#and definitely NOT about fictional characters

[aqua-tophana]

They what now.

I genuinely want to know what antis are telling their therapists for them to say that comshipping is bad. I literally told my therapist today that I ship incest and why and his response, no joke, was: "Ok."

[theeroins]

If I say that I'm not used to people misinterpreting my favorite characters, I'd be lying. But the way they get so many things wrong about Inho's character is kinda pissing me off because you KNOW that most of them do it to cancel out the possibility of InHun being *something* more than what's shown so far. You don't ship them, that's fair, frankly I don't care. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion UNTIL your opinion is wrong.

Let's talk about a couple of things I've seen being talked about on tiktok (🙄)

“Inho joined the games because ilnam said that it'd basically be more fun to play than to watch so he followed his example." loud incorrect buzzer ! Inho has joined the games before, and not only that, he's also a previous winner, so therefore he's very much aware of what it's like to be a part of it, he's experienced them first hand, just like he's experienced the atrocities of it. they've changed him for the worst and possibly caused him a huge trauma —they're the reason he's lost faith in humanity after all— so, why would he crave to relive it just for the thrill of it? i, personally doubt he even enjoys watching the game.

“Inho didn't look at Gihun with love, he likes to watch him suffer” Short answer is no. He doesn't like to watch him suffer, neither he looked at him with love, not the pure kind of love at least. Two things can be true at once. Inho spent half the season staring at Gihun because everything about the man intrigued him; His determination, his stubbornness, his kindness, his hope, his heart that's full of love despite the pain he suffered, even the pain in his eyes every time someone got eliminated in front of him as if it was the first time it had happened, as if the cruelty of it all surprised him every damn time. How can someone, who's been through the same things Inho has been through, be the polar opposite of him?

now, the reason(s) that I think Inho actually joined the games for..

(yes I am an Inhun shipper, does that make my opinion a little biased? maybe. do i still believe I'm right? absofuckinglutely.)

Let me clarify this: Inho is NOT a good man, no matter the redemption arc he might get in s3, he'll continue to be a terrible person because nothing will ever erase the blood he's spilled and the evil men he's worked for. BUT at the same time, he's not ALL bad, not like the VIPS and ilnam. See, Inhun are the average "yin-yang" trope in fictional romance, (which I eat up every time and I find it very interesting when it's done the right way, don't get me wrong) Inho is bad but there's some goodness somewhere deep inside him. And the only person who's brought it to the surface is Gihun. Sure, he does think Gihun is naive, but he's also the only person who's actually challenged him, who's "forced" him to get his stupid head out of the dirt and look around him, even for a short while and Inho definitely liked what he saw. Honestly, it wasn't even that hard for Gihun to do so because the goodness in Inho wanted and waited for someone to pull him out of the dirt, he wished for someone, something to give him hope for humanity or.. anything. Anything that'll help him escape from his misery.

You can definitely argue that he joined the games to befriend Gihun, to gain his trust and stop his plans when the time comes, which is half true. But keep in mind that he needed to justify his choice to join the games. He's not a VIP nor the mastermind to simply get to do that without consequences. He's the frontman, the one who controls and manages everything. He's needed for the games to work and go by smoothly and successfully without unnecessary losses and problems. Gihun would only cause problems, Inho knew that very well and yet he chose to put him in it once again. He recklessly made that choice, risking pretty much everything because of his inner conflict. A part of him wanted Gihun to prove himself to him, that there's indeed good that'll save the world and the rest of him wanted to prove to Gihun that everything he so strongly believes in is merely a fantasy.

Joining the games and befriending Gihun was the only way for Inho to see the real him, without the heroic mask he puts on every time he faces the frontman. I think he believed that someone as extraordinary as Gihun will either break in front of him and he will end up disappointed by the human kind once again, or Gihun will change everything about the way he thinks for the better. But the problem is that Inho hopes for both of those things at the same time.

And that was Inho's arc in season 2. His inner conflict and how it will affect him, the game and Gihun later on.

[orpheuslament]

one of my biggest pet peeves in online "literary circles" such as booktok booktube etc is when someone says a book was not good because it had no likeable characters. babes. have you even stopped to think WHY these characters are not likeable? also are they really unlikeable or do you just have trouble understanding their motives? are they really unlikeable or are you just looking at them through your own rigid moral lense? & in the case they are indeed unlikeable, what is the author trying to tell us with this character? what is their purpose in the story? fiction does not necessarily have to be about good guys vs bad guys, & it definitely doesnt have to be about characters you like vs characters you dislike. understanding that simple fact opens yr eyes to a lot of incredible fiction. please try it sometime

[stellar-solar-flare]

What Makes A Home

ex-soldier!Ari Levinson x neighbor!Reader | 2,385 words.

Themes: friends to lovers, idiots in love, competency kink if you squint, neighbors, cozy community.

Reader is female, no Y/N, no description of appearance. Nicknames 'dear' and 'honeybun' are used by Ari for Reader.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Story Content Warnings: implied smut, Ari being a soldier mentioned, Ari having guilt over his past, some very minor hurt/comfort (the love is requited, they're both just idiots).

Notes: This is a made-to-order fic for the amazing @bigtreefest - I hope it brings you joy and fulfilled your prompt! Full disclosure; I wasn't able to get my hands on the movie, so I had to piece Ari's character together from his scenes on YouTube. My utmost gratitude to @steviebbboi for character consult and helping me be confident about the decisions I made in the planning stages of this fic (all mishaps mine, of course). It is also my first time writing Ari. I hope you enjoy, and all feedback is very welcome!

I do not own anything The Red Sea Diving Resort related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

The house that you inherited from your great-grandaunt — who apparently despised you less than her other relatives —is definitely what a realtor would describe as ‘having plenty of potential’. But it really does have good bones, so to speak, and with the current housing market, you definitely aren’t complaining.

And the neighborhood isn’t half-bad, either. The community is close-knit, if a little nosy, helpful to the point of overbearing.

And so, they didn’t miss it when a new moving truck arrived at the house next to yours. The gossip has gone wild — the names of different special services are thrown around in the whispers like candy, even though no one can reasonably know anything about his history. Especially if he has a history as some overseas covert operator, like Mary at the end of the street keeps claiming, he certainly will keep that information to himself.

You are yet to run to him, and so you’re operating on second-hand information about him — which is mostly focusing on the fact that he’s tall and bearded and looks like he could bench press a school bus.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but you reason that a simple welcome visit isn’t going to end with your untimely demise. You pick a nice Saturday afternoon, check that his truck is on the driveway, and make your favorite snickerdoodle recipe. With a plate of still-warm cookies under aluminum foil, you go ring his doorbell, not entirely sure why your heart is beating so hard. It’s just a decent thing to do.

It takes a few moments for him to open the door, and when he does, you are proud that your poker face holds.

“Hi,” you say to the giant at the door. “You must be Ari. I live in the house next to yours, and I thought I’d come to welcome you to the neighborhood; they did it to me too, when I moved in a few months ago. I brought snickerdoodles.”

You extend the plate to him, and he takes it. He leans one shoulder on the doorframe, and you do not swallow when you see the muscles of his arms move. His hair reaches behind his ears, and he has a nicely trimmed beard. Even in a simple — tight — white shirt and jeans, he does look like a soldier. Not violent but like there is an alertness to him, despite the amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “Yes. I’m Ari. And you are?”

You give him your name, chuckling at the fact that you left it out in the first place.

