#I come here to be educated and look at as many sides to arguments as I can

[miraculouslumination]

Boy oh boy am I so glad I use my online space how I want and have the wherewithal to not cave into guilt trippy posts about how you should always all day every day 24/7 subject yourself to the horror of the world wide news and also make your entire blog about it

[luckykiwiii101]

ONE THING ABOUT BEING THE QUEEN OF DELUSIONS? IT GIVES YOU A LONG WAY TO FALL

p.s. this post isn’t pretty, it wasn’t worth my time, or effort.

Hey Upper East Siders. Gossip girl here. Usually i’m here to help you fix your life, but @loaisacult, this one’s for you. And I can’t name any upper east siders more desperate than, well…you. It’s pitiful I know. But you can cry about it later, if you haven’t ran out of tears already, that is.

I don’t mean to start a fight, but there’s a weak link in every chain, and it just happens to be you.

I know you express your belief in the law of assumption being a cult. The funny thing is, when people don’t like something, they usually walk away, unless it bothers them that much. And the even funnier thing is, you complain about bloggers “preaching” the law of assumption, and getting others to follow. But what are you doing? Preaching your ideologies, in hopes that others will follow you too. Oh what’s that word again…hypocritical was it?

And oh sweetie, no one cares about your irrelevant opinions enough to affirm “@loaisacult doesn’t exist, @loaisacult doesn’t exist…” Talk about a weak argument. I hope law isn’t your major. But you know what is major? Your idiocy.

Calling people on this app suicidal? Pathetic. Although I can’t tell you that isn’t true. Because to some extent, it is. And i’d agree with you if you weren’t so ignorant. But I guess changing self in terms other than just loa isn’t your cup of tea. Bloggers are not meant to be personal therapists for people in the loacommunity. And yes there are and were previously some bloggers who would get suicidal asks from anons and just respond to them to persist. But why are you generalising EVERYONE in the community? Your point is immediately invalid. So because there were some immoral bloggers who would act that way automatically means that the whole entire practise of the law of assumption is a CULT? Hello? Do you hear yourself?

Let’s use your “logic” here. Say gossip girl makes a post telling her followers to worship satan. Therefore the whole entire loa community must ALL be satanists! Now how ridiculous is that…

Yes there are liars, everywhere. Oh i’m sorry, did that come as a surprise to you? You didn’t think the world was rainbows and sunshine did you? Well unless you assume it is. But at the same time, there are honest people too. Yet you like to pick and choose what to focus on. Look me in my virtual eyes and tell me that Lady gaga isn’t one of the most famous people on the planet. Oh wait..you can’t! News flash, she manifested that. And so did many of your other favourites. Yet you choose to focus on liars, because that’s what you want to believe. Of course a close minded, one sided argument is your way to go. Disregard everything else in the process why don’t you.

“It's ironic how some boast about manifesting luxury items like Lamborghinis, which could easily be rented, yet they fail to manifest meaningful change for their followers who are in abusive situations.” - l.o.s.e.r

B-b-but didn’t you say that you used to be a big blogger? So why didn’t you attempt to do the same? (As if! it would only work if they assumed so). But honestly, you don’t sound like someone who is educated on the law, you sound like those desperate anons in bloggers inboxes asking bloggers to manifest for them. Because why is that the point you used? To manifest for followers? Were you…one of those…followers? Talk about holding a grudge. No wonder why you’re so mad. If I had a dime for how many times you got rejected i’d be a millionaire.

“Want to prove to your followers who are spiraling about the American election rather than post persist hehehee how about you manifest for them….. change the election revise life’s an illusion while you’re crying about having your rights taken away lol but you can’t.” - l.o.s.e.r

Run upper east siders, we’ve got an idiot on our hands. Making a point on something completely false. If you really understood the law, you’d know that you can’t manipulate somebody else’s reality, unless they assume you can. But it’s not to my surprise that you didn’t know that, of all people. Last time I checked, it’s YOUR imagination, and nobody else’s. So WHY would YOUR 3D reflect THEIR imagination? And you claim to be a blogger educated on the law…quite a “big” one too. I cant name any “big” bloggers who’ve misinformed the law THAT bad. Talk about liars now…

At this point, it’s PAINFULLY obvious that you were one of those anons begging bloggers to manifest for you. Because you’re SO mad that bloggers don’t do that for people. They can’t really because it depends on your assumption. I’m not even making an invalid point here. It’s just so obvious. “Want to prove to your followers.” “how about you manifest for them” 😭 I’m literally in tears because of how funny this is. I’m sorry that no blogger has proven it to you or manifested “for you”, and you’ve carried that hatred with you and projected it onto the whole loa community. And the only reason you continue to believe that the law of assumption is real (rightfully so) is because you know that there’s way too much proof of it to even attempt to dismiss it without looking like a fool. And maybe a fraction of that belief comes from your hope, because without the law, everything you’d ever hoped for would be out the window.

In short, you make points about “why don’t you manifest for your followers 🥺” Well, I don’t know if you knew this but…there’s this concept called free will. And just because someone chooses to not do something, doesn’t mean they can’t. Is common sense just not part of the package for you? It seems the point flies right over your head faster than you can catch it, and the only thing that doesn’t land, are your “points”.

But if you still don’t understand me, let’s use a little bit of your so -called logic here.

‘Loa is real manifesting is real shifting is real but most people in this community lie and are culty 99.999% of the stories here are lies the people doing that shit don’t even post abt it probably think they’re in some dream most of the success here are creative writing and living in the end.” - l.o.s.e.r

From YOUR logic, couldn’t I just ask you to manifest that the liars don’t exist and that you no longer view the law of assumption as a cult? So why haven’t you…? You’ll ask anyone questions but yourself. And if they think it was a dream…then how did they send their success stories to bloggers? Did I miss an update because last time I checked, you can’t do that in a dream. See, your points are fuelled by complete hatred, not logic. You truly don’t believe what you’re telling yourself and others. Embarrassing.

And don’t get me started on how statistically IMPOSSIBLE that is. Do I even have to explain why? I promise you, thousands of people are NOT lying for the pure fun of it. That’s just not how the human mind works. Wouldn’t they rather shit on loa just like you rather than posting success stories hoping it’ll happen?I didn’t know talking out of the wrong hole was in fashion these days. But then again, not everyone has style. And if there’s one thing money can’t buy, it’s class. Was that a moth? Must’ve flewn right out of your wallet.

Now don’t get me wrong, i’m not bothered to read your whole blog and all the nonsense you cry about and debunk every little thing you say. Because trust me, common sense does the job for me.

Have fun continuing to “preach” your delusional idea of the law being a cult to yourself and your little followers. Like sheep. One after the other.

Don’t even think about trying to respond to me, as if anything you say makes sense.

P.S. I’ll delete this post later, I don’t like having drama on my blog. This is my first and last time addressing you. I just don’t want people in this community, including my lovely upper east siders to listen to idiots like you telling them that all the success stories they’ve read are fake, when that is so obviously not true. Only someone who hasn’t consciously the experienced the law for themselves would doubt others so badly, and you used to be a “big” blogger you say…The fucking audacity. But then again, it’s hard to believe in something you haven’t experienced for yourself (is it?), but at-least don’t get caught in a lie. Disrespectfully, shut your mouth and don’t open it again.

- gossip girl

[evillemons]

YOONGI’S IDEAL TYPE (SUGA pt. 1)

~ a manifestation of his ideal girlfriend. Continuation into part 2 and part 3. Masterlist here.

Key words: kindhearted, open-minded, witty, natural, outgoing, independent, authentic.

Her personality:

• Yoongi’s ideal type is tricky because he is so open-minded and non-judgemental that I truly see him attracted to a huge variety of different people (including both men and women - although for the sake of this article I will use she/her).

• I see her as very witty. She would keep up well with his banter and goofy remarks.

• He would definitely be drawn to someone expressive and funny, with a dry or sarcastic sense of humor.

• She may or may not be formally educated, but she would undoubtedly be intelligent in her own way.

• Her career could be just about anything, as long as she has a passion for it. She might be a teacher, indie musician, scientist, artist, or architect. It is unlikely that she would be famous (although I don’t see him discriminating over someone who is if they are compatible).

• People might fight me on this - but I truly see him enchanted by someone who is vibrant and outgoing rather than laid back and nonchalant. She is one of those extroverts that loves to adopt introverts; they would find themselves balancing each other (I think if she were too introverted, he would get bored and the relationship would lack dynamic).

• MBTI: ENTP - the debater type is a perfect match for him. I could also see him falling for an INFJ or ENFJ due to their magical people skills.

• She would need to be genuinely kind, authentic, and empathetic. Lack of respect for people would be a deal breaker for both of them.

• Generally low maintenance, independent, and self-sufficient.

• Out of all the members’ girlfriends, she would be the most likely to use heavy profanity. He would probably find it funny and use it alongside her.

• Loves to hang out with her friends and has a wide social circle. She would not like someone who is possessive or discourages her from going out.

• She is just as open-minded as Yoongi. She would never judge him (or anyone) for his sexuality or preferences and encourage him to be open with her.

• Maybe a little argumentative. Not in a degrading way, but she would be strong-minded and unafraid to engage in healthy debate.

• Probably not overly-affectionate (at least in public); Yoongi seems to get overwhelmed with direct expressions of love.

• I don’t see him with someone flamboyant or extravagant in their personality or style. She would be humble and understated.

• It would be a huge bonus in the relationship if she loved music.

Her looks and sexuality:

• I really don’t have much to say in regard to looks. He is 100% the type to choose a partner based on personality, regardless of what they look like or where they come from and he has said this many times (he is truly a special angel).

• He might be a little skeptical to enter a relationship with someone outside of his cultural comfort zone, but would find himself inevitability falling for her.

• With Yoongi though, she would definitely need to speak Korean and be respectful and knowledgeable of Korean culture. He seems to struggle a little with speaking other languages (like, he seems to understand English perfectly but not speak it) and a language barrier between them would be a huge dealbreaker.

• I could see her as more on the casual side. Even if she likes fashion, she might dress more sporty or in street style clothes.

• If she wore makeup, it would be very natural and quick.

• Her body type could range from slender and athletic to curvy. I think he would enjoy a woman’s body no matter what and appreciate her features as they are (as long as she is healthy).

• She could be older or younger (but not much more than +/- 5 years). Age is not important to him, as long as she matches his emotional maturity and wisdom.

• Height wouldn’t matter either, although he might secretly like if she is taller than him (remember how shy he was around Taylor Swift in that one video?).

• Like Jungkook, he might be attracted to someone more androgynous or edgy, but would still like someone feminine and girly too.

• She could very well be bi or pansexual. He would not care about her sexual orientation or dating history at all.

• She may have lots of tattoos, piercings, or none at all. As long as they suit her style and are somewhat tasteful.

[igotanidea]

Dating Sam Winchester headcanons.

Requested: I was wondering if you could write something supernatural with Sam Winchester, what kind of boyfriend would Sam be? Thank you anon, made that as expanded headcanons starting from meeting and going further in the relationship.

A little NSFW in point 16.

***

1.Bookshops dates

I mean come on, all things considered I am pretty sure you would meet him in the library rather than any place else. And even if you weren’t actually reaching for mythological monsters encyclopaedia or the yearbook of the city from 1456, you were bound to meet at the counter. It wasn’t that big bookshop after all and Sam, with his tall, muscular silhouette was definitely filling most of the space, forcing you to sneak under his arm to get what you were aiming for. Not that you complained, cause he does smell good.

2. Soul longing – as silly as that may sound. Ok listen up. He had women, that’s for sure. But one night stands is only good for so long. And unlike Dean he needed stability from the beginning. Sam is not a player nor a playboy. And as for you? You’re not just gonna jump into the bed of a very handsome, tall and broad shouldered man you met briefly while buying a book, right?

Even if you can imagine so many things he could do with those hands….

Even if you can tell just by looking at him that he’s got enough experience and skills to keep you up all night and –

“Miss? Miss are you all right?”

Damn, seem like you just spaced out in front of the guy who’s been currently eyeing you with those deep eyes piercing right into your soul.

Impossible to forget and even more impossible to let go.

3. Cliché scenario – you actually became a part of team free will after getting into a demon related accident serving the part of a lady in distress perfectly. Got hurt so bad the boys Sam felt guilty enough to look for you for a couple weeks while getting too attached.

4. Obviously wanting to keep you out of the family business. Too bad he got himself a persistent badass, who refused to sit cases out. You may not be a hunter, but you’re a girl. And who’s better than a woman when it comes to making scenes and getting man to mansplain to the poor, innocent soul that knows nothing? The first time you faked cried he fell for it all the way and never questioned your skills again.

5. Probably making you get an anti-possession tattoo. Just for safety, of course. And holding your hand all time while getting it done, caressing your palm in that special reassuring way. And then kissing it better after, regardless of the place it was inked on.  

6. Funny thing he was hesitant to put a tag on your relationship. At first. Can’t blame him given all that happened to his mother and Jess. But his emotional side finally took over and he blurted something in the middle of an argument.

“You’re staying here tonight.”

“The hell I am, Sam.”

“I’m not asking.”

‘You’re not my boss.”

“Well I am your boyfriend!”

“Did you just-? Sam? Sam, did you just - ?”

You never got to finish that sentence. And just that one time you stayed behind.

Behind being on the backseat, no further.

7. Bantering over silly stuff while making Dean crazy, cause since you two got together there’s no one to bring him pie.  

8. Knowledge duels – as long as you pick the theme, cause no way you’re going against him in history or demonology.  It is however possible to beat him in popculture or modern cinematography.

“How am I supposed to know all those –“

“Educate yourself Sammy.”

“Oh I will educate you on something –“

9. Merciless teasing from Dean about stuff that should not ever be his business.

“Hey, whose underwear is that?”

“Brought you two some protection.”

“Hey maybe we can get a threesome?”

“Is that a hickey on your neck Y/N? God, girl, you are loud.”

(but we all know that’s the way Dean’s inner soft side is showing)

10. Doing research while laying head on his chest, tracing patterns on his skin. (making him distracted and locked up in another room until you start to behave.)

11. Doing research in the various libraries. You have no idea but he raises his gaze from the book way too often to actually comprehend any of the text. The way you are frowning, scrunching your nose and the way your eyes shine every time you come upon a clue or a helpful fact seem to be more interesting.

12. Fights – oh, damn, it was bound to happen right?

Arguing with Sam is impossible. He always keeps his cool, not letting the blood boil no matter how many needles you gives him. Sometimes it feels like he’s wearing that stupid armour turning into stone just to infuriate you.

But not for long, cause Sammy can’t stand to see you hurt or broken. That’s not him. It doesn’t matter if you started the fight (you’re being reckless, you’re gonna get killed, you need some rest) or he was the part to initiate it (you’re not the hunter, I know better, I’ll handle it) he’ll be all up for communication. Talking through.

Being a Winchester comes with toughness and roughness sometimes, but Sam doesn’t deny having feelings he want to work on. With you.

It’s not a perfect relationship but you’re patching it up with all the best and most resistant fabric.

13. Subtle hand holding while driving on a hunt. You may be in the backseat while both brothers take the front ones, but who cares. The blank between the driver and shotgun is for something, right? And who cares about the gearbox?

14. Forehead kisses and cuddling – you have actually seen Sam right? If that’s not a giant teddy bear than I don’t know who is. Definition of safety and warmth. Just imagine nuzzling into him with those strong arms around you keeping you safe from any demon, angel, witch, wendigo, shapeshifter or whatever else monster might come for you.

15. Steamy make out session in the impala just to get some privacy. Honestly I believe at some point this would be used as a threat for alone time.

"Get out Dean.”

“ Mmm. Nope. Not happening. I got stuff to do here.”

“I said get out.”

“Make me.”

“Well I think you should go and check on your car before I take care of the backseat.”

Wide eyes, rushing out and not getting back for hours.

Mission completed.

16. Getting intimate with Sam is indescribable. You don’t even need words and yet he seems to understand everything your body tries to convey. Soft, slow, sensual and tender love making while looking into your eyes, refusing to let your gaze drop? Tracing your body and kissing all over your soft skin? Making you feel fragile, small and delicate no matter your size?

All done.

I see Sam as a soft dom. He could break your boundaries easily and probably would, but never to the point of hurting you.

Rough play, BDSM, kinks, making love on any flat surface possible? Not exactly his style.

