#and that would mean death for most people

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ Prologue

⭐︎ When the sun hits, she’ll be waiting

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, post apocalypse, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, gore, blood, mean!steve

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another patrol. Patrols he's been doing for a whole year, and nothing ever changes. Maybe he had to kill one demodog, or demobat, but overall, it was the same walk, the same stance, the same weariness… only this time, something new appeared in his walk.

Word count: 4.8k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult and I are back with another Steve series, I hope you're as excited as I am, you got a lot of angst, fluff and smut coming your way! And also, shoutout to @ghost-proofbaby who picked the title for this story, thank you my love

series masterlist

☀︎

It was funny. 

He had watched apocalypse movies. He had seen the terrible visual effects done with strawberry syrup, the gelatin that exploded pretending to be brains and flesh, the people becoming zombies and doing loud and stupid moans in their chase. He knew the apocalypse would never look like that, but he also never believed he would live in something very much alike, and not at all a movie.

They had not defeated Vecna. They have killed him, but defeated? No. He is gone but he left behind the world he created, he reached his goal and got what he wanted, something that Steve and the others were very blind to at first, they watched him die; they burned his body to make sure that he was gone for good. They thought they won, but it was a false victory, one that gave them all the opportunity to recover, opportunities that included them trying to become a town again, yet after three months of what they thought was safe, the first demogorgon crawled out of the big gates that were created. Killed instantly. Then another. Then twenty. Then a hundred. Demogorgons, demobats, demodogs, and other upside down creatures... and this time, they came with infectious venom.

Venom that turned people into bloodthirsty, flesh eating monsters with nothing but death in their eyes, people turned into monsters who became part of Vecna’s army, crawling into homes and houses, spreading way too quickly and unable to be stopped from claiming not only the town but all of the country and soon the whole globe. 

They noticed when it was already too late, when the world was already too far gone and the lives of many were lost and claimed by darkness. 

When the realization started sinking in and he saw, felt the panic, the fear, the desperation, the dread and death, he felt like he was going to lose himself, knowing that the world he once knew was gone and never to be brought back again, that it was all lost and someday to be forgotten but a feeling he hadn’t noticed yet was acceptance. 

Because if anyone knew how to adapt, then it was him. Unlike many others, he had no home that he lost, he never had one in the first place. His parents' house was only ever a big lonely space that he never found comfort in until his friends filled that space with warmth and laughter, laughter that still echoes in his ears whenever he thinks of simpler times, laughter that he thinks he will never hear again. 

The house is now even emptier and colder than before, claimed by vines, dust and spider webs, just like most of the houses in Hawkins are… or the rest of the world. He passed familiar houses before, Dustin’s home and Lucas’s, he only glanced at them, not bearing to look longer, not wanting to feel, not wanting to look back at what he lost. 

The gun in his hand feels light, nothing like it used to feel the first few times he had to hold one or use one. His footsteps are barely audible as he walks through the empty cul-de-sac, eyes focused and eyebrows furrowed, he is on high alert, he always is, even when he doesn’t have to. 

He feels relaxed, despite the circumstances, despite the death that could be waiting around any corner, he feels relaxed. He walks past the abandoned cars and houses, watching out for any creature that could come crawling out from any hole. A lone plushie lies on the ground, dirty and splattered with blood – a sight that would have made him sick a year ago, thinking about whose blood it could’ve been, now makes him feel indifference. He had seen so many ugly, disturbing things, nothing truly fazes him anymore, it’s awful and sometimes he wonders if he is still a good person or if the horrors of this world have turned him into a monster as well, if the darkness had claimed him too like it had claimed the sick people. Sometimes he feels pain, sometimes he feels nothing but today he feels a sliver of sadness, one that he swallows down as quickly as it comes, he can’t stand it. 

The sun shines down on him but he barely feels the warmth even though it’s there, the light of it illuminates the empty road ahead of him, the chaos left behind, the rotten grass and the dead flowers, they don’t grow anymore, the birds don’t sing anymore, he wonders if there are even any left in this world, most have died, just like the ones he used to see every day, they have died. 

A soft huff falls from his lips when he notices that the laces on his boots have come undone, he stops walking and looks around, making sure that nothing and nobody will creep up on him the moment he kneels down, he would be surprised if something like that still happened around here though. Hawkins is empty of people and monsters, it was only the doorway for them to get through to get to the rest of the world, this place is just as abandoned as the houses are. 

The houses where his friends used to live. Where Lucas used to live. Dustin. The Wheelers. The Byers. That home that was lived in by other people last year. His house. Those remained intact, yet empty and filled with vines, darkness, dust of the memories from those who once lived in there. The only place that got swallowed whole was Forest Hills trailer park. Where Max used to live. Where Eddie used to live.

Placing the gun in his holster, he kneels down and reaches for the undone laces, wasting no second to tie them. His ears pick up on any sound, on the wind that howls through the bushes and the trees, through the broken windows, the bells that still hang from the ceilings on the empty porches. His eyes never stay focused on only the task before him, he is always ready to fight, to kill but it’s been a while since he had to use his gun or a machete, or even his bat. 

But today the hairs on his neck stand up for the first time in a while. Goosebumps arise on his skin and he feels it, a presence behind him. Steve swallows harshly, not knowing what to expect the moment he turns around, a demogorgon, a demodog or a sick one. He ties the knot on his boot, tightly. 

Unlike a few months before, he no longer feels fear whenever he is about to stare evil in it’s eyes, he no longer dreads it, he no longer feels his heart skipping or racing, he feels nothing anymore. 

He reaches for his gun and jumps to his feet, raising his arm and the gun, turning on his heel and aiming at the presence that lingered behind him, the one that would have normally lunged at him by now but it’s not a creature staring back at him nor is it a sick person, a sick person wouldn’t raise her arms up in surrender or step back in fear. 

“Hang on! I’m not bitten! I’m alive, I’m still alive!” Your voice is panicked, your eyes are too. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched, his eyes move up and down your body, taking in the state of your clothes first, no holes or tears in them, they are clean – clean for the end of the world. Your hair is tied, hanging down your shoulders in two braids, there are knives tucked into your belt and a gun in your thigh holster that you have no intent to reach for. You don’t look like a threat but Steve learned to not be deceived by appearances only. He eyes your exposed skin, where your flannel had slipped down your shoulder, exposing a wound, not a bite, not a scratch, only a cut that he can’t help but wonder how it got there or why. 

“Turning takes days,” Steve murmurs as he tears his gaze away from you for a second to scan the area around you two, who knows what you had dragged here or who. 

“I can sing Madonna for you?” 

He rolls his eyes as he looks back at you, for someone armed with knives and a glock 17 strapped to her thigh, you sure do look like a frightened cat, ready to run. You are not a threat. He knows it; he sees it; he feels it. He knows danger; you aren’t that. 

“You’re not bitten?” He asks as he lowers his gun, letting you relax again. 

You shake your head, though you can still see the hesitance in his eyes, the mistrust. 

“Do I–” you start innocently, blushing already as you look at the man before you, “do I need to get naked? If so, I’d prefer a woman, if that is possible.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, ignoring the heat that rises in his cheeks. He puts his gun back in his holster. 

“Fuck, no, no… I believe you, what– what are you doing in the middle of Hawkins?” 

He sees the way your shoulders relax, the way you take a deep breath in and then out, lowering your arms to your sides. 

“I was in a small camp, a few towns away, and I’m trying to get to my old home… though, I got a bit lost cause a bat ripped my map out of my hands…” You frown. 

“Demobat.” 

You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows, “what?” 

Steve scrunches his nose up, shaking his head at himself, he keeps forgetting. 

“Nevermind.”

Your head is still tilted, your brows still furrowed, you look him up and down, no words fall from your lips, for a moment you are quiet. 

He grows a little flustered beneath your gaze, not that he would ever admit, you are just the first stranger he had encountered in a while, a stranger who creeped up on him. 

“You’re not very attentive.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You only noticed me when I was already too close.”

He wants to laugh… a little. 

“Sounds like you were up to no good,” Steve retorts, glaring at you to which your eyes only widen, filled with yet more panic. You open your mouth and close it again, a few times, the shock not letting you speak but when you do, you stutter and shake your head. 

“No! Oh my god! I’m just saying – listen, I want no trouble, I’m just passing through, I just want to go home.”

Steve can’t help but be a bit amused by the panic and the fear in your eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

If laughing hadn’t become such a strange thing to him these days, he would do it now, yeah, he would chuckle, he would laugh loudly. 

“That’s funny,” he mumbles under his breath, looking you up and down one more time before he turns on his heels and continues his journey down the road. His boots hit the gravel roughly, footsteps echoing through the empty streets, it only takes three seconds before a second pair joins, just like he had suspected. 

“Wait!”

You catch up with him quickly, walking beside him now. He feels your eyes on him but he doesn’t turn to look. 

“Is this a community?”

He wouldn’t call it that, the few people that stayed here all fend for themselves, just like him and his friends do. 

“Would be a very shitty one if anyone could just walk in.”

“Right…” He hears you murmur softly. “Are you passing through?”

“No.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

Steve rolls his eyes, side-eying you. He is not very talkative anymore, he finds no joy in holding conversations, let alone in answering questions, he barely uses his voice nowadays, he doesn’t feel bad about it, or even guilty. Normally he would keep quiet or even snap at whoever is bothering him, today he can’t find it in himself to be mean… meaner. 

“Cause it’s my hometown. Why are you by yourself?” Steve asks without looking at you. 

“I left my last camp cause I want to go home, like I said before–”

“I know, I mean why are you traveling by yourself? It’s not safe out here, especially not for women.” Steve rounds the corner, inching closer to the only house that has a light peeking through the boards on the windows. 

