#sidenote lol

[ruvi-muffin]

Begging cr cast to please remember each other's character pronouns

Please make the effort lads

i believe in u

[dapper-shipping-forever]

🤝 for vash and steven :) both nightow men, who do they interact!!

Man Steven thinks Vash is a fucking idiot. But maybe it's kind of like how he views Klaus, like both Klaus and Vash seem like naive and sweet, but they're both badasses actually; he knows Klaus is stromg but always honest and thats why Steven does the shady jobs. He'd probably actually like Vash quite a bit. Vash would think he's a good dude, if he knew some of his darker jobs he'd definitely disapprove, but he sees what a good dude Steven truly is. They'd get along well.

[vforvielka]

Shinra’s Most Wanted

[bunnykaye]

💚BONUS Polin Week💚 day seven | Love Confessions

"I will not let my lies spread any further than they already have." "Then how am I meant to help you?"

[reineydraws]

bruce: dick i love that you want to stay connected to your past as an acrobat but can u PLEASE sit NORMALLY while we have this meeting

(poses from aaron tveit's version of "mein herr")

[medicalunprofessional]

never change, man !

[fiepige]

Compilation of EVERY single time they changed Hobie's filter in the digital version:

Left: Theatrical release Right: Digital release

You might have to click on some of them to get a better look at Hobie, sadly I don't have a video editor that allows me to make better edits than these :')

[valeriianz]

Summary: Part 2 of my Hard of Hearing!Dream. Part 1 here! Dream struggles with his new disability and Hob tries to help... along with Dream's new friend, Jessamy.

Square/Prompt: A1 - Why Did You Do It?

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: human AU, deaf!Dream, angst, happy ending, established relationship

Fill for @dreamlingbingo! (thank you @mallory-x for the read through!)

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

When Dream turned 30, he celebrated it in a crowded bar that doubled as an art gallery, close to his apartment. It was his favorite bar, because it was an eclectic gallery first, with a bar open for events. Luckily, there was a local exhibit on the night of Dream’s birthday and he knew it would be the perfect place to celebrate. This way, he could appease his friends who wanted to go out and drink and celebrate, and Dream could stare at art and make a quick escape if need be. It gave a chance for everyone to focus on anything else but him after the initial round of shots. 

Hob never took his focus off Dream, though. Even when they would float away to opposite sides of the room, Dream would turn his head and find Hob staring at him, smiling at being caught before turning his attention back to the person he was in conversation with.

At that point, it had been two and a half years since Dream had told Hob about his diagnosis… that he would go permanently deaf. In that time, he did indeed completely lose his hearing in his left ear, but his right was still working pretty well. He had just gotten used to tilting his head slightly to the left so people would understand to talk directly into his good ear.

And Hob was still here. Patient, sweet, loving Hob. Who Dream secretly had a crush on probably since they were first introduced. They’d moved in together last year, and while there were some bumps in the road, complications that arose with moving in with a lover, Dream was surprised to find that he was… happy.

He couldn’t stand it, sometimes, how happy Hob made him. Even his friends had noticed how he smiled more, seemed to have a more positive outlook on life and even on his disability. And it felt natural, like Hob just brought out all the good traits about Dream, like they had been lying dormant and just needed the confidence, the reassurance that he was allowed to feel this way. This happy.

And then, 45 days after Dream’s birthday party, he woke up to Hob shaking him awake, because he was sleeping through his alarm that was apparently blasting through his phone.

But Dream couldn’t hear him. Or the alarm. 

He watched with horrifying realization, as Hob’s lips moved, hovering over him, but no words came out. 

So much for five years. 

Hob had clocked Dream’s blank stare relatively quick, his lips shaping the letters of Dream’s name with a hand on his face, Hob’s brows pinched up and–

Dream cried. 

He felt foolish for it. He knew this would happen eventually. He just thought he’d have more time. 

Dream speaks with his audiologist the next day, with Hob by his side. Dream had wondered about hearing aids while he still had a modicum of hearing, but had been hesitant. His insurance barely covered them and, while hearing aids may have helped in the past, after several tests, his audiologist confirmed with Dream that now, they wouldn’t even be able to pick up background noise. They wouldn’t help at all.

Dream and Hob had left the office with defeat hanging heavy in the air. Mostly from Dream. 