Stretching you out, wrapping your legs around his waist, pressing you into the mattress, marking you? Absolutely.

He’s fine with pleasuring you, getting to know what turns you on (hitting and finding all the sensitive spots that makes you mewl and rake nails down his body), never failing to make you see stars.

He may not be talking too much and not use a lot of dirty talk, but hey, a few thrusts, a few flicks of his tongue, his muscles flexing under your fingersand the feel of him so freaking deep and you forget something such as words exist.

17. Getting just the right amount of aftercare cuddles, kisses and hugs. Duties are calling and Sam may be a bit of a workaholic, but you’re on top of the “to-do-list.” Taking just the right amount of time to help you get back to reality, getting your floating soul back into your thoroughly loved out body by caresses, kisses, touches, strokes. Whatever you need.

He loves you.

[atimeofyourlife]

Learn to forget your biases

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: angst with a happy ending | rating: t | wc: 925 | tags: hurt/comfort, eddie munson being an asshole, hurt steve harrington, angst, hopeful ending Steve got sick of Eddie constantly putting down everything he liked, leading to a fight. Eddie had to put the work in to make it better.

"Why are you even with me if you can't stand to even pretend to be interested in anything that I like?"

It had been days since the argument, and Steve still felt like shit. He hadn't wanted it to end like that, with a maybe break up. He'd just been feeling so frustrated with Eddie being so dismissive of everything he enjoyed, where he at least tried to understand Eddie's hobbies and interests. At times, it felt like Eddie was trying to make him into a clone of him, and it really gave Steve the impression that Eddie was only with him for his looks. Or because he was the only other queer guy in Hawkins that they knew of.

It had started when Steve was making plans to see the Pacers. He'd got the tickets and was thinking they could get a hotel for the night and make a thing of it. But when he'd brought it up to Eddie, he'd laughed in his face. Asked what had possessed Steve into thinking it was something that Eddie would be interested in doing, and told him he shouldn't have even bothered wasting his money to buy tickets when he could just catch the game on tv. It had hurt, but Steve tried to brush it off. He invited Robin to go with him instead, knowing that even though she wasn't a huge fan of basketball, she would tag along and find a way to make it fun.

But Eddie then booked a last minute gig with the band at a bar in Indianapolis. On the same day as the Pacers game. At the same time. He tried to convince Steve to ditch the game to watch them play instead, saying that it would be a better use of his time, and that he was going to be in Indanapolis anyway, so it wouldn't make any difference. Steve refused, as he'd seen Eddie play in shitty bars so many times. Almost every gig they'd played since they'd been together, even attending when he was recovering from a migraine, not wanting to disappoint Eddie.

The fight was the next day. Eddie kept making jabs about Steve ditching him for a basketball game, claiming that he should have been Steve's priority. Steve couldn't even get a word in edgewise to say how the game had been. And he just got sick of it, remembering how Eddie never gave his interests a chance. Brushing off all mentions of sport. Insulting his taste in music, saying he needed an education in real music. Even making fun of his clothes. It was something he couldn't put up with any more.

In the aftermath of the fight, Steve felt lost. Robin had automatically taken his side, she'd already tried talking to Eddie about his attitude toward Steve's interests, only to get ignored. The kids were split, most of them taking Steve's side, but Dustin and Mike siding with Eddie. Saying that sports weren't worth it, that it made it seem like Steve hadn't changed from his jock days in high school. What did surprise Steve was Gareth and Jeff taking his side. They hadn't even known that Steve had invited Eddie to the game weeks before they'd booked the gig, and that Steve supported them at every opportunity, it made them decide that Eddie was being a dick just for the sake of it.

Steve didn't hear from Eddie for a while after the fight. Until one day he and Robin were working. Robin was manning the desk while he tidied and put away returns in the adult section. He wasn't paying much attention until he heard Robin's voice, a note of anger to it.

"If you're not here to apologize, you can fuck off right now."

"I come in peace." Eddie said, and Steve felt his heart skip a beat. Unsure of what could happen next.

"He's in there." Robin replied.

Steve kept his back to the doorway, just waiting for what Eddie was going to do or say.

"Hey." Eddie said softly, keeping his distance from Steve.

"Hi." Steve replied, turning slightly to face Eddie.

"I fucked up. I really, seriously fucked up, and I'm so, so sorry about it. It isn't an excuse, but I genuinely didn't realize how much of a dick I had been until almost everyone we know beat some sense into me. I was taking my attitude from high school too far and projecting it onto you. I know how much I hate it when people judge me based on my looks and my interests, but here I was doing the same to you. I hate how much I hurt you, and I am so sorry. I just hope you would give me another chance?"

"I. It did hurt, Eddie. You made me feel like I was worth less than you because I don't enjoy the same things you do. You lumped me in with a bunch of assholes who I never even associated with. I want us to work, but it's going to take a lot to prove that you're really in it for me." Steve said.

"I get that. Maybe this can be the start." Eddie held out an envelope, which Steve took. He opened it to find two tickets to the next Pacers game. For some of the best seats in the house. "Wayne had to help me figure out which ones I needed. I was thinking we could go together."

Steve smiled, it was a good gesture. "Yeah. I'd like that."

[inquisitornocturn]

≪─ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ: ᴄʜ.16 - ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ─≫

⋟ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sebastian LaCroix/f!reader the Ventrue neonate

⋟ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: y/n etc is not used, overall story rating - E, explosive argument, canon-typical violence, lover's spat, smut, sex in a car, blowjob, PiV, vampiric bites, creampie.

⋟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: When your negotiations with Isaac Abrams fall through, you still manage to find a way that will lead you to the nosferatu lair. But Sebastian is not happy and neither are you, because your trip to Hollywood revealed more than the Prince of LA anticipated.

⋟ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7,881

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I'm rattling the bars of my enclosure. I am super happy with this chapter and can you guys tell I love writing arguments? Cause I totally do lol. On that note, this chapter didn't originally intend to have smut but they started fucking anyway, so you know, enjoy~

⋟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ: [link] | on AO3 [link]

“You have been told to come see me immediately.” The displeasure in Isaac’s voice is as clear as his distaste for you, which he wears on his sleeve from the moment you step in.

Finding his residing place, a closed jewelry of sorts that you would not have paid attention in your previous life, wasn’t that hard. Especially when some thug approached and informed you that the Baron of Hollywood wishes to see you.

“And I have.” Cocking your head slightly to the side, glancing behind Isaac you inspect his tastefully decorated back office. Nothing here betrays that he’s a Cainite, which does not surprise you.

“No, you have gone to see Velvet Velour first.”

“Your man informed me about your utmost desire to meet me after I have seen her, not before.”

Your eyes find the face of Isaac again, but of course he doesn’t look pleased whatsoever by your answer. “Are you no more educated in our ways than a mere beast? I thought your kind obeys the ancient laws, more so than the rest.” His smirk tells you that the mockery is intended, but you’re barely perturbed. You expected this. After all, this man is the so-called leader of the local Anarchs, of course he would scorn the Camarilla and its ways.

“If you know I went to see VV, then you know about me. Don’t act like you are not aware how I came into this existence. Mock me all you want, but I don’t exactly have a Sire sitting around to tell me things.”

“Is that so?“ Abrams pauses, then folds arms on his chest while his eyes sweep over your figure. Looking for weaknesses to exploit, no doubt. “Let’s say, I did hear about you. Let’s say, I have been informed about the demise of your Sire and how conveniently your Prince replaced him by taking you under his wing.” There’s a sleazy ridicule in Baron’s tone once again, but you burst out in a cruel laughter.

“Me? Under his wing? You must be joking.” Pausing until your unpleasant chuckle subsides somewhat, you continue. “If you truly think Prince LaCroix is protecting or shielding me in any way whatsoever, then I would suggest you shake down your informants a little bit better. Ever since he decided to spare me, I have been running around, trying not to die while on his errands.”

“Oh I heard all about that, Fledgling. I heard all of it.” He smirks again, his hands remain folded and you are not sure if he will be willing to help you at all. Yet you desperately need him to. “I suppose if you’re not under his wing, then definitely under him in a different kind of way.”

Oh not this again. How many people will keep probing you about Sebastian? By this point you are not too sure that not every single Kindred in this damned state haven’t heard of your dallies in one way or another. Just in varying degrees of truth and explicitness, you guess. Maybe Sebastian enjoys these rumors? Does he, per chance, fan them even? What if his risky display at the Santa Monica haven was a calculated move?

Your never-ending guessing game begins to spiral and you forget that you’re standing in front of a man who will either grant you Prince’s favor or earn you more punishments. “No answer? I guess not.” He scoffs and you snap back to the present, rising an eyebrow.

“Listen, I’m not here to discuss whatever rumors you drink your evening cup to, okay? I need to find the nosferatu and I know you can help me.”

“That is if I am willing to help you.”

“And are you?”

Isaac pauses and eyes you again, then finally unfolds his arms and turns to the desk behind him. Opening a drawer and rummaging through it, the vampire speaks. “Yes, I will help you, but only if you help me first.”

“Of-fucking-course.” You grumble under your breath and Abrams pauses, throwing you a warning glare over his shoulder before returning to his task of searching.

“Careful, young one. You should be smarter than trying to offend those who have power over you. Just because the Prince is protecting you, doesn’t mean he has much say here, in the Anarch domain. Just keep that in mind.”

You scoff but say nothing else, this time grumbling only within your thoughts and waiting for Isaac to finish looking for whatever it is so important. At last he closes the drawer and comes to you, giving you a piece of paper. Hesitating to take it, you meet his eyes briefly and seeing swiftly emerging impatience, you snatch the note and look down. It has an address.

“You will go here and meet a man who has been doing a task for me. There’s a tape I need, a snuff film of sorts, that has risen some questions among our kind about the origin of said tape. You are ought to simply meet him, take the tape and return here.”

“Right.” Glancing over the address once more, you stuff the note into your pocket with a sigh. “So I’m an errand girl once again.” You say, making Abrams laugh.

“And do you expect anything else, Neonate? Soon you won’t have even what little standing you acquired so far. Enjoy while it lasts.” He grimaces and you can’t quite read if it’s mockery again, pity or just disappointment for whatever reason.

Yet his words make you pause and frowning, you know you have to prod. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

Frowning even more, you begin feeling increasingly annoyed. “Just tell me why you said I’m going to lose my standing.”

“I’m sure you know.”

“Know… what?” As you ask this, as you keep pushing Isaac to reveal what it is he’s not saying, dread begins to pool in the pit of your stomach. So different from the comforting warmth of blood, so overwhelming. Worse than just a simple fear, more terrifying than a threat of Final Death.

Something is wrong. So very wrong.

But Abrams does not respond right away, instead he glances at the pocket within which his note disappeared and seems to consider how he should approach the topic. “I have heard of your Adoption. Prince LaCroix is going to become your Sire.” There’s no mockery in his words and that startling difference from his earlier attitude feels like a baseball bat knocking the wind out of you.

“Yes, that’s true.”

You’re not afraid because he knows of this. From what you gathered when talking to Bertram, he made it pretty clear that the entire Kindred population in near vicinity is just brimming with gossip about it. Yet something about Isaac suddenly sounding so serious is what opens a Pandora’s box of fears and doubts within your heart.

“Do you know what that entails, Neonate? Or should I already call you a Childe?” A smallest smirk tugs at the corner of Baron’s lips, but he pushes it down, hardly believing that you are standing before him, acting big and tough, all while being so naïve and so obviously led on.

“What…” You blink, confusion taking over your features and Isaac sighs.

“Very well, then let me educate you since your dearest Camarilla does not bother with such frivolities.” Now Abrams smirks, his disdain for the Ivory Tower emerging even through his curiosity about how you will deal with the information he’s about to present to you. “Right now you’re a Neonate.” He gestures to your form. “And that is only because your Sire has been destroyed. You have some rights and privileges because your dearest Prince has accepted you. Normally, a Sire presents their Childe to a Prince for acceptance or rejection. That usually takes years, decades, sometimes more if a Childe is an especially dumb one.”

Impatient and with dread growing bigger and darker, you interrupt him. “What that has to do with me?”

“Everything. Once LaCroix adopts you as his Childe, you will lose whatever rights you have so far. You will stop being a Neonate and become a Cainite under protection of your Sire. He and only he will decide if you are worthy of said protection. If not – you can be killed by any kindred that wishes to do so. But if he wishes to safeguard you and truly teach you our ways, to introduce you to our society as a worthy part of it and not just a pawn, well then… you are his to command, to protect or to kill, and your mistakes will be his. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

You don’t understand. Still, even now, you don’t understand. “But I knew all of this already.”

Isaac rises an eyebrow and smirks again. “Do you really? Do you know that right now you have full rights to roam the Kindred domain? That right now your status is such that you are perceived, and I will say wrongly so, as a vampire of independent standing? Do you realize that once you become your Prince’s plaything, and this time I don’t mean just you sweating under him, that you will fully and truly be commanded by him? From every drop of blood you drink to every step you make?”

That mocking grin on Abram’s face and his words nearly pull the proverbial rug from under your feet. And now, at last, Baron’s message sinks in, and explains why exactly Sebastian hasn’t really sit you down and tell you what Adoption truly means for you and for him. You wanted this because you felt lost, misguided, unprotected. But is protection worth the loss of your independence?

But most importantly, do you really wish to tie yourself to Sebastian in such way if it means that you lose your liberty? Yes, you know that you haven’t had that much of it to begin with, being sent from errand to errand by Sebastian himself and everyone with a lick of power above yours. Still, you have some freedom, some degree of lax accountability. Thinking of Heather, thinking of Mercurio, thinking of your freedom in the streets of LA…

“Now you understand, I can see it.” Isaac says with a dry chuckle and you focus back on him.

“It doesn’t matter. It-“

“Does it not? Are you truly that eager to submit yourself to a man who nearly executed you?”

“It was because my Sire had no permission from-“

“How unbecoming of a Ventrue. Truly, your clan seems to be losing what it makes you a Clan of Kings.” He scoffs, poison in very letter, and at this your temper rears its ugly head.

A deep frown contorts your expression once again, your lips pull back from your teeth, canines sharp like a threatening blade. “Do not speak to me like this, Anarch. Whatever it is you question about my destiny is not for you to influence. I can see what you are doing, Isaac. I see and I won’t allow it.”

Each word is near an animalistic snarl and Abrams reacts appropriately to this. His own expression becomes one of anger, growing increasingly. Fingers ball into fists and the cool, demeaning attitude he has been adorning so far, falls off like a mask of which the string has been cut. “You will NOT talk to me like this, Neonate.”

“So I should tolerate your insults? Why? Because you told me what I already knew?”

It doesn’t matter that it’s not entirely true and it matters even less that Isaac’s reveal stirred doubt in you. If anything, that’s exactly what prompts you to push back, to be defiant, to grow angry. And you tap into that anger like it’s a live vein, ready to sustain you.

Suddenly, you flinch when Baron’s finger shoots up, pointing at you in a warning gesture. “Careful, I said. You want my help, do you not? If you want to kiss boots of your precious Prince so badly, I recommend you calm down and like a good girl do what I ask of you. Otherwise, I will have to tell LaCroix that he will need a new leading lady. Maybe I will even march a few of my troops up there.”

In a fit of still boiling anger, you slap his finger away from your face, despising how Isaac thinks he can lecture you or even warn you. Some filthy, fucking Anarch thinks he has any right to tell you what to do? Not in this eternity. “That’s an open threat, Baron. Do you really wish to start a war with the Camarilla over your annoyance with me?”

Unbelievably, Abrams laughs, loud and hard, if only for a moment. “Are you this delusional to believe Sebastian will start a war with us if anything happens to you? Or do you think so because of how frequently you find yourself bent over his desk? How naïve can you be?”

“Rich of you to speak anything about that when VV is bending over for you.”

Spitting back not unlike some hostile yet cornered animal you see Abrams’s cheek twitch and he rises his hand so fast you can’t even comprehend it. Yet all you feel is a gust of wind and nothing else. No pain, no hit so hard that it would threaten to dislocate your jaw. Baron’s hand stops right as his palm was about to make contact and you stare at the Cainite with shock and no little amount of fear.

How supernaturally quick he was just now, even your elevated reflexes didn’t pick up on it. For the first time you feel truly and fully small in this world of darkness. For the first time you realize just how weak and vulnerable you are. And that realization makes you feel deep despair for a long moment.

