your neck tenderly. You can feel him smiling against your skin, pulling you infinitesimally closer to his body.

And this is the most unfamiliar aspect of it all: this next-morning affection. There is no embarrassed separation after you are finished, no leaving in the middle of the night to escape awkwardness. For this man, lovemaking is only one part of the way he demonstrates his affection for you.

Slowly, almost lazily, he continues to press soft kisses against the curve of your neck, following a trail down your shoulder. Your skin tingles at the sensation, and you can’t resist a smile that you try to hide in the pillow.

He must catch your amusement, because you can feel his own smile widening as he kisses the back of your shoulder. His short beard prickles against your bare skin, eliciting a giggle from you that prompts him to tighten his arms around you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, laughing with you.

Neither of you is laughing at anything in particular — just giddy at being able to demonstrate your love for each other — and he lifts his head enough so he can pull you onto your back. You link both arms around his neck, dragging him back down to your level, and he kisses your lips in a way that is somehow both stirring and soothing.

In the next few moments, he takes the time to kiss a trail down your neck, your collarbone, and lower. The same early-morning shyness strikes you, even in its irrationality. There is nothing he can see or do that he has not already seen or done in the last week, but the sheer intimacy of him seeing you this way, with the first rays of the sun dancing through your bedroom, makes you bashful.

Once he is satisfied that he has covered you in kisses, he props himself up on one arm to gaze into your eyes and stroke his fingertips through your hair. You can see nothing but absolute fondness in the way he looks at you.

“As lovely as you are at night,” he says in the deep, raspy morning voice that sends an instant shiver down your spine, “I think you are even lovelier in the morning.”

You can only smile at his words, still a bit overwhelmed by the entire situation. You would have thought that after a week of being lovers, you would be a bit more confident and articulate the morning after, but this man still knocks you speechless with the passion in his eyes. Especially when your body is remembering the way the night before was spent.

He tilts his head to one side as he looks at you curiously, eyes darting across your face. With a mischievous smile, he traces the back of his knuckles down your cheek. “Is that a blush?” he asks softly, fingertips trailing over your face.

You can only grin and look away in response, feeling your cheeks burning. You can’t explain why you are so overcome with shyness, but he just smiles wider at your reaction.

“Why do you blush?” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss you again between sentences. “What do you think I will see that I have not already admired?”

Your blush only deepens at his question, and both of you are smiling into the next kiss. You reach up both hands to cradle the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair and earning a soft sound from him in response. He lowers himself down onto his elbows over you and deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing past your lips.

This is yet another thing that thrills and dazes you: the way he pours every bit of his intense focus onto you, exploring your mouth as if he is kissing you for the last time and trying to commit each detail to memory.

In the brief moment when he pulls away to take a breath, you reply to the question that he has probably forgotten. “If I blush,” you tell him coyly, “it is only because the memory of last night is still so fresh.”

“Is it?” he asks, clearly pleased with that answer. “Would you be interested in refreshing that memory again?”

You shiver again at the delicious promise in his words, and he wraps you snugly in his arms again, his warmth washing over your skin. He tilts his head to resume his kissing on the side of your neck, right behind your ear in the spot that he knows makes you writhe.

A moment later, when you can form a coherent thought, both hands gripping his broad shoulders, you whisper in his ear, “The day will not wait for us to have our fill of each other, my love.” He smiles against your neck, and you add, “Though I will be counting the moments until night falls and we can refresh the memory more than once.”

Still cradling you in his arms, he lifts his head and gazes into your eyes tenderly. “Would that there were enough hours in the night that I could get my fill of you.”

“I would be heartbroken if I ever thought you had enough of me,” you reply softly, fingers threading through his hair.

He sighs, the heat and sincerity in his eyes transfixing you. “A thousand nights with you would never be enough,” he murmurs, fingers flexing against your waist. He kisses you again, more gently this time.

“Then I should have nothing to worry about tonight,” you tease him between kisses. “It is only the eighth night.”

