#i could make many more points but the conclusion is simple

[aloneonceagainaspredicted]

We can't forget the fact that humanity does suck repeatedly, in all timelines but also very openly in the First Class one.

Erik's mother was killed by a nazi when he was a boy, and by that time he had no idea of Shaw's mutant status, but we can't minimize the scars left by the holocaust; Erik also becomes a nazi hunter, so he's constantly entrenched amongst the worst pieces of shit all around the world.

Cuba's also a catastrophe because those missiles 100% were going to kill the mutants that fought for humanity which was exactly what Erik thought was going to happen (as he discussed it with Charles the night before in their chess-fucking routine) and fast-forwarding to DOFP, we get the knowledge that anti-mutant sentiment has become an active Thing™, that Trask has built insanely enormous robots to EXTERMINATE MUTANTS? And that most of Erik's Brotherhood has been experimented on or killed off.

It might look contradictory for Erik to hate humans so much, but the fact is that even when Erik does find selected humans that he connects with and eventually lets his guard down, being a mutant never stops making him Dangerous. Humanity has seen what he's capable of, and his record will forever follow him. Which fucks up a person and their willingness to conform.

And honestly, isn't it the whole point of Erik and Charles that they're soooooo messed up? Like, Charles's insistence on the pacifist route is at the bare minimum negligent and Erik's way is Karma's A Bitch (And That Bitch Is Me) and that's why these idiots keep clashing, it's fun! :D

i know Erik is always on his usual anti-human bullshit as usual, but has anyone ever sat him down and been like "a mutant killed your powerless human mother. Maybe you're fighting the wrong side, dear"

Like, in first class his whole beef is with Shaw, the mutant. And yet he's arguing every minute with Charles about humans being awful.

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[foldingfittedsheets]

At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.

My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.

On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.

As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.

The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.

Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.

The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.

Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.

The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.

This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.

That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.

Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.

It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.

Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.

My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.

Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.

Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.

They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.

“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.

Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted.

They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.

We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.

He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.

We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.

The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.

When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”

“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”

We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.

[bookwormangie]

Harry and Snape’s Clashing Communication Styles

It's interesting to think that Harry and Snape don’t have longer conversations in the series, but when they do, their communication styles are so different that they often clash.

Harry’s way of communicating is practical and straightforward. He tends to break down complex ideas into simpler terms that he can easily understand. This makes sense, given his upbringing in a non-magical world and his tendency to rely more on gut instinct than deep theoretical knowledge. For Harry, things are usually black and white, and his directness shows his desire to cut through the confusion and get straight to the point.

Snape, on the other hand, has a more complex and layered way of speaking. His language is precise and often sarcastic, which reflects not just his intelligence but also his disdain for what he sees as Harry’s lack of subtlety. Snape’s use of imagery and metaphor, especially when he describes consepts, gives his speech a poetic, almost philosophical quality. He takes pleasure in showing off his superior knowledge and uses this as a way to belittle Harry.

We see this clash clearly in OOTP during Harry’s first Occlumency lesson:

Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, “Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency —” “What’s that? Sir?” “It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person’s mind —” “He can read minds?” said Harry quickly, his worst fears confirmed. “You have no subtlety, Potter,” said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. “You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.” Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savor the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing, “Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are. . . .” He smirked. Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind reading to Harry and he did not like the sound of it at all.

For Harry, when Snape mentions Legilimency, it immediately sounds like “mind reading,” which is a reasonable but overly simple way to understand such a complex concept. His quick jump to this conclusion shows his need to make sense of something that feels threatening, but it also reveals his limited grasp of the deeper nuances.

Snape, however, can’t resist mocking Harry’s lack of subtlety. His response is laced with condescension as he insists on the complexity of the mind and dismisses the idea of “mind reading” as something only muggles would think of. Snape’s explanation is detailed and philosophical, contrasting sharply with Harry’s desire for a straightforward answer.

Another great example of their different communication styles comes in HBP when Snape puts Harry on the spot, asking him to explain the difference between an inferius and a ghost:

“Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost.” The whole class looked around at Harry, who hastily tried to recall what Dumbledore had told him the night that they had gone to visit Slughorn. “Er — well — ghosts are transparent —” he said. “Oh, very good,” interrupted Snape, his lip curling. “Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. ‘Ghosts are transparent.’ ” Harry took a deep breath and continued calmly, though his insides were boiling, “Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren’t they? So they’d be solid —” “A five-year-old could have told us as much,” sneered Snape. “The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard’s spells. It is not alive, it is merely used like a puppet to do the wizard’s bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth . . . and of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent.” “Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we’re trying to tell them apart!” said Ron. “When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we’re going to be having a shufti to see if it’s solid, aren’t we, we’re not going to be asking, ‘Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?’

Once again, Harry demonstrates his practical and straightforward approach. He gives a simple, clear distinction based on what would be most useful in a real-life situation—whether the entity is solid or transparent. This shows how Harry tends to focus on what’s immediately relevant and actionable, and Ron’s defense of Harry’s answer highlights this practicality. Ron even points out that in a real-world scenario, Harry’s answer is actually the most helpful, contrasting it with Snape’s more academic approach.

Snape, though, dismisses Harry’s answer as too simplistic and mocks him for stating what he sees as the obvious. Snape’s communication is more about the theoretical and precise understanding of magical concepts. He emphasizes the deeper, more complex nature of an Inferius, which, while academically accurate, is less practical in the context that Harry is thinking of. Snape’s disdain shows that he values this deeper, nuanced understanding more than the direct, practical knowledge that Harry offers.

These moments really bring out the deeper divide between Harry and Snape. Harry approaches things with instinct and a straightforward mindset, while Snape is all about nuance, precision, and seeing the layers in everything. Because they see the world so differently, they struggle to communicate, which only adds to the distrust and misunderstanding between them—a tension that echoes throughout the entire series.

[damiansgoodgirll]

Hey 💜💜 wondering if you could write something where Damian and reader have been trying to have a baby for so long, and they've done all the treatments, but nothing ever worked, so they’ve stopped "trying". And then she ends up pregnant randomly, and her gift to him on Christmas is a positive test or a cute onesie or whatever, and it takes him a minute to actually believe her 💜💜

i love this request so much! working on it!

damian priest x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️mention of infertility, pregnancy, pregnancy sickness, a little angst, mention of smut, fluff and comfort‼️

early christmas present

one year and a half.

one year and a half of you and damian trying to have a family together. one year and a half of you going from doctor to doctor, clinic to clinic and changing different treatments and yet nothing ever happened.

maybe it wasn’t meant to be. maybe you and damian weren’t fit to be parents and this was the sign. maybe it wasn’t meant for you to be a mother in this lifetime, no matter how much you wanted to be.

and you spent a year and a half blaming yourself. you reached to a point where you tried to break up with damian, saying how he deserved someone who could give him a family.

he thought you were crazy when you said that. he loved you so much and the idea of losing you was killing him, so, after a lot of therapy sessions, sleepless nights crying in each other’s arms, you came to the conclusion that it wasn’t really meant to be and that there was nothing you could do about it.

the idea of being infertile never crossed your mind so it was a big shock to you but as time passed by, you learned how to live with that and instead of focusing on the bad things, you took your life back.

a few people in the company knew or more - heard - about you and damian not being able to have kids and tried to suggest you many different options, from adoption to surrogacy but even if they seemed having good intentions, it pain you to know that your own problems became public domain.

you and damian lived your life. he promised to stay by your side and he did. he knew how much you wanted this and he was hurting at the idea of you feeling like it was your fault.

you found strength to take your mind off of that and focusing on different things. helping damian training, having dates like it was your first time together, spending much needed time in each other’s company. all the little things you loved that felt lost a year ago.

passionate nights with damian, him reminding you how much he loved you and appreciated you. you felt like yourself again and you got used of being just you and him, even if it meant for the rest of your life.

about a week ago you got sick. thinking it was just a normal cold, you let it go. but it got worse when the delicious smell of fresh bread and coffee became unbearable for you and got you nauseous every single morning.

“stomach issues again?” damian softly asked when he saw the disgust painted on your face.

“i think so…it smells so bad damian” you tried to joke when damian backed off so he could drink his coffee without making you feel worse.

“do you want me to make you something else? eggs? bacon? pancakes? anything you like?” he was so caring with you but the idea of eating made you even sicker.

“i feel like i could throw up the whole menu” you said making him laugh “i booked an appointment for today, i’m having a check up, maybe i got some virus or something…nothing too serious” you tried to remain calm but the idea of being sick for so long made you worry.

“i wish i could come with you but i promised rhea i would help her train…let me call her so i can come with you” he was about to pick up the phone but you stopped him.