“Nice to meet you. And thank you for the baked goods. Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”

He moves aside, gesturing for you to step over the threshold.

And you do.

There were a lot of things you had learned about Ari over the six months since your first meeting, that cup of coffee that somehow hadn’t felt awkward at all. He had a talent for filling moments like that with idle chatter that didn’t feel like it was just there to cover something.

It was just so Ari, how his charm was always on display and yet so inseparably a part of his very being that it didn’t feel like an act. It was just who he was. Of course, he could be a playboy — at least when it came to the charming part, since as far as you knew, there hadn’t been anyone visiting his house besides you.

You were more than certain that a fair number of ladies in the neighborhood harbored a crush. And why wouldn’t they, when Ari was the first to volunteer to any project, cracking easy jokes while he worked and being all charismatic smiles and wide shoulders ready to tackle anything.

It was that restless energy that had drawn him to your house, too. Just like you had turned up to his door that one Saturday, the next week he had turned up at yours, dressed in a flannel and jeans and carrying what looked like a heavy, well-equipped toolbox, pristinely new.

“Those gutters are going to fall off the clips soon. I could attach them better if that’s alright with you?”

Stunned, you had nodded. Sure, there was an endless list of things to attend to, and the gutters had been on your mind but then winter had come and you’d been so focused on other things. You had no idea how he noticed, and when you’d asked, he shrugged it off, mentioning something about how he had to learn how to build and maintain things out there, so you’d left the topic at that.

It was the first thing he fixed at your house, but not the last. He gravitated here, looking to do something of meaning, and he refused to hear your suggestions about paying him for the work he was doing — despite the fact that every project he poured himself into was done with the meticulousness rivaling not only someone not in the profession but with a passion to it.

Like the patio you were now sitting on your knees on, holding the plank in place for him so he could screw it onto the beam underneath from the opposite side. You’d made the mistake of mentioning over a shared dinner that you had contacted a contractor to see how much it would be to replace the deck, and he had turned up the next morning with all the necessary materials, in the exact shade of wood that you’d envisioned.

You weren’t certain that you wanted to know what strings he’d pulled to get all that so fast.

“Ari, seriously, you didn’t need to do this.”

“Nope,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

“At least let me pay for the wood,” you said. “You know, I’m a strong independent woman and I do have my own paycheck.”

“And I’m very proud of you, dear,” he said with perfect nonchalance, and you tried to ignore something twisting in your chest at that. “Just let me pick the next five movies for our movie nights and we’re even.”

You huffed, knowing that you’d be in for some underground art movies no one but Ari had ever even heard of but nodded regardless. It was literally the least you could do.

He finished screwing the plank down and reached for more screws from the box on the side — you’d begun earlier today by laying down all the planks to have an even platform to work with, and now it was just the matter of evening out the cracks in between and attaching them to the support structure. His arms moved, and his t-shirt lifted slightly as he bent to the side, revealing a slice of tanned, warm skin at his waist. You forced yourself not to stare.

The thing with Ari was that he flirted with anyone and everyone — except with you. He made the grannies laugh by asking them at the community nights if they were old enough to drink; he had the cashiers at the local grocery store sighing dreamily after him when he departed with one of his famous smiles. Everyone seemed to understand it was all fun and games, and yet you were certain you weren’t the only one here with hopes when it came to him.

But it wouldn’t be you — his complete and total lack of that kind of behavior around you was the clearest sign you could’ve asked for. He saw you in an entirely platonic light, and so you didn’t want to endanger what was a beautiful and genuinely enjoyable friendship with him by asking him if you could be more than that.

Even if sometimes the question, the why not me, burned your tongue and tried to sneak out of your throat. At least then you’d know the reason why he saw you so differently than others.

“Honeybun?” he said, yanking you out of your thoughts.

You swallowed, hoping that the question would go down too, and met his expectant gaze. He’d said something, and it had flown right past you, and now he was staring. God, you could drown in the blue of his eyes.

You were lucky to have him. He was a good friend, caring, attentive. He made you laugh at the worst of days; he was good at coming up with solutions, especially unconventional ones. You had no reason at all to feel wistful at all the nicknames, derived from different baked goods you’d made for him over the past months.

“Nothing, nothing,” you said, lowering your gaze. “Sorry. What did you need me to do?”

You heard a thump as he set the screwdriver down. He reached his hand, two fingers under your jaw tilting your face back up so that you’d look at him. There was that little wrinkle of worry between his brows and you felt a pang of guilt even as the warmth of his fingers was making your skin tingle.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he said. “We can take a break if you need a few. You’ve been somewhere far away for half the day.”

You quickly shook your head, knowing that you’d already ventured too far close to the line you didn’t want to end up crossing.

“Just a little tired, that’s all,” you said, hearing the flimsiness of the excuse even in your own ears.

He tilted his head and raised his brow; his hand was still there, under your jaw, lingering where it absolutely shouldn’t.

“I know it when you’re lying, honeybun,” he said, one corner of his mouth rising into a smirk. “Spill the beans. Do I need to kick someone’s ass? I’ll do it, you know.”

You swallowed so loud that it seemed to echo in your head like the creaking sound of thin ice.

“No, there’s no need for that. I was just wondering what’s so different about me?”

A flash of something in his eyes, gone so quickly that you could hardly tell it was there to begin with.

“Different how?” he said, strain in his voice, like he was going for some sort of normalcy and failing to grasp it.

Oh no. You had opened some floodgate and now things would be awkward from here to eternity. The only way to save this was to get it all out, and now that the water was flowing freely, there was no stopping the words from flowing out of your mouth:

“Well, it’s not a big deal, but sometimes I wonder why it is that you have this flirt going on with everyone except for me, and I mean, it’s absolutely and totally fine, you just see me thoroughly like a friend and that’s that but with what we have and all the nicknames and all that, sometimes I wish there could be more and I’m just wondering –“

And then you were wondering about nothing at all.

Ari was on you like a shot, his hands framing your face and pulling your lips on his even as he leaned towards you, and it didn’t matter that you didn’t understand. His kiss was a claim laid, one hand cupping the nape of your neck and the other wrapping around your waist even as his mouth devoured yours. He pulled back with his lips still on yours, bringing you to his lap and he was everything, everywhere, his scent and warmth and the softness of his shirt smelling like spring sun and laundry detergent, the taste of him on your tongue, the feeling of his hands mapping your body. It was just him all around you, and you fell into that just as easily as you’d once fallen into a comfortable, shared routine of friendship.

When he finally let your mouth go, you were both out of breath, and you were straddling his lap, suddenly very aware of how his feelings towards you weren’t entirely platonic at all. There was a hint of pink on his cheeks, and his hands came to cup your jaw, thumbs caressing your skin.

“You were too precious for that, honeybun,” he murmured, eyes fixed on yours. “I didn’t… When you waltzed into my house that day, it was the first time it felt like a home. You were the first time I felt at home. And putting on that face… it felt too cheap for you. And I didn’t… I couldn’t lose you. Not you. So I thought I’d be there for you. Take care of you, make you happy, and find my joy from that. When I was out there… I don’t know if I did enough, if I made a difference. I wasn’t sure I even deserved the kind of peace I felt with you.”

“Ari,” you breathed out, tears prickling in your eyes, unsure what you would’ve said even if there wasn’t a lump blocking your throat. “Ari, I…”

His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen lips, and he shook his head ever so slightly, his gaze aflame with something that could never ever be just friendship.