“It’s not safe for anyone out here, not just for women,” you correct him, looking at him in surprise when he opens the gate to the backyard before you and lets you walk in first. “But I haven’t seen anyone since I left the camp, you’re the first person…” You mumble and look down at your converse, that look very dirty in comparison to his black boots. 

You stand before him now, close, a little too close for a stranger, though he makes no move to put more distance between you. He sees the wound on your shoulder clearer now, a cut caused by either a knife or glass. 

You tilt your head up again, you are close enough to see his face now properly, the color of his eyes, hazel. Freckles and moles kiss his skin, his features are soft, his expression isn’t. His brown hair is very… voluminous, his beard is trimmed, he looks clean and he doesn’t smell, a rarity nowadays. He is tall, his shoulders are wide, he is certainly much stronger too, his biceps strain against his black shirt, and it only now dawns on you that you followed a man to what you presume is his home, you followed with no hesitation. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat and take a step back. He had shown no interest in you, he doesn’t seem fond of you following him either. He is just as much of a threat as you are, you tell yourself. 

“So er… is it just you here?” You ask, looking at the house he stopped by, the house you presume is his home, his fortress. 

“No.”

You nod, pursing your lips as you look into his cold eyes but he quickly breaks eye contact and starts walking again. 

“Where is everyone and how many people are here?” You ask as you continue on following him, staring at the back of his head, his mullet looks good, taken care of, you notice. “Also why don’t you have any fences, aren’t you afraid of sick ones getting in? And–”

Steve turns on his heel, sighing loudly as he glares down at you, not even moving back when you almost bump into him. 

“Will you shut up for a second!?” He grumbles, glaring at you again as he stares you down. 

You press your lips together, gazing up into his dark eyes, not breaking eye contact. The look on his face should intimidate you, the cold eyes should scare you, he should scare you but he doesn’t. 

“Have any monsters gotten in yet and if so, have you ever fought any? I ran into a dog like creature the other day, that fucker nearly bit my hand off, I–”

Two seconds. You shut up for two fucking seconds. 

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, raising his hand up, he runs his fingers through his hair, his annoyance doesn’t faze you in the slightest, you open your mouth again, ready to ask another question but someone else beats you to it. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

You instantly press your lips together, throwing your hand to your holster as you snap your head to look towards the gate and at the person who cut you off, startled by his presence, you take a step closer to the stranger you just met as you eye the man with the long hair, who is looking at you with a smile on his face. His eyes are kind, much kinder than the ones of the man beside you. He is holding a box, a gun is secured and tucked into his belt. 

“Who’s this lovely lady, Harrington?” He asks, not stepping closer yet. 

Harrington. 

You don’t even notice the girl beside him until she clears her throat, offering you a small smile. Her hair is long and curly too, her bangs cover her eyes a little, a rifle is strapped over her shoulder. 

“Someone passing through,” Harrington grumbles under his breath, clearly wanting you to keep passing through. “She’ll be on her way now.”

It’s getting dark now, it’s not safe to continue your travel when the sun sets. You planned to find shelter when you stepped foot into this town, maybe find some cans of food in one of the abandoned houses. 

The girl meets your eyes, hesitating, she shakes her head. 

“Oh, it’s getting dark, besides she could use a bath, Steve.” The girl says, frowning as she looks you up and down. 

Offended, you scrunch your nose up and look down at yourself, “hey, I do my best in any possible lake!” You argue, despite the surprise in you. Every group, every community you have come across before, did not offer baths or shelter, not after your pleading, at least. 

“She has to go to her hometown–”

“All alone?” The girl asks, frowning at the man – at Steve, beside you. She glances at the one next to her, they share the same look in their eyes. You wonder if they are siblings. 

“Yes, all alone.” Steve sighs. 

They look at him in disappointment. 

He doesn’t want you here. 

It’s nothing you aren’t used to. 

You’re on your own, you always have been. Though you can’t remember the last time you had a proper shower, a real meal or a night full of sleep. You don’t know how to hunt, you wash yourself in lakes and you never sleep through the night, no matter how safe you think you are, you can’t sleep. You can’t even remember the last time you felt fully rested, not even the communities that provided you shelter gave you that real feeling of safety. 

You don’t know these people, the man beside you and the pair before you, but the kind blue eyes and the chocolate brown ones are different from any of the ones you have looked into before – you can feel the indifference from Steve, he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t trust you. 

“I-It’s fine, I was just passing through,” you shrug, offering a smile, despite the weird feeling in your stomach. “Do you… maybe have a map for me though?”

“Yeah,” Steve instantly speaks up, clearly wanting to get rid of you quickly. 

She crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring your question, she glares at Steve, “did she ask to stay?” 

Steve clenches his jaw, glaring back at her with an icy cold stare. 

“We can’t afford another mouth to feed–” 

The guy with the curly hair steps forward with a sigh, approaching Steve with a stubborn look on his face, “I’m keeping her.” 

Steve scrunches his face up, scoffing at his friend, “she’s not a fucking puppy!” 

Though he doesn’t listen to him and turns towards you, nudging his head at you, motioning for you to follow him as he goes to open the door to the house, “come on, we’re gonna eat dinner soon, we’re making stew. And you can get cleaned up if you want, Nancy will give you some clean clothes.”

You want to follow badly, the mention of food, of a warm meal makes your mouth water, and you wouldn’t say no to a shower and fresh clothes either but Steve’s unwelcoming expression makes you hesitate. 

He is looking down at the ground, his jaw tense, his eyes unimpressed. 

The girl, Nancy, she is looking at him still, waiting for him to look at her too but he doesn’t. There is something in her eyes that you can’t read, the same look that resides in his own. 

With a sigh, she looks away and starts walking towards you after closing the gate behind her. She can see the hesitation on your face. 

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, we’re leaving soon too–”

“We are not,” Steve says harshly, nearly making you flinch. 

“We are.” Nancy argues, her brows are pulled together, her lips curl downwards. 

She is certainly more intimidating than he is. 

“You can stay for the night, like Eddie said, we’ll have dinner and you can get cleaned up, tomorrow you can be on your way with the map you have asked for, but it’s getting dark now – so, you’re staying.” 

“Okay.”

It’s funny, normally that would have been a warning sign for you to run. People aren’t usually so persistent for you to stay and if they are, you never stay long enough to find out what evilness they have planned for you. Usually you aren’t so trusting, but her kind blue eyes make it hard not to. 

Finding kindness in this world is a rarity nowadays, you wonder if these people ever encountered real danger – not the creatures, or the sick people but humans, you found out that those can be much worse, evil. You figure that they haven’t, otherwise they wouldn’t be so trusting towards you, even Steve, he didn’t ask you to take your weapons off of you, didn’t tell you to hand them over, he just let you follow, and his friends open the door to their home for you, they let you inside, he does too. 

You have a growing suspicion that they don’t really know the world they live in now, they haven’t seen past this untouched town, they haven’t seen what people are capable of, how cruel and evil they can be, because if they did, you would not be welcome here, not so easily, no matter how harmless you seem to them. 

But the kindness you are greeted with today encourages the hope that never died inside of you. 

Hope that died in him a long time ago. 

Hope that will die in you just like it did in him. 

He watches you closely, the way you look around the house the three of them have stayed in for the past year, you throw your backpack to the ground, leaving it abandoned by the stairs. You eye the radio station in the living room, curiosity lingers in your eyes, he notices how your fingers twitch but you don’t touch it, you draw back from it when you catch him staring at you like a hawk – he almost feels bad when you shy away. 

You turn your back to him and look at the bookshelf, tilting your head to the side. 

Steve should stop it, the staring, but he can’t, he doesn’t know why, you are not a threat, he doesn’t need to watch you but he keeps doing it, slowly following you through the house like you are his prey. 

You are the first stranger to enter this house, the first and the only. Every person who stumbled upon this ghost town was turned and scared away by him. He doesn’t know why he let you inside, Eddie and Nancy wouldn’t be able to keep you here, no matter how persistent and stubborn they had been. If they didn’t want you here, you would have been long gone and not walking around the house. 

But something about you makes him mad.

Maybe it’s the way you so easily fit in, or maybe it’s the way you fall for Eddie’s charm and giggle at every attempt of his to make you smile, maybe it’s the way you get along with Nancy right away, Nancy who is usually distrusting of anyone she doesn’t know, or maybe it’s the way you look at him when you sit across from him during dinner, the golden light from the fireplace touching your soft skin. Your eyes are big and innocent, the air around you is too, like you had been untouched by the horrors of this world, like nothing ever happened to you, like you didn’t lose anything or anyone, like the world didn’t even scratch the surface of you. 

He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know anything about you but he knows what you are – a naive and stupid girl, one that throws herself into danger, the cut on your shoulder and the scars on your upper arm are proof of that, you won’t survive long, people like you never do. 

He stares into your eyes and you stare back, eyeing him while Eddie talks your ear off, who is happy to have someone new to talk with, considering he is stuck with people who aren’t the most talkative. 

You blink, holding his gaze for a while. 

You are trouble, the kind that he wants to stay away from, the kind he needs to stay away from. 

And yet he finds himself knocking on the bathroom door to give you the toiletries and the clothes that Nancy had prepared for you after dinner. He is huffing loudly when he hears you singing, or humming. The only person he ever heard hum in a shower nowadays was Eddie, and he did it just to be an obnoxious prick. You, you are just happy, and who the hell is happy nowadays with how the world is? A psychopath. You are a fucking psychopath.

“One sec!” Your voice was sweet as the water is turned off, and soon after, the door is opening and his eyes are everywhere. You are wrapped in a towel, holding it tightly on your chest where the edge is tucked in. Your wet hair falling down your shoulders, the droplets all over your skin, and you have a stupid smile on your face. That snaps him out from the trance of staring at you more than he should. He blames it on not meeting another woman in a while. The only one in this ‘community’ of his age is Nancy, and she and him made it clear that whatever happened when Vecna was alive, that it was purely out of adrenaline and the need to be or feel cared for by someone in that moment.