“it’s not necessary damian, i promise” you smiled “she needs you, i’ll see you later on tonight” he knew that you wouldn’t have let him ditch rhea for a simple check up and he knew that no matter what he said, you wouldn’t let him come.

he nodded, moving the coffee away so he could properly kiss you before you left the house.

a couple of hours later and you were sitting in your car, watching the people passing by as you were trying to elaborate what the doctor just told you.

you weren’t sick - you were pregnant.

you were pretty sure it was impossible for you but all the tests the doctor ran turned positive.

how?

when?

your mind was racing and you couldn’t stop the million thoughts that were going through it.

sure, you and damian stopped having sex with condoms when you were trying to have a baby and when you learned that you couldn’t have kids you never really cared about safe sex anyway.

but how did it happen if you were infertile?

the doctor didn’t have a proper answer and he already scheduled some appointments to keep you checked, saying that it was almost a miracle.

right now, you were thinking about damian.

how were you going to tell him?

many ideas crossed your mind. from a mug with “best dad”, to a small t-shirt or maybe even a teddy bear.

you wanted to make this special for him too so when you crossed a shoe store on your drive back home, you decided to stop and get some inspiration. immediately your eyes fell upon a baby version of the black nike sneakers he had and you thought it was going to be an awesome gift.

your baby wasn’t even born and yet you were buying matching shoes for them and damian. while wrapping the box, the sale assistant smiled at you, unconsciously knowing that you had in mind.

you couldn’t contain your excitement and enthusiasm so you tried to speed back home.

too much surprise damian was already back and he was watching something show when you entered the front door.

his eyes immediately fell upon you, remembering you had the visit that morning.

“hey mi amor” he smiled “how are you? feeling better? what did the doctor say?” thousands of questions immediately echoed in the room, making you chuckle.

“one question at a time damian” you smiled sitting next to him on the couch “i’m feeling better, thanks, and the doctor gave me an explanation on why i keep getting sick, especially in the morning” you tried not to be so excited but it was hard.

“so?” damian was worried. he couldn’t understand why you were so happy and smiley.

instead of giving him an answer, you took the box right out of your bag and gave it to him “let say this is an early christmas present…and also the reason on why i’m always so sick” you watched him look between you and the box “come on, open it” you smiled.

damian carefully opened the small box and for a moment his heart stopped.

mini shoes? he wasn’t understanding.

and then it clicked.

“what? how? is this real?” his eyes moved between your now teary eyes and the little shoes he was holding in his hands “is it real?”

you nodded, not being able to find enough words.

“we’re gonna be parents?” he asked, now fully already knowing the answer.

“yes…” your voice broke a little but the joy filling the room was worth all of the tears you were shedding.

“this is the best gift i could ever ask for” he wrapped you in his arms and held you as you both cried of joy.

“i already booked the next appointments. the doctor wants to run some more tests and try to understand how i actually got pregnant…and we have an ultrasound appointment in a week too…we’re gonna see the baby soon” you cried onto damian’s shoulder.

“fuck, i love you so much mi amor” he quickly wiped off his tears before softly kiss your lips “and i can’t believe you got us matching shoes” he bursted out laughing.

“i can’t wait to get you matching clothes, matching pjs, matching socks, everything gonna be matching” you joked, making him even happier.

damian’s hand went over your belly “i can’t wait to meet you baby…” he softly spoke making your heart warm “you are already so loved…we love you so much, mama and papa…i can’t believe i’m saying this” he was still high on emotions and you couldn’t blame him.

maybe it really was a christmas miracle.

[illiterateaffairs]

a simple favor | stiles x reader

masterlist

pairing: stiles stilinski x f!reader (enemy/witch)

word count: 7,120

warnings: language, banter, minor blood, allusions to sex *gasp* but no smut (sorry!)

summary: despite being self-proclaimed "enemies", you manage to drag stiles to your house for help with a spell...and maybe more.

author's note: hi friends! hope everyone is doing as well as they can be, and hope i can offer up a small distraction. i'm back with another witch!reader x stiles fic but this exists in a universe in which you are a "bad guy" and stiles can't stand you...for now ;) more deets at the end! also please just roll with me on any witch stuff idk if anything is accurate to witch lore, i feel as if with magic the rules are made up anyway so i'm doing what i want :)

“Hi!”

“AH- Jesus, what the hell are you doing here?” Stiles jumps before his face contorted in annoyance. 

He was on his way to pick up Scott. For some god forsaken reason his best friend wanted to get a tattoo before they started junior year and Stiles was meant to “supervise”. However, just as Stiles hops into the driver’s seat of his jeep, he’s greeted in the passenger seat by you. 

And you may or may not be Stiles’s least favorite person in the world. 

“I was waiting for you,” you state, point blankly like it was normal for you to have broken into his car. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, “God, do I want to know why?”

“Doubtful,” you sigh, turning in the seat to start putting on the seatbelt, “You should probably start driving.”

Stiles slowly narrows his eyes, “Why?”

“I need your help with a spell.”

“My help? What makes you think I’m going to help you?”

“Because you know I could kill you with the snap of my fingers.” you roll your head in his direction with a pointed look, “Besides, you owe me.”

Oh yeah. Because you saved his life this past spring when Gerard Argent kidnapped him after his lacrosse game. 

Stiles inwardly groans. You had a point. He had a feeling though no matter how many favors he paid you, you’d never let that go. 

You may have saved his life, but the thing was, to him and his friends you were still the “bad guy”. You were still the same witch that pretended to befriend him and Scott when Scott first became a werewolf, just for them to find out you were playing them to help Peter, who had enlisted your help to regain his strength and heal from the Hale fire. Stiles had barely tolerated you since the day you met, but after that, any ounce of trust and respect he had for you vanished. 

From that point on, Stiles decided he hated you. And despite defeating Peter, your presence loomed. For some reason, Derek leaned on you when he was building his pack of betas, giving Stiles more reason to despise you. But shortly after that, out of nowhere, Scott sought your help to try to stop Jackson as the Kanima and figure out who was controlling him. There was a brief moment where Stiles thought you could become an ally but admittedly he fucked that up when Peter came back from the dead and he jumped to the conclusion that you, once again, aided and abetted him. Turns out, in fact, he was wrong, and it was actually Lydia - his hopeless crush for nearly a decade - and he had accused and berated you for nothing. So any shot at you guys finding common ground was dead in the water. And you had decided to be petty and align yourself with the Argents just to piss him off. 

He hadn’t seen you since that night. He’d heard off hand from Isaac who’d heard from Derek you were spending the summer on the East Coast, doing some witch training or coven bonding shit with your family. 

That was until right now, in the front seat of his jeep.

“Scott is waiting for me.” Stiles finally responds; a half-hearted attempt to get you to go away.

You make a face, “Scott can go one night without being codependent.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he finds himself starting the engine. “Where are we going?”

“My house.” 

“You’re taking me to your lair?”

“Ha ha.”

“I don’t even know where you live.” 

“I’ll give you directions as we go. It's just right on the outskirts of the preserve.” 

“You live in the woods?”

“Just drive.”

Stiles should question how quickly he concedes but there is in fact the possibility of you hexing him or something. Which you’ve yet to do in any serious or fatal way. But another part of him is admittedly curious; to know what exactly you want, to see how you actually live. 

From the little information he’s learned about you the past year, he knows you live with your aunt and were home schooled up until recently when you enrolled in Beacon Hills High during the winter semester. But other than that, you were just the mysterious witch he hardly knew anything about. Aside from knowing you were a pain in his ass and someone he’s hesitant to trust. 

But he thinks he can survive one evening with you. 

The drive is quiet with just you providing simple directions. At one point he tries to make a feeble attempt at small talk, but you instantly lunge forward to turn on the radio. 

You turn to look at him in disbelief when the channel that’s on is the police scanner he rigged up. He shrugs sheepishly before you shake your head and turn the dial to some indie station. 

Stiles puckers his lips and nods as soft music fills the car. “Arctic Monkeys, nice-”

“Turn left at the stop sign.”

“Right.”

You turn to him with an amused look. “You don’t know how to act when we’re not at each other’s throats.”

Stiles scoffs, “Can you blame me? I barely think of you as a real person half the time, I don’t know what to say to you.”

You chuckle as you stare out the window, “Well we’re almost there.”

“What kind of spell do you need my help with anyway? And why me?”

“Because you’re a human.”

“Okay…?”

“And I need your blood.”

“Oh great.”

“It’s a spell to make a protection amulet. So I can wear it and not be found by other witches.” 

“And why do you need that?”

“Now that is none of your business.” You sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt, “And we’re here.”

Stiles observes the road they’re coming to the end of. Your house is indeed at the edge of the woods: a modest victorian-gothic style home hidden by trees. 

“I didn’t even know there were houses out here.”

“Not many,” you reply as the two of you hop out of the jeep. 

Stiles glances between you and his phone as you lead him to the front door, also texting Scott that he’ll need a raincheck on the tattoo adventure and he’ll explain later. 