Another sound from the back of his throat, one that almost sounds like a growl when paired with his intense gaze. “Worry only that I will not let you go in the morning,” he quips, eyes locked on your kiss-swollen lips.

The heat of his skin, the warmth of his embrace, and the growing knot of desire in your stomach combine to make you yearn to take him up on his offer of refreshing your memory right here and now. “This may be the first time I have ever loathed my farm,” you admit, arching your back in a stretch and tightening your hold around his neck.

He grins in response, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Do not loathe your farm,” he replies. “It needs you almost as much as I do.” One last kiss, one that conveys his deep affection for you, and he finally pushes himself into a sitting position, tugging you up with him by the hands.

“Come,” he instructs you softly, climbing off the bed and pulling you alongside him. Again, you feel the blush rising to your cheeks when you stand, the covers falling away to reveal your skin, but he just gives you a smile of reassurance.

At first, you aren’t sure what he plans to do, but he reaches for your tunic, which was folded on your corner chair, and lifts his eyebrows to indicate for you to hold out your arms. You do so, and he wraps the tunic around you as deftly as if he has done it a hundred times. He certainly has seen you do it enough times.

He fiddles with your belt for a moment, tying it backwards, then correctly while you watch. Occasionally, he lets his eyes flit up to yours, the corners of his lips turned up in a subtle smile.

The sheer tenderness of his action melts your heart, especially since you know he is not purposely seducing you in this moment. He is simply enjoying your presence, engaging in your normal morning routine of putting your clothes back on after a night spent otherwise.

When he finishes tugging the knot in your belt, you almost shiver remembering the way he untied it last night — carefully, methodically, but with the utmost intensity and purpose.

Now that he has finished with you, you decide to follow his lead, picking up his tunic from where he had draped it across the corner of your bedside table. He grins when he sees that you are reciprocating his actions, and he helps you shrug the tunic over his head, thoroughly tousling his hair in the process.

His tunic a simple one, the kind that is soft and comfortable and laces up at the neck. Naturally, the strings hang loose thanks to your quick untying work last night, leaving his neck exposed. With a short coy smile, one that belies the color in your cheeks, you lean forward and press a kiss to his collarbone, which is something you have quickly discovered that he likes.

Before you have even lifted your head, both his hands are on the sides of your waist, gripping you with the restrained strength that makes your blood race. You can see his chest rising and falling more rapidly, feel his fingers flexing into your ribs, but he doesn’t lose his self-control, just allows you to continue.

Carefully, you lace up the cross-ties on his tunic, your fingers brushing his chest occasionally. You are consistently amazed at how warm his skin always seems to be, no matter the temperature. And if his skin is not warm enough, then the heat in his gaze certainly is.

When you finish lacing his tunic, you again copy his actions and reach for his belt. His is more complicated than yours, with several sets of straps and buckles, but you make short work of it, standing closer than necessary just because you enjoy the way his breath catches each time you brush against him.

His hands are still pressing into your waist, and you slowly slide your own hands up his chest, eyes wandering over him ardently. He almost seems to be straining to keep from performing his usual activities in this room — sweeping you into his arms, undressing you, and setting your skin aflame with his mouth and hands — but as always, he masters his desire and lets you move your hands over him without resistance.

Sliding your hands over his skin, even through his tunic, is a continual reminder of the scars that cover his body, a constellation of marks that you have committed to memory by now.

Your hands continue their path upwards, smoothing across his broad shoulders, which tense under your touch. His dark eyes are locked on your lips now, his eyelashes a lovely contrast to the color of his skin. He swallows thickly, as if to suppress his thoughts, when your hands glide up to rest on both sides of his neck.

You can’t resist a giggle when your gaze falls on his hair, still thoroughly ruffled from the night before. He snaps out of his trance and smiles with you, not understanding what you are laughing at.

