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redrobin-detective · 8 months

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Something I wonder about Simon and Betty's relationship is how long they were together before the whole crown ordeal. But they were engaged, you say. My aunt (in)famously met my uncle and had a ring on her finger in 8 weeks. We've seen that both Betty and Simon were both weird outcasts, crazy determined and a pinch insane. I would not be surprised if they decided they'd met their one true love and got engaged super quick.

My point being, Betty's shifting to revolve around Simon and Simon's rose colored glasses of their relationship feels very much like New Love. They're people who love each other and love being a couple but still haven't quite figured out how to coexist together, as two people in a partnership. I feel like if they'd known each other longer, lived together longer, some of the issues we're seeing would have probably self resolved.

I don't think their relationship is toxic nor is it totally perfect. It's two lonely, most likely neurodivergent people in a relatively early relationship still figuring out how it works. Everything that happened afterwards: the crown, the seperation, the time travel, the magic/madness/sadness just exemplified issues they had both as individuals and as a couple.

#fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #simon petrikov #betty grof #in the tags its either #'oh they're toxic' or 'owo literal soulmates'#but i think its both more simple and yet more complicated #its struck me from the very start that they were eternally engaged #they never got to be married they're still stuck at this in between milestone #plus the way they act/talk around one another it HAS that new relationship vibe #If i were to guess they were each other's first romantic relationship #they loved so hard but they didnt really understand how it worked (mood)#if tehy'd had time and space like normal people yeah I think they'd have been fine #unfortunately all manner of bs got in the way and they never got to resolve some of these issues #it doesnt make one right over the other it just adds another layer of tragedy to their story #they only had time to get to know each other -to really feel understood- before it was taken away #Artists call betty 'simons wife #but its soooo important to me that they never made it that far #a flower that was plucked before it had a chance to bloom #anyway just my thoughts #petrigrov forever

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hardly-an-escape · 3 months

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Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #a needlessly complicated title for a truly simple little fic #I've already written this basic premise so many times AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN #the archaic English Hob uses in this fic is based on the most cursory googling #just tell yourself it's all over the place because historically English is.... all over the place #my unpopular opinion is that I think Blade Runner is overrated and yes I will project my opinions onto fictional characters #as usual this started in one place and went in another direction entirely #may post on AO3 tomorrow if the spirit so moves me

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red-moon-at-night · 9 months

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I find it so SO interesting that as soon as Kazui's breaking their marriage vows and revealing his true feelings (literally tearing apart the dove), the wife is already falling off the balcony

Her hair is fluttering in the wind. The apple fucking splatters on the ground this whole sequence is so visceral I'm spinning it around in my mind. Kazui views his truth telling as a violent act, the killing blow.

#milgram #capri talks #kazui mukuhara #Cat #I made a gif for this are you happy (I love this part way too much I would've made it anyway)#I have... thoughts about this which Scare me but. For now... I am going to assume in good faith that this must be taken figuratively and #symbolically because that's the most obvious interpretation right. right guys??? *one fear*#*looks at the voice drama which starts with how he's never gone up against a woman as strong as him until kotoko*#*looks at the line 'it’s generally the heavier person who ends up winning.'*#*looks at that one frame in Cat at 2:33 where he's holding her back*#DONT MIND ME IM JUST DELIBERATING I want him to be innocent I want things to be simple but I'm so worried of being hoodwinked--#--when the guy literally emphasises sleight of hand tricks and magicians and disappearing acts in his MV :'D #when he literally has a 'son of man' painting reference (man w/apple in front of face)#I am going to stop talking or else I shall combust into a million pieces #analysis #described

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deus-and-the-machina · 3 months

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hythlodaeus be like "teehee I hope I can be of some use" *clean headshot* 😊

bitch they wanted you for the aether-centric governmental position I know you think your curmudgeony cunt husband is amazing but stop selling yourself short its a slippery slope to sacrificing yourself to make god smh

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #im glad ee3 confirmed hes downplaying his own abilities bc soooooo many people just take characters at their word in this game #im always curious as to how his esteem issues developed I dont think its as simple as 'society' bc hes pretty accomplished in the context o #said society they wanted him on the convocation! hes in charge of a whole bureau and that doesnt mean no one ever made him feel bad and we #know erichthonious got mocked though his situation is more actively extreme but the main example of something hyth cant do is transformatio #which is considered preposterous to do in front of others most of the time so it seems like it wouldn't matter too much. maybe its moreso #that he sees others as better and more deserving and is constantly comparing himself and seeing others be better at him in certain areas #started to develop those esteem issues #siren says #funny post which is a trap for my character musings anyways #hythlodaeus