“Is your aunt home?”

“Nope, she’ll be gone until late.” You answer, unlocking the door for you both to enter. 

Stiles takes in what he can from the foyer. He can’t get a full view of the space but he can definitely tell witches live here. The living room is lined with wooden bookshelves and candles and trinkets. He doesn’t have much time to observe when he watches you head for the staircase. 

“Um, where are we going exactly?”

“My room,” You call without turning around.

“Woah,” Stiles huffs nervously, “We’re doing this in your bedroom?”

“Don’t get too excited Stilinski, you’re here for business not pleasure.”

Stiles is grateful you still haven’t bothered turning around to look at him, because he feels his face heat up as he finally follows you up the stairs.

No surprise, your room also fits right in with the aesthetic of the house. Moody colors, wooden bed posts, and candles on every surface. He watches you flick your wrist and every candle lights up, casting a warm glow around the room. It's the first time he’s thought your powers were cool, but he’d never admit that out loud.

“Is this the lair you were expecting?” you ask, turning around to face him while standing in front of your desk, which is littered with books, potion bottles, and a large pot. 

Stiles shrugs, “It’s a little underwhelming.”

“Were you expecting me to live in an underground dungeon?”

“Something like that.”

You hum and turn back to face your desk, taking stock of the potion ingredients on hand.

Stiles wanders over to stand beside you, his hands in his pockets. “So explain to me what you mean by needing my blood.”

You pick up a necklace from your desk: a silver chain with an empty vial hanging on it. “I’m essentially making a potion to put in here. And if I wear it, it will make it harder for witches searching for me to track me or my magic. And human blood is on the recipe.”

“But why me?”

“I told you, because you’re human. Not a werewolf or a witch; a human. And humans have the purest form of blood. It's basically the secret ingredient.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at your nonchalance. “Okay I get that I guess, but why me? Couldn’t you have found some other schmuck to help you? Or have you scared off every other person in Beacon Hills with your shining personality.”

You turn to Stiles with a tight smirk, “As you may know, not many people are even aware that the supernatural is real. I know you do, and unfortunately you’re my best option. Allison is still in France from what I’ve gathered, Lydia is something but I haven’t quite figured that out yet, and using my aunt would require me having to explain what I’m doing and why. So you’re it buddy.”

“Oh so I’m literally your last choice. Boy am I honored.”

“You should be.”

“Wait, do you mean your aunt isn’t a witch like you?”

“Nope,” you shake your head, focusing back on the bottles on your desk, starting to add ingredients to the pot. “She’s not even technically my aunt. She was a family friend that took me in when I was young.”

“Why? What happened to your parents?”

You swallow, “You’re nosy.”

“Fine don’t tell me, but I think it's fair I get a little information since I’m the one helping you.”

“You’re the one who owes me, remember?”

“Yeah but it sounds like you can’t complete this spell without me and it seems pretty important so…thinking that gives me some leverage.”

You glance over at him with a glare and Stiles shoots you an innocent smile that makes you want to wipe it off his face. 

You let out a deep breath, “My parents fled to god knows where when I was five. Apparently, my family has a centuries long feud with another coven and they’d evaded them for years until then. They decided leaving me with Jules was better for my safety. So I’ve been in Beacon Hills ever since. I actually didn’t know most of that until this summer. I sort of…had a run in with a member of that coven without realizing and now I’m afraid they’re going to find me here. Hence the protection amulet we’re making. Is that enough background information for you?”

Stiles raises his eyebrows as he absorbs everything. “Wow that’s…heavy. There’s some witch coven out there that's been trying to kill your family for centuries. No wonder you’re the way that you are.”

I let out an unamused huff as I add the last of the pre-prepared ingredients. 

“Wait, is that unicorn dust- are unicorns real?”

I smirk as I pour it in, “Like I’d give away that information to you for free.”

I bite back a laugh as Stiles mutters dammit. 

Turning back to him, I hold up a tiny needle. “Your turn.”

Stiles’ eyes widen briefly, holding up his hands as he steps back from you, “Woah, woah, be careful with that thing.”

You scoff, “Stiles, it's a sewing needle.”

“Well, I still haven’t completely agreed to this. How do I know you’re not tricking me into draining all of my blood?”

You roll your eyes, “Stiles I just need one drop. And then you’re free to go off on your date with Scott.”

Stiles rolls his eyes this time.

I try to fix him with a genuine look for the first time in the months we’ve known each other. “Come on. Haven’t I made it clear enough that this is important to me? I seriously would not have brought you here if it wasn’t. Don’t make me beg.”

“I’d kind of like to see-”

“Reminder, I can kill you.”

“Alright,” he groans, “Let’s just get this over with. Did I mention I hate needles?”

“Aw poor baby’s scared of a tiny needle,” you fake pout.

“Oh my god shut up, like you’re not afraid of anything.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid of admitting something embarrassing like that.”

“Okay, just stab me already.”

You chuckle and take another step closer to him, holding out your left hand. Stiles takes a deep breath and apprehensively places his hand upwards into yours, and you gently hold the tip of his pointer finger. Stiles glances around the room, wanting to look anywhere but you pricking him with the needle, as minor as it is. 

“Jesus, I can feel your pulse, you need to calm down.” you comment. 

“Sorry that I’m a generally anxious person.”

“Yeah I gathered that over the last year from the fact that you literally never stop talking,” you snicker, “Have you always been like this?”

“As long as I can remember.”

“And it doesn’t drive Scott crazy?”

“Well, I think Scott, like most sane people, finds it endearing.” 

“Oh. Does Lydia find your constant yammering endearing?” 

“Woah, okay, there’s no need to bring her into this,” Stiles sighs rubbing his head, “Can you just prick me?”

“I already did,” I reply, making Stiles whip his head back, staring at his finger between yours, and sure enough, a red drop of blood was already forming. 

“When did you…” Stiles whispers.

I shrug, dropping the needle into a bin beside my desk. “I kept you distracted.”

Stiles watches you quietly, his lips slightly parted in disbelief, while you guide his hand over the pot and gently squeeze his finger so three drops of his blood fall into the potion with a hiss. Stiles grimaces at the pressure but it's not as bad as he thought. He’s trying to get over the fact that you tried to make this a little less painful for him by pricking him with the needle while he wasn’t thinking about it. It was surprisingly…thoughtful?

“There, the final touch,” you murmur. You turn back to face him, his hand still in yours.

“Great. Do you happen to have a bandaid for the patient?” He asks. 

“No need,” I reply, grabbing a small piece of gauze from the table and placing it over his finger to stop the blood. 

Stiles once again watches you carefully. As you apply the pressure to his finger, he takes note of the way you bite your lip while you concentrate. After a few more quiet moments, you toss the piece of gauze away and gently press your thumb into his pointer finger and close your eyes, murmuring something under your breath. Once you open your eyes, you look back down at his finger and suddenly there is no puncture wound. 

“There, good as new.” 

You finally look back up at him - his face closer to yours than you remember - and he’s still staring at you silently. 

“What? Were you expecting me to kiss it better?”

Stiles shakes his head, snapping out of his stupor. “Wha- no! No. Just…not used to you using your powers for good.”

I shake my head and finally release his hand, turning back to the pot and start mixing it all together. 

Stiles clears his throat and glances over your shoulder. “So what now? You mix everything together in the pot and boom, you’re good to go?”

“Cauldron,” you correct, “And I also have to pour it into the vial and cast an incantation to activate it.”

Stiles nods, genuinely intrigued by the process. He watches you quietly mix everything for another minute or so, before you reach for the tiny vial, and then you basically ladle an ounce of it into the small tube.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of potion you’re not using. Do witches care about waste?”

I fix Stiles with a hard look and he holds up his hands in surrender. He continues watching you close your hand around the vial tightly and hold it to your chest, once again quietly reciting an incantation. Stiles is almost certain the words you are saying are in Latin, and again, he’d never admit it to anyone, but he was kind of impressed. 

When you are finished, you open your hand and look down to study the vial. From over your shoulder, Stiles sees the vial now has a slight green glow to it. 

“Assuming it worked?” Stiles comments.

You shrug, “I guess the only way to truly find out if it didn’t is if one of those witches show up here.”

Stiles nods and then proceeds to stand there and watch you struggle to get the chain clasped around your neck. 

He snorts, “What, is there no spell to put on a necklace?”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he stands up straighter. “Look, do you- I mean, would you want…I could..”

You groan, tired of listening to him ramble, “What?”

“I could help you, you know!” Stiles exclaims in annoyance. “God I don’t even know why I offer.”

You frown, too stubborn to stop trying but also too frustrated to keep going. Sighing, you remove your hands from around your neck and forcefully place it in his hands, “It's one of those stupid, teeny tiny clasps that aren’t meant for human sized fingers.”