All the while, Isaac’s eyes bore into yours, reading every emotion that you didn’t carefully tuck away and he steps back, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket and frowning with disgust.

“You clearly do not wish to cooperate. I suggest you leave before I change my mind about whether you leave Hollywood or remain here forever.” He’s not even looking at you, but you do not care. Instead you manage to shake off the dread and march out, without so much as a glance back at the Baron.

Once back on the street, you breathe slowly yet deeply, attempting to soothe yourself and your fraying nerves. Sebastian will not be happy that you didn’t get any information or help from Abrams, but you would rather face the sunrise than crawl back and beg. No, you will have to find another way.

Brushing aside the trembling of soul that threatens to affect you physically, you glance around, trying to figure out what to do next. VV knows nothing, Abrams is no longer an option, but there’s always a way to get what you want. That’s one thing that your previous, mortal life taught you all too well. Something has to exist that will lead you to the nosferatu hideout even without Baron’s help. But you need to think. You need to calm down.

Traversing the sidewalk and a bum that sleeps on it, you find yourself in front of a neon sign that says Asp Hole. Looking like some sort of a bar, you decide it’s the best you can do given where you are currently. You need a spot to think, to plan and maybe drunken patrons will grant you some clue or another as to what to do next.

Inside the music is loud and the patrons are louder, yet you don’t mind. Visiting the Asylum made you familiar with the kind of places you can end up in just because of who you are. That, and others of your kind that visit them for anonymity, to feed, to mingle. It’s no Elysium, but it’s good as anything else, especially to you with no haven nearby. You know you will have to return to Downtown before the morning creeps up.

Thankfully, after you buy yourself a drink, meant only to help you blend in with the crowd, you quickly find another kindred. And what luck it is to find him. Ash Rivers, Isaac’s own Childe. Thankfully, Ash’s displeasure with his Sire is enough so that he agrees to help you find the nosferatu. Yet the time is running out and you have to leave him sulking and complaining. Not that you expected anything else from a former movie star.

Catching a cab is not a difficult task and on your way back to Downtown, you feel much better than you did when leaving Abrams’ shop. The only thing you hope for is that the Baron won’t begin hindering your presence in the Hollywood, but you got a promise out of Ash that until you are done with your task here, he will keep his Sire off your neck. After that, you are to help him escape, both Isaac and the Hunters that are apparently tailing him for days now.

Checking the phone, you note the time and wonder if you have enough of it to return to Sebastian tonight. The morning is coming as sure as it is every single day, but the Prince usually prefers to be informed in person, not through a call or an email. Which, admittedly, you consider to be a waste of time. Still, he’s the Prince, so you oblige and do as you are asked.

“Oh, stop right there.” You speak up to the silent cabby and he pulls over to the sidewalk near Skyline Apts. Before jumping out of the taxi, you pass a crisp bill over to the man which he takes without a word and you’re outside in mere moments.

Pausing to watch the cab drive off, you immediately notice a luxury car, recognizing it as Rolls-Royce Silver Spur, painted midnight blue. The hood ornament catches a stray light and shines for just a mere second before the vehicle stops.

The passenger’s window lowers and you get a glimpse of Sebastian’s pale blue eyes. “Get inside.” He instructs while you stand there, taken completely aback. Yet without a word you walk closer and get into the passenger seat, buckling yourself in and pressing a button so that the window shuts itself.

“Why are you here?” You can’t help but ask, feeling breath catch in your throat and then you give up imitating it altogether.

“I had a call.” That’s all Sebastian says and turns the wheel, pulling away from the sidewalk. In a sidemirror you catch last sight of the Skyline sign and briefly wonder if you will return here, because the Prince does not look happy.

In fact, Sebastian looks serious like you have never seen before. Concentrated on the road, quiet, not even a radio is playing. Feeling like you’re beginning to stew in the seat, you shift slightly, not sure of what to say.

Minutes pass, maybe ten or fifteen, and you can’t bear the silence any longer. Not only Sebastian is driving you both out of the city, he is as quiet as a grave and that quickly begins to drive you crazy. “So you had a call. From who?”

“Isaac Abrams.”

Oh shit.

You clear your throat, trying to buy time before you answer and look at the man for a moment longer. “What he uhh… What did he say?”

“That you’re an insolent little bitch, that’s what he said!” Sebastian snaps so suddenly you flinch and stare at him, panic rising within your chest. Next moment he hits the steering wheel with his palm, BAM BAM, making you twitch with each slam while the car wears ever so slightly, side to side, like a girl who’s too intoxicated to walk straight but not drunk enough to begin stumbling.

“Sebastian, pull up the car.” You start but the Prince throws a completely furious look in your direction. It’s so sudden that his usually perfectly slick hair loses strands. They drop over his eyes, making Sebastian appear near feral, especially with icy fires aflame in his enraged stare.

“Do you know what you did?!” He clearly is trying not to shout, but it’s difficult and he focuses back on the road. There are no other cars around, just street lamps that are passing by like strange snippets of light. Glancing at the speedometer you see that Sebastian is driving way over the permitted speed limit, twice over.

You swallow dryly, not sure if you would survive the car crash if it happened. Sebastian most likely would, being an elder, but you? You are not so sure about your own wellbeing right now. “Please, pull up the car. I have a way to find the nosferatu, whatever Abrams said-“

“SHUT UP!” He screams and you flinch again, drawing head into your shoulders, trying to be small, to disappear. This time, when Sebastian speaks, his voice carries venom that you haven’t heard before. It makes you mouth dry out completely. “Isaac called and told me that you nearly cost an open war between us and the Anarchs. That’s what you did.” There’s a tremble of fury in each word, but you say nothing. “He told me that you had the gal to insult him. Do you remember your task? To cooperate with him. But of course you wouldn’t remember it, you stupid bitch.” Sneering and gripping the wheel tight, Sebastian doesn’t give you even a glance.

But what can you say? It’s true, you were insolent, you didn’t cooperate, you let your temperament get the better of you for a countless time. You have no idea what Sebastian intends to do with you. He didn’t need to pick you up and drive you out here just to dispose of you. As a Prince he has all the right to do so whenever he pleases, so why? Why this privacy, this isolation. You dread to think what he might have in mind.

Suddenly he turns the car so suddenly that despite being buckled into your seat, you slip in it and slam your head against the side window with a cry. Clutching your throbbing skull you bend over and before you realize what’s going on, the Rolls-Royce is parked, the engine quieting to a hum. The only thing you hear is Sebastian’s fingers squeezing the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks under the strain.

“What the fuck was that?!” You snap at him, scared and furious at the same time. When your eyes meet his, it’s clear that both of you are now seething.

Except Sebastian acts first. His hand rises and unlike Abrams, he does not stop before he hits you. For the second time pain explodes in your head when it hits the window again and you growl with frustration, feeling dazed for a long moment.

While you try to orient yourself, Sebastian reaches over and unbuckles your seatbelt, then grabs a fistful of your shirt, pulling you up to his face and glaring straight into your eyes. “I’m starting to have my doubts about adopting you if you can’t behave for a single day.” The Prince says in a low, dangerous voice but you act before you think.

Reeling your head back, you immediately drive it forwards until your forehead connects with Sebastian’s nose and he cries out. You don’t hear a satisfying crunch that you were looking forward to, the hit wasn’t strong enough, but when the Prince releases your shirt and leans back, clutching his face, you notice blood beginning to drip down his chin and onto his own shirt, painting white cotton with crimson.

“Stop acting like this fucking adoption is for my benefit, Sebastian!” You rise your voice, brushing hair from your eyes so that you can see him better. “Isaac told me what it fucking entails. My complete and utter submission, is it not?”

“And that’s not what you want? To submit to me? Or would you rather I end your pathetic, miserable life right here?” Sebastian grumbles, glancing down at his shirt that clearly won’t be salvaged after this, then back at you.

“You want me to submit! I want to survive whatever existence I have been thrust into against my will! I wasn’t given a choice, you fucking bastard!”

You lunge at Sebastian, nails ready to tear, teeth ready to wound, but he is quick and catches your wrists. You see his face now, bloodied lips and chin, so beautiful against his pale skin even now. You curse yourself for being so weak. Yet you do not stop, trying to claw at a man who has done nothing to ease your strange, new life. Done nothing but make you more confused.

“Calm down.” He demands but you grunt and hiss with strain against his superior strength, trying to reach him, to do harm, to wound, to maim.

Nothing, Sebastian has told you nothing, not even about the goddamn adoption. You try to bite him, trying to reach his neck, to tear it open. Your fury and sense of injustice is blinding you with utter rage.

“You…. Bastard...” Snarling, you struggle but get nowhere.

Sebastian slowly licks his lips from the blood that now appears to have almost fully stopped and he throws you off him with ease. Your back hits the passenger door and you groan when the handle digs deep into your spine. Momentarily halted, you look at Sebastian and only catch a glimpse of him before your hair gets clutched in a fist and your face connects with the front panel of the vehicle. Only in last moment you manage to turn your head so that the hit is absorbed by your cheek and not the nose or forehead.

“You will listen and you will obey!” Grunting as he slams your head against the dashboard again, Sebastian is nearly ripping out clumps of your hair, and you try to defend yourself, to resist him, to use your hands and stop the momentum, but you’re just too weak.

Instead of fighting a battle that you will not win, you change your strategy and just before the third hit makes you even more dazed, you find Sebastian’s thigh and dig your nails deep into the inner side of it, making the man howl with explosion of pain so close to his sensitive bits. “You absolute WHORE!” Screaming, he at last releases your hair and grabs your throat, pinning your back to the seat.

Your eyes meet again. His face is still bloody, but now so is yours. The hits against the panel opened a wound on your temple, the blood dripping over your right eye, hair sticking to your skin. For a long, long moment you two just stare at each other while Sebastian’s grip is so tight on your throat that it would already have killed any mortal caught like this.

All of a sudden, the Prince releases you and slumps back into his seat, leaning back and looking outside the windshield. Complete silence engulfs the inside of a car and you relax where you sit as well, calming down and mirroring Sebastian, turning your eyes to the front of you. You see nothing but a thicket of trees, illuminated by the headlights of Rolls-Royce. The blood drips over your face for a moment longer, but soon stops, the wound closing already.

“I’m too sober for this.” You murmur at last, not sure what else to say.

Sebastian doesn’t move when he answers, doesn’t even look at you. “We can’t even drink alcohol.”

“Might do it anyway.” You sigh, but the Prince finally turns his eyes to you and you to him, meeting each other’s gazes in a way which speaks of familiarity, of deep knowledge. “You didn’t tell me about what Adoption really is.”

“You didn’t have to go out of your way to aggravate the Baron of Hollywood.” He counters and you give him a shrug.

“I didn’t know he would get his panties in a bunch over it. He insulted me first, you know.”

“Of course he insulted you first, you work for the Camarilla, for the love of…” Sebastian sighs and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, but the blood has almost completely dried and he achieves nothing with this. “Listen, you can’t run around making enemies.”

“Anarchs are our enemies already.” You point out and Sebastian affixes you with a warning look.

“Blood Hunt on Nines is not a start of a war, but pissing off Isaac might be.” Then he pauses and leans in closer, brushing hair away from your face, unsticking strands from your bloody skin. There’s gentleness in Sebastian’s touch and you let him proceed, realizing that you want nothing more than his embrace right now. “I thought I made it clear that what you do reflects on me, and will even more so post Adoption.” Cradling your face, Sebastian inspects the wound on your forehead and you close your eyes, enjoying the soft touch, sinking into it, feeling the warmth of it.

“I know. But I want you to be honest with me from this point on.” You whisper and Prince stiffens, then looks into your eyes when you open them.

“What is this?”

“What is what?”

“This demand of honesty? Do you truly believe that I would tell you everything? A mere newborn with no knowledge of the bigger things happening?”

It appears that Sebastian truly and fully does not understand why would you want such a thing and for a moment you feel frustration, but quickly deflate. You have no more fight in you tonight. “Can you at least not deceive me with your intentions for me?”

“What intentions do you think I am hiding?” Sebastian releases your face and leans away from you, giving you a curious look with a raised eyebrow. Even disheveled and bloody like this, he still looks so damn alluring and you have to force yourself to focus on the conversation.

“I don’t know, that’s the point, Sebastian. I want to know.”

“Am I not trying to help you? Have I not spared your life and took it upon myself to guide you through this new existence? What have I done to give you an impression that I have some sort of hidden, secret plan about you?” He laughs, sounding genuinely amused by the sheer notion of such suggestion.

“You’re a Prince, who knows what you are thinking or planning.”

At this Sebastian laughs louder and runs a hand over his messy hair but that does nothing to smoothen it. “That’s what you think? That you’re so important that I included you in whatever grand scheme I might have? Dear, you are but a mere fledgling, your existence is a flaw, a fault, a mistake. It wasn’t generosity that made me spare your life, of this you are aware already, but I have no ultimate goals with you.” Now he leans towards you again and takes your hand into his, gently, caressing the inside of your palm with his thumb. “You have to understand one thing, and one thing only – do what I tell you, don’t pick fights and I will help you become someone. Isn’t that what you want?”

What do you want? Glancing down at your hand in his, then back at the pale blue of his eyes, you understand that this is finally the moment where you have to make up your mind. Do you stay with the Camarilla? Do you climb the ladder that seems so impossible to climb? And most importantly – do you stay with Sebastian? Do you accept the Adoption? Do you go through with it? You can still say no. You can say it right now. But you have a feeling that this is your last chance to back out without consequences.

In truth, you don’t know what you truly are signing up for. Tying yourself to Sebastian doesn’t sound like a good idea. He’s short in temper, he is scheming something and of that you are absolutely sure by this point. What else is he hiding? What do you really know about him besides that you feel a desperate need to be with him? Yet the moment you think of that specific need it stirs within you like a beast rising from slumber, rising its head. People marry for less, you think to yourself, but this is so much more important and serious than a mere marriage. You will be submitting your life, or what your existence can be called now, to Sebastian so completely and fully that he will decide every single step you take. He will be the master of your nights and possibly of your future.

“Do you not want this?” The Prince interrupts your inner conflict and you stay silent for a moment longer.

“I… I don’t know, I’m not sure-“

Next thing you feel is warmth of Sebastian’s kiss upon your lips. It’s sudden, swift and deep. When his tongue makes its way into your mouth with ease, you taste his blood and your head spins. Letting out a small gasp you grip onto his arms when he cups your face again and only when Sebastian pulls back you realize that he is indeed warm, pleasant to the touch.

“You want this, I know it. You want this but you’re afraid. There’s no need. Just tell me you want it, that you want me.” The softest whisper against your lips ghosts like a promise of something you can’t quite name.

“I…”

“Just tell me the truth.”

Sebastian’s small kisses pepper your lips and you succumb. “I want you, I do.”

“I know.”

He presses his mouth onto yours again and this time rather than just clinging to him, you pull him closer but the Prince doesn’t budge. Instead, when the kiss is broken this time, he leans back in his seat and smiles. The kind of smile that makes you forget your worries and doubts. He caresses the bloody side of your face and appears to be actually pleased with you.

“Good girl. I knew I can count on you.”

Feeling like a cat being petted, you lean into his warm palm and smile back. “If you know this, then don’t scream at me next time I do something you think is stupid.”

Sebastian’s smile gains an edge, but he chuckles. “You are very eager to keep testing my patience.”

“Am I? Or am I simply not following your exact bullet points? Pity, because how can I when I never know what they are.”

“You just need to do what I tell you to. I don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself so that you-“ Sebastian pauses and mild surprise overtakes his features when you abandon the touch of his palm and lean over, tracing your fingertips over the same thigh that you pierced with your nails, moving it up and towards his crotch area. “…listen.” He murmurs and rises an eyebrow, watching you deftly unbuckle his belt.

It doesn’t take more than two seconds for you to begin feeling his cock hardening beneath the fabric and you smirk, letting him tuck your hair behind your ear, allowing him to view your stained face better.

“I listen.” You quip and let the sound of his zipper being pull down create an anticipatory pause. “But maybe you’re just bad at giving instructions.”

“Ha! Truly, that’s your angle, my dear?” Sebastian cradles the back of your head with a smirk that matches yours and eyes your face when you free his already full hard cock from the confines of his pants, giving the invitingly pink tip of it a teasing lick.