“But now that I’ve had a taste of you, honey, I’m not selfless enough to give that up. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

And just like that, his mouth was back, his hands diving down from your face to map the shape of your body, and the tiny moan he breathed right onto your lips sent a shiver down your back. He was holding you by the hips and you tangled both of your hands into his hair, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

“I think,” he managed in between pushes of his lips. “I think the patio can wait.”

You nodded eagerly, and he stood up with ease that sent a swooping feel of desire into your core, his hands slipping under your thighs so he could carry you. Your legs wrapped around his waist as your arms clung to him, and he made a beeline for the door that led inside.

It was a good thing that after all the work he’d done at the house, he knew exactly where the bedroom was.

Thank you for reading. Please consider leaving a comment, if you can spare the time and energy.

[aropride]

"they should be in therapy," says man who is not in therapy but should be, about fictional character who, granted, should definitely be in therapy, but is drastically more functional about it

[wolfstarlibrarian]

9 books to read in 2025 (sweet + spicy)

Thank you SO much to @eyra for tagging me! I love an excuse to talk about books.

I had SO much fun reading these books I'm excited to share them, so pretty please let me know if you read any of them? I might put anon asks back on because I'm so eager to discuss them. Also, all of these books have HEAs.

Also, I'm working on related marauders lists for almost all of these, so stay tuned!

🌶️ = the more peppers the spicier it is

🍭 = the more lollipops the sweeter it is

Captive Prince: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

This series is one that ifykyk. It's a dark, dramatic, sexy mlm series set in a pseudo historic age and WOW. If it was a fic it'd come with tons of warnings and tags, but there's also an underlying softness between the main characters. Lots of angst and drama and characters you can't help root for. DEFINITELY an 18+ rec so please proceed accordingly.

Johann: Vampire Mates: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭🍭🍭

I already rec'd one of the books in this series here, but this one is tied for my favorite. A modern soulmate/vampire au that's got humor, the CUTEST cinnamon roll who's inexperienced (and hundreds of years old), a russian mobster, and just enough angst to make me you ache.

Boystown Heartbreakers: 🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

If you're a wolfstar fan, then you'll absolutely adore this friends-to-lovers modern story about a hairstylist who is so worried about dating his DROP DEAD GORGEOUS best friend. All the internal turmoil paired with a book boyfriend you'll absolutely love, and lines that actually had me laughing out loud makes this one of my top reads for the year.

The Charm Offensive: 🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

This one totally surprised me with how well it dealth with mental health issues in the middle of a VERY charming story about falling in love with someone (when it's literally your job to help them fall in love with someone else). A bi-awakening and oblivious pining gem. If you want more fics that feature a reality show check out this rec list.

Myles Below Freezing: 🍭🍭🍭🍭🍭

Okay can someone alert the Hazelnoot server? Because this one feels like a cross between Solntse and Sweater Weather. Myles (a cinnamon roll, nerdy Remus IMO) has to solve a murder mystery at the South Pole while trying not to fall for the sweetheart Russian Alexei. The banter is incredible and honestly my friends and I need a second book about the lesbians in it. Forced proximity, oblivious DATING, anxiety rep, action and chase scenes, cuddling, and locked-in together all in one.

Sapphire Sunset: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

If you don't know Chris Rice, he's the gay son of Anne Rice (author of Interview With A Vampire) and thank god he's followed in her footsteps because his romance books are SO good and intense and yet fluffy? It's a ton of drama about an ex-marine and a hotel heir and a family scandal for the books. Feels delightfully like an age-gap modern Drarry book.

Lightning Born: 🌶️ 🍭

A friend recommended me this Frankenstein mlm retelling, and I was like "ew, no". However, I was completely surprised by how much heart it had, and how much it reminded me of R/S. Amnesia (due to ya know, dying), forbidden love, some serious angst, and thankfully a HEA that includes lesbians getting to live out in the tropics.

Honey Girl: 🌶️🌶️ 🍭🍭🍭

This is the only book on the list with wlw as the main pairing and by god, it's beautiful. The writing style gripped me on the first page and I've been recommending it to everyone since I've read it. Imagine waking up in a hotel room in Vegas, by yourself, with a wedding band on your finger and a note. The whole book feels like an intimate love letter and it should absolutely be on your TBR.

On Writing

No spice or sweetness in this non-fiction book, because it's a book by Stephen King on writing. Whenever I talk to anyone who's struggling with their craft I always recommend this book. It's short, to the point, and will leave you feeling much more confident in your abilities while helping you improve your writing. 10/10.

⭐

Okay well I hope you enjoy these recs! I've turned on anon asks so please share your thoughts or your own recs as I'm always looking for new books and fics to read. (We'll just ignore how long the TBR list is already...)

Tagging: @thedrarrylibrarian @wolfstarwarehouse @wolfstarmicrofic @pancakehouse @imsiriuslyreading @lavenderhaze @rainbowrowell @gayliketheancients @brandileigh2003 @mrtellmeafckingsecret @imjusthereforwolfstar And ANYONE ELSE who also love books

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 15: It Runs In The Blood

Logan's brother, Victor, has to stay at the apartment for a few days. Things go downhill from here.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, dark background, mentions of abuse.

A/N: hello? anyone here? doesn't seem like anyone's in the mood right now with everything going on💀 I'm definitely not going to talk about Hugh as enough people already do on this app (and because of the rumors and I don't know Hugh personally to judge obviously) so I'll just continue posting my fics about Logan as I only care about this specific fictional character of "his" (well, debatable cause what you're about to read kinda show the opposite...oops). So if you're still here! Enjoy!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The knock at the door was sharp and impatient, echoing through the apartment and drawing Logan’s attention away from the pan he was scrubbing. He stiffened, his grip tightening on the sponge for a fraction of a second before he turned off the faucet.

“He’s here,” Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade and Y/N, who were seated in the living room.

Wade, sprawled comfortably on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “Let the circus begin,” he quipped, earning a glare from Logan.

Y/N glanced at Logan, noticing the way his jaw clenched as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. He moved to the door with deliberate steps, and she found herself exchanging a look with Wade, who gave her a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

When Logan opened the door, the man on the other side radiated trouble. Victor’s smirk was sharp and mocking, a warning in itself, and his presence seemed to fill the space with an unspoken tension. There was something about him—the way his cold eyes lingered and his confidence bordered on chaos—that immediately set anyone on edge.

“Logan,” Victor drawled, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. “Long time no see, little brother.”

“Victor,” Logan replied evenly, his tone devoid of emotion. He didn’t step aside until Victor had no choice but to pause, forcing his smirk to falter for a second. Logan’s silent assertion of control didn’t go unnoticed.

Victor’s eyes scanned the room, landing on Wade first. “Well, if it isn’t the comedian,” he remarked with mock amusement. “Still serving beers?”

Wade didn’t miss a beat, leaning back on the couch with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still making everyone regret inviting you anywhere? Guess we both have our talents.”

Victor chuckled, but the sound was hollow. “Always a smartass.”

Then his gaze shifted to Y/N, and his smile widened. The shift in his expression made her instinctively straighten in her seat.

“And you must be Y/N,” Victor said, his tone warmer but not necessarily kinder. “Logan mentioned you in passing, but he didn’t do you justice.”

Logan stepped in, his voice firm. “Victor.”

Victor held up his hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m just saying hello.”

Y/N stood, forcing a polite smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand.

Victor took it, holding it just a moment too long. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, his voice low.

Logan’s glare was sharp enough to cut glass. “Come on. Let’s get this done with.”

