#to recognizing how they feel about him

[noblesvacation]

sequel to the post about Lizel

Gil is seen as insanely, inhumanly powerful and antisocial. This is mostly true. Gil is far more powerful than he should be by normal human means, and he's not particularly interested in getting along with people.

However, he's not entirely against human contact nor ignorant to social matters. Gil will punt idiots straight out of the building as neededーand adventurers are exactly the kind of rowdy group who will be annoying and only listen to violence so can we even blame himーbut he otherwise has no problem holding a conversation. It's OTHER PEOPLE who have a hard time talking to him because of their own assumptions and his scary reputation.

The key is that he genuinely doesn't care enough about being social to rectify or even be bothered by this! As long as there are a few people who can act like civilized human beings towards himーand there are some! The landlady of the inn, the bartender, even Studd as a guild employeeーhe's good. Gil does not get lonely easily.

AND THIS REMAINS TRUE AFTER MEETING LIZEL. He's not particularly seeking out new connections, but Lizel is a sort of social connection he's never had before, and that. It's nice. He doesn't need more, but now that he's had this, going back would be difficult.

[leafeyrune]

Like an Angel of Death

[erinwantstowrite]

Hi Erin, I have a question. Is Dick Grayson jealous of Richard Parker because of Peter??? What I'm trying to say is that no parent would trade their child's first steps/words etc. and in our case, Dick saw none of that.

the most prominent feeling he has for richard is devastation

this version of himself almost had everything (thought dick isn't as aware of this yet as he could be) and then he lost it in the blink of an eye. the idea that he could die, his partner could die, and leave his kid without them just like his parents had to? devastating. he probably already has this fear in himself, heightened because of his vigilante work. when he was a kid nothing like that mattered but now he's an adult and the possibility is there. how could he bring a kid into the world if it was possible to put them through the same pain that he was put through? and this other him wasn't even a vigilante. he sees peter and that resilience and he can't help but wonder who the hell gave that to him. he doesn't even know that it's him (and ales)

he does envy richard underneath all of that. he wants to know how he got past that fear of having kids, what it was like for him to hold peter for the first time. he wants to know what peter's first word was and what TV shows he watched, of richard told him the same stories mary grayson told him at bedtime. then he starts thinking about how richard would be envious of him, for getting to see peter as he is now

[shakingparadigm]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TILL

[fusionsprunt]

Non-canon instance where Beatrix accidentally falls into another dimension in which Holloway's Comet didn't make it to planet Zona.

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Feel like Neil couldn’t have been any other kind of actor than one in theatre. If he was a movie actor or on social media or whatnot, it would not be the same. Theatre by nature is fleeting. Recorded mediums can be rewatched over and over, creating a time loop of sorts. We the audience can keep going back to a time when Neil is still alive. Theatre however is live and once the play is over, there is no going back except in our memories. It is much like life. We are forced to live in the moment in a theater lest we miss it altogether. It’s not that the poets choose to live in a world where Neil is dead, it’s that they must because the only other option is to die themselves. I feel like Keatings teachings could only be reflected in stage theatre because that’s the only way there can be no time loop of grief. I think dead poets society itself isn’t about overcoming the authority in your life to do what you want but rather about grief, about allowing oneself to feel grief and all one’s emotions without letting it consume you and to keep living after, to live every day in the moment lest you fall into grief and regret that will destroy you or force you into a miserable life

[braceletofteeth]

Hira + すき

[bonefall]

You heard it here first, folks.

Twist good.

(spoiler under the cut, go read it first if you wanna experience it!)

[itmightrain]

1x01 / 1x09

[pinkd3mon]

Feeling loved

Bonus:

[saltyb0ba]

a deep blood moon, a starless night

dark enough to see the light

[saffitaffi]

So I just read all 914 pages of Fool’s Fate in one day. I don’t think I’ve ever read that much in one day ever. These books are so good holy snickerdoodles I love the politics and the amazing worldbuilding (robin writes matriarchies and different societal structures SO GOOD) and the realistic characters and Fitz’s unreliable narration and also the gay ass ‘friendship’ between him and the fool (fitz ‘no homo but also my bond with you is deeper than my love for anyone else including my other half bonded wolf and my wife and also sex’ farseer)

So uh. Yeah. Excuse me while I go cry in the corner. Again.

[unnonexistence]

ok there was a poll going around a while ago about whether you think your 5-year-old self would recognize you, and I'm curious:

[uncanny-tranny]

Something I realized (which was obvious to me subconsciously) is that... The family that vehemently didn't accept me when I first came out but now do accept me are still the same family that I am most unwilling to be open about things I feel protective over.

I remember that my dad reacted so poorly, not to my coming out, but to my transition specifically that my therapist was the one to ask if I wanted to put it on my file that I wanted nothing to ever be shared with him about my health after I broke down multiple times due to my anxiety that I would never transition. While there are and were protections for me, I was incredibly fearful at the time because I was a minor, and I was so worried that he would have prevented my transition that I couldn't have said for certain what (if any) lengths he would have gone to to prevent that.

He's grown a lot as a person, and made some commendable strides. But he didn't find out from me when I medically transitioned the second I turned eighteen, and I think that's among the things that truly made him realize the scope of the issue.

I'm not here to guilt trip parents, guardians, or other members responsible for the care of the children or teens or young adults in their care.... but this is a cautionary tale. You aren't saving the people in your care when you do this, you simply reinforce an idea that you will never care for them, never want them as they are, would rather them be shoved away.

When you give people reasons to be secretive, they will behave secretively. When you give people reasons to doubt their safety around you, they will become sneaky, defensive, and withdrawn. When you give people reasons to doubt that you value their life, they will believe that you don't care if they live or not.

[skrunksthatwunk]

something he can't put into words.