He’s not proud of the person he had been in the week following his permanent hearing loss.

But in time (and therapy), Dream was able to move on. And it really wasn’t so bad, once Dream accepted that this was his life now.

If he closes his eyes, he thinks he can still hear Hob’s voice, especially with his lips pressed against his throat, behind his ear, murmuring sweetness into his skin and sending vibrations into his skull. It’s one of the most calming things Dream has ever experienced; laying in bed with Hob, in the absolute darkness and absolute silence, his remaining senses heightened, it’s both relaxing and unexpectedly erotic. To feel Hob completely surrounding him, grounding Dream, warm and solid and safe, it lights Dream up from the inside and reassures him that everything would be okay.

And in time, Dream comes to appreciate the silence. It’s nice, it’s peaceful. Living in a large city, with constant chatter, cars honking and sirens blazing, used to be a sensory nightmare; that creeping, prickling feeling of overstimulation has vanished and now it’s just… nothingness. 

It was scary at first, Dream would be a fool to not admit it; watching the world continue around him, people living their lives, living his own life, all in absolute silence. Not being able to hear the beep of the microwave, indicating when his food was done, or water coming out of the faucet while he washed dishes, or the sizzle of oil in a pan while cooking… little things that Dream had never really perceived whilst hearing them every day. All of that sound just– gone. Like hitting the mute button on a movie.

Dream tries to convince himself that he doesn’t miss the mundane noises, he could barely hear them anyway… but he often feels lost without them. So learning to welcome the quiet was the only way Dream could stay sane.

Though going deaf after decades of being able to hear (albeit poorly) and speak gave Dream the advantage of continuing to communicate in spoken English. He still has an inner voice, can still read lips very well, and so the communication gap with his friends and even strangers isn’t as wide as Dream had feared.

It makes learning sign language difficult. Dream at first did not take the lessons very seriously, especially with Hob being the only person to practice with, in those early days. Hob did help, though; he fumbles and signs broken ASL and Dream fumbles back. But it had been so easy to fall back on the habit of using his voice. But as months turn into a full year, Dream learns by trial and error that he realistically can’t continue traversing through a hearing world without sign language.

The hardest challenge he’d run into, for example… Dream never thought he’d need to prove his deafness.

Of course people get confused when he can speak perfect English, out in public spaces like a cafe or a bookshop, only to then turn around and seemingly ignore everyone around him. It is a strange experience, for Dream, to go around communicating as usual, speaking when he can’t even hear his own voice and reading lips. But he can’t be constantly on the lookout for anybody trying to get his attention. Watching belatedly as someone he had been exchanging dialogue with, roll their eyes and walk away in a huff. Dream truthfully has no idea how he might come off to a complete stranger who can’t realize that he’s deaf. Rude, perhaps. Or uncaring.

It’s enough to convince Dream to get fake hearing aids… he feels ridiculous wearing them, like he’s giving in to a social construct that only exists in his own head. But, annoyingly, while wearing them, the way people communicate and treat him improves exponentially. 

Funny, that.

Hob, of course, notices.

“When did you get these?” He touches the little device in Dream’s ear, his fingers turning into a caress. “I thought aids didn’t work for you?”

Hob speaks while he signs, they both do, to help make the hand motions stick. Though Hob often slips up and signs exact English, not proper American Sign Language, which he’s doing now. It doesn’t help in the learning process, but it’s a start, and Dream has no leg to stand on when it comes to corrections.

Dream swipes his index finger across his nose.

“Fake.”

Dream offers no more explanation, turning a page in the book he’s reading. They’re sitting on the couch, Hob properly facing the TV, and Dream lounging sideways, his legs draped over Hob’s lap.

Hob taps the edge of Dream’s book, getting his attention once more.

“You’d rather put a sign on you that announces to the world you're deaf?”

Dream sighs, knocking his head back.

“I know I shouldn’t have to…” Dream starts, his fingers fumbling, a new sign of nervousness he never thought he’d had before. “But it might make things easier.”

“Things?” Hob finger spells, his hands coming down, palms up, in a sign of confusion.

Dream moves a hand to his mouth.

“Communication,” and then to his ear, “understanding.”

Hob’s brows furrow and Dream slowly looks back to his book.