Victor finally let go of Y/N’s hand, following Logan down the hall to the spare room. Wade leaned toward Y/N, his voice low.

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” Wade muttered.

Y/N nodded, exhaling the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I can see that.”

In the hallway, Logan pushed open the door to the spare room and gestured for Victor to enter.

“Here. This is where you’ll stay,” Logan said curtly.

Victor glanced around, unimpressed. “Cozy,” he remarked, tossing his duffel bag onto the bed. He turned back to Logan, his smirk returning. “So, how’ve you been, little brother? Still trying to play the good guy?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not doing this.”

Victor’s laugh was sharp. “Oh, come on. You can’t avoid it forever. You invited me here, remember?”

“Because you needed a place to crash,” Logan shot back. “That’s it. Don’t read into it.”

Victor stepped closer, his smirk fading into something harder, more pointed. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same stoic, uptight kid who thought he could fix everything. Newsflash, Logan—you can’t.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Victor standing in the doorway of the spare room.

When Logan returned to the living room, his face was a mask of calm, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders.

“He settled in?” Wade asked, his tone deliberately light.

Logan gave a terse nod. “Yeah.”

“Great,” Wade said with mock enthusiasm. “This is going to be fun.”

Y/N glanced at Logan, whose eyes met hers briefly before he looked away. She wanted to say something, to ask if he was okay, but the set of his jaw made her hesitate.

Victor reappeared moments later, his smirk firmly back in place. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, his tone far too casual.

Logan didn’t answer, heading back to the kitchen instead. Victor’s gaze lingered on Y/N as he sauntered into the living room.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. He dropped onto the couch beside Wade, who leaned as far away as possible.

Victor’s presence was suffocating, his aura of dominance and sarcasm filling every corner of the apartment. Y/N felt her unease growing with each passing second, but she refused to let it show.

Wade, as always, tried to break the tension. “So, Victor, what do you do when you’re not being a professional pain in the ass?”

Victor chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Wade grinned. “Not really, but it seemed like the polite thing to ask.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, though the sound felt out of place in the thick tension. Logan, still in the kitchen, glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her laugh. His eyes softened briefly before he returned to his task, the storm inside him momentarily quelled.

Victor leaned back against the couch, casually tossing an arm over the backrest. “So, Y/N, tell me everything. What do you do? You seem far too composed to be hanging around these two frauds.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but Wade jumped in before she could answer.

“She’s a teacher,” Wade said with exaggerated pride, as if he were announcing a Nobel laureate. “High school, no less. Molding young minds, breaking hearts.”

Victor’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “A teacher? That explains the composure.” His gaze lingered on her, and Y/N felt an uncomfortable heat creep up her neck. “What do you teach?”

“English,” Y/N replied, keeping her tone polite but clipped.

“Ah, literature,” Victor mused, his smirk widening. “All those love stories and tragedies. Let me guess—you’re the kind of teacher who inspires her students to dream big and follow their hearts?”

Logan reappeared from the kitchen, holding a tray of plates. “Victor,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Victor glanced at him, clearly amused by the interruption. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Logan said, ignoring his brother’s smirk as he set the plates on the table.

The group moved to the dining table, Wade sliding into his chair with a theatrical sigh. “Finally, I’m starving. You know, Victor, you’re lucky Logan’s cooking. If it were up to me, we’d be eating microwave burritos.”

Victor chuckled, sitting down across from Y/N. “Sounds about right. Always relying on Logan to take care of things, huh?”

Wade grinned, unbothered. “Absolutely. Why mess with a winning system?”

Logan’s eyes flicked to Y/N, who was carefully avoiding Victor’s gaze as she picked up her fork. He could see the tension in her posture, the way she sat just a little too straight. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to sit and start eating, hoping to steer the evening back on track.

For a while, the table was filled with the clink of silverware and the hum of casual conversation. Wade, ever the entertainer, kept the mood light with anecdotes about his gigs and his latest failed attempts at stand-up routines. Y/N found herself smiling despite the unease lingering at the edge of her thoughts.

But Victor, as expected, couldn’t resist.

“You know, Logan,” Victor began, his tone deceptively casual, “this reminds me of that time in…where was it…Kabul?”

Logan froze mid-bite, his knuckles whitening around his fork.

Victor leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. “You remember, don’t you? That look you had back then, the one that could scare the life out of anyone. I bet Y/N’s never seen that side of you.”

The table fell silent.

“Victor,” Logan said, his voice low and warning.

Victor ignored him, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he turned to Y/N. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. There was this family, okay? And we were supposed to capture the father, we knew where they were, etc, etc, and when we found them, Logan—”

“Victor.” Logan repeated, this time getting his brother’s attention who just rolled his eyes in response.

“Oh, come on, it’s story time! Anyway, Y/N…the things Logan’s done... the things he’s capable of. Honestly, you’d be terrified.”

“Enough,” Logan snapped, his voice like a whip crack.

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up.”

Wade cleared his throat, clearly sensing the rising tension. “So…Y/N, what’s the funniest thing one of your students has ever done? Bet you’ve got some good stories.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Logan, who was staring daggers at Victor. She forced a smile, grateful for Wade’s attempt to change the subject. “Oh, there are plenty. Teenagers can be... creative.”

The conversation moved forward haltingly, with Victor retreating into a brooding silence for a while. But the unease lingered, like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.

“…and then,” Wade said, gesturing dramatically, “I told the guy, ‘You’ve got two choices: laugh at my joke or leave the bar.’ And he actually left! Can you believe that?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine anyone walking out on your set. They’ll regret it in the future.”

Victor chuckled darkly, cutting into the conversation. “You know, Wade’s humor is just not for everyone. One wrong joke and you can just make someone flip a table, or something. Or worse!”

Logan’s shoulders tensed. His fork hovered over his plate, unmoving. Wade’s easy grin faltered, and Y/N’s curiosity sparked at Victor’s sudden shift in tone.

“Oh, come on, Victor,” Wade said, trying to steer the conversation back. “I mean, yeah, yeah we know that. It’s not like I’m offensive to anyone in my jokes, I mostly talk about myself—”

Victor ignored him, leaning forward. “For example, I, personally, love dark humor,” he started, smirking, “It’s my thing. Doesn’t mean I think what the jokes are true. I don’t fucking care. Logan and I got enough baggage to survive a few dark jokes, let me tell ya.”

Logan’s chair scraped back as he stood abruptly. “Enough, Victor.” His voice was a low growl, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Victor’s lips curled into a smirk. “What? I’m just saying. The life that we had? Fucking hell.”

“I said enough.” Logan’s tone brooked no argument, but Victor, ever the provocateur, leaned back and shrugged, feigning innocence.

“Alright, alright,” Victor said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t get your claws out.”

The tension at the table was palpable. Y/N’s eyes flicked to Logan, her brows knitting in concern. Wade cleared his throat, desperate to defuse the situation.

“So, Y/N, you were saying about your students…” Wade prompted.

Y/N hesitated but picked up the thread, trying to bring some semblance of normalcy back to the evening. For a while, Victor stayed quiet, sipping his drink with a detached amusement that only made Logan’s jaw tighten further. But then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Victor struck again.

“You know,” Victor began, his tone deceptively casual, “it’s funny, talking about childhoods. Logan and I had a real piece of work for a father. Mean bastard. Used to take a swing at anything that moved, but Logan here…oh, he was the favorite target.”