Without a word, you comb your right hand through his hair, marveling at how soft and silken it feels against your fingers. He actually closes his eyes at your touch, the softest breath escaping his lips. You can practically see the tension in his muscles relaxing, the hardened edges of his face softening.

How easy it is to forget that this man is still a stranger to a gentle touch, a tender embrace. His own touch is so light sometimes that you can almost forget his strength, that his hands are powerful enough to rip flesh from bone.

Seeing the look of utter calm on his face, you comb your fingers through his hair very slowly, dragging along his scalp in the way you know he enjoys. You thread your fingers over his temples, behind his ears, down the base of his neck, transfixed by the way he melts into your touch.

When you pause your stroking for a moment, he does not open his eyes, but rather leans forward a few inches, hands still gripping your waist. He touches his forehead softly against yours, as if he is simply breathing in your essence in this quiet moment.

“You are the first peace I have ever known,” he whispers to you in a voice that you know is reserved only for you.

And this, this, is what is most wonderful and unfamiliar of all — to have this man’s heart so completely surrendered to yours. He is not merely your lover or your bedfellow: he shares your heart, your home, your entire soul. Every night when he makes love to you, he whispers over and over that you are his saving grace, that he has waited his entire life to feel your heart beating in time with his.

This moment, feeling him quiet and still in your arms, his face touching yours, his soul laid bare before you, brings the familiar welling of tears to your eyes. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you draw him as close to you as you can and whisper the only words that come to your mind in this moment: “My love.”

His strong arms wrap around your waist a moment later, lifting you onto your toes and pressing you against his body. The morning sunlight filters through your window, sending soft beams of light to frame the two of you in your embrace. His lips touch your temple in the gentlest kiss, and you hear every unspoken word in the rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

The sun continues its usual climb into the sky, but neither of you takes a bit of notice. You are holding your entire world within the circle of your arms, and you are completely assured that the man you love is delighting in the same feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[maddymoreau]

Thinking about how Diavolo’s feelings transcend time and how in the Nightbringer UR+ card Demon Lord’s Castle Tour this conversation happens.

When asked, “Do you wish to see your father?”

Diavolo responds:

“I suppose I do . . .” isn’t the typical reaction to how a child would feel about wanting to see their parent. Especially when said parent has essentially been in a coma for a year.

Along with how Diavolo describe his father.

It makes more sense why when you learn in Lesson 56 how Diavolo was treated by him growing up.

Diavolo can tell when others are lying but is unable to understand his father’s intentions.

Diavolo mentions that he lived a very sheltered life growing up. That from a young age his father never allowed him a chance to talk to anyone outside the castle.

His childhood friend was Mephistopheles. A demon literally RAISED to be his friend. Putting a barrier between the two because Mephistopheles would put Diavolo on a pedestal.

The isolating childhood he experienced riddled with his strict father constantly scolding him.

Despite everything MC is so important to him he wants to see his father again so we can meet.

[wickmitz]

I decided to start talking about Wick and Rocky's relationship because I like their dynamics too, I like seeing Wick scared of Rocky and Rocky being aggressive with him, which is unusual because Rocky is rarely aggressive with anyone, but of course Wick is an exception to rule

Also my mini opinion about their possible relationship, I think that if Rocky didn't have to fight for his place, then he and Wick could become friends, or at least tolerate each other a little, I also see some superficial similarities, their gentlemanly and romantic natures, and their common love for explosions (remembering the quarrymen chapter), but this is my assumption, I think that I don't understand the characters' personalities well, so I can be wrong in this assumption, something like that. So, what do you think about their relationship?

for starters, i cannot thank you enough for this ask! as i’ve said previously, i have many thoughts on these two, so it’s nice to finally be able to share some of them. although given the extent to which i think about them, i apologize in advance if this is sloppy and sort of everywhere … while i’ll try to structure things the best i can, i cannot promise i’ll succeed! but hopefully this is an enjoyable reply nonetheless.