Dream wonders if they’re thinking the same thing. Remembering how difficult it became, living together, after Dream lost his hearing permanently. Hob would forget that Dream couldn’t hear, which was frustrating enough, but the slip-ups were near constant in the beginning. 

They’d get into arguments over it, a flame that Dream wasn’t proud to admit he’d always fanned. He hated that his hackles were constantly rising, always on the offensive, like Dream was expecting Hob to take the bait and fight back. That would, of course, spiral into meaningless fights over something stupid like leaving the laundry in the dryer for too long, or forgetting to pick up a particular ingredient they needed for dinner at the grocery store.

Dream was ashamed to admit he didn’t help in the situations, often coping out by just– not looking at Hob so he couldn’t see his lips moving or his awkward signing. He’d turn around and stomp away and Hob would be left to chase after him, hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around so they could communicate.

It got easier… Hob was so patient with Dream. He never got so angry he would give up. He always apologized, even when Dream was just being dramatic. 

Hob knows by now that Dream would never take the easy route. And sure enough, Dream ditches the fake hearing aids. With them on, people started treating him with gloves on, or stare at him nervously, wondering how to approach. It’s frustrating and annoying– how Dream can’t seem to find a middle ground.

It takes unloading to his new deaf friends about Hob; seeking advice for how to temper these unexpected feelings of disappointment and changes in Dream himself… they never used to fight, before Dream lost his hearing. This is unknown territory for the both of them. 

Dream had discovered the community in his city, for deaf people. He’d found a meetup online, after his therapist suggested looking into attending the weekly meetups.

As always, Dream was at first skeptical. His sign language was still spotty at best, and he wasn’t a social guy even when he could hear so. He wasn’t hopeful.

Luckily the deaf community in his city is more than accepting of him, patient when he slips and signs exact English. And when Dream is done airing out his grievances, they encourage patience with Hob. That having a hearing partner is always going to be a struggle, but Hob is clearly coming from a place of compassion and wants to learn. That’s more than can be said for most people. 

Dream feels foolish, all the sudden, for his actions against Hob, looking sideways at Jessamy. She was one of the founders of these d/Deaf meetings, and they clicked immediately. Unlike most of their peers in the group, she too had been born hearing and then lost it due to illness. Her and Dream were a lot alike, though she was older and had been wading through this new world for over two decades. She was fluent in ASL, and didn’t even speak while communicating.

“It’s considered rude to speak here, during these meetups,” she had explained during Dream’s first time with the group. 

Jessamy becomes something like a confidant for Dream. She too has a hearing partner, Matthew. The amount she and Dream have in common is almost frightening. But in time Dream discovers it’s nice… to be seen. To be understood. She helps Dream comprehend the beauty of the silence even more. And that they can still attend hearing events just as before. 

So with her encouragement, a few months down the line, Dream and Hob join her and Matthew at a music festival. Jessamy excitedly points out interpreters several of the bands have on stage, and Dream feels a bit of relief. He can also feel the vibrations all around him from the loud speakers, though it’s not as pronounced as they would be in a venue with wooden floors; the earth beneath their feet grounds the pulsating bass lines to something dull and unrecognizable.

Dream’s not quite fluent enough in ASL to understand every word the interpreters use, especially at the speed they’re going in to keep up with the song, but he gets the gist. And he has to admit it’s… fun, doing this. He hadn’t been to a concert or music festival in almost five years, and spending it with both Hob and his new friends is nice. It’s easy to stay within their safe space and not feel pressured to speak with strangers or awkwardly ignore them; everyone here minds their own business and in time, Dream loosens up.

After finding available, good seats for the next band they’d all agreed on, Hob and Dream set out to the nearest vendor to grab drinks and snacks for the four of them, while Jessamy and Matthew hold down the fort, so to speak.

While standing in line, Hob asks if Dream is enjoying himself. And, surprisingly, Dream is. He says as much with a smile and taking a playful nudge from Hob.

As the line shrinks and they come closer to the counter, Dream’s gaze moves from the short menu taped to the window to the man taking orders. His lips move sluggishly and hesitantly, speaking with an accent that makes it difficult for Dream to parse. But it doesn’t phase him, what everyone wants is on the menu and the transaction should be simple.