Logan’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his fork. “Don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Victor ignored him, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “There was this one time,” he continued, “Dad came home drunk, yelling about something or other. Logan, being the hero he always thought he was, tried to step in. Didn’t end well for him.”

“Shut up,” Logan growled, but Victor plowed on.

“I remember the sound of it,” Victor said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “The way Logan hit the floor. Didn’t cry, though. Not my brother. Just sat there, staring up at him like he wanted to rip his throat out.”

The air in the room grew heavy. Y/N’s stomach twisted, and she glanced at Logan, who looked like he was barely holding himself together. Wade’s hand gripped his glass so tightly it seemed it might shatter.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Logan snapped, his voice like thunder.

Victor’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair. “Hey, no need to get all worked up. Just reminiscing.”

Logan pushed back his chair and stood, towering over the table. “I’m done.”

Victor leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. I need a smoke anyway.” He pushed his chair back and strolled toward the balcony, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

As Victor strolled out to the balcony, Wade and Y/N remained seated, both unsure of what to say. Logan’s hands were trembling, and his chest heaved with barely-contained fury. Y/N tentatively reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched away, muttering something under his breath.

Victor’s laugh drifted in from the balcony, a cruel, echoing sound that lingered like a bad memory. Y/N and Wade exchanged a worried glance but said nothing, the silence speaking volumes about the storm that had just passed—and the one that was still brewing.

Logan, jaw tight and fists clenched, remained standing by the table, pacing silently across the room. His movements were measured, like he was trying to keep something contained. Wade’s gaze followed Logan, his usual humor absent, replaced by a rare seriousness.

Y/N watched Logan too, her chest aching at the sight of him. She’d never seen him like this—so raw, so visibly on edge. He looked as though he was carrying the weight of the world, every step weighed down by something unspeakable.

Finally, Logan stopped, shaking his head before walking toward the balcony door. He paused for a second, almost as if he were reconsidering, but then pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.

Wade turned to Y/N, his voice low and soft for once. “You okay?”

She blinked, startled by the question, and let out a shaky laugh that held no humor. “You’re asking if I’m okay?” Her voice cracked slightly as she glanced toward the balcony. Logan was out there with Victor now, his posture tense even from this distance. “I’m worried about him, Wade. He doesn’t deserve this... any of it. Why does Victor treat him like this? Why does he let him?”

Wade sighed, his usual smirk replaced by a somber expression. “Victor’s always been like that. Ever since Logan left the army, he’s made it his personal mission to remind him of all the crap he’s trying to forget. It’s... messed up, yeah. But that’s Victor for you. He gets off on digging into wounds, making them bleed again.”

“That’s horrible,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes burned, and she blinked rapidly to hold back tears. “Logan doesn’t deserve that. He’s... he’s a good person. Why does he let Victor treat him like this? It’s like—” She paused, struggling to find the words. “It’s like he thinks he deserves it.”

Wade’s expression softened as he reached out, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, listen to me. Victor’s poison, but Logan? He’s strong. He’s been dealing with this crap for years. He’s gotten through worse. And trust me, he’ll get through this too.”

“But it’s not fair,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “It’s not fair for him to carry this alone.”

“I know.” Wade nodded, his own voice quieter now. “But with Victor? Best thing to do is not give him an opening. You saw how he is—if you engage, he’ll just twist the knife deeper. Logan knows that, which is why he’s out there instead of... well, doing what I’m sure he wants to do.”

Y/N glanced back toward the balcony, where Logan stood stiffly, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim city lights. Her heart clenched at the sight. “He’s out there alone with him. Should we—”

“No,” Wade interrupted, shaking his head firmly. “Let him handle it. We’ll talk to him later, when things are calmer. Right now, it’s best if we stay cool. For his sake.”

Y/N nodded reluctantly, though her hands tightened into fists beneath the table.

———

Victor leaned casually against the railing, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He looked utterly relaxed, as if the chaos he left inside didn’t exist. Logan stepped onto the balcony, the chill of the night air doing nothing to cool the fire in his veins.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Logan’s voice was low, a dangerous edge cutting through the quiet.

Victor glanced at him, feigning surprise. “Help myself with what? Sharing a few memories? Come on, little brother, lighten up. They’re just stories.”

Logan took a step closer, his hands gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white. “They’re not just stories, Victor. They’re my life. My past. And you have no right to bring it up—especially not like that.”

Victor chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke. “You’re so sensitive these days, Logan. What happened to you? You used to be... tougher.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping even lower. “ I’ve spent every day trying to make peace with what I’ve done. What they made me do. You? You haven’t changed a damn bit.”

Victor smirked, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Why would I change? The world’s a jungle, Logan. Always has been. Only the strongest survive. You know that better than anyone.”

Logan’s hands tightened around the railing, his entire body coiled with barely restrained anger. “Is that why you’re here? To remind me of that? Or is there another reason?”

Victor shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “Maybe I missed my baby brother. Or maybe I just wanted to see what kind of life you’ve built for yourself.” His gaze flicked toward the apartment window, where Y/N and Wade were still visible inside. “Speaking of which... she’s cute. The girl. Y/N, right?”

Logan froze, his blood running cold. “Don’t.”

Victor’s smirk widened. “Don’t what? Ask if she’s single? Wonder if you’re keeping her to yourself? Come on, Logan, don’t be selfish. She seems like the kind of girl who deserves to have a little fun.”

Logan’s rage boiled over, and he stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I swear—”

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Relax, brother. I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he considered throwing Victor off the balcony. Instead, he took a step back, his voice trembling with barely controlled fury. “Get out of my life, Victor. I’m done with you.”

Victor flicked his cigarette away, the embers glowing briefly before disappearing into the night. “You’ve been saying that for years. But here we are.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Good talk, little brother.”

Logan stood there, staring out at the city, his chest heaving as he fought to calm the storm raging inside him.

———

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes as Y/N and Wade worked together to clear the remnants of dinner. Victor lingered nearby, leaning against the doorway with the same insufferable air of casual dominance that had hung over him all evening.

“So, Y/N,” Victor began, his tone light but probing, “what’s your story? How’d you end up living with these two?”

Y/N shot Wade a glance, silently asking for backup, but he was focused on drying a plate. She forced a polite smile. “It’s not much of a story, really. I needed a place to stay, and they were kind enough to let me move in.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering. “Bet it’s interesting with those two.”

“It is,” Y/N replied curtly, turning back to the sink. Her tone made it clear she wasn’t interested in elaborating.

Wade finally broke the tension, setting the plate down with a loud clatter. “Hey, Victor, since you’re so interested, how about you grab a towel and help us out?”

Victor chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Nah, I wouldn’t want to ruin your rhythm. You two seem to have it under control.”

“Shocking,” Wade muttered, rolling his eyes as he handed Y/N another dish to dry.

By the time the kitchen was spotless, the air between them felt lighter, though Victor’s presence lingered like a bad smell. Logan returned to the living room after a few minutes, his expression still tense but more composed than before. He made a point of ignoring Victor entirely as he crossed the room, his focus shifting to Y/N and Wade.

“You two should get some sleep. It’s late,” he said, his tone firm but lacking its usual warmth.

Victor smirked. “Ah, the silent treatment. Classic. Always knew you’d be a master of communication, little brother.”

Logan didn’t even glance his way, his jaw tightening as he waited for Y/N and Wade to respond.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Logan. He looked exhausted, not just physically but emotionally, the events of the evening weighing heavily on him. Still, she nodded. “Goodnight, Logan.”