one of my favorite things about rocky and wick’s relationship is absolutely how aggressive rocky is towards the aristocrat ; he is prone to glares and cruel jokes and borderline hissing whenever the man is within his line of sight, or can be brought to a wailing-fit over the mere mention of his name from miss m’s mouth. there is a childishness to it, but a very prominent threat as well in spite of rocky’s usual incompetence. so he goes out of his way to posture around wick, readily lying and adorning himself with the gangster drapes he so badly wants to wear, in the hopes that it intimidates … will even badmouth wick’s family and make fun of his name and rock related obsession to mitzi, and so on so forth! yet all of this is very reminiscent of schoolyard bullying rather than anything too severe, though we as the audience understand rather quickly that rocky would bash wick’s head in with a tire iron if he could. ( translation : if it wouldn’t earn the tears or hate of a certain beloved mitzi may ) and it’s all very intense despite the absence of actual violence! and i understand why many fans see this as unusual for rocky and believe that it’s only wick who makes him act so aggressively, but i’d argue it isn’t really wick at all that prompts such scary reactions from him … and that rocky is a deeply angry character who’s a.) been boiling quietly for a long, long time and b.) has turned wick into a punching bag of sorts for this inner world of resentment and hurt. basically, when he’s judging the well-to-do or poking fun, his eyes don’t look at wick and actually acknowledge him as sedgewick sable ; instead this is a being, something vague and metaphorical, who threatens to upseat rocky’s permanence in the lackadaisy and steal away his savior, and he’s had a hand in the violinist’s misfortune for a long time.

obviously, rocky doesn’t think wick robbed him of his family twice over and made him homeless, but he is channeling the fear and anguish of those events into his loathing for wick, if that makes sense? it’s easier that way -- to finally have an outlet for everything bleeding inside of you, to be able to bite and claw at something without feeling conflicted or having to take personal accountability for your own mistakes … which is something that i think rocky does struggle with to a degree. he is sort of a finger pointer! his pain has to be worth something, it has to be for someone else ; spending years homeless and losing his last bit of family was for freckle, and the scrambling of his literal brain was for mitzi, and that means he can’t ever be angry with them! well, except that he is, somewhat, but he buries it deep down instead of feeling it. with freckle there is a sense of strain between them -- an air of ‘you owe me’ from rocky to freckle as he uses freckle to appease miss m, and he constantly pokes fun at his cousin too. it’s lighter than his jabs at wick, but there’s a constant pestering, a reminder of how good freckle has it : how he’s got the mom and the house and the job and the girl most notably. i don’t think rocky is intending to come across as mean, and to his credit he hardly does! but it’s rather clear to me that some part of him, some hidden and deeply hurt part, is rather indignant about taking the fall for freckle all those years ago. which he can’t understand, because how could he? he made that choice, he decided to take accountability for something he didn’t do because he loves freckle and knows it’d be so easy to believe this family tragedy was roark’s fault ; the devilish child he was, all troublesome and too broken to properly fit anywhere. so there is a disconnect born here, where rocky can’t comprehend that he’d be angry at freckle, so instead these not so great feelings are placed elsewhere and silently boil over time. and with mitzi … i don’t think he’s angry at her per se, but there is a frustrated and desperate chorus of : why him and why not me, when i’m the one out here dying for you? which is certainly unpleasant. of course, rather than allowing those feelings to be more aimed at miss m, whom he feels unloved by, he ( again! ) represses these emotions and allows them to fester into his greatest fears and fantastical complexes. i think there is a lot of other miscellaneous anger he could have towards others too … perhaps some part of him is sore upon seeing ivy’s normal lifestyle, watching her go to university and knowing that’s been taken from him. or an ache felt when hearing stories from zib and the band and how they used to travel successfully, living as nomads, and rocky is all too reminded of his similar lifestyle and how he couldn’t make it work as effortlessly. people with immense trauma are more prone to irrational anger and jealousy, to viewing everything around them as unfair and believing it’s even more unjust that so many people get to live comfortably while they’ve suffered. a situation that gets more messy when you’re someone like rocky, a man who’s willingly made choices that have harmed himself and wants to continue on with his smiling, bumbling fool of an act. he does not want to be angry, does not want to see it within himself, i think, which leads to an accidental increase of it.