Now, Hob could just place the order for him– for all of them, but Dream had been determined, lately, to converse in transactions like this himself. It was good practice not only for Dream, but also whoever was taking his order as well. To learn patience and practice his communication skills. It was a little nerve wracking, but for the most part it was easy. If a cashier or barista or medical professional had trouble exchanging words with Dream, well, that’s what he carried a pen and pocketbook around for.

The person in front of them moves to the pickup counter and Dream sees the man behind the counter call out what must be a, “Next!” but the way his lips move, it looks more like, “Nect!”

Dream swallows and signs as he speaks, to– hopefully– indicate how this would potentially be a one-sided conversation.

“Two orders of fries, one mac and cheese, three shots of Bacardi, one shot of vodka, and a lemonade, please.”

The man barely looks at Dream while he types the order into an iPad. Dream nods, mostly to himself, and looks down as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet.

When he looks back up, the man is in the middle of saying something to him.

Dream’s brows wrinkle.

“Can you repeat that? I can’t hear you.”

After he speaks and signs, Dream offers up his card, assuming the man just told him the total.

But the man visibly sighs and leans forward a bit, his mouth opening widely.

Dream focuses but only manages to make out the words “fries,” “double,” and “which do you want?”

“Um…” Dream licks his bottom lip. “One more time? Slowly, please.”

With a truly agitated face now, the man moves his lips again, but as Dream studies them, hoping to fill in the words he missed, instead new words are added and Dream finds himself stumped.

“Fries, yes. And singles, for the shots,” he guesses.

The man types something into his iPad but looks again at Dream with a growing look of irritation in his gaze. Dream looks behind him and sees a line of customers, before facing the man again, once again catching him in mid speech.

“Hold on,” Dream grumbles, settling the card down and digging through his pocket for the pen and paper. “Clearly I am deaf and raising your voice is not helping–”

Dream nearly jumps as Hob steps up suddenly to the counter, almost getting in front of Dream.

They exchange a few words before finally Hob nods and hands the guy his own card.

Dream stands silent, his pocket notebook in his hand and blinking slowly at Hob, who gives him a sheepish smile over his shoulder before nodding again to the man and taking both their cards back as well as the receipt.

They walk to the pickup counter without exchanging a word, meanwhile something begins to burn the back of Dream’s neck, prickling down his arms and coiling in his stomach.

Dream tugs on Hob’s arm as they settle next to the mobile vendor. 

“What just happened?” He doesn’t speak. Dream can’t find his voice right now.

Hob rubs the back of his neck, his gaze focused on something behind Dream.

“No french fries,” he signs without confidence. “Curly fries only.”

Dream blinks. The uncomfortable feeling in his gut tightening.

“Did you just order for me?”

Hob’s shoulders deflate, nodding.

Dream gapes like a fish for a few seconds, his eyes darting from Hob to the man that just took their order, and back.

“I don’t want curly fries. I hate curly fries. We could have gone to another vendor. You didn’t have to–”

Dream cuts himself off, balling his hands into fists and taking a long breath, closing his eyes, shaking his head.

Hob always did this. 

It took a while for Dream to notice, how if they were together, Hob would finish a conversation for Dream. Would speed an uncomfortable situation along with an interjection or provide unnecessary context with a stranger “He’s deaf, sorry…” without consenting with Dream first. 

When Dream realized Hob was doing this, he would go quiet, unsure whether or not to stop him or correct him in some way. Dream never knew exactly what to say. Did Hob think Dream was incapable of handling tricky conversations himself? Did he think Dream was a hassle?

When Dream opens his eyes Hob’s hands are out, placating, his eyes apologetic.

“Why do you do that?”

Hob blinks. “What?”

Dream’s heart rate is steadily rising, his fingers shaking slightly. 

“Make my decisions for me.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” Hob starts, his own signing gone fumbly. “I thought I was helping.”

“Yes. That’s the problem…” Dream starts, finally speaking again and letting his hands fall to his sides, his brain struggling to interpret correctly.

“What do you mean?” Hob asks.

“You don’t need to rush me out of an uncomfortable situation,” Dream starts again, his hands gesticulating uselessly. “If I’m communicating with someone whom I can’t understand, we can figure it out. They will learn. They need to learn.”

Judging by the way Hob is nervously looking around, Dream’s volume is surely rising. But he finds he doesn’t care.

“I’m not this thing you need to handle with gloves. Let me see a problem through until the end. No matter how long it takes.”