“Yeah,” Wade added, clapping Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Try not to kill him in his sleep.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

———

Y/N tossed and turned in her bed, the events of the evening replaying in her mind. Victor’s cutting remarks, Logan’s barely concealed anger, the heaviness in his eyes—it all left a bitter taste in her mouth. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Logan needed someone, someone who could shoulder even a fraction of the burden he carried.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she slipped out of bed. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. As she made her way toward Logan’s door, her heart pounded in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just inches from the wood. What if he didn’t want to talk? What if he just wanted to be left alone? 

Summoning her courage, she knocked softly.

The door opened a moment later, Logan standing there in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly disheveled. 

“You couldn’t sleep either,” she guessed softly.

Logan shook his head, a wry, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That obvious?”

Before he could say anything else, Y/N stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest.

Logan froze for a moment, caught off guard. Then, slowly, his arms came up, encircling her in a warm, protective embrace. He held her tightly, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. Neither of them spoke, the silence between them saying more than words ever could.

Minutes passed—maybe more, maybe less. Time seemed to stretch and blur as they stood there, holding onto each other like lifelines in the dark.

Eventually, Y/N pulled back, looking up at him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan exhaled, a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding releasing all at once. “I’m better now,” he admitted, his voice hoarse.

A small, comforting smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “Good. Try to get some sleep, okay? And... if you need anything, you can knock on my door. Anytime.”

Logan nodded, a rare flicker of something warm and genuine crossing his features. “Thanks, Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” she replied, giving him one last smile—one of those radiant, unguarded smiles that secretly made his heart ache in the best way.

As she turned and disappeared down the hallway, Logan closed the door quietly behind her, leaning against it for a moment. For the first time that night, he felt a small measure of peace.

In her room, Y/N climbed back into bed, her worry for Logan still lingering but softened by the memory of their embrace. She drifted off to sleep with the faint hope that, somehow, things would get better.

———

The next morning, the apartment was quiet as Y/N stepped out of her room, fully dressed for work. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and made her way to the kitchen, expecting to find Logan already awake and brooding over his coffee like usual. Instead, she found Victor—alone.

Her steps faltered, but she quickly forced herself to move forward, unwilling to show any hesitation. Victor, seated at the kitchen table with a mug in hand, looked up and smiled—a slow, predatory curve of his lips that sent a chill down her spine.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice smooth, almost mocking.

“Morning,” she replied curtly, keeping her tone neutral. She busied herself at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee and grabbing a piece of toast, hoping to make her breakfast quickly and escape the room.

“You’re up early,” Victor commented, his gaze sweeping over her. “I guess being a teacher means no sleeping in, huh?”

Y/N gave a noncommittal hum, biting into her toast.

Victor’s eyes lingered as she turned slightly to grab a napkin. “You look good,” he said casually, his tone laced with something that made her skin crawl. “Really good. That dress suits you.”

“Thanks,” Y/N muttered, not looking at him.

He didn’t take the hint. Instead, he stood, closing the distance between them. “I mean it,” he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned against the counter beside her. “You’re stunning. Logan’s lucky to have you around.”

Her pulse quickened. She sidestepped slightly, but he followed, his movements uncomfortably close.

“Victor,” she said, her voice firm, “I need to get ready for work.”

“You’ve got time,” he replied smoothly, stepping behind her. Before she could react, he caged her against the counter, his hands bracing on either side of her.

Panic surged through her. She tried to step back, but his body was too close, his presence suffocating.

“Victor, let me go,” she demanded, her voice sharp.

But he didn’t. His hands slid along her sides, his touch invasive and unwelcome. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’m just admiring you.”

“Get off me!” she snapped, her voice rising as she tried to push him away.

Before she could say anything else, a thunderous roar echoed through the apartment.

“VICTOR!”

The sheer power in Logan’s voice made the walls vibrate.

Victor barely had time to look up before Logan stormed into the kitchen, his fury palpable. He grabbed Victor by the collar and yanked him away from Y/N, sending him stumbling backward.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Victor smirked, straightening his shirt. “Relax, little brother. I was just—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan cut him off, his voice trembling with rage. He pushed Victor again, forcing him into the living room. Victor tripped over the coffee table, landing hard against the sofa.

“Take your stuff and get out,” Logan barked, his chest heaving. “You’re done here. Don’t call, don’t text, don’t even think about me. If I ever see you again, I swear to God, I’ll ruin you so thoroughly you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk still firmly in place. “Always so dramatic, Logan. No wonder you’re such a mess.”

“Get. Out.” Logan’s voice was a growl, his fists clenched at his sides.

Victor shrugged, grabbing his jacket from the couch. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave. You’ve always been so sensitive.”

As he walked toward the door, he glanced back at Y/N, who was still frozen in the kitchen. “See you around, sweetheart.”

That was the last straw.

Before Victor could take another step, Logan closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the doorframe. Victor’s smirk faltered for the first time, his cocky confidence slipping as Logan’s fist hovered threateningly close to his face.

For a moment, Logan saw it—fear. Real, unguarded fear in Victor’s eyes.

The sight made Victor swallow hard, and without another word, he tore himself free from Logan’s grip, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he stumbled out the door. He didn’t look back.

The slam of the door reverberated through the apartment, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Logan stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his fists still trembling with restrained anger.

When he finally turned around, his expression shifted entirely. Gone was the storm of rage—replaced by something softer, more concerned. His gaze immediately sought out Y/N. He crossed the room in a few long strides, his hands hovering as if unsure where to start.

“Did he hurt you?” Logan asked, his voice low and trembling. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, but Logan didn’t seem convinced. His eyes roamed over her, checking for any sign of harm. He muttered something under his breath, too quiet for her to catch.

“Logan,” she said softly, reaching up to cup his face with both hands. The contact stilled him, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m okay. Thank you for what you did.”

Their eyes met, the intensity of the moment making it impossible to look away.

Before either could say anything more, Wade’s voice broke the silence.

“Did you finally kick that asshole to the curb?” Wade drawled, shuffling into the room in his pajamas, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “What was his problem anyway? Did he wake up this morning and decide to be a human dumpster fire?”

Logan and Y/N quickly stepped away from each other. Logan cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s gone.”

“Good,” Wade muttered, grabbing a coffee mug. “He was really ruining my morning vibe. Honestly, if dumpster diving was a personality, it’d be Victor. Trash and all.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in the room easing slightly. Logan shot her a small, grateful smile before turning away, the weight of what had just happened still hanging heavy in the air.

XXX

[utilitycaster]

I can’t help but feel that the people who are complaining about the people criticizing this campaign are the types that are going to be pissed if BH does just kill Predathos and lets the gods live, especially if that comes at the cost of some supposed deserved happy ending for their faves. And what’s maybe ironic is that I feel that an ending in which BH choses to save the gods, the campaign does rise a bit in my esteem, and might in the eyes of some other critics as well, as it would, i dunno, maybe play into these themes of forgiveness and love and overcoming resentment that keep being used as a defense of this campaign and these characters? 

Anyway, godspeed on the quest to find good faith arguments on why this campaign is excellent. would genuinely like to see one.