“What other angle I should have? If you’re my mentor, if you are to be my Sire, why don’t you try instructing me in a way I can follow?” Another lick and you sense Sebastian’s loins tense for a moment, but he lets out a sigh without breaking eye contact with you.

“Very well, mon chéri, allow me another attempt then, if you are so eager.”

You only manage another tantalizing chuckle before you feel Sebastian’s hand maneuver the back of your head so that you lean down, pushing you to take his cock into your mouth. You do so without hesitation, needing, wanting him again, even now, even after the fight you two just had. Maybe even more so because of it, you barely understand what you are doing with him yourself. Only one thing is true and that is that you do not want, no, cannot be without him.

“Just like that, all of it.” The Prince hums and you take his length entirely until your nose rubs against his skin, tickled by neatly trimmed hair.

You try to glance up but your position is not favorable for that and so you close your eyes, enjoying the moment, the gentle instructions that Sebastian begins to give you. “Yes, like that, again, up, down again.” A tug on your hair and you release his wet from your saliva cock, stopping it’s swing when you wrap fingers around the base of it.

You glance up at last and Sebastian’s face is now slightly flushed, the rosiness of his cheeks betraying just how well you are performing under his guidance. “Don’t stop, lick it.” He instructs again and you obediently lean down, dragging your tongue against the length of his cock and eliciting an eager twitch from it just before it wetly leans against your cheek. Then you do it all over again, letting saliva drip downwards, douse his balls that keep tightening every time your tongue makes contact with the tip and then soak into pants of his expensive suit.

“What a good little beast you are.” Sebastian croons and you wish you could hear him panting, but the Prince is so enraptured in your performance that he doesn’t even think of faking his breathing, even if he would do so only for your benefit and satisfaction.

No, instead he lets out a quiet moan when you lean down on your own accord and take one ball into your mouth, sucking on it and rubbing your tongue against the smooth skin, then switch to the other one. The grip in your hair tightens and you think that Sebastian will pull you up just a second before he does exactly that. Yet instead of guiding your mouth back his cock, he tugs you upward and next second your lips are occupied with his.

It’s a messy, hurried kind of kiss that leaves your lips sore and your chin wet, but you think of nothing else except Sebastian’s hands pulling you out of your seat and onto his lap, holding you there with one hand while he leans his seat backwards and then his eyes, that when they look at you, show nothing but pure desire.

Your heels tumble off your feet and Sebastian hikes up your skirt with both hands when you hurriedly begin to unbutton his bloody shirt. “So you can follow instructions.” He huffs and you have to move even closer for Sebastian to slide the skirt up your ass. It’s not comfortable here, cramped, your rear keeps getting pressed against the steering wheel and you have to hunch over not to hit the roof, but you don’t care. What you care about right now is the Prince and his already precum weeping cock pressed against the stomach.

“Only when it suits me.” You smile slightly and lean down, dragging your tongue against his collarbone which makes Sebastian let out a choked groan.

“That’s not how it’s going to be once you’re my Childe.” He retorts and you nod slightly, then lick his neck, pressing open mouth kisses to his skin, feeling the simulated pulse beat faster, stronger. Your fingers trace over his nipple then to his stomach. You palm his cock and give it a few subdued strokes because you’re right against Sebastian but you don’t mind it and it appears, neither does he.

“And this is how it’s going to be then?” You whisper against his ear just before you nip at Prince’s earlobe but instead of an answer you stiffen the moment he rips at your nylons, becoming increasingly impatient.

“Yes, this is exactly how it’s going to be. And you will obey, will you not?” Sebastian’s own teeth find the tip of your ear. You feel a graze of his fang and lift your hips just enough for him to grab the waistband of your panties and pull them down your hip.

“If you want me to obey so bad-“

“Fuck me.”

The order cuts you off and you rise your head, meeting his fiery eyes with your own and without another word you use one hand to move loosened by his grip underwear, shift it aside and only then you guide his cock into your slick entrance.

“Take it all, mon chéri, show me your devotion.” Sebastian says in a gravely voice, laced with nothing but lust and you sink down with a moan. “Move, fuck me like you can’t live without me.” He sighs in way that you think he will just lean back and let you take control, but no, Prince’s eyes remain sharply focused on you, his desire palpable and you obey, just like he wants you to.

You rise and fall. The Rolls-Royce cabin does not offer much space but that doesn’t stop you from finding your pace while you grip the headrest of Sebastian’s seat and begin impaling yourself upon him with increasing fervor. “You’d like if I needed you like that, wouldn’t you.” Biting back the moans that threaten to overtake your speech, you grab his shoulder and close your eyes, just as Sebastian tears at the front of your blouse, ripping out buttons.

“I know that you do already.” He responds, words muffled by the supple flesh of your breasts over which he drags his fangs. “I know this. I can see it in your eyes, smell it on your skin, taste it in your blood.” With a bite into the mound of your left breast he makes you inhale sharply, then moan and shiver in his arms. Yet you don’t stop, don’t falter in how you ride the Prince.

Your Prince, because in this moment he is yours just as much as you are his. Both bloodied, bruised, torn clothes and all. A verbal fight or a physical one, it matters none because it’s moments like these, when you are lost in sensation with him, that make it starkly clear that he needs you, even if it’s not in the same way you need him.

It doesn’t matter. You let thoughts abandon you and you moan when Sebastian’s hands on your hips guide you to move faster, making you drive his cock into yourself harder. You forget what is it that he said last. It doesn’t matter, nothing does. You just moan, filling the car with your gasps and needy cries while Sebastian feasts on your blood for a moment longer, then his fangs leave your flesh, but he does not bother to lick the bite closed. Instead he grabs you chin, entrusting you with the intensity of griding, and kisses you deeply, making you taste your own blood on his wet, hot tongue.

With a moan into Sebastian’s mouth you shiver and his hand slips from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you in place even when his lips part from yours. He moans too, now that his mouth is not occupied, and swears something you can’t quite make out despite being so close. “You’re going to be my downfall.” The Prince mutters and leans his head back, with one last moan thrusting upwards for the first and last time as he begins to spill inside of you with several spasms of his loins.

The moment most intense part of his orgasm passes, Sebastian’s eyes are back on you. “I want to see you come undone on my cock, my dear. Come on, now.” He whispers with hunger so clear in his gaze that you cannot hold back anymore. The way he says it, the way he holds you.

“Fuck!” Is the only word you manage to cry out before you clench onto his cock and shiver with tension then with release as your climax washes over you in waves.

Sebastian holds you through it, not letting you move your face or hide it, watching every micro expression up close and when you finally begin to relax, only then he smirks and grants you a brief kiss. “You look beautiful like this, have I told you?”

Whatever it is that Sebastian is asking you doesn’t quite register as you lay against him and try to gather your bearings. Your whole body is still shaking from intensity of pleasure and only now you realize that you too have used your powers to become warm, receptive and alive in his arms. You find it funny how you did that almost automatically and wonder when did that happen. When you were sucking his cock or when it became clear that you two will fuck? Not that it matters, not really. In the end, it’s clear that your instincts have been trained by him like a good, obedient dog ready to serve.

You chuckle. Might as well, you think to yourself.

“We need to go back, the morning is almost here.” Sebastian says against your ear and you suddenly lift your head, looking outside the car windows. The sky is still dark, but you can see first sighs of the sun coming, like an inescapable threat.

“Shit. Yes.” You murmur and surprise Sebastian by kissing him briefly in a completely familiar and domestic manner before you try to untangle yourself from him.

To Prince’s amusement, and your own, your ass presses the horn on the steering wheel several times before you manage to return to your seat and by that time you are both chuckling, trying to fix up your clothes as much as possible, but neither of you are stupid enough to think that anyone who might see you back in the city won’t see that you two have been in a fight.

“Next week.” Sebastian suddenly says after he gives you your heels, which you put on, and buckles himself into the seat. You pause in your own attempt to do the same.

“What’s next week?” You look at him and Sebastian gives you a short side-eye glance and a smirk, while at the same time beginning to pull the car out of the woodsy area where he parked.

“Your Adoption.” You stare at him, saying nothing, just clicking the seat buckle to secure. Next week.

Next week.

Sebastian turns the Rolls-Royce around and begins driving back to the city. “Friday, Venture Tower. Don’t be late.” He adds when you still say nothing and at last you lean into the seat and smile so widely you think your face will start hurting in seconds.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[dufferpuffer]

~~ Looking at Lycanthropy ~~

Part 4: Long-Term Lycanthropy - The Case of Fenrir Greyback

Fenrir Greyback is an interesting figure. He is the only other named werewolf character, is wildly different from Remus... and gives us a broader view on what it is like to have Lycanthropy long-term.

Looking at Lycanthropy (all parts)

Words: Approx. 6000

Physical Symptoms (What he feels; what he does; what happens – factual.) Perceived Symptoms (How he seems to others, health focused) Social Perception (What people think of him; His social situation) Self Perception (What he thinks about himself)

HALF BLOOD PRINCE

First I'll go through what Remus has to say about him:

Chapter 16

Pg 284/285/286 “Oh, I’ve been underground,” said Lupin. “Almost literally. That’s why I haven’t been able to write, Harry; sending letters to you would have been something of a giveaway.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve been living among my fellows, my equals,” said Lupin. “Werewolves,” he added, at Harry’s look of incomprehension. “Nearly all of them are on Voldemort’s side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was... ready-made.” He sounded a little bitter, and perhaps realized it, for he smiled more warmly as he went on, “I am not complaining; it is necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing — and sometimes killing — to eat.” “How come they like Voldemort?” “They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life,” said Lupin. “And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there “ “Who’s Greyback?” “You haven’t heard of him?” Lupin’s hands closed convulsively in his lap. “Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children... Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people’s sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results.” Lupin paused and then said, “It was Greyback who bit me.” “What?” said Harry, astonished. “When — when you were a kid, you mean?” “Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback’s insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people.”

Werewolf recap: Werewolves live 'almost literally underground' – separated, shunning society. They struggle to survive, even stealing and killing to eat. Sending letters isn't done – probably both due to lack of basic education and outside contact. Everyone knows Fenrir Greyback. His word amongst werewolves is golden. Nearly all werewolves are on Voldemort's side, thinking he can give them a better life. - Voldemort supplies Fenrir with prime prey in return for his savagery. (Is that all he plans werewolves to be in society...? A punishment force? That's more than they have now, I suppose...) - Fenrir is 'the most savage werewolf alive today' - Fenrir wants to overtake wizarding society by creating more werewolves. He bites children and takes them from their parents to raise away from society thus likely low education in werewolves. - Fenrir bit Remus as a punishment for his fathers prejudice. - Fenrir 'positions himself close to victims' at the full moon. So even he doesn't have full control, but plans accordingly to ensure results. - Fenrir believes werewolves deserve blood for the treatment they have faced. (after seeing what Remus goes through - honestly, yeah.) These werewolf 'enclaves' seem cult-like: Fenrir's opinion is king. You aren't allowed to have contact with other people else you are shunned – and people are brought in young, raised with these beliefs. From this text we can also gather some personal facts about Fenrir: - He was likely an adult before he bit Remus – so he would be... 50, at the absolute youngest now. Probably more like 60, even 70. - He was a proud werewolf back then too – unless he was simply sick of the prejudice to the point of wanting others to suffer it. - He was not child-stealing yet. He left Remus with his parents. That is a more recent development. - No mention of others also positioning themselves to bite children, even on Fenrir's behalf - does he alone do it...? Fenrir Greyback, so far, seems like a driven and influential figure. A household name famed for his savagery and shocking ideals: A werewolf that takes pride in his Lycanthropy and will punish society for being so bigoted. 'If they think of us as monsters – then I'll be the monster they fear.'

Honestly? Punk as fuck. Grandpa's an icon.

Chapter 27

pg 500/501 “Jokes? No, no, these are manners,” replied Dumbledore. “Do it,” said the stranger standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted gray hair and whiskers, whose black Death Eater’s robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a voice like none that Harry had ever heard: a rasping bark of a voice. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat, and, unmistakably, blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails. “Is that you, Fenrir?” asked Dumbledore. “That’s right,” rasped the other. “Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?” “No, I cannot say that I am.”Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely. “But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore.” “Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual... You have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?”“That’s right,” said Fenrir Greyback. “Shocks you that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?”“Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little,” said Dumbledore. “And, yes, I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live…”“I didn’t,” breathed Malfoy. He was not looking at Fenrir; he did not seem to want to even glance at him. “I didn’t know he was going to come —” “I wouldn’t want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore,” rasped Greyback. “Not when there are throats to be ripped out Delicious, delicious…”And he raised a yellow fingernail and picked at his front teeth, leering at Dumbledore. “I could do you for afters, Dumbledore.”

- Big, Rangy, Tight clothes (muscles?) - Matted grey hair and whiskers - Rasping voice; Unique and barking rasp - Smells of Dirt, Sweat and Blood - Pointed teeth; Yellow fingernails - Eats and enjoys blood. Obscenely – at least while being watched. - Wants to shock. - Enjoys human flesh, even outside the Full Moon. - Ripping out throats is 'delicious', young or old (young better) – could be playing it up to shock, but I think he's being honest. - Dumbledore regards him as disgusting – an 'obvious' danger to kids in a school. (he is right) - Draco, a pureblood, is ashamed of him. Disgusted. (he is right)- Draco was told Death Eaters would come, supposedly – so he didn't expect Fenrir to be included. In Draco's mind at the very least, Frenrir is a different classification despite being so closely involved. - Albus called pretty much everyone by their First Name - but there is a level of familiarity between them. I wonder if Albus taught him at Hogwarts before he was bitten? Or if have they just clashed before?

pg 502 “I’ll do it,” snarled Fenrir, moving toward Dumbledore with his hands outstretched, his teeth bared. “I said no!” shouted the brutal-faced man; there was a flash of light and the werewolf was blasted out of the way; he hit the ramparts and staggered, looking furious.

- Eager to kill, with his hands and teeth rather than a wand. - Warded off with a spell unharmed – just staggered and angered. - Non-werewolf Death Eater is someone he had to listen to.... but was allowed to feel angry with.

pg 505 As Harry plunged after them, one of the fighters detached themselves from the fray and flew at him: It was the werewolf, Fenrir. He was on top of Harry before Harry could raise his wand: Harry fell backward, with filthy matted hair in his face, the stench of sweat and blood filling his nose and mouth, hot greedy breath at his throat—“Petrificus Totalus!”Harry felt Fenrir collapse against him; with a stupendous effort he pushed the werewolf off and onto the floor as a jet of green light came flying toward him; he ducked and ran, headfirst, into the fight.