Dream is breathing heavily, he realizes, sucking in a gulp of air.

“Of course not.” Hob finally speaks, forgetting to sign. “I'm sorry.”

Hob’s eyes are welling up with tears and it somehow makes Dream more agitated, more words stumbling from his mouth without his permission.

“Then stop treating me like a burden!”

Dream turns and walks away. 

It’s foolish, and childish. And as Dream stomps away, his own vision becoming blurred with tears, he knows it’s not just this moment that’s made him snap. It’s the culmination of events from the past year of being fully disabled. He hates that he can’t hear. He hates this adjustment period. He wishes he’d been born deaf so at least this hurdle, this life change wouldn’t feel so mountainous. 

Dream wipes his eyes shamefully as his pace picks up to a run, pushing past people blindly. Regret screams in his bones with every step he makes, with every inch he puts between Hob and him. His chest aches with the urge to turn around and apologize, but he shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t! 

Dream’s shoes clumsily connect with the dirt underneath him, his face becoming hot and, as he rounds the corner of an unoccupied stall, Dream collapses to the ground and allows the tears he’d been fighting back to fall freely, a sob choking in his throat.

He grips his hair as he cries, his face stuck between his knees. The past year flashes before Dream’s eyes, all of the hardships, the doctors’ visits, the fights with Hob. He didn’t deserve Dream. All of his kindness and patience and for what? For Dream to snap on a dime and expect too much out of him all at once? 

Dream groans loudly, agitated at himself for seeing the problem; him, and unsure how to change. He knows he has a right to his feelings, but communicating them was so difficult. He’s becoming impatient with himself, with his slow learning curve, with Hob’s complacency to stay in their safe little bubble and treat Dream like this breakable thing. 

Dream couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but his sobs had stifled down to sniffles, and by the time he felt a hand gently land on his shoulder, Dream was doodling shapes in the dirt.

His head snaps up and finds Jessamy staring back at him, her brows creased in worry.

“Hey…” She’s bent over, her hair falling in her face. “What’s wrong?”

Dream ducks his head, shaking it, officially feeling foolish for running away. The regret he’d felt for leaving Hob starts up again and he suddenly feels so scared. At this rate, Hob would break up with him. Surely he was getting sick of Dream’s dramatics, him lashing out.

“Hob and I never fought…” Dream starts, his hands moving sluggishly. “... when I was hearing.”

Jessamy plops on the ground in front of Dream.

“It’s me,” Dream continues. “I’ve become so… sensitive, since going deaf. I feel like, sometimes, Hob treats me like a child. Like he wants to wrap me in bubble wrap. It’s so infuriating– I’m not some helpless thing that can’t figure things out!”

“No, you’re not…” Jessamy starts, reaching a hand out and giving Dream’s knee a shake. 

“It is OK to feel like this. You’ve only been deaf for a year…” her brows come up encouragingly. “The transition is tough, but it will get easier, in time.”

Dream nods solemnly, tracing lines in the dirt again. Jessamy waves her hand to get his attention once more.

“And you’re not alone, you know.” She smiles gently. “You got me and Matty–” she huffs a laugh at the look Dream gives her. “... and the entire gang to support you.”

Dream knew she meant everyone at their d/Deaf meetups and offered her a small smile. She’s right, of course. Despite how withdrawn and antisocial Dream had been in the beginning, even now still creeping out of his shell, the people he’d surrounded himself with had been nothing but kind and accepting and willing to listen and connect in ways Dream hadn’t thought possible. 

“Hob is still around, too,” Jessamy interrupts his thoughts, her brows lifting knowingly. “That man loves you so much; you should see the way he looks at you– it’s disgusting.”

Dream manages to crack a real, genuine smile at that, especially with the way Jessamy is fluttering her eyelashes and putting on a spot-on impression of Hob’s puppy dog eyes. 

He pulls a hand through his hair and looks down again. Images of Hob’s easy smile flashing behind his eyes, his hands caressing Dream’s skin, his strong arms lifting him in a hug, his sweet lips tracing the lines of his jaw and ear, murmuring sweetness that Dream could no longer hear but feel instead. Could plainly see Hob’s devotion and affection in their everyday lives together, how he would always start the coffee in the mornings so Dream would wake up to the smell of it. How Hob would leave the hallway light on during the day so Dream would come home– late from work– and have something to see by. How he always offered to help with dinner prep, chopping veggies or stirring something, often using the excuse to crowd Dream against the counter and kiss Dream silly.