“Have your stuff. Remember to give the clothes back before you leave tomorrow.” He extends his arms towards you, the body cream on top of the clothes, making you gasp as your arms shoot to take them from him, your eyes stuck on the white bottle.

“Oh god… thank you… I can’t– I can’t thank you enough–”

“Not me. Nancy and Eddie. I wanted you gone, still want you gone.” His eyes are looking away from you, down the hall as he speaks. He is harsh and he knows it, but there is a limit on water usage in the community, and you just used a ton. Which makes him think that Nancy and Eddie are being serious on leaving, not caring for the limits any longer. 

Your eyes look up, catching onto the patch of freckles and moles on his neck, as well as a very prominent scar. As if he had been choked by some rope, going all the way around. You were hurt by his words, but yet, this guy is being mean, and wants to kick you out, and he is standing in front of you handing you body cream and clothes, when he could have refused. He could have shot you and defy his friends. He could have been pushier.

And so your hope doesn’t die.

“I’ll thank them later… but yet, thank you, as well.” You persist and he grumbles something under his breath, his head turning to look at you one last time. Hopefully, the last time he sees it before he wakes up tomorrow. 

“Have a safe trip tomorrow.” And with that, he walks down the hall and towards his room, slowly closing the door behind him. Robin is going to kill him. Letting a random girl inside the house. Eddie and Nancy were out of their minds. Everyone was, except him. Hopefully.

He hears murmurs between you and Nancy in the hallway, giggles that disappear as you two disappear into Nancy’s room. She is letting you sleep on the bed with her. What the fuck was Nance thinking? You are a stranger… A stranger who seemed harmless enough, a stranger who looked… tired. Like the only thing you wanted to do was sleep, and sleep, and sleep. 

He might be over-exaggerating with how he is treating you, but can anyone blame him for it?

His eyes move towards a scarf on his bed frame, his fingers caressing the hand-knitted mustard colored cotton between his fingers. He hears Eddie whistling as he goes into his room and his anger bubbles up inside of him again.

He isn’t leaving this town. It is a stupid idea to do so. It is reckless. It is also going against the community’s rules. He isn’t going to leave. He can’t leave Robin behind, and Eddie and Nancy know she won’t be coming along.

He won’t leave the last thing that is keeping him alive.

[linked-constellation]

HERO OF ERAS⚔️

The one who unites through the ages.((Hyrule Warriors))

Informations under the the cut !

☆○°.} Era's scarf is long enough to be used as a cloak ! He also keeps a dagger hidden in his boot.

☆○°.} Has a journal where he writes down his thoughts But also draws. Mostly landscapes and people.

☆○°.} Does the puppy head tilt when he's confused or tries to figure out something.

☆○°.} Happily married ! After the war , he managed to find some kind of peace and normality in his life. It wasn't perfect. But it always was brighter than darker.

☆○°.} Despite being someone who suffer from selective mutism , he is still able to orders his men across battlefields if he really needs to. Though it doesn't happen a lot.

☆○°.} Proxi talk for him all the time. Never speaking in public , only in private ; he signs. His fairy translates out loud what his lips are too scared to mutter.

☆○°.} Lack confidence. He likes to hide it behind an intimidating and closed off but polite personality. Actually a strong , socially awkward softie.

☆○°.} Still doesn't understand why he had been chosen to bear the Triforce of the courage , he , a man who often frozes with anxiety and fear. Until the adrenaline rush finally forces his steps and guides his sword.

☆○°.} Keep it hidden , but is deeply traumatized. He will constantly put others before himself and brush off any concern people could have for him.

☆○°.} Probably one of the most caring one. If he notices one of the Link being in a sour mood , Era would go to them first. Even if it means sitting in awkward silences or forcing small conversations.

☆○°.} Often have meeting with his Zelda ((Minerve)) and Impa. Even after Cia's death , he still tries to stay in touch with Lana as much as he is able to.

[five-rivers]

An anonymous asker requested a fic where Danny was eaten and reborn. Hope you enjoy. :3

.

In the Infinite Realms, the closest thing to death was rebirth. There were, after all, very few things that could die twice, and they could not die permanently.

That being said, there were many ways to be reborn. By forgetting one's past, like those who drank from the Lethe. By being exalted into something higher. By being reduced to something lesser. By changing, as the butterfly in its cocoon, or a larva fed on honey. By the force of one's own awakening power, or by the manipulations of another. By curses. By blessings. By incautious wishes. By consumption.

In the Far Frozen, there was a great dragon. An ice wyrm. It sported elegant horns, proud antlers, a flowing mane, and sharp teeth. Ice like diamonds gleamed from its hide, nestled within fur and feathers both. Its wings and legs were small, compared to its great length, but it had many of them, all of them tipped with talons of ice. It brought clouds and snow in its wake, and, when it was angry, blizzards and thundersnow.

Some stories claimed that it could, if it chose, take the form of a noble-featured man or woman, and speak on things like science and poetry with the ease of one who had studied those disciplines for lifetimes. Others framed the dragon as a monstrosity, a violent beast made for destruction. Still others had it as a simple force of nature, born of the Realms.

Every one hundred years, the fiercest warriors of the Far Frozen would hunt it - an endeavor that might last years in and of itself - carve its meat from its bones, mount the antlers, and feast. Then, they would place those bones on a frozen river and bury them in snow, so that it would reform, gathering that snow and ice and turning it into flesh.

That hunt would begin soon. The dragon had been spotted, and each of its antlers had the requisite one hundred points.

Danny, flying to the Far Frozen because he'd caught a cold that was messing with his powers, knew none of this. Most of the time, he got over colds within a day or so, if he caught anything at all. He was worried that this was some kind of ghost sickness.

But he wasn't thinking about that right now, even as he passed over the floating icebergs that made up the Far Frozen's borders, because he had more immediate problems.

"Whelp!" shouted Skulker from somewhere behind him.

"Ghost boy!" trilled Technus, from not much further behind that.

They'd started chasing him about half an hour ago, and they were persistent. Whenever he thought he'd lost them, they'd found him again within minutes. One of them must have picked up a reliable tracking tool, because they weren't this competent on their own, usually.

Well, Technus might have been. That ghost knew how to think out of the box.

Danny could probably beat them, even with them working together, but he didn’t want to fight. He wasn't in Amity Park, where he had to if he didn't want the city in ruins, and with his powers acting up--

A missile streaked by him and he banked, knowing that wasn't a miss. Sure enough, it exploded ahead of him, knocking him out of the sky and into an iceberg.

"Ha! Soon, I will have your pelt at the foot of my bed!"

"And my plans for WORLD DOMINATION will be unopposed!"

"Oh my God," said Danny, shoving them both back with a wave of snow. "Just because I'm not there downstairs mean people will just let you take over the world! It's like all the times you've attacked me in social studies means nothing to you!"

A net dropped on Danny. Then, it shocked him.

"How do you like my new drone--"

It was like a dam breaking. Danny's control was already frayed thin, and he was always weak against electricity. He screamed, and that scream turned into a frost-touched wail, ice growing into huge crystals around him. He didn't stop wailing so much as he ran out of energy, dropping to the ground, his vision wavering and his transformation rings flickering around him.

No. No, no, no. If he lost consciousness and his transformation both, he'd... Well, he didn't know if he'd freeze to death, but he didn't want to test it. He forced the transformation rings away and his ghost form seemed to... settle, somehow. He slid down to rest among the bases of the enormous ice crystals he'd made and closed his eyes. He'd worry about that... later.

Danny regained consciousness to the feeling of something - someone? - shaking him. No, someone rolling him over. And rolling him over again. He grumbled, not sure why Jazz was so insistent he wake up and less sure why his bed suddenly felt like the floor of a meat locker.

Something cold caught on the collar of his suit, and then there was a ripping sound. Danny flailed himself awake, losing most of the upper half of his suit to the dragon's claws. Then, he froze, trying to process what he was seeing.

That. That was a dragon. A huge dragon.

Unlike what many of Danny's enemies thought, he wasn't an idiot and he knew when to run from a fight he couldn't win. He made the snap decision to turn human and phase through the iceberg so he could get away.

But, when he called for them, his transformation rings didn't come.

Danny's transformation required power. Energy. Usually, when he approached the lower threshold of that energy, his body would flip him back to the lower energy state of 'human.' But he'd resisted that instinctual, automatic flip, this time. If he were not in the Ghost Zone, he would likely be having trouble staying both visible and solid.

He didn't know that, of course. This situation had only been made possible by a combination of poor sleep, illness, his growing ice powers, and incredibly poor luck.

When the dragon resumed its attempt to peel him with its claws, Danny decided to go with plan B: scream for help. However, he only managed a pitiful rasp. He'd wailed too long and too hard and, well, he was sick. Losing one's voice wasn't exactly an unusual symptom of a cold.

Plan C was fight, but that went about as well as Danny had thought it would. That was to say, it didn't. But he had to do something, and he wasn't going to just let the dragon eat him, which had to be what was going on here, right?

It pinned him down and dragged off the rest off what remained of his suit by the boots. Then, it immediately went to work on Danny's t-shirt, pants, and underthings, which were made of far less sturdy material and shredded easily.

Even for a cold core ghost, being naked in the snow like this wasn't pleasant. It was less pleasant when the dragon started licking him. Danny wriggled and squirmed, anything to get out from under the dragon's claws and away from its tongue, but it was through and careful, seeming to want to get every single part of him.

The tongue was wider than Danny was tall and covered with large, knobbly bumps that slid across Danny's skin like ice. It was wet. It dripped with thick, clinging saliva that smelled faintly floral. It stuck to Danny, making his skin feel slimy and tingly everywhere it touched, like some of his parents' more gooey weapons. Whatever it was, it wasn't made mostly of water.