Oh definitely. Like...look. I hope I conveyed the point of "I don't particularly think either of us are approaching this with a deep respect for the other, but we can at least make a polite fiction of good faith that, if you actually can come up with an argument that assumes that, I will accept in genuine good faith" and so in that interest I'm trying to scale back on attacking people. But also...I've been down this road before. When people complained about how bad Campaign 2 was, firstly, it specifically took hold either right after a ship competing with theirs became canon or at least was strongly hinted towards; or was in response to Molly not coming back; and secondly a lot of this happened after they'd been effusive in their praise for the campaign up until that point. Whereas for Campaign 3 you can, if you actually wished to do the research, go to my blog or most of my mutuals' blogs and do an archive dig and trace the optimism and excitement turning into skepticism turning into "yeah, this ain't it chief" with fairly consistent complaints (poor pacing, plot-character mismatches, indecision, failure of the characters to ever really challenge each other meaningfully in a way that leads to growth) throughout, coupled with, if I am being honest, a massive deal of grace and patience and "maybe this is the course correction" that was not always earned. Dorym becoming canon did not shift this among the many people who like Dorym and also think the campaign isn't very good, myself included, so I don't really think it's shipping wank that's the problem. I'm not inclined to respect arguments that either, 118 episodes into a campaign that's very close to its end, demand I consider its ~potential~. I have. It has, for the most part, failed to deliver over the course of those 118 episodes.

If a common complaint within the fandom of people who have watched hundreds of hours of this story is "it's unclear what story it is telling and the party is aimless" and small pockets and echo chambers are like NO YOU DON'T GET IT...I don't want to say its impossible for this to happen and that the majority is automatically correct, but were I an outside observer I know where I'd place money in a bet.

And yes, I agree. I think a lot of of the people defending it are either, to be very blunt, in a sunk cost fallacy situation/dedicated to a certain level of contrarianism more so than having their own opinions that exist independent of the fandom; or believe it will give them a happy ending for their faves or validate their belief the gods should die or they just want Exandria to burn at this point for whatever reason. I don't feel it's actually something that follows from the narrative, which, as this post so aptly puts, is just kind of sailing towards the rocks while the crew sort of bickers and doesn't do anything. It feels like the most satisfying endings possible are either achieving what the gods couldn't and destroying this existential threat for once and for all (in which case the gods survive, and hey, they actually did take a third option that no one was really talking about, the indecision was still boring as fuck but at least there's a scrap of payoff), or tragedy befalling them (loss of party members, killing a large swath of Exandria) as a consequence. And neither of those are what they want, which is like. the abstract concept of change and the less abstract and deeply unflattering concept of killing everyone who didn't give you what you wanted.

It is in fact unsurprising that the arguments in the fandom are the way they are. Wow I wonder why people who think "I asked this person for something and they didn't answer so I think letting loose an endless hunger entity to eat them" is a good and noble thing to do can't handle the idea that existing in the world means you and things you like will receive criticism, and other people won't just do what you want if you whine loudly enough.

[thehomelybrewster]

As someone who was greatly shaped by the CRPG Albion, where halfway through the demo, after about an hour of playtime, you get to see alien cat people boobs, I can relate.

Anyway, I have a love-hate relationship with DSA, with me not really liking the skill check math (three d20 roll-unders that you must pass to succeed and where you can spend skill points to modify the rolls) and the combat system in 4e specifically... And the hyperdetailed default setting which is very much a kitchen sink setting with lots of expy cultures based on very German genre fiction-y tropes...

But it has so many neat ideas and a lot of thought put into it. Not necessarily good thoughts. But it's a lot and definitely worth reading up on.

It's also neat how easy it is to run skill-based adventures or one-shots with very everyday people as player characters, since it really makes it easy to set the party's power level lower than normal to get a level zero funnel or Call of Cthulhu feel.

Do you know of any games that have tried to get rid of D&D classes by mechanizing their raison d'être?

Like, a game that has mechanics for worshipping a god to gain powers or studying to get magic.

I mean, RuneQuest. Kind of.

RuneQuest has since the beginning lacked classes altogether. It's an entirely classless, level-less system, where advancement is entirely based on doing things or training. Early RuneQuest was also very clearly in conversation with D&D, so even when you could see it doing its own thing it did feel like it was commenting on D&D.

Now, RuneQuest these days is very heavily tied to the Glorantha setting (which owns) but throughout its existence RuneQuest has gone through multiple iterations, some of which have dropped the explicit ties to Glorantha. Mythras, by the Design Mechanism, is based on the 6th edition of RuneQuest, but rebranded after they lost the licence.

Anyway, so for specific examples: RuneQuest has multiple different magic systems, each of which must be learned in a different way. Divine magic is tied to cult membership and worship, so to gain divine magic you must first the cult of a god and then to gain more powerful spells you must advance in the cult hierarchy. Sorcery is based on study, and often has very different mechanics from divine magic.

Anyway, while I think the latest edition of RuneQuest, Roleplaying in Glorantha, is a fantastic product, if you want something less tied to the specifics of the Glorantha setting I recommend Mythras. Both are absolutely worth it imo, but Mythras I think is better as a toolbox game.

[cosmic-canines]

i know i love you (im just not sure how)

a poem attempting to define hazy, indescribable feelings (which is definitely NOT about fictional characters, not at all, not me i could never)

i suppose it all began because you were there. you always were there, and i guess i finally realized that. it was dark. so very dark. and i knew you were afraid of the dark, but i asked you to rescue me anyways. i knew it was selfish, but then again, you were always the light, weren't you?

i struggle with feelings, you know that. they're big and complex, and i am just a boy in a world that makes me feel small. when i first felt these things i thought i could shake it. but the more i try to escape, the more i draw closer. and the more i try to figure us out, the less i really understand. i know i love you, im just not sure how. is it love like a birthday card, is it more like close friends? or closer to a love letter, will i see that in the end? maybe i am wrong, and this is not love at all. do i just need you because i have no one else to catch me when i fall? i keep failing to find words, to explain my reeling mind, i keep failing to discern, if our stars align. and if i know you well, then i know that you are too, i guess its still a world where we all just live confused. i know i love you, im just not sure how. ive searched this place for answers in all the ways the earth allows, and now i'm lost again, but with this feeling, ill make do; i guess i'm okay to be lost, so long as i'm lost with you. i still don't know what this is, or why it falls on me but i know when i'm with you i am truly feeling free. so now we're lost in these vast cosmos, i'm sure we'll be just fine i may not know the answers, but i'm happy you're still mine.

[secondbeatsongs]

going through some old logs, and I need you to understand just how truly unhinged early 2010s RP omegle was.

genuinely you could stay on there for hours with just one person, hashing out complex traumatic backstories, drawn-out love confessions, detailed action scenes...collaboratively describing graphic violence, past abuse, comfort, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, any number of sex acts...and then one of you would be like, "oh haha it's 2AM! I have to sleep :(" and the other person would say, "omg saaaame. :( gnight!!!" and then you'd exit the chat and never speak to each other again, and this was. fine.

you could just spend an entire evening shoving your wretched, bleeding soul into a chat log with someone you'd never meet or learn the name of, achieve some form of emotional catharsis, and then go about your day or night like this was an average way to spend your time.

I'm really normal about this, actually

[bixels]

The more I think about it, the more I question Arcane S2's politics and themes, which were so foundational to S1. Like, a tiny example [SPOILERS AHEAD]:

Singed wins. He gets exactly what he wants in the end. All his "efforts" are rewarded. What does that say about people who share his ideology of eugenics? He is the source of nearly every horrible thing and conflict that happened (Shimmer, the factory deaths, Jinx, Vander as Warwick, the corruption of Viktor), and he gets a happier ending than any other character. Not even a 'he got what he wanted but he has become completely unrecognizable/monstrous to his daughter' tag at the end. You can say they're setting him up and need to open his daughter to future shows, but the way you end a character's story says something about what you think about that character. What does it say when the eugenicist war criminal gets the happy ending he doesn't deserve?