Stiles chuckles as he takes each end of the necklace into his hands, while you turn around and move your hair out of the way. “Are you saying you know of non-human fingers that handle necklaces because if so I’m crossing my fingers for a tiny mouse because that would be adorable.”

You bite back a smile, thankful you’re not facing him, “Shut up.”

Stiles keeps chuckling to himself as he brings the necklace around your neck, and carefully works to clasp it. He definitely also doesn’t use the time to inhale your scent and start to wonder if you use some kind of fragrance or if witches have a naturally alluring smell. 

As you impatiently hold your hair and try not to think about the cramp forming in your arm, you also definitely aren’t thinking about the feeling of his warm breath on the back of your neck and praying he doesn’t see any goosebumps form on your skin. 

“There,” Stiles whispers unintentionally soft, making him clear his throat in surprise, taking a steep step back, “All done.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, dropping your hair and turning around. “Thanks. For the assist and the blood donation.”

Stiles snorts with a nod, “Yeah.”

I look down at the amulet I created and gently hold it in my hands, “Seriously though. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. So…thank you.”

Stiles swallows and nods firmly, a little unsettled by the sincerity of the last few minutes, “...You’re welcome.”

You nod as well, unsure of where to go from here. “Well, I guess now your services are no longer needed and you are free to go, and we are free to proceed with business as usual; only speaking when we see each other against our will.”

Stiles huffs, crossing his arms, “What if I want to stay a little longer?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Why?”

“I have a few more questions.”

“Haven’t I told you enough?”

“I think I’m entitled to some more information,” Before you retort, he barrels on, “Look if some evil coven could potentially be invading Beacon Hills - ideally not since that spell should prevent that from happening, so you say - I think I have the right to know more about what's going on so I can be prepared for it.”

“And how exactly will you, Stiles Stilinski, prepare for that?”

“By…telling Scott…”

You snort and nod. Well fair enough I guess. “What else do you want to know?”

“How dangerous are we talking? Like, how badly do these people want you dead?” 

You shrug, “I’ve only heard stories about how the feud originated. Supposedly, my family at some point in time, did something to steal powers from this other family.”

“Well it sounds like you guys are the bad guys in this scenario. Which tracks knowing you.”

“Well I’m pretty sure they did it in retaliation to them killing someone in my family in cold blood.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. So this thing goes back generations but I’m pretty sure something must have happened between my mom and this woman from that coven. I don’t know what, but she in particular has a vendetta against her and our family.”

“Is she the witch you had a run in with this summer?”

“No,” you frown looking down, “It was her son.” 

Stiles’s eyebrows raise, “Oh. And did he immediately try to kill you with some spell at first sight?”

I shake my head, “Nope. He just…pretended to be someone else to gain my trust and subsequently asked me out just for me to find out none of it was real and he was trying to get to my magic the whole time.”

Stiles widens his eyes with each new piece of information, his stomach dropping as he learns that this guy used and manipulated you. Yeah you definitely weren’t the bad guy in this scenario. 

“So, fun summer for me. How was yours?” You ask looking back up at him with a blank look on your face.

Stiles ignores your attempt to diffuse the conversation. “So you were seeing this guy all summer thinking he was some innocent…fling…and the whole time he was actually plotting to, what, kill you? Take your powers?”

“Something like that,” You shrug, “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out the end game with that one.”

“How did he even track you down in the first place if you’ve been hiding away here your whole life.”

“Apparently they’ve been biding time in Salem, hoping one day I’d find my way there to train with other witches. And I didn’t even know there were people to look out for until a few days ago, when I was talking to another witch I had met, who recognized his mom in a picture. I left on the spot and haven’t seen him since.”

“Did you tell him where you were from?”

“Nope, was trying to go for the whole, casual, mysterious summer fling thing.” you chuckle humorlessly. “That worked out so well for me.”

Stiles sighs, “So he has no idea where to look for you, and that amulet should keep him from getting any hints.”

“Yup.”

“And after all this…your parents are still out there hiding from them, too?” 

You nod, looking down again, “Yeah…sometimes I wonder if they’re even still alive.”

Stiles frowns, “Jesus…now I’m almost sorry for…”

“No, no,” You shake your head, your face twisting in discomfort. “Don’t do that. This isn't what we do. You don’t feel sorry for me. You despise me. And honestly I prefer that version of us, I can’t stand the thought of you sympathizing with me.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles holds his hands up, “I get it. You know maybe I’m not sorry, because a fucked up childhood doesn’t excuse the shit you did to us last year with Peter, and the generally annoying shit you’ve done since.”

You make a face but don’t argue with him.

Stiles continues staring you down, with an unfamiliar look on his face. “But…that shit that guy pulled on you this summer…even you don’t deserve to be taken advantage of like that.”

Your eyes slowly revert back to looking at his face, trying not to give away how vulnerable you felt sharing that information; not to mention how vulnerable you were this summer just to have that blow up in your face. You shift slightly, still uncomfortable with the atmosphere surrounding you two right now. You cross your arms tightly across your chest. 

“Thanks…”

The two of you let the moment hang in the air for another few seconds before you clear your throat, not being able to stand the sincerity any longer.

“Well I guess next time I try to have a casual fling, I shouldn’t do it with a stranger I knew for all of a day before going out with him.”

Stiles chuckles dryly, “Guess not. Maybe you’d be better off getting to know a guy for a while first. If you can keep one around long enough without driving them up the wall.”

“Ha ha. Because you’re the picture of a guy with a successful love life. Remind me of the last time Lydia gave you a second look?”

Stiles glares at you, as he starts to sputter, “She…was looking at me when I was playing in that lacrosse game.”

“Oh so over three months ago? Wow you’re making huge strides.”

“Look, I’m playing the long game alright?” 

I shake my head, “God, I don’t know why you even bother.”

Stiles' jaw teeters open and closed, “What? Is it that out of the realm of possibility that she could ever like me?”

“No, I just meant you could do better.”

Stiles stutters but no words immediately form in response to that. He stares at you blankly for a few beats. “I can do better? Me? Can do better than Lydia Martin?”

You roll your eyes, “You say that like she’s God's gift to this Earth.”

“Yeah, well…she’s still nice - sometimes - and highly intelligent, not to mention gorgeous.”

“Stiles, I’m not trying to disparage your precious Lydia, I just think you could do better than someone who doesn’t give you the time of day.”

“What…What do you mean?”

“Well for one it's kind of pathetic you’ve been hung up on her for so long with no reciprocation whatsoever.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t say-”

“And second, I don’t understand why a guy like you can’t find a girl who actually likes him back.”

“Well you say that like I’ve got a parade of girls waiting in line to date me.”

You shrug, “Trust me, there are some.”

Stiles scoffs, “Yeah right.”

“I think you're underestimating how many girls just want a sweet guy who will treat them well with a moderately nice face.” 

Stiles shifts awkwardly, “Is that your type?”

“My tastes are a little more refined than that.”

“Well how do you know most girls see me that way?”

“Because objectively speaking, you do have a moderately nice face. Maybe even a step above that. And look at you, you grew your hair out this summer. Do that to impress Lydia?”

Stiles flushes, “Well not just…”

“Because I’m sure it will work on plenty of other girls when they see you at school next week.”

Stiles lets out a deep breath, looking at you curiously, “Why are you saying all this?”

You uncross your arms and sigh, taking a step towards him, “Look I’m just stating facts, and maybe I can spare you a compliment since you helped me out tonight. You deserve better than waiting for someone who may never come around. And maybe, who knows, I’m wrong and one day Lydia will come to her senses and see what's right there in front of her. But don’t waste all your time doing nothing. You could at least have fun in the meantime. And I’m sure there are plenty of girls who would jump at the chance.”

You give Stiles’ shoulder what should be a supportive squeeze, but because it's the two of you it feels wrong. You awkwardly lift your hand and pat him a couple times before retracting your arm all together.

Stiles stares at you, once again in awe, confused why you’re being so civil with him…let alone…kind? His eyes hone in on the way your nose scrunches up when you instantly regret touching his shoulder, and the way your lip curves up in amusement as you look back up at him. Your eyes have a warm glow amidst the candles lighting up your room. And he’s once again in close enough proximity to you to inhale your scent; a mix of vanilla, berries, and amber. 

Yeah it definitely must be a witch thing, because he somehow finds himself being drawn closer to you. And before he knows it, he’s leaning completely in and kissing you. 

It's a rare occurrence for you to be taken by surprise, but you do jump slightly when his lips touch yours. He did it so fast you didn’t even have a chance to process it, let alone prevent it from happening. You don’t immediately kiss back but you don’t immediately pull away either, chalking it up to the shock. 

Stiles very quickly realizes what he’s doing and the fact that you’re not reciprocating as he pulls away slightly to take in your full reaction.

You narrow your eyes at him slightly, “I didn’t mean me.” 