- Fast. Strong. Could knock Harry down. - Filthy matted hair; Stinky with blood but also sweat – he hasn't just had a long hard day of work, he doesn't bathe enough. - Greedy for Harry's throat. Yummy yummy. - Affected by Petrificus Totalus - Heavy. Probably because all of his muscles and massive balls.

~~~ DEATHLY HALLOWS

Chapter 23

pg 388/389 “Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. “Delicious girl... What a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin…” Harry’s stomach turned over. He knew who this was: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.

- Soft skin is preferred for throat ripping. Probably young female skin – so its an mental thing rather than a physical, unless he also likes young male skin. Either way a fetish. - 'permitted to wear Death Eater robes' – he isn't a Death Eater. - The ability to 'wear Death Eater robes' is a transactional thing.

pg 389 “Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” said Greyback’s gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wandlight fell into his face and Greyback laughed. “I’ll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?” Harry did not answer immediately. “I said,” repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain, “what happened to you?” pg 391 “It is you! If they find out who they’ve got –! They’re Snatchers, they’re only looking for truants to sell for gold –” “Not a bad little haul for one night,” Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. “A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and three truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?” he roared. “Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley on ‘ere, Greyback.” “Interesting,” said Greyback. “That’s interesting.”

He makes jokes about eating (or at least savaging) people. Ripping their throats. It's casual. He really likes what he does. But while Voldemort is offering a better life for werewolves (not hard), and Greyback himself is allowed to 'wear Death Eater robes' for his influence and services, invited to events like the murder of Dumbledore... he is still just a snatcher, scraping vagrants for cash.

He crouched down beside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted gray hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores at the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.

His face has matted grey hair; Whiskers; Pointed teeth are brown; sores at the corners of his mouth (probably from opening wide to rip throats – maybe also some poor mouth hygiene). Dirt added to his smell along with sweat and blood.

pg 392 “Well, well,” said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry official. Harry’s heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it.

Huh...? See his heart pounding? Is this 'see his fear' – or literally see his heart...? I don't wanna sound dumb, taking something too seriously – but with all the blood-love and the animal themes and magical curse stuff I don't wanna ignore the possibility completely. I'll just mostly ignore it.

More importantly: Despite 'wearing Death Eater robes' and all that – he is worried he may have attacked a Ministry official's son. Would the other Death Eaters present at Dumbledores murder give a shit about that, while trying to do their job...? I doubt it. Fenrir is a strong, proud man with some higher level of permissions and respect: and yet he has reason to fear small mistakes like 'Snatching a Ministry officials' wayward, rulebreaking son'.

pg 393 “What’s that on your forehead, Vernon?” he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry’s nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taut scar. pg 394 “To hell with the Ministry,” growled Greyback. “They’ll take the credit, and we won’t get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who.”“Will you summon ‘im? ‘ere?” said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.“No,” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got – they say he’s using the Malfoys’ place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.” Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honor.

...He hasn't told his Snatcher crew he isn't a Death Eater proper. That he doesn't have the mark. He hasn't told them. Scabior is awed that Voldemort might be called there, right then, by Fenrir Greyback the Werewolf... but he can't do it, and he doesn't wanna say he can't. Bless.

Note that the Ministry, full of Voldemort's people, will not respect Fenrir Greyback. The fact he is worried about their credit being successfully taken means Voldemort won't respect his word either. Rewarding Fenrir appropriately for his high service is unimportant.

“... completely sure it’s him? ‘Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.”“Who’s in charge here?” roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. “I say that’s Potter, and him plus his wand, that’s two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you’re too gutless to come along, any of you, it’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in!”

Fenrir values his authority and power. He won't accept anyone underneath him questioning him, and he will claw at any foothold he has to gain more respect... even if it means hiding the truth. But I want to point out his language to his underlings: He is inclusive. 'They'll take the credit, and WE don't get a look in.''WE'LL take the boy there.''If YOU'RE too gutless to come along, ANY of you, it's all for me'He might be the one in charge – but they will ALL benefit. He is jeering about taking the spoils for himself as a rallying cry, encouraging others to come with him rather than let him have it all.

They are scared of being punished for failure, but even though he would also be punished if they are wrong: he wants everyone he works with to benefit and he is willing to take that risk. No wonder people follow him as a leader.

pg 395 “Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!” said Greyback, seizing a fistful of Harry’s hair; Harry could feel his long yellow nails scratching his scalp. “On three! One – two – three –” They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them.

His yellow nails are also long. Nice.

pg 396 “What is this?” said a woman’s cold voice. “We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” rasped Greyback.“Who are you?”“You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”

These little shits. 'Who are you' fuck off, as if you could mistake Fenrir's rasping. The sheer lack of respect, for someone so loyal and hardworking... because he is a werewolf.

pg 398 “But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!” Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited. “Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv –” “Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” said Greyback menacingly.“Of course not, of course not!” said Lucius impatiently.

Growling over his hunt... I don't blame him, he has a lot to lose and, in his mind at least - a lot to gain. Not that Voldemort or the Death Eaters will ever give him any respect, even for catching Harry. He speaks extremely politely to Lucius – and Lucius is... polite enough back. Even if he isn't respected and they crack jokes at his expense... it seems they don't regard him like utter shit. He will get his name on this job... probably.

pg 400 “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!” “This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy –” “Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy,” interjected Greyback, “but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold –” “Gold!” laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his – of –”

Fenrir is so damn polite to the Death Eaters, even to Lucius – who doesn't have a wand. He ranks under them all. He is also still referring to himself as 'us'. Even now his group of Snatchers will share the rewards, though he could pull rank and take everything himself. Potter is a damn good prize but he truly wants to benefit everyone – even though they don't seem to be werewolves. He isn't so much anti-wizard as he is anti-ruling-class. The downtrodden are his people.

pg 400/401 “Sword,” grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher. “Give it to me.” “It’s not yorn, missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.” There was a bang and a flash of red light: Harry knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior drew his wand. “What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?” “Stupefy!” she screamed. “Stupefy!” They were no match for her, even though there were four of them against one of her: She was a witch, as Harry knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of his eyes Harry saw Bellatrix bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen. “Where did you get this sword?” she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.“How dare you?” he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. “Release me, woman!” “Where did you find this sword?” she repeated, brandishing it in his face. “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!” “It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback. “Release me, I say!” She waved her wand, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.

His long, yellow nails are also filthy and curved. He prowls when wary and defeated. He snarls and bares his teeth. Bellatrix' Stupefy's were enough to knock down the other Snatchers completely – but reduce Greyback to his knees. It is possible she was going easy on him so he could talk. Greyback has enough standing with the Death Eaters to talk back to a high-ranking member when he feels slighted. He isn't forced to be entirely passive: allowed to bark and snap.

pg 402 “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,” she said. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.” She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?” Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness.

Bellatrix definitely outranks him, no big surprise there – and despite his recent tone trusts him with his wand, which he is skilled enough with to cast multiple wordless, even movement-less spells. Fenrir once again living his best life: enjoying shocking people with his savagery and enjoying the idea of soft young girly skin. Lovely.

He mentions getting a bite or two – I find it interesting that he doesn't seem to want to 'eat' people or tear them to pieces. He wants to take bites. This lines up with what we know about werewolves rarely killing people, instead trying to infect them and have them survive. Now – I don't doubt he mainly kills people in his human form: He likes to rip throats. But I wonder if the 'bite or two' comment is literal, rather than being funny: He enjoys biting but leaving them whole. A werewolf instinct, that tells them to 'stop' after a little damage. We know an instinct for blood and raw flesh leaks through to the human form...

pg 410 “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.”

He gets treat for being such a good boy :) Yippee! Do they hold off on giving him treats...? This, and how hopeful he is, suggests they don't give him treats often. 'He won't begrudge you the girl' he caught Harry fucking Potter and all he can hope for is to bite the girl – rather than like... be accepted as a real Death Eater.

pg 411 As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry took his chance: He leapt over an armchair and wrested the three wands from Draco’s grip, pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, “Stupefy!” The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling, and then smashed to the ground.

So he wasn't hit as hard by a single Bellatrix stupefy – but three wrong-wand Harry Stupefy's... I'm recording these to try and get a grasp on how sturdy he is, but it's unclear lol.

Chapter 32

pg 555 Two bodies fell from the balcony overhead as they reached the ground, and a gray blur that Harry took for an animal sped four-legged across the hall to sink its teeth into one of the fallen.“NO!” shrieked Hermione, and with a deafening blast from her wand, Fenrir Greyback was thrown backward from the feebly stirring body of Lavender Brown. He hit the marble banisters and struggled to return to his feet. Then, with a bright white flash and a crack, a crystal ball fell on top of his head, and he crumpled to the ground and did not move.

Moves like an animal, on all fours – despite it not being a full moon. More confirmation that he is unafraid to sink his brown pointed teeth into people non-transformed. especially a 'delicious' young girl with soft skin. Blown back by a single spell, as we have seen before, but was able to move and be angry afterwards. Crystal Ball took him out... but I feel like that'd kill most regular people? I know Wizards are hardier than Muggles but jesus christ he's hardly getting much medical attention out there

Chapter 33

pg 586 “You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore. “I ask this one great favor of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year’s league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved – I hear Voldemort has recruited him? Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.”

I'm sure Dumbledore being an icon for equality and hope and compassion would make up for him not having soft young girl skin on his throat. Isn't that Ron's favourite team? Albus you're savage

Chapter 34

pg 602 Harry saw Fenrir, skulking, chewing his long nails;

He is nervous at the non-arrival of Harry. At Voldemort's potential reaction to it. Fair enough – but if he was going to lash out I'm sure Greyback would be one of the first picks.

Chapter 36

pg 630 He saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback,

R.I.P. Stinky, you were iconic.

~~~ SUMMARY OF THIS PART:

Fenrir Greyback is extremely identifiable as a werewolf, even when not transformed: Filthy matted grey hair - even on his face, with whiskers. His teeth are brown and pointed, sores at the corners of his mouth - probably from ripping throats. Long, curved, yellowed fingernails that are as dirty as the rest of him. Stinking of sweat, blood and dirt. His voice is a unique rasping bark. He snarls and bares his teeth when angry, prowls when wary - skulks when afraid.

He is fast and strong, running out of the fray to knock Harry down and go for his throat. He can move like an animal on all fours, fast enough to look like a grey blur. As he was most likely an adult when he bit Remus - that puts his age at at least 50 now, probably older... yet he is agile, rangy, big, strong - and heavy. I'd say due to muscles.

Basic stunning spells stagger him but just make him angrier. Spells that had 'regular' people down-for-the-count forced him to his knees, but he kept his rage and his sobriety. Petrificus Totalus worked on him - but it's unclear for how long. Three Stupefy's from three wands Harry was holding was enough to throw him against the ceiling. A crystal ball to the head knocked him out - but didn't kill him. He was awake and well hours later.

This all suggests he could be a little hardier to magic than the average wizard, but whether its due to Lycanthropy or the fact he is a badass is unclear. He is a decent Wizard himself: skilled enough with to cast multiple wordless, even movement-less spells.

It is possible he can 'see' or 'sense' people's hearts pounding, related to his love of blood... but likely not.It's also possible that his werewolf instincts to only bite their prey to infect, leaving them alive, leaks into his non-transformed desire to rip and maul. That is also unclear.

What is clear, however, is Fenrir's pride as a werewolf.

Fenrir Greyback is a household name: 'the most savage werewolf alive.' It is obscene how much he loves blood. How much he enjoys shocking people with his brutality. He threatens and cracks jokes about ripping out throats, about his preference for biting delicious, soft, young girl skin. But he isn't too picky. He will tear out anyone's throat, with pleasure. Eager to kill with his teeth over his wand. It's not a bluff to scare: it's a promise. Albus regards him as disgusting, an obvious danger to the school.

He enjoys human flesh even outside of the Full Moon, relishing it like a fetish. Even Albus' throat, despite being the opposite of a young girl... though the fact he was an icon for equality, hope and compassion probably sweetened the deal.

Because Fenrir isn't just doing this for self gratification. His pride runs deeper than his fur.

He believes werewolves deserve blood for the treatment they have faced by Wizarding society. They are all Wizards and Witches, after all... but we know that they are hardly classified or treated as such. Segregated, called 'Half-Breeds', treated as monsters - disallowed from school or most jobs. Most werewolves live 'almost literally underground' - so far away from society that they rarely have contact. They struggle to survive, stealing and even killing just to eat. It's very likely most of them are uneducated, both due to not being able to attend Hogwarts - and perhaps Greyback's own actions, having them raised with other uneducated werewolves.

His word is law amongst Werewolves. He is highly respected and loyally followed. He is a leader. If he says Voldemort can give them a better life by restructuring Wizarding society - they believe him.

Like a cult: werewolves shun even other werewolves that have grown up amongst Wizarding society. Sending letters to family or friends is a 'giveaway' - merely having grown up outside of werewolf communes a red flag. It's likely most of them have grown up separated from Wizarding society after all, as part of Fenrir's plans:

He carefully plans and positions himself close to victims before the Full Moon - intending to bite children, even if he doesn't have full control. The child is raised away from their parents, amongst 'their own kind'... to one day have enough werewolves in the world to overtake Wizarding society. (There is no mention of other werewolves assisting in this goal - Is he highly selective? Or is nobody else as adept at being a werewolf...?)

He didn't always do it - Remus was bitten 30 or so years ago as a form of punishment for his father's bigotry to werewolves, and he was left with his family. Back then Greyback wasn't a household name. This plan to raise a cult-army of werewolves is a more recent development. But Greyback isn't doing it to be cruel, or make himself a king:

He is pack-minded.

He enjoys being top-dog and giving orders but he has the well-being of his underlings on his mind. When he has glory, riches and standing to gain - he willingly encourages those who look up to him to benefit from the boon, too. He hypes them up. He doesn't expect them to walk into any danger he himself wouldn't walk beside them for.

Even when they aren't werewolves. It seems he isn't so much anti-Wizard as he is anti-ruling-class... until the ruling class are werewolves, anyway. But for now the downtrodden are his people.

However he didn't tell the Snatchers he didn't have a Dark Mark. He kept that hidden, acted like he did have one. Does he suspect they will lose respect for him as a werewolf if he isn't marked? Or is he embarrassed? Either way - he does enjoy his authority over them, though doesn't abuse it.

Unlike the Death Eaters treatment of him.

Voldemort supplies him with prime prey - the children of those who defy him, perhaps some others to tear apart - in return for his unique services. He is 'permitted to wear Death Eater robes' to serve Voldemort well. He is invited as muscle to events as high-status and prestigious as the murder of Dumbledore.

But he is not a Death Eater. He doesn't have a mark.

Which seems a little ridiculous considering the fact he has an army of werewolves loyal to him and thus Voldemort. ...but he is just kept as a Snatcher, scraping for cash. Worrying about getting 'good hauls'... He worries about things like tying up a Ministry Official's wayward, rule-breaking son while doing his job. He growls protectively over his hunts. He expects credit for catching Potter to be stolen... which means Voldemort won't listen to him. He can plea and be ignored.

The Death Eaters will never give him real respect. He is told, after catching Potter, his wand, his friends, the Sword of griffindor... that the Dark Lord 'won't begrudge him the girl'. For anyone else such a deed would get them a mark. He is a dog to them.

Draco won't look at him. He was told Death Eaters would come when he killed Dumbledore - he didn't expect Greyback to be there. Lucius, even without his wand, ranks higher than him. They crack jokes at his expense, saying 'Who?' when he asks for entry - and he takes it. He accepts it and speaks to them with high respect. The best they speak to him back is with basic politeness.

He isn't a complete bitch. He is allowed to get angry, to snap, to stand up for himself. But he is seen as a 'filthy scavenger'. He isn't part of them. A different 'animal', with different needs and ideals... a tool. A trusted tool, sure - Bellatrix gives him back his wand even after he has talked back to her - but he is the bottom of the pecking order no matter what he is, says or does. When Harry didn't show up to be killed by Voldemort he was skulking. Biting his nails. Nervous. I'm sure if the Dark Lord lashed out... he would probably be the first to feel his wrath.

[indelen]

This is me finally reaching the end of The Screaming Staircase in the great Lockwood and Co reread organized by @blue-boxes-magic-and-tea, I usually make a general summary of several chapters and then post bits and pieces that jumped out at me, but honestly, I don't have much to say here except that with some hindsight I'm amazed how much seeds of the further plots are laid down here in very subtle ways. Sometimes just a line or two.

Part V: Chapters 25-26

Again that seed of doubt, possibly spurred on my poor Annie Ward and her controlling relationship. This is the first of many times Lucy will be frustrated at Lockwood hiding things, doing things behind her back and in secret. From the beginning Lucy and Lockwood’s main conflict, which comes to a head in the 3rd book, is inevitable. Holly was just the final straw, the last symptom of a prolonged illness. If she didn’t come along some other argument would have boiled over to the same end.

See kids, this is why you don’t help work for cops.

The fascinating thing about Kipps is that he is, at the start of the book, in the highest possible position and has the best possible future of any kid who enters the agency system.

On paper.

On paper he survived being an agent, was recognized for his Talent and promoted, he was deemed valuable enough to be retained at Fittes as a supervisor after his Talent faded and his team is productive enough to be contracted out to DEPRAC. If it’s all written as a CV it looks quite impressive. But in reality all it really means is that Kipps has two sets of people treating him like garbage and barking orders at him. He answers to two sets of higher ups who could not care less if he and anyone in his charge lives or dies. And this is all dressed up as quite the honor, so Kipps doesn't really realize just how powerless, overworked and run into the ground he is.

Not yet.

Babies! Absolute children.

I get why they were aged up for the show but it was a bit jarring to see Cameron Chapman grab a beer from the fridge because in the book these are very clearly kids for whom the height of hedonism is binging on junk food Kevin McCallister style.