[bbuzz28]

Memories

Old man Fiddlestan, my beloved-and what's this? It could be semi-canon compliant :O ?!?! Woof- this is one of the saddest things I have ever written. I know some of you gremlins (affectionate) love that sort of thing, but I don't. I like really really don't. This is my comfort ship, so I don't even know where this came from other than trying to figure out how they *could* work in canon. Truthfully though, I prefer my Fiddlestan heavy on the comfort when it comes to the "hurt/comfort" genre. This is my only “angsty” (i.e. no immediate happy ending) Notes-app fics, so don't get used to this level of sad from me lol.

“Stan?” an oddly familiar voice called. Mr. Mystery, Stan Pines, glanced up from the flyers he was organizing and found that Old Man McGucket stood in the doorway of his front door. The last tour of the day had just left, it was dinnertime, and he was exhausted. Stan rolled his eyes as he unfurled his tie, wishing Soos was still there to escort the crazy old man off his property. No matter what he did, the old hillbilly always managed to find his way back to the Shack. “Sweet Moses McSuckit, what are you doing in here? Shoo, scat, or whateva will get rid of ya.” Hearing no movement, he looked at the man again and found he was standing erect. His blue eyes were the clearest he had seen them in no less than a decade.

          Wait, what did he call- oh. Oh no.

“Stan…ley? Did I…did I do somethin’ wrong?” the other man asked, his hands twisted in knots in front of him. Memories flashed through Stan’s mind; Ford falling through the portal, Fiddleford finding him passed out in the lab, working together to bring Ford home again…being together. Being happy. They had been happy, if just for a little while, hadn’t they?

Then there was the cult, and his discovery of the damn memory gun that had finally ruined everything they ever built. He took a hesitant step forward, a thousand thoughts roaring in his mind at once. “Fidds? Wha-what do you remember?” A bandaged hand snaked up and rubbed over the faded scar on the side of his head “I…don’t rightly know. Did we…I think we had a fight? I just woke up in the…in the dump. N’ I don’t have any shoes. Do ya know why my arm is in a cast?” Fiddleford looked so lost.

Stan knew in his heart that all of this was fleeting- “clarity” would hit Fiddleford every few years after he had finally wiped his mind of himself. Almost like his brain was trying to jumpstart itself back together. The first time they thought it was a miracle but…it didn’t last. It just started a trend that would follow them both for the next almost thirty years. Fiddleford would seemingly “wake up” and be lucid for a few weeks in the beginning, then eventually only a matter of days. It had been so long since the last time that Stan would wager, they only had maybe a few hours together if he was lucky.

The last time Fiddleford was himself…they had fought. Stanley thought he had figured the only way Fiddleford could stay; he needed to remember. Remember everything he had ever forgotten. At the time, Fiddleford had been unwilling to try. He didn’t think he could handle it; he knew he had forgotten what he had for a reason.

Stanley had gotten as close to begging as he ever had in his life since surviving Tijuanna, and when it had no effect…Stanley had told Fiddleford to leave and never come back. He had left that night, and by the next day he had faded away again. After a while, Stan thought his last words had been the final nail in the coffin that was Fiddleford’s mind. He carried that weight along with every other mistake he had ever made. But here he was. Fiddleford. His Fiddleford.

He took a deep breath before he opened his arms up. “Hey, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. I’m right here.” Fiddleford rushed through the doorway, melting into Stanley’s open arms. “I went away again, didn’t I?” Stan could feel Fiddleford’s tears soaking into his chest, his own whispering at the edges of his eyes. Yes, and you will leave again. You will leave me and I will be alone all over again, you fucking asshole. “Hey cowboy, didn’t I just say not t’ worry about any a’ that? You’re here now, n' that’s what matters. You’re…you’re home.” A haggard laugh vibrated through the smaller man’s chest into Stanley’s own. “I know I keep tellin’ ya, tellin’ me not t’ worry is like” “…tellin’ a fish t’ stop swimmin’; I know Fidds, I know.” Fuck was really the only conscious thought that went through his head as he held his one-time lover. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, again.

Fiddleford looked up, eyes wide and searching Stan’s face. “How long do ya think we have?” Stan shook his head, unwilling to lie even if it eventually wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t remember. You’ve always been the only person I couldn’t lie to. “I dunno, it’s been…a while. Probably not very long.” Fiddleford closed his eyes before he said “I need ya t’ know somethin’, Stanley.” Stan started to shake his head. “Fidds, you don’t have t-” The look on the other man’s face shut Stan right up-he had always had that ability. Stan wished he didn’t miss it as much as he did. “I need ya to know that even when I’m not here…I miss you. The part of me that’s somewhere in here-” A weathered hand tapped the side of his head to emphasize his point “ misses you. I’m just so sorry, Stanley. Sorry that I’m a coward. I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to be here all the time…but I’ll never stop tryin’. I’ll always try n’ come home to ya.”

Stan thought of the thousands of times he had chased Old Man McGucket, the neat little character that Stan had to compartmentalize his Fiddleford into when he wasn’t himself, out of the Shack. How many times he had found him curled up like a cat on the back porch. How every time they “met”, McGucket would say how nice Stan was or how good he felt to be around him “for some reason.” How many odds and ends McGucket would gift Stan from the dump for exhibits at the Mystery Shack with a large smile and nothing substantial behind his eyes.

It would be so much easier if he would stop trying to come back. Maybe the hole in Stan’s heart the size of the sweet, certifiably insane man would scab over. How many times had Stanley mourned him? How many times was he willing to hurt himself? They were now nearing their sixties, how long was he really willing to do this song and dance?

What’s one more time? he softly thought, his hand coming up to tenderly cup the grizzled face of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Mad scientist, friend, and unfortunately for them both…the love of his life.

“I miss you too, Fidds.”