Then, when Danny was completely covered from head to toe, the dragon let go and breathed on him.

The saliva on Danny's skin froze instantly into a hard, clear layer. His cold core - still developing and often forced to be in much warmer environments than it liked - thrilled at the effect, much to Danny's general discomfort and displeasure.

The dragon flipped Danny over and breathed again, making sure that side of him was also frozen. Then, it started licking him again. All over.

Only once three layers of saliva-ice had been deposited did the dragon open its lips wide and close them around Danny.

The dragon was large enough to hold Danny in its mouth easily, trapped between soft tongue and rigid roof. It turned him over several times, and Danny could feel the ice around him continue to build. The tongue licked and touched and almost played with him. And then, it swallowed, pressing him back into the dragon's throat.

So. Danny had been swallowed before. Not when he was also immobilized and so weak, but it had happened. Most ghosts that tried to eat him, he had found, were not actually designed to eat things. Not in the way that living things ate things. Their throats and 'stomachs' were little more than voids, with little structure.

The fact that this wasn't like that, that the dragon's throat was seemingly made of strong, constricting muscle that pushed him down with rippling squeezes was... concerning. The ripples were slow, but steady, and the pressure of each of them was immense. Danny could feel it through the ice.

It was... not soothing, exactly. Being eaten wasn't soothing. But it was sort of like being hugged by something very large, and being held still... being worn from being sick... being in the dark... It was a regular motion, and one that conspired with the temperature to be very physically comfortable.

(If his cold was caused by something like being too hot, Danny was going to throw a fit.)

And then, with little warning, Danny was extruded into a larger pocket of flesh. He dropped a few feet, then hit something liquid and glowing. He sank down into it and floated for a few minutes.

Then, the folds of flesh around him - the dragon's stomach? - contracted and the liquid began to drain.

Once it was empty, the temperature in the dragon's stomach warmed just enough for the layer of ice on Danny's skin to start to slough off... And to take with it a layer of Danny's skin.

In ghost form, Danny was just as plastic as any other ghost, and his skin reformed quickly over his ectoplasmic muscle. It prickled.

But, now that he wasn't frozen solid, Danny was in a position to actually try to escape. He tried to call energy to his hands, but his powers still weren't responding. He tried to kick and punch his way into at least giving the dragon indigestion, but the walls of the stomach absorbed all the attacks. Then he tried to scratch and bite, but the skin was too tough. Before he could try a different method of attack, the walls of the stomach contracted again, forcing him into a fetal position.

And the stomach started to fill up with liquid again.

Now that he was no longer encased in ice, Danny could tell that the liquid was thick, viscous, blue, and far, far below the freezing temperature of water. It made his new skin feel fragile, delicate, almost... crispy. It was freezing, he realized, it, and the layer of muscle immediately under it, trapping him in this position even as the liquid rose and the stomach relaxed and cooled, freezing a thicker layer around him.

Then, the liquid drained away and the stomach contracted again. And Danny lost another layer of ectoplasm, his body morphing to accommodate the loss. This time, he could also detect a pervasive, low-pitched, vibrating hum all around him. The dragon's core, maybe? Even as Danny started to struggle again, the liquid returned and the stomach relaxed.

And it happened again. And again. And again. Each time, Danny lost more of his substance and his struggles became weaker and weaker, until they stopped entirely, his resistance exhausted. He was still half-human, and he needed sleep more than most other ghosts, but even without that, continually reforming himself so that he wasn't just raw meat was tiring, and the hum of the dragon's core had taken on a distinctly hypnotic cadence.

Danny's body's automatic repairs started to grow... lazier, for lack of a better word. Sloppier. Details were left out. Shapes were smoothed over and made simpler.

And then, just when Danny was starting to nod off, the stomach spasmed and pushed Danny - and the stomach liquid he was marinating in - off into a separate, spherical chamber. It was small enough that even Danny's much reduced form felt cramped.

There was a tickle, near his abdomen, and Danny blearily looked down, through the distortion of the liquid, to see a spiderweb-thin line connecting his navel to the outside of the sphere. As he watched, it grew thicker and thicker, and he could feel his remaining strength flowing out of him along its length.

He should break it.

He couldn't make himself move.

He closed his eyes. So. He'd really been eaten. Successfully. This was, he thought, a really annoying way to go.

.

"Hold," said Frostbite, raising his hand. The dragon was nestled in a hollow in the ice far below them, curled in on itself over and over. It seemed to be sleeping, making this the ideal time to attack. Yet, there was something off. Something different from the usual hunt, from the many times Frostbite had seen the dragon before. Then, he spotted it. "We must stop the hunt."

"But Chief--!" protested Sleetfall, the youngest of the tribe's hunters.

"Hush," said Snowdrift. "Listen."

"Look," said Frostbite. "Do you see what it holds between its foreclaws?"

"Ah," said Snowdrift. "Yes. I see."

"What?" asked Sleetfall. "All I see is a ball of ice."

"Ah, you were not yet an adult when this last happened," said Frostbite. Even though Sleetfall was both young and eager, it had been long enough since they come of age that sometimes Frostbite forgot. "It is not a ball of ice. Or, it not only a ball of ice. That is an egg. Someone has been eaten and waits to be reborn within. We must respect the great dragon's role in their rebirth."

He could see in Sleetfall's eyes. They did not want to stop the hunt, the first with such storied prey. But the youth's shoulders slumped and they nodded. "But, Chief, who even would it have eaten? None of the tribe have been missing."

"I have my thoughts," said Frostbite. There were very few visitors to the Far Frozen. "But, come, do not be so grim. A dragon child is cause enough for celebration, even if they do not join the tribe." He patted Sleetfall on the back. "Think about what you could teach them."

Sleetfall brightened. It was well enough. Even if it was Phantom in that egg, he would have much to learn and much to relearn. A rebirth was, after all, still a birth.

[contamination-zone]

Just wanted to tell you that i love your Nightmare and Fresh headcanons and personalities ^_^

I love how your Nightmare is such a menace 😭, i dont necessarily enjoy when people make him dadmare (to each their own ofc), so seeing this nightmare is so reFRESHing! I love how you show us his thought process too, its seriously so interesting to see how he thinks

Your fresh too! He's such a silly goober

Seriously, chefs kiss

Thank youuu! X]]]

[Not ship] [Just, so much yammering under the cut]

I am also, ahh, not the most interested in dadmare... I prefer when he is genuinely cruel and an awful person, because I like when characters are just the worst :-][I do feel like I sand off many of the hard edges though, even still... bad habit of mine, to try and make them more palatable hehe]

Also a reason Nightmare is so interesting to me is as a tool to show more of Fresh's characterization off. Most of what I see with Fresh is either ignoring how morally grey he is, or characters helping him get "better." Nightmare though, I feel like he could really show off and feed into Fresh's worst habits.

Nightmare would do very little to make Fresh stop being so existentially terrified of death, I think he'd even feed into it or try to make it worse; its useful to him, it keeps Fresh close. Nightmare is powerful, and if Fresh is so scared all the time, it means it would want to have a strong ally to protect it.

Also the lack of regard for others/using others in self interest. Extremely self explanatory, I think they are just enjoying meals together X]

I also think Nightmare treats Fresh different to the rest of his gang; the gang is useful in what they can do For Nightmare, and only producers of negativity second. Fresh, however, would probably not be a very public ally to Nightmare, and wouldn't provide that sort of thing. His use is in his own suffering, and the suffering of the host he's inhibiting. Which means Nightmare cares less for using him in more practical ways, and more for just Keeping him.

This leads to Fresh getting more special treatment, almost akin to pampering HAHA. Nightmare needs to show that Fresh would have a better time With him than Away from him. He has to balance what he wants of the relationship with the fact that Fresh is liable to bolt if He's not providing enough to Fresh. [And I think escaping, fleeing, is one of Fresh's strong-suits.]

Also sorry gahaha, you had such lovely things to say about my nightmare interpretation, but I just went off about freshi and how he's affected by the relationship.

[niyasruledbyvenus]

Billie Holiday/Political leaders & BP Party

Through the lenses of Vedic/Sidereal Astrology

Billie Holiday has Revati Sun, PB stellium & her Atmakaraka in Aquarius/Purva Bhadrapada (Mars) She shined light on the horrors that black people were going through behind the scenes in America. Such as the Song, “Strange Fruit” about how black Americans during the time were being lynced. Aquarius- it being unconventional to talk about especially publicly.

This song & the fact that she exposed this to the rest of the world ended in her death. Being hand cuffed to her hospital bed leading up to her death. She was reported to have said to her friends & family “They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me in there. Don’t let them,”. As she used her fame and popularity to protest violence and racism which resulted in her being watched and harrassed by the US government.

“Anslinger gathered his resources together to target just one person instead—Billie Holiday. “It took at least three raids, two undercover agents, planted drug evidence, multiple arrests, associates who became paid informants, blocked access to lawyers and medical care, a prison sentence, the loss of her cabaret license (required to perform at the time), and two court cases for Anslinger to corner Holiday. And yet, despite the federal witch hunt, she would not stop singing “Strange Fruit.” - progressive.org

Purva Bharadrapa is an ugra nakshatra represented by a sword & the front legs of a funeral cot. Linked to renunciation & sacrifice. It’s the truth telling nakshatra and extremely Karmic. It’s sharp cutting nature shines light on the evils done in the dark. In search of moksha (liberation) They face a journey of pain leading to enlightenment. (very shamanic or initiatory in nature) Embodying themes of spiritual war, destruction of illusions, and ultimate liberation. They understand life’s darker, more complex truths. PB natives can feel or be labeled outsiders, as they challenge societal norms and hypocrisy. They may have esoteric knowledge, deep intuition, psychological, & revolutionary ideas. With a strong connection to occult practices due to need to transform through suffering.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Unfortunately, these natives can face difficultly, misfortune & sorrow in their lives but their experiences makes them undergo intense transformation, forcing them to face illusion. Which includes wanting to fight against injustices. A lot of these natives expose the dark truths about the industry they are in and face repercussion. Or they themselves can be seen as an example exposing hidden things, such as Joan Crawford. The movie/biography “Mama Dearest” exposing child abuse at all economic & social levels.