George is genuinely amazing because when did he manage to squirrel these away and how? But also, what I think is fascinating is that George asks Lucy’s opinion on something quite sincerely here, as one would a colleague. And Lucy … gives him a correct answer, she recognizes the sign! Because here’s the thing, Lucy was deprived of an education sure, but she’s not dumb. And as we later learn she’s quite artistic, she likes to draw. And if you’ve ever flipped through even one art book you would know how a Greek lyre looks like, even if you don’t know its exact name and meaning. And that is precisely the type of knowledge that Lockwood and Geroge would not have.

“Some flowers bloom

Where the green grass grows

Our praise is not for them

But the ones who bloom in the bitter snow

We raise our cups to them

We raise our cups and drink them up”

Gods give me strength, I will get to the symbolism of Stroud picking specifically the mythological Orpheus for this plotline of the book and how it relates to Lockwood … eventually.

I think from the start Lockwood kinda hopes that Lucy can talk to Type 3s. This matches with his attitude at the interview. I think he’s both terrified of Lucy’s ability to communicate and be so close emotionally and physically with ghosts (because of his own past) and sort of completely taken in and fascinated by it. It’s both similar and completely alien to what he can do. It would explain why he is always a bit aloof with her but always 100% has faith in her talents and is always by her side. It also explains why he doesn't process his feelings about her until much, much later.

Now girl, that’s not the way to talk about your future boyfriend.

Yes it was disappointing to see Skull on screen without his sass and much more of a spook jar but at the same time i can’t imagine how to thread this sort of needle in a live action adaptation. At the very least the more expressive, book loyal Skull would have cost a fortune to render with CGI. But I do miss him. Little gremlin shit disturber (affectionate).

I love this ending because it shows Lockwood and George, at last, as kids. Just two 14 year old boys laughing at the height of 14 year old boy humor - a rude story about nudity (I'm assuming the cut-happy US editor left the words as is and this is the UK “pants” which is actually “underpants” but please correct me someone with unexpurgated version if that is not the case).

Death in Life and Life in Death.

And Lucy chooses to go to them rather than stay with Skull. From cold into warmth, from darkness into light, from amongst death towards the living. The end of the series is already given to us, if we squint.

Final Lockwood smile count: 12!

Will Lucy beat her own record in The Whispering Skull? Stay tuned to find out!

[sunjaesol]

now the sun burns my heart and the sand hurts my feelings

zutara | outsider pov (aang) | post-southern raiders | one shot |

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Aang didn't know when it all changed. Which, frankly, wasn't entirely his fault. As the Avatar, his attention was and should be centered towards mastering his bending and, consequently, defeating the Fire Lord. The latter with quiet dismay, but nonetheless: he didn't have time for distractions… even when he loved them so.

But he hadn't seen Katara and Zuko coming. Not one bit.

He intrinsically knew Katara hated him up until their mission to avenge her mother — something he still felt sick to his stomach thinking about — and saw her forgiving him on the docks. It all happened right under his nose! And yet!

One moment he performed hot squats and built elaborate sand castles with Toph, the next he turned around the corner of the Fire Lord's Beach house and found the two sitting cross-legged opposite of another. Zuko held a plant between his fingers as he spoke. Katara inspected it critically, her eyes flicking between the herb and the boy with tender patience.

It knocked Aang off balance.

On the one hand, his altruistic side, he was happy the two benders finally got along. They were a team — Team Avatar, as Sokka would proclaim — and they needed to be a strong unit if they wanted to have a chance at ending the war. Aang knew that.

But on the other hand… since when did Katara voluntarily spend time with Zuko. Wouldn't she want to spend time with him? Aang deserved some of her allotted time, right?

Tentatively stepping closer, the two looked up from their conversation and Katara smiled first. “Zukoʼs been teaching me about herbs native to the Fire Nation.” She plucked the herb from Zukoʼs fingers. “This is saffron, you should smell it!”

“I'm good,” Aang weakly countered. “Uh… I'm gonna find Sokka. D'you know where he is?”

“The city,” Zuko responded. He looked totally unbothered by it all, a stark contrast to Aang's current frenzied spirit. “He and Suki are trying to find the perfect mango, or something.”

“Suki and him,” Katara corrected. A gleam in her eye pushed her to rib— “What, don't tell me the education system of the Fire Nation is lacking as well?”

A tick of a smile appeared on his lips. “Yeah, maybe. Too busy with shoving propaganda down our throats, I think.”

Katara laughed. Aang frowned. Zuko was many things, but a comedian wasn't one of them; it wasn't even a joke to begin with. Pushing the bitterness down his throat as though sucking on a frozen frog, he left the two behind and jogged down to the beach to sit with Toph. He'd wait for Sokka there.

The next instances took a few subtle cues for him to catch it. During dinner, they sat next to each other. While he sparred with Toph beneath the burning afternoon sun, they sought solace under the cool awning washing dishes or scrubbing clothes clean. Whenever Zuko dared anyone to a game of Pai Cho, Katara offered herself almost immediately despite her terrible track record. When an argument angered Katara to the point of storming away, Sokka's eyes organically slid to Zuko, waiting for him to make a move.

He'd never done that to Aang, that look, and it made him feel so incredibly, awfully juvenile.

What skills did Zuko possess that Aang didn't? He knew Katara way longer than he did, understood her better, and had seen her in more situations than he could count. Zuko just got here. Though Aang was fond of him, it left an ire sting travelling up and down his spine. Spirits! What was going on?!

Then the play threw all his worst fears on stage: Zuko and Katara, personified by the Ember Island Players, holding hands and proclaiming their love and totally disregarding the fact that Aang and Katara had history and chemistry and that he loved her! Their mocking of the term "Avatar's girl" made his stomach churn, so much so that he didn't notice the real (and mortified) Zuko and Katara shifting inches away from each other.

Had he seen, maybe he wouldn't have tried to kiss her during intermission. Maybe he wouldn't have felt the desperate need to prove himself to the girl; that he was right here and actively loving her and why was she so confused about it?

Had he seen, maybe he wouldn't have pushed the two towards each other later that even. While he sulked in the corner of the living room, sprawled across a recliner as he listened to Toph gloat about her character, Zuko and Katara had slipped away. Unbeknownst to him, though his heart quickened and clenched (something akin heartache) when he did realise.

Jumping upright, he ignored Toph's shout that he should sit and listen, and turned into the dark corridor that held their bedrooms.

Knocking on Katara's, no sound came. His head popped around the corner of the sliding door and saw the room was empty. Her bed tidy, her clothes folded on a chair, no litter on the floor — a complete 180 to Aang's room.

Oh, no. His eyes widened in horror. Behind his eyelids, the vision of the Players struck closer to reality than he thought. Taking a steadying breath, he trailed to the end of the hallway and, against better judgment, pressed his ear to the door.

And there it was: the soft chime of Zuko's laugh, the murmur of Katara's voice.

His hand raised to knock, but before he could or flee, it smoothly slid open.

Katara looked down at him, worried. “Everything okay, Aang? I felt you standing there.”

A seed of hope bloomed in his chest. “You felt me?”

A wry smile ticked up her lips as a finger curled around a dark lock of hair. “Yeah, it's the full moon, so it's kind of hard to miss. So?”

“Y-yeah, I'm okay. I was just, uh, looking for you. To, uh…”

What was he doing here? Just a couple hours ago, Katara had rejected him and this didn't help! Zuko had the decency to look bashful, however, the boy seated on the rug with a cup of tea unable to quite look him in the eye. At least the firebender seemed aware that Katara, despite the debauchery of the Ember Island Players, was his girl, not Zuko's.

But if he was aware, that didn't explain why they sat in private. What could they possibly talk about that the group wouldn't understand?

Aside from the tea, a handful of books covered the floor. A lit candle stood on his night stand. Too romantic for his taste.

And so he blurted— “Why're you in Zuko's room?”

Her expression soured. “To talk. Do you have a problem with that?”

The boys finally locked eyes. Golden irises blinked at him, earnest and merciful, though Aang knew he had no ground right now. If he went insane over them drinking tea, then she wouldn't speak to him until the Comet.

“No,” he puffed. “No. It— when can I talk to you?”

“Tomorrow,” she replied, curt.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Aang.”

He nodded. “Goodnight Katara. Goodnight Zuko.”

As the door of opportunities slimmed, the last split second showed the resurgence of Zuko's smile, a kind he hadn't seen before, and only reserved for Katara. His Katara.

A part of him died on that threshold that night. It smelled like naivité and tasted bitter.

The next day, he apologised to Katara for kissing her and she accepted, though kept her distance.

The group didn't feel off because of it. Everything ran smoothly, as usual; Toph erupted cities out of sand and roughhoused Sokka in the mud, Suki practiced hand to hand combat in the atrium and scoured the regal bedrooms for fashion, Katara did her duties and lounged around the ocean, as did Zuko, though he preferred the courtyard for his bending. Aang was the only one feeling unmoored. At least he had Momo to commiserate with.

Despite the Comet's looming arrival, the days were long and the teenagers needed time off as well. One couldn't train from sunrise to sundown. He learned that the hard way.

Rare moments like these reminded them of their youth, so really, it wasn't weird that Katara tapped Zuko with a water whip as she cackled out her magical laugh, but it did surprise Aang. He thought that when he apologised, she'd act playful towards him again, but… she didn't.

Sokka and Toph gawked in surprise at the action, but what took the cake was Zukoʼs smile as he launched himself from the courtyard onto the beach — feet thudding hard into the sand — and began sparring with Katara on the shore.

Scratch that: he couldn't call it sparring. It was playfighting. It was what Sokka and Suki often did.

Zuko liked Katara. The realisation thundered as an earthquake through his lithe body. It was so obvious now! Why else did the firebender behave so differently towards her? But how in the monkey feathers could Katara like him back? Zuko redeemed himself, sure, and he was now part of the group, but…

Aang faltered. He couldn't come up with a reason. Zuko was a child of war just as much as they all were. Maybe even more than Aang. He technically stood at 112, as opposed to Katara's fifteen and Zuko's seventeen. That made him pause.

Was that it? Did he lack a sense of humanity that Zuko possessed? Although, the Avatar defined humanity and led by example, so shouldn't he be the perfect person?

Maybe it was a phase, Aang supposed. Just like her lapse into anger when she travelled to the Southern Raiders, this too would pass and she'd see Aang belonged with her.

But what could he do about Zuko? From experience, Aang knew it was tough to not like Katara.

Oh! But if that angry knife-throwing girl got out of prison, then Zuko would turn to her again! Genius! Another incentive to win this war.

“How cute!” Suki cooed. He hadn't noticed her coming.

Aang scowled, “They're fighting.”

“They're having fun,” Suki countered, waving at a buried-in-the-sand Sokka. Toph smacked his cheek. Then Suki smiled down at him. “You should do something relaxing, too, Aang. Savour it while you can!”

The nail in the coffin happened three weeks later when the doom of Sozin's Comet lurked around the corner. In less than five days, the Fire Lord and him had to fight to the death; a death he didn't wish upon anyone. His group was furious with him for his stance, but Aang refused to budge his entire belief system for the definite solution of killing someone.

Katara had fallen quiet then. Hope bleeding out her eyes and left to seep into the soil, no longer in her heart and chi. He knew he hurt her with this. And still. There had to be another way to defeat the Fire Lord.

Right before he went to sleep, restless and keyed up, he stopped by Katara's door. Soundless, he slid it open just a crack, only to feel his stomach gutted out his body.

Zuko and Katara: hugging.

Not the quick embrace she'd previously given him, a real hug. One where Zuko's arm wrapped around her with no space left, one where Katara clung to him as though spirit water laced his veins. Her head tucked beneath his chin, their eyes closed yet content, his hand rubbing smooth circles on her lower back.

"Monkey feathers," he exhaled.

The two didn't jump apart like he expected, nor did Zuko flush red or dodge any repercussions by fleeing out the room. Their eyes cracked open and they stayed.

“Have you changed your mind about killing my father?” Zuko rasped.

Aang shook his head, blood pounding in his ears making it difficult to hear or breathe or think. Katara liked him too… more than she liked me.

“Katara?” he whispered.

Her eyes welled with unshed, shimmering tears. Remorse thickened her voice. “I'm sorry, Aang. I can't support you on this one. I just can't.”

Before he could save any semblance of a relationship, she burrowed herself back into Zuko's tight embrace. It looked unnatural, inhumane, it should be him.

And then he vanished.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Γεια Θείτσα!! Ευχαριστώ για blog σου! It’s kind of sad but many of my older family members are very disrespectful toward Roma people. Like they constantly throw around slurs (I understand now that G***s’y is a slur for aroma people) with the intention of insulting someone, and when we visit family in Greece, they constantly tell me to watch out for them because “they steal things.”I’m sorry if this is an uncomfortable topic or if there’s unrest/controversy around anti-Roma sentiment in Greece. I’m very out of the loop on Greek politics, so feel free to not answer this if you don’t want to. Anyways, my question is: how prevalent would you say, from your experience, is anti-Roma sentiment in Greece? Also, sorry if you’ve already answered this question, feel free to refer me to a tag or another post if that’s the case!

Hello! This is controversial for Tumblr (not for Greek residents, they know what's up) but if we stopped talking about every controversial issue then we wouldn't improve shit, would we?

I want to be 100% realistic here, so I will explain stuff as directly as possible. I'd like you to understand the reason behind the bigotry, and I want you to understand the situation beyond "oooo g*ies steaal". You can't argue for a situation you don't know and the other side (your older relatives) will dismiss your arguments because they will know you don't know.

Naturally, I will mention some negative things some Roma do. It might be convenient for us to remain cuddled and ignore reality while living a more privileged life but this actually won't push us or anyone else to resolve these social issues. Besides, all the things I will mention are things that many Roma speak about, too, because they are aware that what other Roma do affects their own future as well.

Also this is about Roma in Greece and the specific situation in Greece. I ask for people from other countries to not make assumptions on this post about the country if they cannot back them up with experience or local knowledge.

When one speaks about issues in the Roma community it's important how and why they do it. If they do it to insinuate that all Roma people are bad and that they steal, then yes it's an issue. There's also the informative approach, which I will take. I have lived next to and near Roma families, as have some of my friends, and on the street, I had various interactions with them. I have seen firsthand the positive stuff and the issues, and almost everything I will mention here is what I've seen with my own eyes.

To be clear, this blog supports the Roma struggle and the Roma Uprising as the call of "Opre Roma!" describes it. The Roma (or Tsiganoi, as they most often call themselves in Greece) should have the right to education and social acceptance without needing to leave their culture behind. I have the tags #Roma and #Romani if you want to take a look at related posts.

By the way, "Tsiganos/-a" (Τσιγγάνος / -να) is also acceptable for the Roma in 2024 from this year's articles I've read and the Roma videos I've watched. Roma from other countries don't like this word too much, and I get why (it is because the Roma come from the "Untouchable" Caste of North India which is a history of bigotry in itself, and Tsiganos comes from the Greek for "Untouchable"). But each country and Roma community is different. It's not a slur afaik. But if you meet one, it is best to ask them what they'd like to be called because the landscape can shift.

To get the negative stuff out of the way, and then there will be good stuff.

First of all, some context. Traditionally Roma in Greece were involved in various trades but they always lived in their own community in the outskirts of some Greek villages. Of course, people of the same nationality, like the Greeks and the Slavs and the Hebrews and the Turks, usually lived in their own sub-area of a village. But the Roma were a bit more isolated.

The history of isolation goes centuries back because there was a constant self-sustained loop of the Roma being very Roma community-oriented and the outside world seeing them as foreigners. However, in older times, the Roma earned a living by doing all types of hard work more or less in sync with other nationalities and also collecting scrap. The bigotry was there but - at least from what I read - not in an intense way. It was more like "This is a Greek, this is an Albanian".

Unfortunately, in the modern age, most types of jobs they did became obsolete and poverty hit their communities. The old ostracization made it very difficult for them to sustain an income in the new era. In cases of such great poverty, it was sometimes considered acceptable to take from balamoi/gadje/"white people", precisely because of this imbalance of resources and the inherent cruelty of the balamoi towards them. (I mean, who wouldn't do anything to feed their own children?) Some of those attitudes have stuck until our days. Acquiring resources is very important for numerous Roma nowadays and sometimes these resources are not always taken legally.