Stiles’ eyes widen and his lips part, once again struggling to form words as he starts to pull back.

For some reason you’ll probably never understand, you instinctively reach out to hold his arms to keep him in place. He looks at your hands and then back to your face curiously. 

You quietly breathe out, “I also didn’t say to stop.”

Stiles breath hitches, his lips curving up just slightly before he dives towards your lips again. 

This time you instantly kiss back, pulling him closer by cupping either side of his face, as his arms come to snake around your waist. 

As the kiss becomes more intense, Stiles reluctantly pulls away for oxygen. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs breathlessly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You started it,” you muse, chasing after his lips.

He laughs softly, letting you kiss him deeply another few minutes before he gently caresses your face, pulling away.

“And I don’t hate what we’re doing but it's also very out of character. For both of us.”

“To make out with a hot person?”

“No,” Stiles sighs, but can’t fight the blood rushing to his cheeks, “I mean making out with each other. Honestly, this whole night has been out of character. We normally can’t stomach being in each other’s vicinity for more than five minutes.”

“Well if you haven’t noticed, this activity doesn’t require a whole lot of talking so I’m finding it easier to tolerate you.” 

You watch Stiles roll his eyes, trying to rationalize what’s happening between you two. So you take a deep breath.

“Look, we’re not going to suddenly stop despising each other but there’s nothing wrong with two consenting people having a little fun. And you know…probably never speaking about it again.”

Stiles shifts the weight between his feet, becoming overwhelmed by the situation and the possibilities of where it could go; possibilities that both scare and excite him. And he can’t figure out what emotion is winning out. 

“This probably won’t come as a shock to you,” Stiles speaks up again quietly, not meeting your eyes, “But I’ve never really…been with a girl…like this.”

The corner of your lips curl up. It wasn’t new information, but there was something about seeing this boy who usually goes toe to toe in insults with you be so open and honest with you.

You place your hands over his where they still rest on either side of your face. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can go as far as you want. Or we can stop now and pretend like this never happened. You are more than welcome to go.”

“I don’t think I want to go,” Stiles whispers hoarsely.

“Then don’t go,” You whisper back, leaning closer again.

“You’d really want to do this too?”

“Yes-”

“Because I know why I want to but why do you want to? After the guy you were with this summer I would have thought you’d be more…selective.”

“Oh that's exactly what I’m doing.”

“And you want to be with me? Why?”

“Because unlike the last guy, I know what I’m getting with you Stiles,” You state simply, “You’re a good guy. This has no chance of going anywhere. Absolutely no feelings whatsoever to get in the way. It’s perfect.”

Stiles stares at you, taking in your expression for any sign of uneasiness or lies. But he can tell you’re dead serious. His skin starts to burn in anticipation. 

“So we’re doing this,” He says softly, somewhere between a question or a statement. 

“I’m in if you’re in.”

“We do this once and we never talk about it again.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And no one, and I mean no one finds out about this. I mean it, you can’t tell anyone.”

You scoff, “Trust me, I plan to take this to the grave. You should be more concerned with yourself. I can’t see you going five minutes without squealing to Scott that you’ve finally seen a girl naked.”

Stiles closes his eyes and groans, praying you can’t see him blush again. He also can’t even process the fact that he is indeed about to see a girl naked.

After a moment, Stiles finally says, “I don’t have to tell Scott everything.”

“Okay, if you really believe that.” He rolls his eyes, making you chuckle. “So are you game, Stilinski?”

Stiles’ eyes flit across your face, before settling back on your lips. “Fuck it.”

He kisses you deeply and the two of you tug at each other like your bodies are never close enough. Your hands wander over his body until they end up at the buttons of his flannel, and you haphazardly start to undo them before he pulls away briefly to help you get it off of him. He shivers as your cold fingertips trace the contours of his chest and stomach, but he doesn’t get a chance to linger on the feeling as you kiss him again. He takes his turn to pull off your jacket, before sliding his fingers under the hem of your shirt, which you help him maneuver over your head. You once again only let him have a few seconds to take in your exposed skin, only your bra separating you two from complete skin to skin contact, before you’re pulling him back to you again.

“Do you have…” you mutter against his skin as you start to kiss down his jaw and neck, “Protection?”

Stiles’ stomach twists with nerves and excitement as he nods. “Yeah, I have a condom in my wallet.”

You smile against his skin, trailing down to his collarbone, “Been hoping one day Lydia would want to jump your bones?”

Stiles groans, tangling his fingers into your hair, “God, shut up.”

You chuckle darkly before gently pushing against his chest so you can move onto your bed. 

Time passes in a hazy blur as you and Stiles finish undressing each other between sloppy and heated kisses. You try to go at a moderate pace with him, despite your own eagerness. To your pleasant surprise, Stiles is a quick learner as you talk him through how to touch you and make you feel good. And he makes you feel very good. And despite his own timidness and learning curve, he is very attentive to your needs as well as your comfort levels, constantly checking in and making sure you’re okay. 

You’re more than okay by the time you’re done, the two of you collapsing back onto the bed, sweaty and panting.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out staring at the ceiling. 

You smirk, pulling the sheet up to cover yourself, “Yup.”

You lay in silence for a few moments as you catch your breaths before Stiles speaks again.

“I hope tonight makes us even, because I think that counts as two additional favors,” He says teasingly, but when you don’t immediately respond, his head turns to you quickly, “You finished both times right?”

You chuckle softly and nod, turning your head towards him as well, “I did.”

“Good,” he sighs in relief, “I did, too.”

“I know you did.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but laughs softly, “Right.”

“And I’d say I was the one doing the favor,” You muse, “Now the next time you find a girl willing to sleep with you, you’ve got some tricks up your sleeve.”

He huffs with a nod, “I guess you’re right.” Another few moments of silence pass between you when Stiles looks at you again, and asks softly, “But seriously, it was good for you?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes.”

“Like, you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“When have I ever worried about preserving your feelings? Trust me, if it was bad or you were doing something wrong I would have told you.”

“Yeah I guess that’s true,” he sighs. Another beat. “But like on a scale of one to ten?”

“Stiles!”

“I know, I know.” he regresses. “Can I ask for real though - and full permission to punch me if this is insensitive - but compared to the last guy…was I better?”

He watches you stare at him blankly for a few seconds before he starts to back pedal. “Probably not right? He was probably way more experienced even if he..”

“This was better.” 

He turns to you again in surprise. 

“You were better.”

Stiles stutters, “R-really?”

You nod, “You’re not an asshole who only thinks about himself. Don’t ever lose that quality.”

Stiles smiles softly, his cheeks warming up again. 

“Seriously, it was good. Great even,” You continue, “If that’s what you’re like with me, I can’t imagine how good it would be with a girl you actually like.”

That last statement was like a bucket of cold water splashing over him. Right. You guys hated each other. And you were still the same girl who made his life inexplicably harder this year. But those things were easy to forget while he stared at you, your messy hair splayed across your pillow, your bare skin lit by the soft glow of the candles in your room, with a few noticeable marks across your collarbone that he was responsible for. 

But this would be the first and last time this ever happened. And he will probably have complicated feelings about it for the foreseeable future, knowing the memory of his first time will always connect him to you. But he surprisingly feels less guilty than he would have thought.

“I should probably go,” He whispers after another few seconds of taking her and the moment in. Part of him wishes he didn’t have to leave at all and continue living in this bubble of false reality and denial. But he thinks his brain takes over in an act of self preservation to get out of there before he gets in too deep. 

“Yeah, you probably should,” You whisper back, taking a deep breath. 

He watches you sit up, dragging the sheet covering you up with you. He sucks in a breath as you grab a dark purple robe off of your bedpost and slip it on, covering the rest of your body and taking the image away from him. With that, he also forces himself up, locating his boxers and jeans on the floor and pulling them on. 

You circle your bed as he starts to pull on his flannel again. He feels nervous under your gaze, and about how to act right now, making him fumble with the buttons. Without a word, you reach out and slowly and quietly help him finish buttoning it. He takes this one last opportunity to watch your face at this level of proximity, knowing he’ll probably never have the chance to do that again. 

As you finish the top button, you look up at his gaze still laser focused on you, and for some reason he doesn’t feel compelled to look away. 

“Thank you for tonight,” You say softly with a small smirk playing at your lips, “Thought I just needed a protection spell after the summer I had, but I guess I needed that as well.”

Stiles feels himself smirk too, “Happy to be of service to both.”

You slide your hands across his chest, smoothing out his shirt before taking a deep breath and step back. 

“So, business as usual? I’m sure we’ll run into each other again once Scott gets himself into some more supernatural shit, and we’ll be back at each other’s throats in no time.”

Stiles chuckles, “I look forward to it.”

You give him your version of a tiny genuine smile. “Do you need me to walk you out?”

He shakes his head, “I’m sure I can find my way.”