Some examples of PB moons- Kanye West, Michael Jackson, Erykah Badu, Kendrick Lamar

Andra Day (Revati Moon) starred as her in the movie “The United States vs. Billie Holiday”

Billie Holiday (Lady Day) also has an Uttara Ashadha Moon AMK & ASC UA has similar themes of freedom seeking & justice against wrong doing, but PB more karmic, intense, and dark. (Sidenote- it’s funny the other name she’s known by is Lady Day, UA is Sun ruled) Uttara ashadha means “the latter invincible one”. One of the most authoritative victorious & justice-driven out of all nakshatras. They have a no nonsense attitude & are not easily swayed by emotions, but lead with logic. This Nak is associated with law, politics, leaders & revolutionaries. Since it’s ruled by Vishvadevas (Universal Gods of Dharma and truth) Unlike other warrior naks that rely on aggression, such as Bharani & PB, UA uses strategy, patience, & endurance. This deadly combo of PB AK & UA Moon & ASC explains perfectly as to why she was a leading member contributing to the fight for the rights of black people. Martin Luther King Jr himself has Uttara Ashadha Sun Purva Bhadrapada Moon AMK & Bharani ASC.

➽──────────────❥

Malcolm X had Krittika Sun, Ashwini Moon & Uttara Ashadha Jupiter AMK. (explains why his approach was more aggressive, urging black people to protect themselves, through physical means) Ashwini is a fast moving nakshatra, and Krittika respesents knives and cutting. The act of cutting down and removing obstacles. It is the warrior symbolizing destruction & purification.

Being in the sign of Aries, like Ashwini & Krittika, Bharani represents similar themes. Ruled by the god of death and justice & ugra (fierce) in nature like all venus naks. Angela Davis another famous Black Panther has Bharani ASC. These natives can seek justice & retribution by any means necessary, even bordering morally corrupt. Think L from Death note or Thanos

(Luigi Mangione is Bharani Sun, PP moon 💀)

Most Black panthers have Ugra (fierce) and Rakshasa (demonic) nakshatras in their big three. The most common naks in the party being Purva Bhadrapada, Ardra, Magha, Mula, Bharani & Shatabisha. Displaying traits of strategic leadership, secrecy, destruction, activism, societal transformation & most importantly, fearlessness. They instilled power & pride into the black community. Teaching black people armed defense & how to defend themselves against police brutality. They patrolled black communities to protect against police violence, helped teach education & history to black children, providing food & clothing to families & so much more. Sadly, many members were wrongly incarcerated, even to this day for their activism.

Happy MLK Day

[hana-no-seiiki]

My first writing commission! This will be a multipart series for HOTD. Featuring yanderes, political warfare and overall mayhem. And perhaps?? some time traveling??

Thank you @dawntheday for commissioning this project.

// tw/cw: reader is not a targaryen. canon based violence, incest, sexism, the usual. canon divergences. reader is gender neutral but is described as ethereal. reader gets pimped out (implicit/short descriptions). seggs/light smut. basically a lot of disgusting shit happens.

AND THEN, THERE WAS YOU [PROLOGUE]

Childbirth was one of the most traumatic, painful and bloody experiences known to man. The sheer agony of a child being ripped out of your womb, kicking and screaming. And yet, so many deemed it miraculous event. All joy, love and positivity.

It was horrific to even witness.

But the Gods wouldn’t be satisfied for you to be a bystander. No. You would find out that childbirth was worse when you were the one being born.

Sentience was a curse. One forced upon you since the beginning. You could feel the push of your mother’s walls, constricting you, flattening you, forcing you out into the world. Her screams, your cries, and the panicking voices of the midwives as you finally, finally made it out were all too much. The blood all too much.

You never really forget that experience even as you grew older. Features of your youth melted away to reveal ethereal beauty. One that commanded worship and awe.

That was another thing the Gods made you have to torture you. Droves and droves of sick and twisted people at your doorstep as your birth parents watched in delight, their coffers filled to the brim with gold.

But perhaps it wasn’t always a curse. Your beauty, I mean. Now that you’ve stolen much of their earnings and escaped to another continent.

Westeros.

A journey by sea it took. For you to crawl your way into the newly conquered lands. Bloodied and battered from the journey. Exhausted yet eager to renew yourself in the new lands your feet would walk upon.

Your first ever job was at a Brothel. Taking in clients like the way your parents did to you not so long ago, but of your own accord.

That was where you met Aegon Targaryen. Aegon the Conqueror. Loud, proud, and scrotum heavy. You’ve heard of the classic old tale where the men of his family would visit this place to sow their oats. Bastards upon bastards littered the place. You knew that one of these days, you would be bear his spunk and parade it around like many others. Your ego ached for it even. To conquer the conquerer. To bear a dragon’s seed.

Little did you know, the dragon already knew you.

“I dreamt of you.” He said as he ravished you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t recognize. You certainly hadn’t seen in your family’s nor have your old clients. “Like I dream of the walkers. Of an apocalypse to come.”

You’ve heard of his rough and relentless way in the sack. How your fellow workers complained of the way they were treated, how they couldn’t walk any further than two feet after he was done with them. The man did not view them as anything more than objects after all. Something to toss aside when he was done.

But if anything, he’d been the most attached and sappiest man you’ve ever had the fortune of bedding. Disgustingly so.

“You. You are the calm amongst those nightmares.“ He was gentle, loving. Nothing like Aegon the Conqueror that you’ve heard of. Nothing like the Aegon the Conqueror that you wanted.

As soon as he fell asleep, you went and disappeared.

It is not long before he calls upon you. Again and again, murmuring about dreams and winter. You’ve even met his wives. All so eager to meet you. All so kind and benevolent. All so unlike the expectations you’ve set in your mind and heart. Expectations you were willing to brave through. Somehow, drama and your potential death was better than the constricting vice they held over you. Memories flashed through your head. Of your mother, of your birth. Of blood and viscera.

You try to leave but are sent back to Aegon’s chambers in an instant.

“You may leave. You may run. But nothing will stop you from finding your way back to the Dragon’s nest. Fate wills it so.” He said, but all you heard was a challenge.

“You’ll find that I’m quite stubborn regardless.”

You quickly find out that Aegon knew your movements from his dreams. Each plan of yours to escape had been foiled before it had happened.

And so you stopped, you let him and his wives coddle and fuck you when they wanted.

Years later, an opportunity presents itself. A cliff overlooking the ocean. So vast and wide. Yet to be taken and shackled by the man who took your freedom away.

You do not hesitate. Not for one moment.

“Come.”

You jump. You bet that Aegon did not foresee that coming considering he was too shocked to catch you. Your death would be swift you suppose. At least it wouldn’t be as arduous as repeating the same day over and over again.

Your eyes fluttered open, a meeting between [e/c] and purple. You grimaced as you see her platinum blonde hair and luxurious outdoor clothing. Blood across her face and a knife in her hand.

It can’t be . . .

Tears fall down your cheeks. Your broken cries echo through the woods.

a/n: future chapters will be longer because hotd is hotd.

[artist-issues]

You don't believe in love. You believe in people SUPRESSING a part of themselves, not caring how much it ACHES for them to do so. You are objectively wrong, and you do NOT belong on Tumblr. Any arguement you try to come up with against this is pointless.

You are NOT a real Christian.

People “suppress” parts of themselves all the time—for love. If by “suppress,” you mean, “I don’t choose to identify with everything I feel.” I feel like screaming at my mom when she hurts me. But I love her, so I’m not going to say, “gotta be true to myself, gotta live what I feel.” Many people feel like alcohol is what they need and without it, who are they? Many people even feel like depression is “a part of who they are,” so they don’t give it up.

Don’t you understand? What makes something I feel fall under the category of “who I am?” Because not all feelings are good, and most of them aren’t even rooted in reality.

Your feelings lie to you all the time. Right before death after years of dementia or a terminal illness, a person can suddenly become more alert and energized than they’ve been since the start of their illness. They get up, talk, and their feelings tell them that they’re better. And the reality is they’ve never been closer to death, and they’re dead moments later. It’s called “terminal lucidity,” and it’s been happening since humanity’s earliest history. And it’s just one example of your feelings lying about what’s real.

So how can you tell if the things you feel are a part of who you are, or a cancer you need to cut out of yourself because it’s hurting the “real” you? That’s what you’re calling “suppression,” and yeah, it aches, but letting it grow and calling it “part of yourself” is worse.

Figure out what standard you measure “who I am” by.

A Christian measures it by Christ. Who He says you are, not what you feel you are. After all, He calls us to die to ourselves. What did you think that meant?

And a Christian measures everything by what Christ says. That’s how I know “the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked.” It’s how I know you’re right; I don’t belong on tumblr. I don’t belong on this corrupt planet anymore: “If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but you are not of the world, for I have chosen you out of the world; this is why the world hates you.” And it’s how I know what real love is, and it’s Him. He invented it, He gets to define it.

And that’s the point of this argument. To get it out in front of people that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and nobody has a restored relationship with God, nobody can be their “true-selves” unless they die to their old-corrupt self and come to God through Jesus Christ.

So thanks for giving me the opportunity to answer and get that out in front of people again.

[meanbossart]

What does drow love most about Astarion? What sets him apart from the other companions?