“That man would pull the moon down for you, I hope you know.”

He would, Dream realizes, swallowing thickly. And he would do the same for Hob.

Dream nods, wringing his fingers out as Jessamy continues on.

“Remember, this is a learning experience for him, too.”

Her painted nails move with perfect fluency, always slowly for Dream to understand. And as one thumb comes down from her forehead to meet the thumb on her other hand, Dream nods again, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her lips curl sweetly, gaze flicking sideways suddenly.

She nudges her head. “Speak of the devil…”

Dream looks too, and finds Hob approaching them.

He curses to himself, wiping his eyes with more urgency and catching the almost giggle that Jessamy makes.

“I’ll leave you two alone?”

Dream takes a steadying inhale, pushes his shoulders back, and makes a weak fist and nods it back and forth.

Jessamy stands just as Hob steps up to them, his eyes guarded yet hopeful. She makes a sign of texting before stepping around Hob with a clap to his shoulder.

Hob watches Jessamy leave before meeting Dream’s gaze again, but says nothing. His eyes never leave Dream as he crouches down and takes a seat next to him, leaning back against the wall.

Dream stares back, studying the lines of Hob’s face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which are shiny and puffy, like he’d been sobbing, too.

“I’m sorry,” Dream whispers, pushing a fist into his chest.

Hob sighs, his shoulders going with it. He speaks as he signs.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Dream shakes his head. “You’re always the one apologizing for my outbursts–”

“But you were right,” Hob interjects, his eyes pleading. “Dream, can I say something?”

Dream’s heart leaps into his throat, swallowing harshly. He nods.

“You need to tell me…” Hob’s gaze shoots up to the sky, as if searching for the words for his hands to convert. “... the first time, when I do something that makes you uncomfortable. So I can remedy it immediately.”

Dream takes a deep breath as Hob continues, his hands moving slowly but surely. 

“Don’t let bad things fester and build. Talk to me.” His hand comes to his mouth in a motion similar to how Dream explained on the couch months ago. “Communicate. If you don’t correct me in the moment, I’m bound to repeat it.”

He takes Dream’s hands, his thumbs tracing circles over the knuckles. 

“I want…” Hob awkwardly makes the simple motions with his hand still clasped with Dream’s, making him bite back a smile. “... to do this right.”

Dream takes another breath that rattles, his eyes prickling at the corners.

Hob’s eyes have gone watery, too, his smile lopsided.

“OK?”

Dream nods. “OK.”

Hob rises up on his knees just as Dream does, falling into each other. Dream squeezes his arms around Hob’s shoulders, tucking his nose into Hob’s hair and breathing in the scent of him, letting it envelop him and calm him.

Hob’s lips brush the skin behind Dream’s ear, pressing a kiss there, before he feels them move.

I love you.

[chronicowboy]

because we know all it takes for evan buckley to have an epiphany is a Single Kiss i think gerard should be saying some bullshit about the 118 turning a bunch of good manly firemen gay and then he turns to eddie and is like "better watch out, diaz, don't want the rainbow to catch you too" and eddie is fed up of this man's bullshit actually so just walks over to buck (he's closest, that's why, that's the ONLY reason guys, stop laughing at him) and plants a Very Firm kiss right on buck's mouth and whilst mildly (see: on the verge of another heart attack panic attack) freaking out (buck is essentially catatonic at this point btw) turns around to captain bigot like "whoops i think the mustache must have caused some drag, slowed me down, couldn't outrun the rainbow, anybody want any skittles? want to taste the rainbow, captain?" hen and chimney are holding in gleeful laughter. buck hasn't breathed once. eddie runs away to go freak out in private. buck looks at chimney for help who just throws his hands up like "i'm not kissing you", looks to hen "hey now don't look at me these lips are for karen and karen only". buck, in an act of both extreme self preservation and destruction goes "GUYS eddie just kissed me! he's clearly in crisis mode. we need to do something about this!" bonus: cut to eddie heading into a confessional booth like "i kissed my best friend and technically made him cheat on his boyfriend but i don't feel all that bad about it and i only did it to get back at a bigot and i know revenge is frowned upon by the bible but that guy wasn't loving thy neighbor you know. anyway is kissing a man a sin? ive heard conflicting things so id love some clarification on that because i might want to do it again" and the hot priest's katy perry ringtone goes off again, he hasn't learnt from his mistakes with bobby in s1, and hot priest is like "haha well as you can probably tell i dont preach loving men as a sin in my congregation" and eddie's like ".....oh..... my god ?????" they're both flustered by each other so they both accidentally come out of the confessional at the same time and look at each other and eddie's like "oh im definitely going to hell" and hot priest laughs before smiling shyly and goes "want to tell me about your best friend?"