You nod, also taking in his appearance under the glow of the candles while you can. You decide to take the opportunity to close the distance between the two of you and kissing him chastely one last time. 

Stiles closes his eyes and reciprocates automatically, but the kiss is over before its even begun. He watches you pull away from him, unable to tear his eyes away from yours.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” you whisper before stepping away and walking around him towards your desk again to clean up.

With his back towards you now, he smiles to himself, huffing in disbelief at the night he’s had. 

“Goodnight,” He says back softly as he takes steps towards your door. He glances back at you one last time, before leaving and finding his way back downstairs and out your front door. 

Once he shut the door after sliding into the driver's seat, he lets out a long deep breath and rubs his face. Losing his virginity to his self-proclaimed mortal enemy was not on his bingo card for the night - or ever. But the more he sits with it, the more he’s weirdly pleased that it happened. Honestly, it was like best case scenario. Figuring out sex with someone he’s not trying to impress - well, to a certain degree - took some of the pressure off. And now he doesn't have to think about it anymore. Unfortunately, it was really good. Extremely good. Too good to just have been a one time thing, and part of him is disappointed there’s no chance of ever experiencing it again. 

It was for the best. The moment hell freezes over is when he’d have actual feelings past irritation and mild rage when it came to you. So he shakes his head, putting their night together behind him as he pulls out of your driveway.

Still in your bedroom, you lean against the wall watching him drive away from the window. You smile to yourself, having a sneaking feeling this wouldn’t be the last time the two of you do this. Stiles just didn’t know it yet.

author's note: dying to know what people think of this, not the type of stuff i usually write. firstly, sorry for the lack of steam, i've never written smut and not sure i ever will but hope it alluded to enough for yall. also again, took my witch idea and flipped it into an alternate universe where the reader is a lil evil. there are elements of the other pieces i'm writing that assumes similar lore/backstory for the witch, but in this version, you don't grow up as stiles & scott's bff, you're isolated leading to some villianous tendancies. i also know i hinted at a lot of back story with some pieces from seasons 1-2, with this ultimately taking place right before season 3. so i have some ideas of writing other parts that dive into some of those moments, plus more parts that come after this of course. so let me know what kind of stuff you're interested in seeing from evil!witch x stiles (evil being used pretty loosely) THANK YOU FOR READING!

[aya-luri]

Am I the only one who doesn't associate Zekrom with Ingo and Reshiram with Emmet but do it the other way around? Well, perhaps this will become an unpopular opinion, but, if you stop to think about it there are quite a few points that can support this theory. Let's check them out! To begin with, it's the legendary dragon Zekrom the one who appears on the cover of the White version of the game, while Reshiram does the same on the Black version, which would indicate that they actually represent their opposite color. Such small detail is already important in itself, not just the basic color of the dragons per se. Also we all know that Zekrom's associated element is the electric type, like Emmet's Eeleektros, while Reshiram's is the fire type, like Ingo's Chandelure, both being the most representative pokemons of the Subway Bosses.

Although the issue of ideologies of each dragon is used to link them with each brother among the fandom, "ideals" being the one typically attributed to Ingo for his passionate way of encouraging trainers, while for Emmet it is the "truth" for his direct way of communicating, this could work much better the other way around. If we have learned anything from Ingo on Pokemon Legends Arceus, it is that this man is full of existential doubts that lead him to want to get closer to the player in order to know more about himself. That's it, the truth about his origins. But he already had some tendency to this type of behavior long before, as it was evident in the first Black & White games.

"Where is my destination? I've kept thinking, and I've learned one thing. That is, you cannot know what happens after winning without winning." Through such questions, Ingo seeks to reach a real conclusion, his own truths. And perhaps in our idealized image of him we forget that he can also be frank and direct, without the need to embellish words with lies.

"However, it is difficult to win unless you and your partner are in total sync." On the other hand, and as we have said before, the frankness with which Emmet expresses his opinions makes him look like an open-minded character, sincere, making this seem (for many people) to be his only notable characteristic, despite the fact that it's kinda obvious the way in which he greatly idealizes Pokémon battles.

"This time, I am really serious. Really serious. Because if a battle is not serious, it is not fun." He firmly believes that there is a way to go about Pokémon battles, and that way is by giving it your all in them, and in an ideal world, everyone would have fun battling just as he does, but this is not always the case. Emmet clearly expresses how he believes things should be, and he's also aware that his own victory may not only be due to his skill but also to circumstantial elements or, put another way, luck. So he also idealizes the player's own defeat when it occurs, having enough consideration to make it seem like something unfourtunate. Further proof that the fandom has been associating the wrong dragon with the wrong twin can be found in the legend of the twin heroes, where it was the oldest who pursued the truth, while the youngest pursued the concept of ideals.

This birth order also corresponds to Ingo and Emmet, Ingo being the eldest of the both and Emmet the youngest.

That's why despite being white, I think Reshiram suits to Ingo much better and the same for Emmet regarding the black dragon Zekrom. All of these points put together carry much more sense than simply thinking that each dragon's ideologies relates to a brother just by the main color of his outfit. Although this, in the end, does not have much relevance either, since canonically there is no relationship between these legendary Pokémon and the Subway bosses, other than the simple fact of playing with mere chromatic issues. Still, it's always fun to speculate, right?

[n3ptoonz]

Ok ok ok we got the boys getting walked in on soooo what if Earthrealm boys walked in on US?

i knew somebody would have this idea 😈 REVERSE REVERSE 🔄

these are gonna be drabbles instead of bullet points

implied scent knk mention, sphinx can't stick to a theme to save her life

Scorpion

Kuai Liang was shocked at first, but quickly understood. He's gone a lot and knows that. He's not upset at all by this, what gets the job done in his absence is what he roots for, but he'd still rather be the one making you sound like that. Lowkey is impressed with how well you must've been going at it too. 'Have I ever made them sound like that...? Hold up-' he thinks. Once you see him and are like woahh when did you get here he's like "Curiosity got the best of me, I'd like to help if you'll have me." as if you weren't already jumping on him before he finished his sentence.

Sub-Zero

"You just couldn't wait, could you?" Bi-Han said, standing over you. You jumped at the sight of him looming over your almost fucked-out glow from your own hands and splayed out on the couch; just how the fuck was he so quiet?! As you nervously try to explain, thinking he's actually upset at you, he interrupted you again by grumbling and picking you up to properly escort you to your shared bedroom. He laid you down and got on top of you, pressing himself between your legs. "I'm not angry with you. I just wish you had waited." he said before letting himself hang free. "But I don't mind finishing the job."

Kenshi Takahashi

When Kenshi checked out where the noise was coming from, he caught you grinding against a lounge pillow with his shirt over your nose. Once your eyes opened and saw him standing in the doorway half shocked half into it, you kicked the pillow off the bed and sat up. "No, no, please, don't let me interrupt." he teased half jokingly. Honestly he could see himself encouraging the concept. He has many duties to attend to, so who would he be to tell you not to tend to yourself? He walked further into the room with a more serious look on his face, he really wanted to apologize he couldn't always be there, but since he was now there's nothing stopping him from helping his lover out.

Smoke

Tomas was beyond flustered. He planned to come over to your place and cook together to make up for lost time since he's often very busy. He had a key to your house so he naturally just walked in, set his stuff down, and went to go find you. "Hey, you ready to cook-" cue a Disney studio audience gasp. After like a full 60 seconds of him stuttering over his words he apologized many times before you stopped him. You offered for him to help you out, and now he was pushing down his own immediate boner, but a simple 'yes' sealed the deal for the both of you.

Johnny Cage

This sexy fucking prick. Unbeknownst to you Johnny just sat and watched from the door of your bedroom, truly fascinated by how needy you were for him. Before you could even reach a semblance of climax, here he waltzed in all smug, "11 times." he said. You gasped and threw the covers over yourself, asking what the hell he's on about now (you're used to him popping up unannounced). "You said my name 11 times, new record babe." He knew your next remark would either be witty or frustrated, so he spoke again. "Ah, ah, ah, let's make it 20."

Kung Lao

Kung Lao is also another sexy fucking prick, but a little worse. You have been walked in on before but not thwacking the noodle or flicking the bean, something less crazy like changing, and yet he still was a teaser. You recalled if he was coming over today and reached the conclusion that he would have no reason to, so you got to work. Silly silly you, Johnny and Lao are known for showing up out of nowhere, you knew that! So there you were doing your thing, and boom, Kung Lao pulled up and caught you by accident. He had no regrets though, all you saw looking at you was a smirk, clear idea on his face, and his signature dimples smiling back.

Raiden

Look guys idgaf what anybody feels or says, I can say he's baby while also knowing a lot, obviously. Raiden is a grown ass man with a dick and balls, but he's never walked in on someone before. Me personally I believe he'd be in shock, and he was. Why? Not only because he walked in on AND interrupted your own time, but you were whispering and moaning his name too. Like Smoke he'd be shifting where he stood trying to control his aching boner, but surely once you gave him the okay to enter your room, hell, even touch you? Game fucking on. He's still nervous but wouldn't let that stop him!