Well, what really set him apart was not hitting on DU drow at the tiefling party, to be honest. Up until that point he was as dismissive of Astarion as he was of everyone else - he found him attractive, of course, but that's not where DU drow's mind was at the start of the campaign (he was a little grouchy after whole mindflayer-infection thing, not exactly looking to make friends or get laid for those first few days.)

After Astarion managed to pique his interest, it still took a while for DU drow to see him as much more than an object of desire. I think what he noticed first was Astarion's ruthlessness when he killed the Gur in the swamp, and how equally indifferent they were to death and murder. Astarion was always willingly complicit in DU drow's blood-thirst and disregard for (some) humanoid lie, but he wasn't so much of a doormat that he never voiced his discontentment - when Astarion stopped trying to butter him up and started speaking his mind bluntly, as unpleasant as it sometimes was, that's when DU drow really started to enjoy his company.

The drow likes off-color jokes. He like being a little bit too honest. He enjoys getting a rise out of people and he draws a lot of conclusions by the way they react to it. This is why Shadowheart and himself got along so well from the start, and this is how Astarion eventually won him over - they can be a little mean to each other, their jokes can ever so slightly cross the line, they can argue and call one another stupid to their faces and then they can move on like nothing ever happened. Astarion bounces back from offense and irritation very quickly, and gauges the seriousness of comments and situations in a similar way as DU drow does, this turns out with them being surprisingly good at communicating with each other. Astarion is also really good (incessant, really) at pushing DU drow to think his feelings and thoughts through, while most other people might just pat him on the back and say "oh well whenever you're ready to open up :)".

I think you could boil it down to a similar brand of morality, and Astarion's lack of a filter and willingness to push boundaries to achieve what he wants - at first, his freedom, and then later a functional relationship and a better partner. DU drow would have probably fallen stagnant in anyone else's hands. He recognizes this, and appreciates it.

Oh, he also finds Astarion really funny.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Is there any scenario in which Bella would let or be persuaded to not stop edwards suicide?

I mean, would most people be persuaded to not stop Edward's suicide? If I was put in that position, I honestly would probably make the same choice as Bella. Or, at least, it would be very very very hard to say no and I'd probably reflect on that for the rest of my life.

We're talking about the death of a person.

Even if wasn't just anyone, this is someone Bella deeply cares about and was in love with. And she learns that a) he is committing suicide over something she inadvertently feels is her fault (no jumpy off cliff no Edward kills himself) b) he's fucking killing himself c) she is the only means of stopping it.

Alice is very clear that there is no other way to stop Edward from doing it, she can't do it herself. If Bella doesn't come, Edward will 100% die.

Bella would have to think very hard of "what would this do to the people who love me if I don't return" and "can I give up the rest of my life on the chance that Edward, whose actions I ultimately can't control, might live".

That is fucking heavy.

Especially when Bella believes that she is solely responsible for Edward's doing this, that he's doing this out of a misplaced sense of guilt.

And remember, Alice also 1000000% downplayed how likely Bella was to die doing this. Alice did not warn Bella "oh yeah, by the way, the Volturi will definitely notice you and will know about you from Edward and since the law is turn or die, you will probably die". Jacob was concerned, but he had no idea the specifics either, he just hates vampires.

Bella entered into Volterra and was surprised when she was suddenly being led to the dungeons where they were discussing "well, Edward, you kind of broke the law son so do we kill your girlfriend or turn her".

Alice needed Bella to say yes.

So, given all that, no, I don't say Bella or even most people saying "no" to what Alice requested. The only way she'd say "no" was if Alice hadn't requested in the first place.

[hyog-blog]

Emotionally this scene is so hot and intense. Zhuo Yichen demanding answers from Zhao Yuanzhou, for it, for him to make sense, especially in the context of his own (already awakened) feelings. And it must be driving our boy literally insane - the contradiction of Zhao Yuanzhou being his family's killer, the one demon who single-handedly destroyed the Demon Hunting Bureau (which was kind of everything ZYC ever knew at that point, that it was it, his life was just that, and his future as well).

And Zhu Yan destroyed not only his family, nearly cutting down the whole lineage apart from Zhuo YIchen, but also the organization, that was put to a halt and nearly ceased to exist, and he literally took whatever meaning Zhuo Yichen's life had and threw it in the gutters. So ZYC was not simply alone, with his whole family dead, but also meaningless and without a place to go, or to be, or something to do in this world, his ancestral home becoming a limbo of sorts, with him - a lost soul that had no means to move on, to start living again.

Because he was an anomaly from the start and whatever he would become - would always be in the context of demons, and BIng Yi, and murders, and investigations, and all that weird stuff that most people considered as nightmares personified. He was already a part of all that even when he didn't really know it himself, just following his brother around, just being, just going through that archive of books and writings about monsters that were actually his kin in a way (and when he learns that Bing Yi was, actually, a demon, in my headcanon that would have shattered his self-identity quite a bit, at least for some time).

And now we meet this boy, already a young man, who has single-handedly restored the Demon Hunting Bureau, finding it in himself to build his own meaning of life from scratch, getting back that place in life he thought was his and that it mattered, and that his service to all those people was what he's supposed to do (and probably, the only thing he could do being an anomaly, an outcast, someone stuck between the worlds of humans and demons). He has more in common with Wen Xiao than we might think upon meeting him first. She's a bridge between the demon and human worlds, but he's also a bridge, or rather a shield protecting the human world from the demons and, as he later learns, maybe simply protecting the innocent, be it demon or human, from the ones that want to hurt them, no matter what realms they come from.

And so he meets Zhao Yuanzhou having just figured things out for himself, and suddenly learns that the world, again, isn't so black-and-white and even that gruesome hideous murder had so many layers to it and wasn't at all what he perceived it to be. And the man who had been his dreamless nightmare all these years turned out to be a whimsical creature that only appeared to be dangerous when he first saw him, yet possessed no killer intent whatsoever. And in fact, turned out to be a protector as well, trying to protect everyone from himself first and foremost.

And he watches this gorgeous mysterious man, as complex as he is, getting close to Wen Xiao, whom Zhuo Yichen adores more than any other woman in this world (emphasis on woman) and he already has feelings for Zhao Yuanzhou as well, however suppressed and unfathomable they are for now, and he wants this man to give him answers, but whatever Zhao Yuanzhou can give him - it's not that. It's not the certainty of being bad enough to just kill him and be done with it, and it's definitely not a certainty that he deserves to be killed at all. And even not the certainty of him seeking death at this point, even though he continues to talk about it, but it's not so strong now, not to the extent that it was before, when Zhuo Yichen first met the Great Demon.

And this is where he finds himself that night, when Zhao Yuanzhou finally approaches him for that don't-hesitate-to-murder-me pep talk, and Wen Xiao is brought up, and his newly found will to live (or something close to it) through that affection only, but Zhuo Yichen doesn't know it yet, that it's not just that affection that keeps this demon from deteriorating into the depths of despair facing that goddamn horrifying blood moon all over again, that destroyed so many lives, including the life of this gorgeous young and so very sensitive Zhuo Yichen. That there's another type of affection and feeling and need that draws him to Zhuo Yichen that night in an attempt to protect him from this, as best as he can, giving him that immunity from the one-word spell, and asking him to live well no matter what happens next, knowing already that it might turn into a bloodbath at some point.

But this time ZYZ is as proactive as he can be, and he trusts Zhuo Yichen enough to kill him or at least to stay alive and protect Wen Xiao. It will be bad, he knows that much, but at this moment and in this instance he comes to spend this time of his own uncertainty with Zhuo Yichen not only because the boy needs this to stay strong and to realize what he's actually facing, but also because Zhao Yuanzhou needs him to stay strong himself with whatever ZYZ is facing again, with that glaring possibility of losing control and wreaking havoc everywhere, with this one young man, truly, being the only one who could stop him at this point. Kill him. Save him from this torment. And it's heavy, and Zhao Yuanzhou knows it is, so he goes for that talk and talks carefully around the very notion of ending his life, but also - about that and that only, sensing Zhuo Yichen's confusion as if it was truly his own, and that turmoil of emotions, and that need to understand, to make everything make sense somehow.

And so they talk. And do some magic. And none of them gets much relief after that conversation is over, but there's a certainty now. That at least this one boy would be protected from the Great Demon's magic. And if he has a chance of surviving the blood moon, than so does Wen Xiao (who probably is protected by their contract anyway, but Zhuo Yichen isn't, and it matters to Zhao Yuanznou already oh-so-much).

And Zhuo Yichen is left even more strained and confused than before because of all the contradictions he's facing, this demon acting not like an enemy, even though he's about to become one, but rather like a caring friend. And what is he supposed to make out of all that? When he simply doesn't, just doesn't want to kill him, no matter what.

[chickenstilldancing]

It isn't so surprising to read that "Takahashi never said that Rin and Sesshōmaru are daughter and father" since you can easily read bullshits like "Inuyasha only chose Kagome after (and because of) Kikyo's (second) death", but it still is depressing.

Not to mention that she actually once called Sesshōmaru "Rin's hogosha" ("parental figure"/"legal guardian".) But you don't even need that. I mean. You have her fucking manga (???), you have the anime. What did she write that for? For you to not even understand that Sesshōmaru came to admit that that child is the most important thing in his life? Also, he took the decision to let her have a normal life among humans. Only for her well-being. Isn't it precisely what a father would do? If she were just his "pet" or "traveling companion" or "follower" he wouldn't have had this kind of qualm.

I don't get it, why people are so eager to be spoon-fed like toddlers incapable of putting together the puzzle themselves.

[deusvervewrites]

First of all: Happy Birthday Deus!

Secondly, I have more thoughts about the whole "The Villain must Die" thing. You already allude to it in your original post, but one of the reasons that people tend to dislike it is definitely the fact that, if they were to acknowledge & accept it, they feel they would also have to "blame" themselves for liking "bad" media that does not follow this "rule".