all of this is to reiterate that wick is a scapegoat for rocky and nothing more. it’s why he’s rather hypocritical whenever it concerns the man. for example, it was stated by tracy that he looks down upon wick for his excessive presence at the bar, yet he appears to enjoy hanging out with zib -- who drinks just as often! he makes fun of how all wick ever talks about is rocks, when he himself is prone to poetry rambles that people find irritating or boring, and etc etc. this is also just a human nature thing, to critique someone you heavily dislike and even going as far as to belittle things you love or do in your own day to day because you just hate them that bad! but given rocky’s willingness to befriend anyone, it more so reeks of a dehumanization element. wick is every obstacle in his way, every divine force that threatens to send him packing again, so he is equal parts unnerved by wick’s presence and angry about it. it is mostly a fear response we are seeing, an emotion that’s morphed into long held resentment and anger. so his actions are extremely defensive, with him trying to push wick far away and keep him and mitzi separate, like some sort of animal attempting to ward off a threat that’s come too close to their home. despite the loaded animosity there, this hate has hardly reached its peak … but it shall only grow more intense as things continue onward i’m afraid, since as it stands ( in the comic at least ) rocky is at an all time low … and is ten times more desperate. i’d honestly say wick has become so warped in his mind’s eye that he can only strive towards ‘winning’ over the other man, because that’s all he can see anymore. i think mitzi implying that wick willingly helped her out, the intense head injury, and rocky’s fragile emotional state is exactly what pushes him towards premeditated murder in look-see. i don’t know how people perceive that arc, but to me it’s very clear that rocky actively sought to see the deaths of wes and fish that night. going as far as to lament that he’d be, “very disappointed if ( he ) dreamed them,” and purposefully luring the marigold duo away to have freckle pick them off. while you could argue that this was a smart move, in a gangster sort of sense, there’s still no denying that rocky is oddly chipper about the whole thing and is now seeking death out ; whereas before his methods of vengeance were just, well, ruining people’s livelihood but ultimately leaving them alive. this isn’t to discredit the fact that rocky is going through something! he is in a very muddled and dark place, mentally and physically, but even tracy has said that the head injury hasn’t changed rocky’s personality -- it’s only brought things to the surface.

source : q&a with tracy .

which, yeah! makes sense! head trauma can cause a person to become a wreck emotionally ( think mood swings, irritability, etc ) but it doesn’t completely morph someone either. personality changes may occur, but it’s not like you’re being rewritten entirely, you know? and given tracy’s old statement, it’s clear that ‘personality changes’ aren’t a side effect he’s suffering from. something that adds to my beginning statement, which is that rocky is a deeply angry and troubled person, more so than fans give him any credit for.