Liu Kang

Liu Kang may be a God, but obviously he cannot tell the future. He just created the world and tried to maintain peace as much as he could. He can predict things, and that included what you were doing while he wasn't there. He figured with how much he was gone it wouldn't be surprising if you took matters into your own hands, and he was right. He slowly rounded the corner to the sight of you using some kind of toy and muttering incoherent words that lead to his name somewhere in there, but it didn't bother him. In fact, when he made his presence known he offered to help including the toy if you wanted.

Geras

Lowkey I don't think Geras would know what to do. He doesn't interact with mortals much technically outside of Liu. So like, if you were waiting for him back at his chambers especially when he took so long to come back due to business, he'd be stuck in his tracks. He'd say there's no need to apologize but rather explain your desire to him so he could fulfill whatever void was left in his absence. I feel like he'd be reassuring too if you were embarrassed and happily make your wishes his command.

a/n: OKKAAAYYYYY i got this out FUCK writers block and periods and life IS A BITCH and ik i recycle the same stuff but like hey, it works🥱

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

It Was Only A Kiss

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: unprotected sex, hand job (kind of) cockwarming technically, creampie- this is relatively tame

Genre: smut, kinda fluff

Summary: Just another story of a very touch starved man

***

You take a deep breath and knock bravely on the door of your brooding neighbor's apartment. It takes a moment but eventually the door swings open and you're face to face, well more face to chest actually- he's much larger than you were prepared for- with your mysterious across the hall neighbor.

"Can I help you?" He asks flatly.

"Hi. You're Logan, right?" You ask and his eyes narrow at the question.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm y/n, I live- well above you actually." You point up towards your apartment.

"You live above me?" He quirks an eyebrow up.

"Correct." You nod.

"And how do you know my name?" He's still regarding you with a level of suspicion.

"We live in the same building I make a point to know as many of my neighbors as I can if there's an emergency and the cops show up asking me about the man that lives below me I wanna be able to at least say who the man that lives directly below me actually is."

"Cut the shit. I didn't tell you my name. So who did?" He asks. You glance down and watch his fist clench.

"Cool it hothead. I help out in the lobby sometimes, you learn a lot that way."

"So you're spying on me?" He glares.

"Are you always so paranoid?" You frown.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a simple question, I told you I help with stuff at the front sometimes you think I'm spying on you? That's a rather extreme assumption, can you reach those heights all on your own or do use a trampoline to help you jump to such wild conclusions?"

"You showed up at my door for reasons you still have not explained I have every right to be skeptical."

"A package of yours ended up at my door. I thought I'd bring it down for you but hey if you think I'm spying on you never mind I'll just keep it. Hope you got something fun in there!" You say, tapping the package tucked comfortably under your arm.

"Give me that!" Logan swipes at the box but you twist the box just out of reach.

"You have terrible manners, the least you could do is acknowledge you jumped the gun here."

"You know it's illegal to steal someone's mail." Logan crosses his arms.

"I'm not asking you to grovel just a simple 'my bad, thank you' would be sufficient. Plus I didn't steal this it was delievered to MY apartment."

"You're being pedantic." He rolls his eyes.

"And you're being difficult. You want your package? Try a little hospitality."

"You're a stranger unannounced at my door. I'm not hosting you."

"Now you're being pedantic. And a hypocrite." You shake your head. Logan tips his head back and sighs in exasperation. You have to restrain from smiling as you realize you've definitely wore him down.

"It is more than reasonable to be skeptical of a stranger knocking on your door with information you didn't tell them but your motives were altruistic, I misjudged. Thanks for bringing my package. Can I have it now?" Logan forces out. You flash him a smile and hand the package over.

"See how simple that was? Although I should come clean it wasn't purely altruistic. The package gave me the perfect excuse but I've been dying to meet the brooding mystery man in apartment 632. Thank you mistaken delivery driver."

"Yeah we're done here." Logan says closing the door.

"I'll see you around Logan!" You call just before it's shut.

"What an odd woman." You hear through the cheap wood and you giggle as you return to your apartment. He's rugged looking, imposing, no wonder he's such a mystery to your neighbors. You're sure he scares them shitless. He'd probably scare you too under different circumstances.

"You did what?!" Henry blinks at you as you recount your interaction with Logan.

"Why are you looking at me like that? I had to get the guy his package." You say.

"You're insane, you know that?"

"Why? He's just some guy. He's- very attractive but he's just some guy." You shrug.

"Quick question darling do you- understand the concept of fear? Do you have any sort of survival instincts that tell you not to poke sleeping bears?"

"Nobody died." You scoff.

"I cannot believe you forced this man to apologize to you for being rude when he opened the door to a stranger!" Henry shakes his head.

"Well somebody ought to teach him some manners. His mom would be very disappointed in his habits." You shake your head.

"What does he sound like?" He rests his head on his hand.

"Oh now it's fine that I 'poked the sleeping bear'? I thought I was insane."

"You are but since you did it already might as well learn something from it. Now answer me what's he sound like?" Henry gently shakes you with his free hand. It seems he hasn't noticed the subject of your conversation walking up to the front door.

"Let's see if you get to hear it yourself." You say with a smile.

"What?" Henry follows your line of sight just as Logan pulls open the door to the lobby.

"Hi Logan!" You call out. He looks at you and rolls his eyes. "Don't be rude or next time I get one of your packages by mistake I'm just going to keep it!" You warn.

"Is this going to become a regular thing?" He asks gruffly as he waits for the elevator.

"You lose absolutely nothing by being kind to your neighbors."

"I gain absolutely nothing as well."

"There's no need to be such a grump Logan." You shake your head.

"There's no need to be such a nuisance Y/n."

"You remember my name." You smile.

"Goodbye." Logan huffs out stepping into the now open elevator.

"Now you know what he sounds like." You tell Henry.

"You are unbelievable."

"Yeah sure we've covered that already, moving on now, how can you hear that voice and not do everything to keep him talking?" You sigh.

"He sounds like he'd eat you." Henry says.

"Oh I wouldn't protest that."

"Not in the fun way you psycho I mean like he'd murder you." He shakes his head.

"Well that I'd have to argue against."

"I sure fucking HOPE you would!"

"God that man is fine, the things I would do to him."

"I've lost you haven't I?" Henry's exasperation with you is obvious in his tone.

"No! Of course not! Okay maybe a little bit but in my defense you're the one that brought up him eating me." You toss your hands up.

"I meant he sounds dangerous, like he'd kill somebody you're just unwell!"

"Two things can be true! He can be hot and dangerous- shout out to Kesha- people watch all kinds of movies and shows about criminals and villains!"

"Look just don't push your luck too far okay? Some people shouldn't be messed with and I would guess he falls into that category."

"Oh please we get along great!"

"I don't even know what to do with you at this point." Henry says, concerned confusion colors his expression, making you laugh a bit. Honestly you think he's freaked out over nothing. Logan's no more dangerous than any other man you don't know that well living in this building. You're not going to put yourself in harm's way but he's fun to sort of wind up.

You sing along to your speaker as you drag your couch across your apartment, in all the commotion you barely hear the fevered knocking at your door and almost trip over your table trying to answer it once you realize someone's here.

"Logan? What're you doing here?" You blink at him in surprise when you find Logan in your hallway.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" He asks.

"Moving around some furniture. Why?" You frown.

"Well stop it. Or get people to help you carry things because the sound of you dragging shit around is unbearable." He grits out.

"Are you going to help?"

"Excuse you?"

"My apartment is a wreck right now and I can't exactly just stop and wait for someone to be able to help me finish this up so unless you plan on helping me you'll have to suck it up and wait for me to be done." You say. He stares at you for a moment, his jaw tightening a moment before he lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

"Fine. What needs moving?" He grits out.

"You'll help?" You blink at him, you didn't expect him to offer that. You expected him to stomp off back to his place to brood or whatever he spends his time doing down there.

"At the very least it'll be quicker if I help."

"Alright, well, I need the couch against that wall first." You say. Logan walks over to your couch and before you can help him, he lifts the couch and moves it to where you asked him to.

"What next?" He turns to you, barely acknowledging the baffled look on your face.

"Uh the coffee table, needs to be put in front of the couch." You point, watching in awe as again Logan lifts the table like it's a down pillow and lowers it where you directed.

"What else?"

"Can you move the bookcase? I need it next to the television. I can take everything out of it first so it's-" he doesn't give you a chance to finish the sentence, he moves the entirely full bookcase from one side of your living room to the other with ease. You spend a little while longer dictating for Logan what needs to be moved where and no matter how many times he does it you're astounded by his displays of strength. It's like every piece of furniture in here weighs less than the average toddler to him, he's barely breaking a sweat by the time you've run out of tasks to watch him do because he truly doesn't need your help with any of it.