[jq37]

neme(sis)

Summary: The Rat Grinders actually fight the Bad Kids on the Hangman instead of just sending dragons and Adaine has to do some quick thinking.

"Adaine Abernant."

Adaine winced, clutching her head as Raulothim's Psychic Lance pierced her mind. It figured Oisin knew the spell. Raulothim was a dragon after all. She wondered if he learned it in class like her or if he'd come to school already familiar with the spell because of his dragon ancestor who was currently trying to swallow Gorgug, axe and all. She didn't wonder for too long though. There wasn't time.

"See what you can do with access to proper spell components?" Oisin called from the other side of the room, his tone mocking.

"That spell doesn't even have material components!" Adaine called back in spite of herself. Insulting her was one thing but getting basic spellcraft wrong while doing it? Unacceptable. She ignored his expression, smug from getting a rise out of her no doubt, and surveyed the battlefield. The Rat Grinders had caught them on their back foot. Things were going OK but they were playing defense. And no one was where they needed to be. Spellcasters too close to melee, fighters out of range. Only Gorgug was arguably in the right place but he was far too close to being dragon food for her liking. Fabian needed to be closer to the action, Riz needed cover, and she…

Adaine suppressed a smile, idea forming in her mind. She needed to be in punching distance.

"Scatter," she said, raising a hand. Five creatures: Gorgug, Riz, Fabian, Kristen…and Oisin.

Her party members didn't fight the spell, well used to the feeling of her magic working on them mid-battle and knowing that it never meant harm. As she moved them to more advantageous positions, she was hit with a flash of the future: Oisin resisting the spell. She reached out and nudged fate just a bit. Nearby, Ivy walked dangerously close to a breath weapon attack. Oisin startled, moved to grab her, and--pop. Suddenly, he was standing right next to Adaine who was already rearing her fist.

"Counterspell!" Oisin called, runes on his forearms glowing. The expression on his face was even more smug as the blue energy charging on her fist fizzled.

"Predictable," he said.

"Gullible," Adaine thought, halting her fist without following through on the punch and stomping her foot on the ground to activate the teleportation circle they were both now standing on. Because of course the boy with the empty house and unlimited funds would have a teleportation circle installed so he could have his friends over as often as possible. Teleportation via spell needed a willing creature but a Circle? That just needed proximity.

As the spell went off, she concentrated. The benefit of a teleportation circle was that it couldn't go wrong like a normal Teleport spell could. It wasn't supposed to anyway. But any magic could be tweaked if you pushed hard enough. She remembered winding up in the wrong room in the twisted version of Mordred inside Riz's briefcase and concentrated on that feeling. She was sure she was going to have a headache in the morning but that was more than a fair price. She wrenched control of the spell, just enough to force the circle to spit them out a little bit outside of the paired circle in Mordred. There was a flash of light and--forget having a headache tomorrow. Her head felt like it had been bashed in with a pickaxe the moment they landed on the floor of her bedroom. She didn't think she'd be able to get back up for a minute or two--she didn't even try. Oisin didn't seem to have that problem though. He got up and stood over her.

He smirked. "I thought the elven oracle was supposed to be more of a challenge. I knew we'd come out on top but I didn't think it'd be so easy." He raised his hands, readying a spell, but the sparks at his clawtips died as quickly as they were produced. He tried the spell again to the same result, too focused to notice the sudden subtle sheen to the patterns painted on her bedroom walls.

A Sending spell pinged in her mind. "Ten seconds, dear sister."

A smile played on Adaine's lips.

"What?" Oisin demanded.

"Just that you all have been so obsessed with being our nemeses this whole time. But that was never gonna happen with you and me. That position is already filled."