You point out Star Wars, so some people will simply read this as "If you enjoyed Star Wars, specifically Palpatine dying, YOU ARE A BAD PERSON!"

Which is not what you said, (and I assume not what you meant) but some people will just read this into things, and feel like they have failed some invisible "vibe check" or something by liking the "wrong" media, and it all starts becoming some weird purity test even if it's often only in peoples head.

Like, stop reinventing Catholicism over here, stories can have different meanings and lessons, and one single thing doesn't mean that the story is no forever tainted and everyone who ever liked it should be branded as evil or some-such nonsense.

To use an extreme example, Metal Gear Rising Revengeance very VERY much kills its villains. It also has a very strong and important message about politics and ideology and how people justify atrocities in it. It's a different kind of story with a different kind of message compared to things like BNHA. Also, it even implies itself that the protagonist might have been wrong in killing his enemies, the fact that he did so anyway and that that was the only way he could see is a flaw that the game directly points out! So good news, liking MGR doesn't make you "bad" just as liking SU or BNHA doesn't mark you as inherently "good" or "righteous".

People need to take a step back and consider that not everything is an attack on them or what they like. Good stories are allowed to have flaws. Because most of them do. Any you are still allowed to like them. That's also fine. You can even like something and criticize it anyway, that's allowed!

This is getting long, so I want to end with another example that helped me realize how much I love villains surviving:

Fairy Tail, and the Arc of Jellal. Long Story short, when we first meet Jellal he is THE WORST. Absolute scum of the earth, sadistic maniacal supervillain that, inevitably, ends up blown up in a big anime battle.

Except, nope, ~2 arcs later, he is back, with amnesia, and involved in some other villains plot. Over the course of the arc he works with the heroes but then regains his memory and is utterly devastated to learn who he was in the past, to the point that he tries to noble suicide sacrifice himself to stop the villain. It does not stop the villain, but he still wants to go through with it to "atone", until the hero that he had hurt to most slaps him in the face and yells at him to Live and Struggle.

Because his death wont change anything. It wont heal those he hurt, or revive those he killed. He can only make up for this, only truly become better, by living.

And, spoiler, he does not sacrifice himself, but instead starts to go on a long and arduous and messy journey of atonement and it absolutely rocks. It makes him and his story a million times better than if he had died.

Anyways, sorry for the second wall of text I send you today, once again, Happy Birthday and best wishes!

One of the many things I love about Metal Gear Rising Revengeance's dialogue on the nature of violence is that, as you said, Raidon loses the moral victory at the end. When he kills Senator Armstrong, Armstrong names Raidon as the inheritor of his ideals that Might Makes Right. The entire game shows Raidon martyring himself by sacrificing his morals in an effort to save lives, implicitly comparing this to real-world warfare

[concretejunglefm]

What do we think the guys would be like if they had a secret crush on you? Like if you were working on tour somewhere with them.

Personally I think Folio would be the most obvious one. 😂

Folio would be the most obvious but that's because he's just generally excited to be around you and you start to easily pick that up, especially when you're aware he likes to hang out with the crew when everything is being set up. Normally it's him and his drum tech hanging out, but suddenly he's starting to spend a little extra time with you, maybe inviting you over. Despite this there is a little awkward shyness to him, especially in the beginning. Once he loosens up it's easier, but his crush on you makes him a little shy at times, mainly when you're alone because with other people around he can bounce of their energy, but solo he finds himself a little more a loss for words.

Matt would not be obvious at all, perhaps the closest he could ever come to even allowing himself a slight acknowledgement of the fact is when he isn't as tough on you about your job. Firstly he really rides you hard on it, mainly because you're young and not as experienced, he wants to give the benefit of the doubt but you also know what you came into so he shouldn't have to. It'll be subtler things with him, such as picking you up lunch when you forget yours because you selflessly are putting everyone else and everything else ahead of yourself, as well as simply bringing you a coffee in the mornings when you wake up early, because you want to get a jump start on the day. The walls come down a little, but when he feels like there's a little too much comfort there he's quick to pull them back up and give you a hard time to remind you about doing your job correctly. Little does he know you kind of like that he gets so bossy.

Jolly is a subtle man who is merely observant. Usually he keeps to himself, perhaps engaging with you a little, even if he does have a crush, but the most of it comes from you both sharing a love of books. You're the talkative one between you, firstly when you spot him reading a book you've read, which prompts him to begin a conversation with you. It's brief, but it leaves his chest feeling a little warm and there's a bounce in his step, one which is noticeable to the other guys. Eventually his subtly extends to an occasional touch here and there, grazing hand along your back, brushing your arm, even offering you his hand as you climb down off the bus. The biggest tell, not to you but the other guys, is when he gifts you a book you mentioned wanting to read. Each stop he'll peruse the smaller bookstores where he can and when he finds one he mentally wrote down you mentioning, he picks it up and gives it you. "I haven't read this one." You'll tell him, while he offers a smile and soft "I know." Before walking off with all of the guys sharing a knowing look.

Noah is alot more shy and awkward than his stage persona would have you believe, yeah he has an ego and knows that he's hot, but that doesn't mean he assumes you fancy him, just because he happens to have a crush on you. You bond over your similar interests after he discovers you're not only an AOT fan, but a death note fan, it quickly moves from anime to music and he finds his crush becoming something gnawing at him the nights you both spend sat up talking over all of these shared interests. If you're not talking about them, you're texting and even sending memes. Sometimes he'll even invite you into his bunk to watch an episode or two before he finds you falling asleep, head against his shoulder.

When it comes to Nicholas he shares the same sentiment as Jolly in regards to giving you gifts as a sign of his crush, but unlike the Swede, they're usually hand made and smaller when on the road. Most consist of little drawings and doodles, he can't count the amount of times he'd actually attempted to do a self portrait of you, some more serious and artistic than others. Calling you his muse would be a cliche, but he can't say that you don't inspire him to draw sometimes, especially on the days off when you go on your little adventures, sometimes he'll even go as far as doodling a little flip book of those for you during his spare time.

[utilitycaster]

I was reading your posts about interesting moments in CR3 and different possibilities that could’ve added positively to the campaign and the party split was an interesting point. Honestly I can’t help but wonder that if we had one party who

1- met guests who had a positive relationship with different gods (there are 12 Primes right? Why did both parties end up interacting with Pelor) to broaden the knowledge through player-player interactions

2- were sent to a place with a mix of religion and culture and explore a region with NPCs offering a different viewpoint

Because honestly as much as I enjoyed the split, I felt kinda bummed out that both parties experienced even more negative feedback re: the gods: Deanna forced to come back by a god or the village being taken over and forced by a religious group. Even more so when it was Pelor in focus both times and he is one of the harshest ones.

If one party had a different experience, because none of them had any personal experience and were mostly working off their own hurts when asked ‘should the gods be killed’, then maybe the debate when they reunited could’ve been different. Instead of Orym being the only one to say ‘Ludinus is bad guys.’

It felt like having someone be horrified at their gods being killed would be a good shock to the ‘meh’ reaction the party was constantly having. Or the guests being meh about it too (or it just being a weird comedy improv moment).

I wasn’t on tumblr, but were people wondering why both instances were negative religiously? Do you think it could’ve impacted the group positively if Matt had made the encounters different?

Hi anon, I mean this as kindly as possible but I have repeatedly been saying for literally over a year at this point that the issue is not that Bells Hells lacks a pro-god member. I feel like I get questions like this every few months and I say something like this every few months and I know it's a fandom and I don't expect everyone to read every post on my blog but like, I do have to read every post on my blog and it's getting tiresome.

Bells Hells had a pro-god member in FCG and were frequently pretty belittling and unkind to them about that, frankly, until the moment of their death. I also think (and iirc Aabria has clarified out of game) that Deanna is not in fact mad at Pelor. She has a lot of issues with the actions of other worshipers, and she has complicated feelings, but I would not under any circumstances say her perception of the Dawnfather was negative. I also think she is something of a Keyleth case, of "if I do not let out this anger towards a deity, it will be directed towards the person I'm actually mad at, whom I love, and that's much harder to face and process, so I will be shaking my fist at the sky instead." I also think that the character of Bor'Dor is a great example of the awful manipulation that the Ruby Vanguard took part in and how like most cults they destroy the lives of their followers, rendering them unable to see outsiders as anything but the enemy, and that most people don't escape.

If you are dealing with people whose genuine reason for enabling what amounts to either genocide or extinction of a species, depending on your perspective, is "I asked for help from them [in a vague and indirect sense] and never received it", having someone else say "well I had help and it was great" is not going to change their minds. The thing that would have fixed Bells Hells is, as someone else said, having significant ties to the world outside of each other, who they've at most known for 2 years and change. As is they have little investment or care for any of the other people of Exandria while claiming to be their voice. You do not need a love of the gods to make, as Caduceus said, the kind choice. You do need a love, or at least an effort made in the direction of love, for the mortals of Exandria and Ruidus, and they do not have that. And from an outside perspective again we can discuss that this is largely a failure on the DM-ing side but within the context of the story that is the problem, that this is the behavior of people who spend more time arguing in favor of people who are long dead (after uh. trying their own genocide) than in the presence of the many common people on Exandria and Ruidus who are alive.

[rainintheevening]

I mean... think about it. Who does Banquo love the best after his son? Who does he trust the most, and confide in, and tell endless stories of to his wide-eyed son? Who would be the most important person Fleance would know to run to, should anything go awry?

He's maybe 12, coming back to the palace with his father after a long ride, all pink cheeks and tired but happy, and still thrilled that his father is the closest friend of the new king, and they're staying at the palace now. He takes the torch to light their way down the path from the gate, because he always carries the torch for his father.

His father remarks there will be rain tomorrow.