[aris-has-a-paracosm]

Ooooh!!!! This is so cool, and mine’s gonna be a pretty long answer >:D

When I was ten years old, I added a new plot line to a fictional world I had been building since I was 5, and in this new plot line, there was a character who was basically a self insert, and I named her Aris. I’d seen the name in a book series I read around that time (I think it might have been The Maze Runner), and I had no attachment to whatever character it came from, but the name just stuck in my brain, so I used it.

A couple years later, I needed an email address, and my family has this convention where we use a moniker rather than our real name, so I needed a name to use with it. Aris was not my favorite oc at the time, but it just made so much sense to use that name, so I did.

When I was 13, I got my first social media: Pinterest. This was where I saw my first Tumblr posts, and I ended up seeing an old post about cool words. One of those words was “Paracosm” which is a fictional world one has obsessively worked on since childhood. I *definitely* had one of those, so paracosm became one of my favorite words.

In the meantime, Aris evolved from being just a character in the world to being the world’s god, a chaos god at that. She’s been fragmented at times, and she’s almost always an antagonist at this point, but she’s present in every single story that takes place in my paracosm. (Which is 16, almost 17 years old now! My paracosm could get its drivers license XD)

When I was 17, I finally got my next social media: Instagram. And I needed a username for that. I had one planned out from the start that I was going to use as a pseudonym for all my stories: Aris’s Paracosm. It was great and I was really attached to it. But then, I learned that Instagram doesn’t allow apostrophes in usernames! Dangit! So then I lengthened the name a little bit and added underscores so it would be Aris_Has_A_Paracosm. And I’m so glad that happened. The username just rolls off the tongue and it is so quintessentially, undeniably me. And I have used that username for every single thing that requires a username since.

What the name Aris actually means: the shortened form of the name Aristotle, an alternate spelling/pronunciation of Ares god of war, and an alternate spelling of Eris goddess of discord (pronounced exactly the same as Eris).

At this point, Aris is not just an online name or moniker for me. It is my name just as much as my legal one is, and I respond to both. I tend to joke that Aris is my writer/artist alter ego while [legal name] is my scientific professional side, but I’m hoping to fully bridge the gap between those two sides of my life and just have both names equal me overall since I adore and use both names.

Anyway, that’s the origin of Aris-Has-A-Paracosm! :D

@sincerely-nines , @maggymations , @watcheraurora , @abeterger and anyone else who wants to!

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[starlightseraph]

house md is actually a love story with a bunch of medical jargon layered on top and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

the first episode is all about whether or not house cares about wilson. it’s proven that he does.

through the first series, it’s established that they’re the only two people who put up with each other.

in series two, house nearly gets back together with his ex. he tells her to leave him. then wilson gets his third divorce, which, like the others, was because he was never fulfilled in his relationships with women. he stays with house. he’s in a hurry to leave, but house tries to make him stay. he eventually moves into a hotel to get away.

in series three, wilson obsesses about trying to ‘fix’ house. to teach him humility and gentleness. when house doesn’t change, wilson is willing to go to prison to protect house.

series 4 sees wilson enter a relationship with a woman, and house is crushed. he can’t share wilson. when the woman is dying and she can’t be saved, wilson asks a gravely injured house to risk his life. house does it, but he can’t save her. house is willing to take that risk because he thinks that, given two options for companionship, wilson would be happier without him. house nearly lets himself die, because he’s afraid to live in a world where wilson hates him.

wilson tries to cut house out of his life in series five. it doesn’t work. he realises that house makes him happier than anyone or anything else in his life. later, house has a psychotic break, and wilson saves him from himself.

series six changes everything. house moves in with wilson. their lives revolve around each other even more so than before. wilson risks his life, and decides he wants house with him. they buy an apartment together, for them and only them. wilson proposes to house as part of a scheme, which he never would’ve done, even as a joke, several years before. wilson no longer gets afraid or angry when people notice his closeness with house. house tries to get wilson to come out of his shell, to stop relying on his relationships (specifically his relationships with women) to define him. wilson realises that he doesn’t know what he wants for himself, just that he wants house to be happy.

in series seven, house and wilson no longer live together and are both in committed relationships with women. yet, somehow, they still choose each other. when both of their relationships end, they lean on each other more than ever.

in series eight, they start off on bad terms, but they quickly realise that their connection is stronger than their anger. wilson gets cancer. house does everything he can to help wilson fight it and to convince wilson to keep trying. then he decides to let wilson have a peaceful death. they plan to relive all their best memories together. when it looks like they might be separated for the last months of wilson’s life, house nearly kills himself. he can’t stand living without wilson. he thinks about all the people who’ve cared for him and all the possible happy endings that he could’ve had. he thinks about how he sabotaged them all, he never let himself be happy and he never did right by the people he loved. at the last minute, he decides to go against one of his core beliefs, that people can’t change. he decides that he’ll change, he’ll save himself for wilson. he’s never been about to do it for anyone before, but he does it for wilson. they quite literally ride into the sunset together.

in the early seasons, wilson is deeply denial about his relationship with house. he gets defensive and angry and scared when people make assumptions about their relationship. he only ever wants to be around house, but he also tries to distance himself. he slowly becomes more comfortable just being with house and very clearly loving him. he becomes more comfortable with casual intimacy and domesticity, when he had fiercely rejected before. he’s spent his life clinging to this idea of getting married to a woman and settling down. but he realises that he doesn’t need that, he just needs house.

house is always ready, he is always receptive to anything wilson gives him. throughout the show, he eggs wilson on, pushing the boundaries of their relationship. when it’s his last chance to be with wilson, house does what he thought was impossible.

they’re in love. they want to fuck so bad. they get their (sorta) happily ever after in the end. they change their souls for each other, they break out of the boxes that they’ve lived in, they break down the walls they’ve put up. they balance each other perfectly, they become better people when they’re together. they save themselves so they can save each other.

i’m gonna have a breakdown just thinking about it.

[sparvverius]

i'm intentionally out of the loop for any and all frevblr beef but it seems just a little bit silly to me to say that there's a "fanon" version of these historical figures and that people should like the REAL version instead. cause like. unfortunately the real version has passed on from this life.... so has every person that knew them....... we think and talk of these people in a speculative and interpretive way not out of preference but because that is the only way that anyone can have any access to them at all anymore! however if you ARE communing with the real saint-just PLEASE let me know

[novelconcepts]

It really frees up so much mental real estate when you start thinking of sex as just: a thing people sometimes do. Some people are super into it! Some aren't! It's for fun! It's for intimacy! It's the deepest connection some people will ever feel and totally meaningless to others! It's hot! It's boring! It helps some people sleep! It exists as an exciting construct solely in fantasy for others! What it isn't is some complicated moral ground that needs to be fought against at every turn. It's just A Thing. Which means people who have a lot of it, or none of it, or whatever in between are all worth the same. Which means stories that have a lot of it, or none of it, or whatever in between are worth the same, too. Smut isn't less valuable than "clean" stories. People who have a high "body count" aren't less valuable than those who have never had sex at all. It's just A Thing. Making peace with sex as just A Thing that is natural to consentingly have or not have, want or not want, really is a great adjustment to your brainspace.