So, yes, there are Roma in Greece who steal things. Yes, there are Roma parents use their babies and kids on the street to earn money (the babies are used for pity points while the mothers beg, the kids usually beg for money. (Once my aunt saw a baby that didn't look... alive on a Roma woman's bosom). This shows the desperate measures some Roma will resort to acquiring resources (sometimes it's not about survival, just acquisition) but it's also very systematic and it's considered like an "occupation" that brings resources.

Yes, there are a few Roma settlements like ghettos where the police are afraid to go, and there are drug networks and gangs. Yes, a friend had his bicycle stolen by Roma and he saw Roma frequently take the flowers he left on his uncle's grave. Yes, in Athens and Thessaloniki there are Roma markets with goods of... unspecified origin that I have strolled by. These goods were sold all together, and a stand could have album photos of non-Roma families, one pair of wedding crowns (stefana), and other unrelated objects found inside a house and unfortunately, they didn't look like they were taken from the trash. But since people throw all sorts of things away one could speculate that a good amount of those items were just taken off the trash - I, at least, hope so.

I cannot speak to how many Roma are involved in questionable acts but it is a noticeable amount that exists close to them. I suppose it was worse in the old times, or at least the prejudice against Roma was more intense back then and that's why your family believes that it's better to guard yourself in case you meet a Roma on the streets of Greece who wants to sell you something. But I have the sense they do it out of the "stranger danger" mindset (because Roma communities are separated from the rest) and because they learned to hate this group of people with a dangerous intensity.

All people are innocent until proven otherwise and I know for sure that your family cannot prove this unfair generalization about all Roma. They cannot even prove it for the Roma who approach them on the street. Many Roma in Greece "don't look" Roma (aka they don't dress like, or don't braid their hair the Roma way, similar to the traditional NW Indian ways). So Greeks don't "clock" them, and that's why they cannot claim they have a good idea of Roma demographics.

Besides, the biggest Thieves of this country are our politicians, our mafia bosses, our powerful businessmen. They steal millions each year and most of them are Greek. If I started counting the times Greeks have stolen stuff (big and small) we would be here for the next 100 years.

There are various programs for helping Roma families by the Greek state and some private organizations but I feel like the anti-Romani sentiment in Greece is still strong. As you can imagine, the negative sightings a Greek resident can have from Roma on the street can cause many prejudices to build. But of course, there are always two sides.

An ostracised community has various problems and these problems make the others ostracise them even more. Many Roma have found themselves in this unfortunate situation. Greeks rarely give Roma chances so they can improve their social and financial standing. Not to mention, due to all that exterior distrust, some Roma communities remain in their shell and can get defensive toward outsiders - because nobody else will defend them. But this defending behaviour can go out of hand and hurt other citizens (with bullets) who start to see the Roma community even less favourably.

But as I said this super defensive behaviour and pack mentality exists because the state - and the police - won't protect the Roma. Instead, many times they enact extreme violence against them, and then some Roma groups answer with more criminal behaviour. Today it's a chicken and egg situation in terms of who dislikes who, although it is clear that the persecuted side is the Roma people.

One recent example of anti-Roma sentiment is when a 16-year-old Roma stole a car and the police thought it good to shoot him in the head - which killed him. Is a bullet to the head - murder - a proper "punishment" for a teen stealing a car?? And, of course, the policemen were punished very lightly for killing a person, a teen! Roma lives are not seen as important as the rest by the Greek society, the media, the police. But Roma lives are often the most vulnerable on the streets.

I focused on the negative stuff so far to explain the situation but I don't want to end this post without positive examples for a people who have struggled so much.

Roma people work very hard and they will do their very best with the hand they've been dealt in life. They do difficult and low-paying jobs which often have the most risk. They are the powerhouse behind festivals and folk entertainment (e.g. panygyria). They will work the fields and they will gather (and at times sell) crops. If they are not particularly skilled in a trade, they will do simpler things like selling balloons and flowers on the street or offering fortune-telling services.

I admire the zeal with which many Roma want to improve their situation. The struggles might hit them hard but they never give up. Contrary to the gloomy image presented before, many Roma live in peaceful and happy settlements, they have a decent fortune and big houses where they host dancing parties and enjoy family moments with their kids. Their festivities are grand and their music - which often has lyrics that reflect their generational struggles - is sent from the heavens. (Greeks love it and they have incorporated musical elements of it in their own folk music)

Their language is ancient with great significance and very interesting variations even within the Greek borders. Apart from being resilient, they can also be very open, sharing their customs and language online for all to learn - from TikTok to the stage of the Stavros Niarhos foundation. They are very aware of the biases against them and as always they face difficulties with their head high and a healthy dose of humor. A Roma man joked the other day on TikTok "Why does a Tsiganos cry when they watch the Titanic? Because he sees all this metal wasted!" (Many Roma gather and sell scrap metal for a living)

Okay, I think that's it!

I am sorry but I don't want to shy away from the crimes and the difficulties like the Americans who only know how to say "Greece has an anti-Romani sentiment problem", as if the issue can be resolved with good wishes and stardust and doesn't have a complex past and present - which they don't care to learn. They only know how to parrot stuff from textbooks and they couldn't start a normal conversation with a Roma in a million years.

Oh, and if I see ONE disingenuous fuck say stuff like "You say that some Roma steal so you enhance the anti-Roma sentiments" I'm gonna block this shit. Congrats, you earned your White Knight online badge of the day but the problem still exists and ofc you are not going to do anything about it. Greek Roma themselves try to tackle thievery and begging practices (which is the reason why many Roma kids don't attend school) and corruption and abuse within their own communities but I am expected to conceal this when online, and pretend that all is rainbows and roses?

[june-sunsets]

"Greece sort of owns the Parthenon Marbles"

Sort of? SORT OF?

On July 5th 2024, yet another discussion about the Parthenon Marbles took place, at the British Museum. I never expect much anymore when it comes to this subject. Every time there's some kind of update on this ongoing debate, somehow my frustration reaches a new level. Because for every sensible debater, there will always be someone like 'classicist' Mary Beard.

According to Mary Beard, Greece only 'sort of' owns the Parthenon Marbles. "These are objects which are international, they belong to humanity, not to one particular bit of it", she said on July 5th.

Obviously I resent the entitlement in those words, the audacity to undermine the ethnic value of another country's heritage. The Marbles are international, you say? They don't belong to "one particular bit" of humanity? But if it hadn't been for that "one particular bit" of humanity, there wouldn't have been any Marbles to speak of. As a Greek person, I find it downright insulting of her, a British person, to say the Marbles don't belong to the "one particular bit" of humanity that birthed them.

How about we have a little laugh? Mary Beard said that the Parthenon Marbles are like a "child in a messy divorce case".

That's a wild simile. And by 'wild' I mean 'stupid'.

I'm calling it stupid because 'child of a divorce case' makes it sound like the Greeks and the Britons built the Parthenon together.

I know, of course, that Beard didn't make this simile out of stupidity. By comparing this debate to a child custody battle, she's insinuating the Marbles belong to the UK as much as they do to Greece, and that this is merely a matter of compromise. She knows exactly what she's doing, as a trustee of the British Museum.

On Twitter, she will 'educate' the public about what the Marbles should be called, in what feels like an attempt to justify naming the Marbles after the man who looted them. Whether you refer to the marbles removed from the Parthenon exclusively, or the 'less famous' stolen treasures, one thing is for certain; Elgin was a thief, and no amount of quirky 'pedantry' by Mary Beard is going to change that.

Lord Elgin was responsible for literally ripping pieces off of an ancient building, ignoring its cultural significance to Greek people. Make no mistake; he didn't find the Marbles on the ground, deserted and unappreciated by the Greeks. He RIPPED THEM OFF. Violently.

However, Mary autocorrect-to-the-rescue Beard will come to his defense, and tell you that when Elgin coveted the Marbles, the Parthenon was already in "a very sorry state". She went as far as to claim that "there is doubt at all he saved his sculpture from worse damage". All this is in a BBC archived piece written by Beard in 2011, in which she supposedly looks at both sides of the argument, yet it still felt one-sided when I read it.

So...he saved the Marbles from damage...by violently ripping them off the edifice? Gotcha.

We need to remember, everyone; the goal here is to make the BM Trustees and Elgin's ghost feel good about themselves.

"I want to see those marbles shared I think realistically, more generously with Greece", she said, on July 5th.

I wonder how Mary Beard would feel if one day a random person broke into her house and told her; "I planned to keep this place for myself, but you know what? Let's share it! I want to be generous to you."

Does she think she sounds like the bigger person? Does she think the British Museum is doing Greece a favor by entertaining the idea of sharing the Greek Marbles? How progressive!

How hypocritical.

She continued "I would like to see again the Parthenon marbles being ambassadors for a particular sort of Hellenic classical culture in which both Greece and the United Kingdom, and many other countries in the world, share; they can do their job not just in Athens or London- what about Beijing?"

What about Beijing, Mary? You reeeaaally don't want the Marbles to return to Greece, do you? If you could, I have a feeling you would personally deliver the Marbles to Mars. After all, the Marbles can interplanetary.

I jump back and forth to her 2011 piece, where she asks; "Who owns great works of art? Do monuments such as the Parthenon belong to the whole world?" and "Are they the possession of those who live in the place where they were first made? Or are they the possession of everyone? The likelyhood is that we will be debating these issues for many years to come." Well, quite frankly, if we keep debating this for many years to come, it will due to the BM Trustees' own denial of reality. The questions Beard asks are easy to answer. Too easy, in fact.

In the same 2011 piece, Beard ponders the meaning of Cultural Property, of ownership. She points out how everyone can appreciate the works of Shakespeare and Mozart, and how things get sticky when it comes to the global appreciation of a tangible work of art such as the Marbles. The answer to this conundrum is obvious, if one looks at the matter objectively; the Greek Marbles belong in Greece, in the museum close to the Parthenon from which they were wrongfully torn from, and we wouldn't even be having this discussion if Elgin and his entourage hadn't taken them as souvenirs. The truth is that there is no real need for a debate, the BM trustees just keep dancing around the topic. They will harp on the complexity of this so-called debate because they don't like the idea of letting the Marbles return to Greece.

There's this childish insistence in the British Museum's reasoning, to keep associating the Parthenon Marbles with the UK much more than with Greece. I feel this stems from something that can be traced back to Elgin and his own avarice; a strange need to latch on to a part of a culture that was never theirs to begin with.

The insistence to connect the Marbles to the UK is the undertone to the 'child in a divorce case' comparison. It's what ultimately makes Beard's argument fall apart, and brings the hypocrisy to light. She said the Marbles don't belong to Greece, they belong to humanity. They're international, she said. And I ask; where was that sentiment before Greece called the British Museum out? Before we asked for the return of the Marbles? Before Melina Mercouri, Greek Minister of Culture, started fighting for them? If this matter had never been raised, would you ever care about your British Museum becoming "the world's greatest lending library", Mary?

What Mary Beard wants you to hear is; Why should Greece have the Marbles, when the whole world should have them?

What Mary Beard actually means is; If the UK can't keep them, then no one can.

Especially not Greece. The BM Trustees are adamant about that.

Which brings us back to the ridiculous "child in a messy divorce case" phrasing. A simile that doesn't apply in this situation and makes no sense, unless Beard imagined the BM as the delusional party who has convinced themselves this child is theirs even though there's no relation between them. But that would be too much self-awareness to expect from this academic.

You wanna compare the Parthenon Marbles to a child, Mary? Okay, but it's not a child 'in a messy divorce case'. This is a child that was abducted from its own home. It's a hostage situation, Mary. The British Museum is keeping a child hostage.

Greece wants her child back.

And as for cultural 'ambassadors', the British are free to send their own, instead of playing around with OUR cultural heritage.

[crepuscularqueens]

writing pattern tag!

Rules: Share the opening of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

thank you so very much for tagging me @dr-lizortecho :) <3

would you come out and die for me

It wasn't that Sam didn’t understand what he was getting himself into. Okay? It wasn't that. He wasn’t naive or stupid. He’d read the files, he’d pieced so much of this shit together himself, spending long sleepless nights poring over accounts and linking events and blurry photos and making educated guesses that got proven right the more they dug up.

someday my pain will mark you

It starts with a fight. An argument, the pale, thin man’s incessant nagging wearing yet another hole in the thin skin Logan has over his temper. It never takes long for him to grow aggravated, to snap at the other man, but today proves different. Caliban usually needles at a point until he gets a reaction, then withdraws, but today he stands up to Logan’s temper and serves it right back.

when i walk into a room, i do not light it up

Quentin was trying to be mature. That’s what this was all about, he was an adult, as were all his friends and exes and half-way sort-of maybe-kinda-if-you-look-at-it-sideways exes, and they could manage being civil to each other. He was trying to show that he could move on from the absolute disaster he’d created, show up to a party with all of his friends and act just as he always had. In Q’s case that meant moping in the corner sulking and watching everyone else have a good time. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

i bit the fruit and all heaven broke loose

Silver did not expect Flint to come find him after what happened in the tavern in the sense that he was anticipating the captain’s arrival. Howell was tending to his leg, the barely healed wound irritated once more from the actions. But, Silver found, when he heard Flint’s steady footsteps approaching, he was completely unsurprised that the man would be at his side at a time like this.

perfect

“It really is the perfect paperweight.” Stede’s voice was pleased, a little hint of wonderment despite what could have been viewed as a complete disaster and waste of their time. Ed could see Stede balancing the petrified fruit on the tips of his fingers out of the corner of his eye before setting it on his desk. It had been fun for what it was, despite it all, and Ed could not help but be fond of the other man. Lucius’ words kept rattling around his head, that bizarre little man over there likes you very much, round and round they went, finding all different angles to come at him from.

held by you (felled by you)

Once the tears start coming, Edward’s knees pulled up in the bathtub, a blanket protectively over him like a shield from the reality he has to face coupled with the dark memories of his past, they don’t stop. Not when he’s taken from the grip of his painful memories, and not when Stede offers his immediate, unthinking forgiveness, that’s for certain.

take your sword, run me through

It’s not the initial wound that really hurts, you know? The blade punching through, slicing clean, you hardly feel it for what it is. Coming back out, now that’s never going to be quite as effortless and neat. Hurts like a bitch. But the care afterwards? Fuck, now that’s the excruciating part. Ed took a greedy swig of some of the expensive stuff Stede had in his quarters as the man tended to the wound with slightly shaking hands.

he kisses me softly to wake me up

The night was not quiet or still, because there was never a night that could be quiet and still on the sea. Strangely, that was something Stede adjusted to quite fast, the constant movement in and around his ship, whether it be tame and gentle as a mother nursing a child or wild and vengeful, he never found he had much trouble falling asleep on the water. So, it wasn’t the movement of the ship on the water that woke him on this particular night. But something had.

we bleed holy water

The evening had a cold crisp bit to it, a breeze rustling the scatter of fallen leaves on the pavement, sliver of moon hiding behind a thin veil of cloud, and Natalia was on the hunt. Through the scattered trees that meandered down the hill they were waiting on, a small group of grad school students were walking together, laughing with good spirits at a joke one of them told. Bucky could tell when Natalia had her sights set on someone she liked, a worthy prey, a trophy. It’s not that he’d ever been disappointed in her choices, it's just…

Shores Begging For Big Moons

It was hot and dry on this goddamn planet. It was always hot and dry on these planets, too close to their suns, relying on imported water and food, settled impractically on a rock that wasn't suited to support life on its own. Sam had grown up on a planet that was humid and teaming with greenery and life, when it wasn't entirely waterlogged. He hated being stationed on these outlying planets, far from SHIELD command and full of less than savory characters. Part of the deal of being on interplanetary rotation, which Sam had asked for a couple years ago, knowing full well what he was signing up for. But all the same he couldn’t wait to get back to base, spend a little time on a planet whose atmosphere wasn't thirty percent dust. Steve never seemed to mind being stationed out in these places, Sam couldn’t understand it.

no pressure tagging @sambambucky and um. anyone else that wants to for real you are tagged now if you want to do this <3

[lettucedloophole]

hello, i'm so glad i found this blog! it's amazing to know that there are people in this space doing the work. if you don't mind me asking, how did you turn away from terf ideology? i find it frustrating that many radical feminists are terfs and i'm wondering if there is a way to bring more power to the side of trans-inclusive radical feminism, or arguments that cause terfs to realize transphobia is not feminist. not all people are the same or will have their minds changed by the same thing, of course, but if you have any insight on this, please share it!