There was another flash of light and before it even cleared, Adaine felt the tingle of magic settling over her like a second skin. Her sister's abjurer's ward extending to cover her reflexively. Just beyond the ward, she could feel the temperature in the room start to drop--a side effect of the Cone of Cold that was about to erupt from Aelwyn's outstretched hands.

"You're familiar with my bitch of a sister, right?"

[kelpchexart]

it's okay. it's okay. it'll feel like a bath.

[notaboyftm]

Show off your womanly udders, you know you want to

of corse i want to show off my udders!! thank you so much for telling me to anon:)

[shippofuri]

Thoughts on Lycion's identity, species, gender. (CW: mentions of internalized transphobia)

as someone who is trans and has species dysphoria (and whose transness is intrinsically linked to species dysphoria, the human female form being too exaggeratedly human to feel comfortable in) it feels a bit odd when people exclusively discuss Lycion's body dysmorphia as exclusively a trans allegory (which is a perfectly reasonable read! but it can be more than that...) seemingly without much awareness that people who are like him, and especially trans people who are like him in a more literal sense exist... So I figure, as one of those people, I might give some observations on Lycion, along with some anecdotes of my own experience and how it parallels it, how his characterization reflects real-world struggles- both literally and as a trans narrative, and why I appreciate characters like him so much.

What is fascinating (but also so relatable!) to me, both when viewed in a literal sense and as a trans allegory, is that Lycion does not actually have a particular affinity to another species, but rather feels a visceral discomfort with his own elven body.

We even see in his raceswap portraits, Lycion is visibly happier as anything but an elf. Unlike Laios, who wants to become a monster, Lycion doesn't want to become anything in particular, he simply wants to stop being an elf.

Most depictions of transgender characters in media are focused on the idea of wanting to become something. Feeling in your heart you were always meant to be a boy or a girl or perhaps some secret third thing. Having a specific goal. What is less often depicted is the experience of I don't want to be what i was born as, I'd rather be anything else but this. anything is better than this. And, in both my struggles with gender and with my own humanity, this has been my experience!

Of course, there are a great many creatures I look at and think "I would be much happier if i were one of them", but those feelings are broader and less pressing than the overwhelming discomfort with my own body, and the desire to be less human. I aspired to masculinity and ultimately pursued transition not out of a particular affinity with any idea of maleness, but because masculine human features, to me, appear more animalistic, less of a strange naked thing that sticks out like a sore thumb in the grand scheme of things. And so too did Lycion pursue becoming a beastman, not because he felt a particular affinity with being a wolf, but because it would make him less of an elf.

And after pursuing it, even though he still has to spend much of his time as an elf, Lycion is far more comfortable, no longer nihilistic and self-destructive. He's confident, prideful even! He has a body that doesn't feel wrong, even if he can only wear it sometimes.

And, myself having been on HRT for nearly four years now, i have to say my experience has been much the same! Even though, of course, I'm still human, my dysphoria has essentially been eliminated, I feel comfortable in my body, and I genuinely like the way I look. I admire my reflection and find joy even in the changes that i was merely indifferent to the possibility of when beginning my treatment, and it even eased some issues completely unrelated to gender...!

Finally, Laios' dismissal of Lycion's identity here feels very reminiscent of people casting doubt on a trans (most often nonbinary) individual's identity due to transitioning for what they view as "the wrong reason", even at times arguing that only people who meet their personal standard for transness should be allowed access to transition. And like with Laios, who himself wishes to become a monster, these arguments are often coming from within, from others in the trans community.

Is someone who identifies as male because they don't want to be female less justified in their desire to pursue transition than someone who doesn't want to be female because they identify as male...? Should people be denied the right to feel comfortable in their own skin because they are seeking to escape something, rather than reaching for something specific...? Of course, you know what my answer is, but I digress.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

love how s3 Jamie is like on a mission to fix Colin’s self-esteem. “smart choice for a smart boy” the hugs. being one of the first members of the team to reassure Colin they love him after he came out. grabbing him to tell him what a great job he did at multiple points in the season. long way from “jaundiced worm”

[goldiipond]

You made it

TGEY PUT ME ON THEFUCKING YOU TUBES SHORTS????????

[peepingwizard]

last one for today I promise. please get this man some asprin or something.