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scaryhaven · 7 months

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I'm so normal about the fact that the crew chose to use the unicorn hoof of all things for Izzy's new leg, its unbelievably moving. The unicorn was the figurehead of the ship, and back then figureheads embodied the spirit of the vessel, offering the crew protection from harsh seas and safeguarding their homeward journeys. Now i don't think i need to really explain just how beautiful this is, but, I'm also incapable of shutting up about Israel Hands, so. Izzy seems to assume everyone still hates him, and is drinking his many sorrows away, alone in his room, not knowing that the crew fully recognizes that Izzy saved them from Blackbeard, that he chose to protect them. The note said that Izzy is the ships "new unicorn" i.e. the new figurehead, this means that he also embodies the spirit of the vessel, and that they have faith in his continued ability to protect them, as is the job of the figurehead. Even the fact the hoof was painted gold seems intentional, gold in the bible represents love and protection, as if they are saying thank you for protecting us, now let us paint you in our protection as well Izzy. When they knocked on his door to give him his present, Izzy derogatorily calls himself a cripple, showing that he's feeling particularly clumsy and weak after his fall in front of everyone, and assumes this must be how everyone sees him now as well. But, unicorns actually represent power and grace, they've not only enabled Izzy to feel sturdy again physically with a new leg, they've also taken a bit of the weight off his shoulders emotionally by proving to him that he's not alone. Similar to his new leg, they're willing to bear some of the burden for him. And that's the thing, Izzy always tries to do things on his own, he gets drunk alone, he cries alone, his version of self-healing involves coming up with stories about sharks biting his leg off, and he even does that alone too. Yet they're giving him a sign that no matter how much he tries to self isolate, he's actually shit out of luck because they're there for him. What I appreciate about this show of support is the fact that they didn't force Izzy to accept the gift face to face, rather, they left it outside his room, proving that they know him quite well, and didn't want to push him too far too fast. Just like their extending of friendship, they are letting Izzy come to them when he's ready. But what i love most of all is that it actually works, this is what finally snaps him out of his spiral of depression, and gets him sword training again, improving himself rather than giving up, and engaging with the crew and helping them. This one show of solidarity, gratitude, and compassion, opens his eyes to the fact that he's a part of their messed up family, he belongs to something, and this fact alters Izzy forever.

#izzy said that piracy is about belonging to something and i think hes been contemplating his life as a pirate for a while.#not feeling he belonged anywhere esp because of how much ed has changed and the uncertainty of who he is and what his purpose is #so in one fell swoop they have given him clarity. direction and a fresh start i cannot wait to watch him fully blossom i love him sm #oh i also just like the simple explanation that hes a unicorn cuz hes special and one of a kind hehe #israel hands #izzy hands #ofmd #s2e4 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers #unicorn #meta #ofmd season 2 spoilers

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public-trans-it · 11 months

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Man, I genuinely owe my life to FtM Girlies. Without them I wouldn’t have figured out my gender shit anywhere near as well and would probably still be going “Yeah I’m a trans gal. That’s… close enough. I’m happier as that than a Cis guy so I must be, right?”

Without them I wouldn’t have really taken the time to sit down and realize just how fucking weird gender can be, and the kind of things you can do with it.

I will forever remember the moment someone I was chatting to was discussing their pronouns, and pulled out a damn FLOWCHART. It could more or less be summed up as “Cis people: I am a trans dude, I use He/Him pronouns. Binary trans people: I am nonbinary. I use They/Them pronouns. Everyone else: Use whatever weird shit you think applies best to me.” and looking at it forced my third eye open and allowed me to realize just how vast the potential of gender was as a means of self-expression and identity, and how much of our identity rests in our relationships with others.

That was the moment that made me take a step back and go “Well now hold on a second. DO I want to be a girl? AM I a girl at all?” Sitting down and questioning “If I was AFAB, would I be cis?” And realizing that the idea of being a cis girl was just as revolting to me as being a “cis” guy for so much of my life was. Had I been AFAB I absolutely would still end up as trans! Which got me thinking about what my transition goals actually WERE.

Even now years later I stilled haven’t explored the full extent of my gender, and the potential that still lies within it. It’s become so tangled up in my relationship to DID as well as my views of animism. It’s something deeply personal, and I’m not sure if I’d ever even be capable of sharing the full extent of it, though am happy to try for the curious.

The more I talk with friends, the more I realize I’m not alone in this. Bespoke genders are AWESOME and incredibly common actually! Even my ‘cis’ friends that I’ve talked to, when we really explore it, and up saying stuff like “Yeah I’m like 90% cis. There’s certainly SOME complex stuff there but it’s small and not worth the hassle”, but even as they say that I can see that bit of joy of not HAVING to bottle up that tiny bit anymore. And it’s beautiful!

EVERYONE should be comfortable exploring the full extent of their gender. Everyone should take pride in that little tiny sliver of gender fuckery dwelling inside them!

Fucking… reply or tag this post with what your own personal brand of genderfuckery looks like! I wanna hear it! I wanna give everyone that outlet!

#honestly as much as I despise them… this post is TERF inclusive #so so so many TERFs have genuinely fascinating relationships with gender!#and they also deserve that outlet to fully talk about it #because that’s one of the fastest ways to pull them out of the cult #once TERFs start discussing gender genuinely and openly with each other A LOT of infighting starts #specifically BECAUSE they are compressing very complex views into a stupidly simple framework #and a lot of their frustration with trans people is wondering why the framework works for us but not for them #and lashing out because of that #when the truth is the framework DIDNT work for us which is WHY WE ABANDONED IT #and I don’t think that these TERFS are all secretly trans people! they probably arent!#but the entire point of this post is that gender is way way way more complex than just fitting into two options #even for so called ‘binary cis’ people #that said THE REST OF MY BLOG VERY MUCH IS NOT TERF INCLUSIVE #FUCK OFF

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