however, to touch upon your mini opinion about these two, i actually wholeheartedly agree that rocky and wick could become friends if circumstances were different. they do in fact have many superficial similarities, but one of the more prominent things they deeply share is never really belonging in the groups they frequent. this is more overt with rocky’s character, yet wick faces it too in subtle ways. the well-to-do crowd, seen through the investors, find the gentleman to be lacking in about every place imaginable ; to them he is an obsessive freak who cares too deeply for meager rocks, something they constantly mock him for, while he’s also being noticeably set apart from the rest of them … he seems younger than the investors, more excitable, passionate, and a little less experienced, and doesn’t seem to care for money or reputation as much as them either. there is a constant rubbing between him and them, where what he enjoys is seen as wrong, such as his love for the lackadaisy and his choice in paramor, a grieving widow with extremely dangerous ties. we also know that wick doesn’t have many friends at all, with the only two he has being lacy and church ( church is listed as such on his character profile, in a sort of tongue-in-cheek way ), both of whom work for or with him. they are obliged to hang around, and while they care in varying ways, they are prone to judging him just as much. honestly, it’s not shocking that wick seeks refuge at his chosen speakeasy! but even there he is rather distant from everyone else. he doesn’t speak to zib ever in the comics, nor seems all too close with viktor, ivy, or horatio … it is merely mitzi he is close to, even if he knows of the other people who work there. and, once again, wick very obviously doesn’t fit in. he is not gangster material, could never be an atlas may replacement, much less someone who could get his paws dirty in such an active way. so he has his feet in two different worlds and doesn’t know how to fit into either of them, or which one he actually wants to fit into more. i think in many ways rocky could relate -- these are two very lonely people who wish to belong somewhere and be accepted by some group or another but go about it in all the wrong ways. wick, who is too hesitant to fully commit to what he wants and is worse off for it, and then rocky, who obsessively throws himself against what he wants until he breaks every bone in his body. they also have explosives to bond over, lol, and other miscellaneous things like their taste in women i suppose … but this potential bond adds to the tragedy of lackadaisy, where we see two people who on every level should get along but we’re burdened with the knowledge that it’s an impossibility anyway, because there’s no removing the circumstance of which they’re in.

though i like to believe that despite wick’s fear of rocky, he maintains a kindness towards him regardless. i think his worries about rocky are rather surface level … he doesn’t know the boy at all, really, and thus can’t make heads or tails of him, hence him believing the lie in balderdash. so when i’m feeling particularly self indulgent, i like imagining a world where they’re forced together and sort of ‘stuck’ together ; to which rocky finally breaks and exposes his wounds to wick, in every sense of the word, and wick finally gets him. the aggression, the possessiveness of mitzi … it is all fear and desperation and a profound sadness, things he’d sympathize with. if rocky was able to explain that he loathes wick because if he saves the lackadaisy then mitzi won’t need him anymore and that it’s not fair that wick gets to so easily fix things when rocky would give his soul for his home, for her, and how wick could render every sacrifice he’s already made for naught by smoothing things over with some greenbacks and he can’t lose this, he just can’t --! … which, well, wick is too kind of a man to be able to do anything except feel awful, even though it’s not his fault at all. here we have two people who could coexist! and they should, since rocky logically can’t do every speakeasy job ( band member, rumrunner, mitzi’s shadow, also the guy who gets the money for the hooch ) by himself, just like how wick can’t save the lackadaisy with only his cash and limited booze stash. it’d be a joint cooperation, a collaboration between them, both equally important in the grand scheme of crime’s every turning wheel … but rocky’s rage and fear won’t let him see that, and likely never will. still, in scenarios where everything ends up alright for the lackadaisy and the people involved in it ( which is not how canon will go, by the way ), i fancy wick and rocky getting better within their relationship. rocky will always be prickly and quick to upset around the other man sadly, but perhaps he could see wick in a softer kind of light. or at least understand vaguely enough that he isn’t out to get rocky, so to speak. and then maybe wick learns that pancakes soothe rocky’s ire and poorly makes them anytime he wishes to talk to the man, and other fun things like that! but you should have more confidence in your character analysis skills, because you were spot on ( at least in my eyes ) about them potentially getting along if things were different. it’s certainly a fun aspect to play around with, and is important to note when discussing their relationship so you can fully understand just how warped rocky’s perspective on things are. and how unstable and traumatized he is too, of course </3 sidenote, but i also hope that throughout everything i’ve said here, or anything i’ve said before on my blog, that my love for rocky and my own sympathy for him comes across well enough. while he’s deeply flawed and i have no qualms discussing said flaws in depth, i also don’t think of him as some insane freak who’s evil at his core or anything like that. honestly, i adore analyzing him so much as a character because of how far down his issues go! he’s very well written, i’ll say, as is wick and many of the other characters, but i digress.