hii :D i don't think of myself as doing work really, just kind of talking here, but i'm glad you like my blog!

this issue is a tough one. at it's core... people aren't going to change if they don't want to. i think it's especially hard to deradicalize as most of the time the spaces younger terfs are coming from are liberal queer spaces, and they're obviously very terf-exclusive places despite the fact that there's still rampant transmisogyny there. so essentially it's like, you can't acknowledge you're wrong, because if you're wrong then you're a bad person who's harmed a vulnerable group and no one will accept you anymore. but the solution to this isn't to be like "well just stop being angry that people are/were oppressive" because that also leads to more bigotry. i guess it's a catch 22 of sorts.

it's kind of haunting to think about but some of the people i knew in terf spaces even privately admitted to me that they felt bad about what they were saying but in the end, their ideological beliefs told them it was okay and they didn't want to lose that sense of belonging. as you know, being in proximity to terfs as someone who even so much as sympathizes with trans people makes them rain hell down upon you.

i think it's best to focus on preventative measures. mainstream trans (and left) spaces should have a better understanding of misogyny, transphobia, and transmisogyny. the reason i rejected transness is because i thought i understood what it was and the social conditions around it, and especially if you're tumblr socialized, you're aware of the ways in which you're disprivileged and if you're multiply marginalized (like myself and a handful of terfs) it's easy to think you can't be in the wrong, wielding power over people because you're the victim. hence the necessity of learning about transmisogyny.

for people who are terfs now, though... well, the way i got out was on the grace of trans inclusive radfems, largely trans women. being in proximity to terf spaces really took a toll on them mentally, though. i think it's best for tme people or, more particularly, cis women to step in and try to educate about transmisogyny while leaving trans people out of the line of fire. in mainstream spaces, however, it's best to support trans women and boost their voices. yada yada. all that ally stuff.

idk if you were looking for particular arguments to sway terfs. ideologically and materially, they're just wrong. trans people, esp transfems, are oppressed. even if they can bring up 1000 bad trans women in news articles by conservative media, that's still such a small fraction of the trans population and we can recognize fearmongering when we know better, like right wingers who post about how many latino immigrants killed and raped Real™ us citizens, logically in that scenario you can go... but that doesn't mean EVERY immigrant. but fearmongering preys on your ignorance. education is the only shield.

idk if you're trans but i would say if you're not, consider engaging with terfs or just kinda transphobic people seeking out other opinions genuinely. it takes time to grow out of a mindset but if they're willing to listen, it might help to point out logical inconsistencies, bring up statistics (i have learned. so much about transmisogyny in particular just from pulling up fucking stats to argue with terfs), share transfem experiences & perspectives you've heard (but. not their accounts in case they decide to be assholes to them. use your judgement here)

i have faith that you'd be good at that. i argued with terfs earlier on this blog but it's something i'm growing increasingly erm, allergic to as it just kind of dampens my spirit and harms me mentally. idk. maybe it's cos im transitioning now or my immense guilt at ex-tervery. Probably Both.

i appreciate that you're looking for a way to help the issue. i would say... don't worry about radical feminism too much in particular. it was important to me too to clear radical feminism's name before as well, but really, when you see the sheer amount of terfs in rf nowadays, they make up the majority or at least, the vocal majority, you have to understand why trans people are weary. the name of radical feminism isn't more important than the justified fear trans people have of transphobia, and it's not more important than the ideas in radical feminism themselves, many of which are expanded upon in transfeminism. would def recommend you look into transfeminist theory or, transfeminist accounts. i believe radical feminism will absolve itself in time, it won't be seen as perfect but as it is, flawed yet valuable.

so yeah! i don't know if that's the sort of answer you were expecting but i hope i could provide some decent guidance in some way. you're always free to ask more questions or shoot me a message. and, thank you for the ask. have a nice day :]

p.s. kinda realised i should put some actual arguments here so uh....

sex is not real! social constructionism beam wooshwoosh

statistics

yeah that's all i got but really that's all you need. lol 😭

[scarefox]

Sometimes when I leave my save and sane QL fandom bubble, to venture out to find interesting new things and information, I see posts of people... and brother.... for a moment there I understand why antis hate us. Like if you only see those weirdoes (derogatory) in youtube comments, MDL or on xitter... even sometimes here in tumblr.... the image of the community looks really bad and ignorant.

Like stuff like this

A bit of self reflection and respecting a persons boundaries and privacy before posting stuff would be neat. I mean at least on the actors social media and their posts ..... (and their xitter # and MDL pages since they check that occasionally)

No but besides that, some peoples comments are just straight up dumb or hurtful? Like gossiping about actors looks and bodies (yes even skin color in either direction). Or top / bottom discourses on yt & xitter with the most stupid cliche arguments you can imagine. 🤦‍♂️

And don't get me started on the fanservice discourse. THAT looks very different on yt / x than it looks here on tumblr. Like 90% of them don't even get why people are skeptical about actors who just drop the "yea we are boyfriends" line. They all think you are homophobic and hate the actors if they would be dating in real life if you don't immediately believe it. No fam... it's because the BL industry PR made them lie and play pretend for years (and some even just mean "we are boyfriends on screen" like work-husbands) and now we cannot tell anymore if it's a genuine coming-out or if it's not... not surprising that those fans are all cis-hetes and therefore can't even grasp the annoyance of this, and just parroting stances they have heard are political correct ala "it is not our business / why should you even care" because representation from them and support from us that's why! And the ever ongoing prejudice that BL actors are all hetero. And if actors go that far to say such stuff on cam they should be clear about it if it's just playing or if it's real 🤷‍♂️

Like as example Copter who came out as nonbinary makes me damn happy as fellow genderqueer nb person, to see there is some celebrity feeling similar as me. But if they would now come around and say "actually that was just promo" it would feel shallow and like a betrayal even. (but I know Copter is genuine). Or Cooheart and every other open fem gay guy in the BL actor crowd is damn important for me and others as idol to look up to. But also to stick it to every idiot in the BL comment section / or anti side, that tries to gaslight people into believing that feminine gay men do not exist outside of fictional BL stories and manga (I see this stupid comment from different people way too often and it pisses me off so much).

Anyways, what I want to say is that unfortunately the image is still way worse than what I want to believe / hoped it is. And we can fight against antis & hater for acceptance and understanding as much as we want, if there are still so many loud idiots in our community it's hard. What's the point of this post? idk.. educate ya fellow idiot? We already got better over the years in the fandom but it's still some path ahead of us. And use your own brain please. Also before you post comments on some actors stuff, think about if you would say the same to their face in real life.

[all-the-things-2020]

Further Along the Way - Chapter One

Sequel to “Finding His Way”

Summary: Now that he has abandoned the Way and is no longer a bounty hunter, Din Djarin and his family deal with an entirely new way of life.

Rating: PG

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Din told Mariana. “We don’t really need a ship anymore, especially a gun ship. Besides, we need the money.”

It was true. Not only was Din no longer a Mandalorian, he was no longer a bounty hunter and they hadn’t had any income for several months. Still, the thought of him selling the Razor Crest made her heart sink. It had been their home for nearly a year now, and the first real home she’d had in over a decade. She knew it was only practical to sell the ship, but it felt like an irrevocable step.

“I can get enough from the sale of the Crest to keep us afloat for awhile,” Din went on. “Definitely long enough for us to find a place to live and for me to find a job. We need to get settled, cyar’ika.” He came up behind her, slipping his arms around her, one hand gently rubbing the small swell of her belly where the baby was growing.

“I know,” she said, leaning back against him. “It’s just … I feel bad that you’re making all the sacrifices in this relationship.”

“I’m not sacrificing anything, Mar’ika,” he insisted.

She turned to face him. “You’ve given up your livelihood, your armor, your religion … I haven’t given up a thing.” She traced the curve of his cheek with her fingertips, lingering when she reached his lips.

He kissed her hand and held her closer. “I never asked you to give up anything,” he said softly. “I never will. I want you to have everything, after the Empire took so much from you.”

She sighed and pressed her forehead against his. “I want you to have everything, too. But you keep giving things up.”

He shook his head. “I have everything I need, right here. You. Ad’ika. Our unborn child. My family. Nothing else matters.”

He stepped back. “I … I was thinking of selling part of the arsenal, as well,” he said.

“No!” She cried.

He shook his head again. “I don’t need that many weapons. I’m done fighting.” He held up a hand to forestall her response. “I’ll keep enough to protect us if need be, but some of those pieces will fetch a good price.”

“Cyar’ika,” she said, sadly. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll get by. I can get a job …”

“No,” he said firmly. They’d had this argument before. Din was adamant that she was not going to look for a job until after the baby was born. It was touching that he was so concerned about her, but frustrating that he seemed to think that she was so fragile. “I’ll sell the ship, and some of the weapons, and that will keep us going. I’ll find work soon enough, and once the baby comes, you’re going back to school.”

She sighed again. “I know you want me to finish my education, and I will, eventually. But first, we need to get financially stable. Kids aren’t cheap, Din.”

“I know that. But you deserve to follow your dreams. And once you do finish a degree, you’ll probably be able to get a much better paying job than I can.” He winked at her and she relented. He was right, of course, but she still felt like she was taking advantage of his devotion.

“Okay, we’ll do this your way,” she said. “But please, my love, don’t give up everything. Keep something for yourself.”

His only answer was to wrap her in a fierce hug and start nibbling on her ear. At that point, she knew she might as well give up. There wasn’t going to be much talking for a while.

*******************************

Din crossed the spaceport, heading for the director’s office. It still felt odd to him to be walking around in public without any armor, and especially without a helmet. He felt naked, even though he was fully clothed. This planet was on the warm side, but he still wore a long sleeved shirt with a high collar. He caught himself fiddling with his wedding ring again and made himself stop. It was the only piece of beskar he still wore, and the smooth surface of the metal was so tempting. This is the past, he told himself firmly. Let it go.

He reached the office and checked in with the receptionist, a Togrutan who handed him a numbered chip and told him in a bored voice to wait until it was his turn. So very different from the days when Din walked into a room and all eyes turned fearfully toward him. Now he was just another guy. Fortunately, there were only a few others waiting to see the director and there were plenty of empty chairs. He settled into one and scanned the room out of habit. He didn’t wear armor anymore, but he still had a small blaster tucked into one boot and a knife in the other. He felt confident that he could handle everyone in the room, even if they all came at him at once, and he allowed himself to relax.

A scruffy looking man was called into the director’s office, and the pert blonde woman who had been chatting with him moved to sit next to Din. She smiled and gave him an appraising look. This was another thing he’d had to get used to. If you showed your face, people actually looked at it, and some of them appreciated the way it looked.

Before she had a chance to open her mouth, he held up his left hand. “Married,” he said.

“Too bad,” she said with a shrug before moving on to sit next to one of the other men in the room. Din supposed he should feel flattered she’d chosen him first, but it still made him feel awkward.

Eventually, his number was called and he went into the director’s office. She was a no-nonsense woman with steel grey hair and a clipped accent. “What can I do for you, Mr….”

“Djarin.” She gave him a curt nod. “I have a ship I’d like to sell. I wanted to make sure I follow the proper procedures.”

“What docking bay is this ship in?”

“6R-32.”

She tapped her datapad and raised an eyebrow. “Very impressive. I wouldn’t have taken you for the gun ship type, Mr. Djarin. This should fetch a nice price, provided there aren’t too many repairs needed. Are you looking to sell it on the legit market, or are you open to more questionable buyers?” She sat back and looked him straight in the eye. Definitely the no-nonsense type.

“I need the money,” he said. “I’m open to any good offer.”

“Good,” the director nodded. “I’ll put out some feelers, post the specs on the spaceport bulletin board, and we’ll see what we can do for you. Of course, I expect a commission if I broker a deal.”

“Of course,” Din replied. He knew how to play this game. “Ten percent?”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Done.” He shook her hand. Even with a twenty-five percent commission, her contacts would bring him a higher price than he could have gotten by approaching potential buyers on his own.

He stood to leave, but turned back. “I do have a few other items that might be of interest to the type of buyer you’re talking about,” he said.

The director leaned back in her chair, steepling her hands. “Do tell,”

He gave her a brief rundown of the weapons he was willing to part with. “My, my, you are full of surprises,” she said with a smile. “Bounty hunter?” He simply nodded. “May I ask why you’re giving up the trade?”

He fingered his ring again. “It’s not the best job for a man with a family,” he said quietly.

The director stood up and held out her hand. “Twenty percent,” she said. When he gave her a questioning look, she shrugged. “I have a soft spot for men who don’t walk out on their responsibilities. Long story.”

“Twenty percent,” Din agreed, shaking her hand again. “And your pick of the weapons.”

She smiled broadly. “I like your style, Mr. Djarin.”

[squidcourse]

I don't know much about syscourse/syscorce and I want to educate myself ob all sides of the argument! So if you wanted, please tell me why endogenic systems are bad? Genuinely asking and not a troll!! /gen /just looking to be informed (this ask is /nf ofc btw so no pressure to respond)

I don't mind answering this, but I might miss some stuff as this is a broad topic, so feel free to ask further questions.

Well first, you have to understand what a system is. Very basically, a system is someone with a complex dissociative disorder (cdd). Most commonly this is someone with dissociative identity disorder (did) or otherwise specified dissociative disorder (osdd). Being a system is caused through repeated childhood trauma, and results in the brain creating more than one identity instead of just one (alters). These different alters will "front" during different periods of life, developing different personalities, interests, and holding different memories. There's a lot of variation in what kinds of amnesia are experienced, what kind of alters there are, how alters are able to switch or communicate, etc. It varies from person to person. Different things like when the trauma started or how often it happened or just how that person's brain reacted as a child will affect how the system presents itself.

"Endogenic systems" refers to those who claim to have formed a system without trauma. They are supposedly "non-diordered." This is not possible, and there is no research to back up the idea that a system can form without trauma. There have been attempts to prove that this is possible, in an effort to discredit trauma survivors, however it has been found time and time again that trauma is required to create a system.

The nature of CDDs is that they are covert disorders meant to repress trauma in an effort to survive a difficult childhood. It can take a long time to realize that you even have a system, never mind the trauma that caused it. It's not uncommon for systems to claim to be endogenic before realizing that they are not. It seems appealing in a way. You've got this confusing stuff in your head, and here's a community that's going to tell you nothing is wrong. This leads to a lot of denial. It doesn't help that the Endogenic community is always making up random "origins" for systems that could be anything. Sometimes this leads to people claiming that they're not a system because of trauma, they're a system because [insert trauma] because they're in denial about it, and they're stuck in a community saying that you can exist with a whole system in your head without anything being wrong.

More often though, endogenics simply think that being a system is fun. They think it's like "having friends in your head" like this is some kind of game. They will steal terms from CDDs that originally represented a trauma response or a serious concept, and turn it into something fun and nonsensical. Endos at large are a mockery of real systems. They often compare something that is quite literally a trauma response that comes hand in hand with PTSD to being transgender. There is no comparing the two topics, however endos often do this, seemingly only for fun to create alter origins like they're xenogenders. It is completely absurd, and largely considered to be transphobic as it compares being transgender to a disorder, and treats a trauma response like a fun expression of self.

Endos will often try to participate in system spaces, inserting their frivolous roleplay into spaces for trauma survivors. They will misrepresent research to try and make themselves seem "legitimate" for some reason. They want the "fun" of different aesthetics and personas while also trying to compare themselves to victims of severe child abuse.

A big part of the problem is that a lot of people don't seem to understand abuse and trauma. So many people just do not understand what it is like to be abused, or to go through something traumatic, and it's not really something people like talking about.

If endos didn't try to compare themselves to trauma survivors, and didn't frequently spread misinformation about disorders, I doubt there would be as much of an issue, actually fuck that. I would still kind of be pissed off about them. It's so stupid when endos claim to have persecutors or whatever. Like why? So you can be edgy? It's such a mockery of what I go through, what a lot of people go through. The reality of being a system is not being able to trust your memory. It's not being able to trust anyone around you. Its irrational fears and outbursts. It's constantly feeling like you're in danger. Its a fucked up personification of PTSD. It is not something to base stupid ass roleplay off of. I hate endos. Sure, some of them are probably real systems in denial. But regardless, they spread misinformation, they've been known to harass real systems with their bullshit.

I don't like endos.