And then the rush, the torch knocked from his hand and gone out, the scraping of steel as his father tries to draw his sword, and Fleance reaches for his dagger, but the shadows are hulking and his father is shouting over the attackers grunts and complaints. "Fly, fly, fly!" he cries, and the boy obeys.

He knows who to run to for help, he knows who he can trust. He knows how brave and fierce a warrior Macbeth is. So he runs, small and slim, and sure-footed even in the dark.

He does not hear the death gurgle, though his own fear chokes him, knowing his father is probably dead, hoping with the wild hope of youth that Banquo can fight, can fend them off long enough, until Macbeth should come. He doesn't know how many more attackers there might be, he can't be sure they won't come after him. So he skitters off the path, weaves through the trees, trying to remember where the side entrances are, thinking he should slip in through the kitchens. He can't trust anyone until he gets to Macbeth, until Macbeth knows. Macbeth will protect him.

So he slips and he sneaks through the dark, through the doors, taking the round-about way even if it's longer, moving fast, thinking forward, only ahead, not back, he can't think back, not now. There's a feast on, he and his father were supposed to be guests of honour at it. But now the food smells make him nauseous. He skulks through the shadows of the scullery, catching snippets of chatter from the servants: the meal is being served, the feast is gathered, the king is in the hall.

Scottish castles aren't much for decoration, not even the king's, but there's enough people coming and going for him to slip through, and he takes refuge against a chest in a corner, trying to catch his breath, trying to listen for Macbeth's voice. He thinks that voice will mean safety, will mean rescue.

He hears the murderer's rough voice first, and his heart near stops with terror. They've come after him, they'll find him, they'll kill him too. His fingers tremble as he wraps them around his dagger hilt, remembering his father's plea to avenge him. And he determines to take at least one man with him. He doesn't hear Macbeth's approach, or he may have leapt up with a wild determination to save at least Macbeth from the killers.

The first thing he hears from Macbeth is quick, anxious, so much so he's not quite sure it is Macbeth. "There's blood on thy face."

He's gone still, so still, stiller than a rabbit under the eye of a hound, he does not even blink, because the voice is right above him now, both of the voices...

"Oh, tis Banquo's then."

Father...

"Well, better you without than he within. Is he dispatched then?"

"I cut his throat myself. But the son is fled."

The son is fled, yes, the son is fled to sit by and hear his father's best and dearest companion delight in his father's murder, and wish for the son's death. The son is fled to the shadows he thought would protect him, but he sits in the shadow of death.

He doesn't blink or twitch or even breathe for what seems a long time.

When he comes back to himself, the banquet is prepared, everyone is in the feast hall, where he can hear Macbeth's voice. The kindling of rage sparks in Fleance, and he draws his dagger, rising from his shadowed corner, suddenly uncaring for his own life, when none better than Judas stands in the other room. But he looks up, and... he would speak but he cannot, for he thinks he sees his father standing there, over by the stairs, shaking his head, and there's blood all down his shirt, but he's looking at his son, and Fleance can hear the words as if in distant echo—Fly, fly, fly!

Fleance is a dutiful son, he loves his father more than anyone else in the world, he will do what his father commands. So he sheathes the dagger. He slides back into the shadows, and fancies the shadow of Banquo follows him. (They are the lights relegated to the shadows, reduced to flickers.)

In the quiet stables (grooms away to their own supper) gathering the saddle, hands slipping over his father's handsome seat, seeing Banquo's sweet grey mare nicker at him, his hands begin to shake.

In the distance the hue and cry is raised, but he does not hear, for he is weeping suddenly, stumbling to Thistledown's side to cling to her neck, before he turns away and is violently sick.

No one hears him, no one finds him.

He takes Thistledown, rather than his own pony. Somehow he cannot bear to leaver her behind, as if she might be next for Macbeth to want dead. They ride out into the night, a chill rain blowing in from the east, and covering their passage. The boy has only his plaid, his dagger, his flint, a bit of bread and a small skin of wine pillaged from a groom's things, and heart breaking under the weight of betrayal and loss and loneliness.

He does not know where to go now. He knows he can never return. He knows he will survive.

[maxdibert]

Yah so how the fuck did Remus manage to "forgive" Sirius? And why does everyone in the fandom always take The Prank as an opportunity to make Wolfstar angst... Like...no?

I'm sick of seeing posts that are like "Sirius going back to his house and having a breakdown" "Remus not talking to Sirius to Sirius sends him a letter about how sad and depressed he is because none of their friends are talking to him". Oh my gosh. ENOUGH OF THAT 😮‍💨

Oh no, the consequences to my own fucking actions--- No SHIT, Remus doesn't want to speak with you. WHY WOULD HE??? And people just completely shove Severus into the corner as if he wasn't also going through something. This fandom man...

Honestly, I’ve never been interested in Wolfstar, and not because I dislike the characters but because it doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, if I had to choose a pairing for Sirius among his friends, for me, it would clearly be James, because Sirius was literally obsessed with him. He wasn’t just his best friend; Sirius’ entire life revolved around James, and even 12 years after his death, he couldn’t move on, to the point of projecting James onto Harry and getting upset when he realized they were two different people. Look, Molly Weasley gives me the creeps, but she was absolutely right when she called him out, saying that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t seeing Harry but James—because that’s exactly what was happening.

But beyond that, Sirius shows absolutely zero interest in Remus or at least zero empathy. It’s clear that if there was any glue holding the group together, it was James. James had more sense than the two ringleaders combined, or at least more common sense to know where the limits were. He was also the one who took care of Remus when he had nowhere to go after finishing school. My theory is basically that Sirius hung out with Remus and Peter because James tolerated them, and because having a werewolf friend gave him an excuse to act recklessly. If we look at SWM, Sirius remarks that he wishes it were a full moon because he’s bored. He couldn’t care less that for Remus it’s a traumatic moment each month, because for Sirius, it means going out, living dangerously, and messing around with his friends. What’s a trauma for Remus is an opportunity for fun for Sirius. He doesn’t consider what it represents for his friend; he doesn’t show that his reason for becoming an animagus is to provide moral support. Instead, he’s WISHING for the moment his supposed friend dreads most because, for him, it’s an exciting event. That’s not appreciating someone—it’s seeing them as a means to an end, a tool. That’s pure utilitarianism, not friendship.

Now, let’s move on to the facts. In “The Prank,” Sirius doesn’t care about the consequences. He thinks it’s funny and is totally thoughtless because that’s just who he is—someone who was never taught about morals or ethics and who basically chose a different “side” than his family’s just to spite them. He’s a rebellious and chaotic spirit who despises snobbery, and that’s about it. There’s no deeper philosophy, no deconstruction. Deep down, he behaves like any other Black, believing he has the right to control others—whether it’s ending someone’s life if they’re “stupid enough to fall for the trap” (Severus, in this case), which he justifies by saying they deserved it, or using others for his malicious ends (Remus). It’s James who has a modicum of conscience and who thinks about the consequences, stopping Severus because James was taught values and understands that certain lines shouldn’t be crossed. But also, I think James genuinely cared about Remus and probably understood what it might mean for him to end someone’s life.

Then there’s the post-Hogwarts relationship. Remus is always portrayed as being very close to the group when canonically, Peter was the one who was always trailing James and Sirius like a cheerleader. Ultimately, they chose Peter over Remus to be the Secret Keeper. This happened because CANONICALLY, Remus had distanced himself from the group, and CANONICALLY, it was Sirius who suggested Peter because he didn’t trust Remus—thinking he might have joined the dark side. This wasn’t something that came from Lily or James; it came from Sirius. Sirius was the one who considered that Remus might have betrayed them. Is that really what a true friend would think? How can people even consider there’s chemistry or a sexual subtext between them when canonically, Sirius repeatedly demonstrates that he doesn’t care about Remus at all? He only starts paying attention to him years later, after escaping Azkaban and realizing his best friend is dead, and his personal cheerleader turned out to be a traitor who ruined his life. Then, when only the two of them are left standing, Sirius starts giving him attention—but only because he’s the last one left. That’s it. Even Rowling herself described Remus ages ago as “the third wheel in a two-person relationship,” referring to Sirius and James. Seriously.

And let’s not forget that Remus never doubted that Sirius could be a traitor either—he always believed him guilty. It’s funny when they’re portrayed as missing each other, but missing each other from what? Remus thought Sirius was scum the whole time! And how could he not? He’d seen Sirius be cruel, even sadistic, and show zero remorse. It’s no wonder it fit for him to think Sirius had lost his mind.

As for how Remus handled all this, it’s no mystery: Remus is very similar to Severus in terms of his position. He was a vulnerable kid clinging to any lifeline to keep a low profile and feel safe. Sirius and James provided that safety—they made him feel protected and accepted. He never raised his voice or questioned their decisions because the mere thought of being rejected terrified him. Even as an adult, he keeps justifying their crap because he’s clearly incapable of going against those who gave him a place when he needed it. Remus is also a terribly cowardly man—he doesn’t have the guts to confront things. He has a super avoidant personality, which is crystal clear when he leaves a 13-years-younger pregnant woman because he can’t handle the pressure. A 17-year-old kid has to make him come back—is there anything more pathetic than that? At 38? Sirius clearly hurt him, but Remus knew that confronting Sirius meant confronting James, and if James had to choose between the two, he would always choose Sirius. So it wasn’t in Remus’ interest to speak up or express how he really felt because the idea of losing the protection that came with being their friend was far worse than feeling like crap over what Sirius did. That’s it, plain and simple.

Honestly, it’s such a shame and a total waste that everything gets reduced to couples and absurd adolescent dramas when the dynamics among those four “friends” are fascinating because they’re built on pure power relations and are deeply dysfunctional. But instead of exploring that, which I find genuinely interesting, it all gets thrown away, their personalities are rewritten, and it’s all turned into cheap teen soap operas. But whatever.