once more, thank you for the ask! i’ll end this here because i fear if i don’t i’ll start going in circles, since their relationship is so vast and very important for rocky in a character sense. hopefully i shed some more light on it though! i love these two to bits and pieces and i wouldn’t be half as invested in lackadaisy if their dynamic wasn’t so monumental -- at least to me.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[euryleli]

I don't know why but I tend to like byler fics more when they're from mike's point of view (or better yet - a dual pov with mike AND will)

Still, if I had to choose one? Mike all the way and I don't even know why

[dollypopup]

y'all can all cancel me (again) for this, but if there's even a SHRED of 'who should I pick?' from Penelope in season 3, I am tuning out SO fast because like. . .sorry not sorry, there IS no choice. Debling is some crusty OC suitor she barely even knows and Colin is a man who she has been so supposedly in love with to the point where she'd ruin her entire family's reputation to have a potential love story with him. Penelope and Colin have background, years of knowing each other, intimacy that few people in the Ton can boast of having (letters, conversations about purpose, fights and arguments and makeups) and her and Debling have. . .a dance or two at a ball because he's a rebound for Penelope's broken heart. he means nothing. he has no nuance, he has no weight to the story, he is such an afterthought to me. either I wanna see Penelope going 'you know what? I don't even LIKE this dude. he's. . .fine, but I don't care about him even a shred as much as I care about Colin' or the INSTANT Colin's like 'you know what? we should get married' if it's not an immediate 'say less, you're already my husband, try returning me without the receipt, Debling whomst?' then I don't want it!

like. . .it's just so frustrating to see all the 'I hope Debling sweeps her off her feet and she rejects Colin's proposal and she makes him work for it and and and-' nonsense from the fandom and it's always tagged and no matter how many times I block it, it just keeps popping up. I go into the Polin tag for POLIN. I don't give a SHIT about a male love interest other than Colin. Not one. Not a shred. Not an iota.

and also. . .Debling has the 'benefit' of not having depth, or character traits, or HISTORY, so peeps can project onto him however they want, but I'm calling it now, there is NOTHING he could do or be that would make me like him more than Colin. Colin will always hit different, and I will always love him more. and if Pen's not on that same page? lol bye

you want me to believe Penelope and Colin are soulmates and it's romance for her to hem and haw about how difficult a decision it is for her to marry a stranger who knows barely anything about her. . .

when Marina was out here dropping banger lines like 'You were the only man with which I could see myself being happy' and 'I do not care about any of these men, where is Colin?'? like hello??? and she wasn't even fully in love with him!!!! but we'll demonize her until the cows come home in our fandom and make her the villain in Polin's love story for DARING to get in between Polin, yet Debling, a white man, is a darling dear perfect prince for getting in between Polin? existing in our fandom solely so Penelope can be like 'lol, Colin ain't shit, let me entertain any and everyone else'?

if that's the direction it goes then, ten toes down and on my mama, she doesn't deserve Colin and she can move because I'm on my way to court him my damn self

and that's that on that

[amelikos]

Thinking about the portrayal of ancestry in Horizons.

[razzledazzletrassh]

no major fic updates just yet guys TAKE MY WOY OC I MADE LIKE. April of last year IM PLUGGING SOME INFO ABOUT THIS GUY IN THE TAGS.

I may also redesign her soon or something. Make her more bug-like with some stuff. I can cook guys let me cook !!!

[spurgie-cousin]

HELP i just learned Mormon temple rituals are based on masonic rituals????? oh my god like........i might need to take a day off of work about this......

[enden-k]

At some point I will def start writing love letters to him, so I hope you're mentally prepared

-anon that proposed to Kaveh

please dont send them to me, i dont wanna come off as mean but i genuinely dont know how to respond anymore to smth like this and i dont wanna keep continuing feeling stressed and uncomfy on this blog anymore

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

watching fandaniel go is wild because he is just [vestibular stims] [vestibular stims] [vestibular stims] [vestibular stims] and yeah man that's a mood