"Everything's where you want it to be?" He asks.

"Yes."

"So I won't hear any more insufferable scraping of furniture against the floor then?"

"You won't. Thank you for helping. I'll make you lunch." You suggest.

"Don't bother." He rolls his eyes.

"No no no all that work you just did for me I have to at least feed you."

"You don't." He shakes his head.

"Logan you moved like 20 pieces of furniture by yourself, let me pay you back." You insist.

"You pay me back by not scraping things against your floor slash my ceiling."

"Sit. Eat. Then you can leave." You say, wrapping a hand around his wrist to drag him into your kitchen to sit on a barstool at the counter.

"This isn't necessary y/n, really."

"Yes yes you've made that clear. I'm doing it anyway, so stop protesting. Do you have any allergies?" You look at him over your shoulder as you pull things out of your fridge.

"No." He scoffs as if it's a crazy thing to even ask, you won't bother asking why. It's a good thing you have no sense of portion control and always end up making more than one portion of anything you cook anyway. Logan doesn't say anything while you fix lunch and you're not sure how to break the silence so you don't. You cook, and hum, and let Logan sit and watch or daydream or whatever brooders do when they're not interacting with the world. Lunch takes just over 20 minutes and soon enough you're placing a plate in front of Logan.

"What is it?" He asks.

"It's a bufflo chicken sandwhich wrap thing."

"Sandwhich wrap thing?" He quirks an eyebrow up at you.

"Oh just eat it." You roll your eyes taking a bite of yours. Logan looks as if he's going to retort but seems to decide against it as he picks up the wrap and takes a bite. You watch intently as he processes the food, his eyes widen at some point while he's chewing.

"Oh wow this is good." He says eventually.

"Thank you." You smile at him as you take a seat next to him at your island counter. You and Logan eat pretty much in silence and it isn't until you drop the plates in the sink that he speaks again.

"You're a very odd woman you know." Logan says.

"So I've heard. My downstairs neighbor is very vocal about how strange he thinks I am." You wink at him.

"He might be onto something."

"Maybe. But I must be doing something correct because he still talks to me." You lean against the counter beside him.

"How much of choice does he have in that really?" He scoffs.

"Well you came up to mine today so- you tell me." You say softly, moving closer to him.

"I came up here because you were being disruptive." Logan says lowly.

"So you said." You hum. You're not quite sure who closed the gap between you but the next thing you know, your lips are pressed against his and his hands are around your waist pulling you towards him. You hands settle on his shoulders as his kiss practically devours you. You hear the sound of metal against metal that you're fully prepared to ignore but it seems to snap Logan out of things as he practically leaps away from you.

"I- I have to go." Logan says abruptly. You notice him clenching and unclenching his fists as he looks at his hands.

"Hang on a second what- what just happened?"

"Doesn't matter it won't happen again." He says before leaving your apartment.

"Logan!" You call but you're sure he's already at the elevator at this point. "And he calls me the odd one." You sigh. Part of you wants to go after him but why should you? He's probably not going to answer you if you go down to his place now anyway. You'll let him cool down from whatever that was and deal with it later.

A few weeks go by without incident. If you didn't know any better you'd think Logan was intentionally avoiding you, but he hardly leaves his place anyway so it's not like anything has really changed. However today one of his packages has ended up at your door again. Weird. You wonder briefly if Henry has anything to do with this but it's not really his style. Regardless of how it got there, you have to take it down to him now. So you get in the elevator and go one floor down to Logan's apartment knocking on the door firmly. You hear some shuffling on the other side and eventually Logan pulls the door open.

"What are you doing here?" He asks.

"Are you okay?" You tilt your head. He looks a little flustered for some reason.

"Don't answer my question with another question."

"Technically, I'm not answering your question I'm just asking a separate one you look flustered and I wanna know if you're okay."

"I'm fine, y/n. Why are you here?" He says sharply.

"Don't be a dick."

"Excuse me?" He blinks at you.

"I got a package adressed to you again and I'm being nice by bringing it down to you. Look I didn't realize you'd be so up in arms over a kiss, sorry it bugged you so much, but you don't just get to be an asshole whenever you see me."

"I'm not-"

"Whatever your problem is, why ever you ran out of my partment like I burned you, I didn't kiss myself so don't take it out on me like it's all my fault."

"I didn't say it was your fault."

"Here. I'll try not to get any more of your mail." You shove the package into his chest and he scrambles to get it before it drops.

"Y/n hang on-" Logan grabs your wrist before you can even turn to leave.

"I'd rather not do this I just wanted to bring your... thing."

"No I owe you an explanation. Come inside, please." He says.

"Fine." You say entering Logan's apartment. It's pretty minimalist. All the basic furniture you'd expect in a living room plus a bookcase that's about half full of stuff and a trunk in one corner. Logan tosses the package onto the trunk and clenches his fists. You gasp and jump back as metal claws protrude from Logan's knuckles. "You have knives coming out of your knuckles."

"Kind of."

"Why are you showing me them?" You frown.

"This is why I ran out like you burned me, as you put it."

"I need more information."

"These are- obviously dangerous and I usually have incredible control but- while we were in your apartment that day I- they came out without me doing it. It's been a long time since I couldn't control them but something about you- it's risky." He says, brows furrowed.

"We kissed and your claws popped out like an erection?"

"Don't phrase it like that."

"I'm just trying to understand. Are you implying that kissing makes you like lose control of yourself?"

"No. Maybe. It's hard to know I-" you cut Logan off by kissing him. Easiest way to confirm the theory is to test it. His hands are on your waist right away and moments later the sound of metal sliding against metal grabs your attention.

"Well- I'd say that answers that." You say.

"You can't do that." He says.

"You didn't stop me." You shrug.

"I could hurt you, you know. I can't- there's no-"

"You could sure but I don't think that you will." You say.

"You shouldn't have such faith in me." Logan shakes his head.

"Why not?"

"I am... in pain trying to keep it together here."

"Don't bother." You say kissing him again. His hands on your hips tighten, and he's doing what he did last time, kissing you so ferociously you feel as if he's going to consume you whole. Eventually, he pulls away with a groan.

"You need to go. Please." He grits out.

"You'll have to let me go first." You say, he's still holding your waist rather tightly.

"I know that." Logan says but he makes no move to do so.

"Logan, stop trying to be such a gentleman. I'm not a china doll, you won't break me." You say pushing him onto his couch and straddling him.

"Wait y/n-"

"If you tell me one more time that you're going to hurt me so we can't keep making out I'm going to throw a fit." You roll your eyes.

"No it's not that I- this is much more embarrassing than that." He mutters.

"Embarrassing?"

"I'm too... high strung, if this continues I- I'll end up looking like an inexperienced teenager."

"Don't worry I know you're not an inexperienced teenager." You hum kissing his neck.

"Y/n-"

"Logan." You drawl. Logan closes his eyes and blows out a heavy breath that makes you giggle.

"You're trying to kill me, I'm sure." He says.

"Not at all. Necrophilla isn't my thing." You shrug and Logan chuckles. Finally a break in his unnecessarily serious disposition.

"You're impossible."

"Well yes, you've said that before I'm pretty sure. Look if you really want this to stop Logan I'll leave." You make a move to get off of his lap and Logan's hand on your hip stops you.

"Don't."

"Still concerned about your... percieved overexcitement?"

"Just kiss me." He rolls his eyes using his other hand to pull you in for another kiss. You let your hands trail down his body slipping under his shirt to feel the hard muscle underneath. Clothing comes off hastily as you switch between kissing his lips and covering his throat in hickeys. Logan's hands are roaming wildly across your body, gripping here and grabbing there, his mouth exploring your skin with the same fierceness, nipping and sucking anywhere he can get. When your hand slips between your bodies and grabs his dick the sound he makes is pornographic and damn if you don't want to hear him make it again. Logan is all groans and harsh breaths as you move your hand against him. He doesn't let you get away with it for long, his hand quickly grabs your wrist.

"You sure you're not tryna kill me?"

"I told you I'm not into fucking dead people." You wink at him. "You can die when I'm done with you if you're that determined to do so."

"Well that's not the worst way to go." Logan chuckles.

"No but there's a lot more I could do if you stayed alive." You whisper, lining him up with your entrance and slowly sinking down onto him. You'd guessed he'd be big but your fantasies definitely were not doing him justice. His moan as you settle fully onto him is deep and long and makes you clench around him. Using his shoulders to brace yourself, you set a steady pace riding him. He's thick and you relish in the way he stretches you.

"Fuck you're so wet." He groans, head tipping back against the back of the couch. His hands are on your sides but his hold is loose, either to allow you control or because he's busy trying not to embarrass himself. You keep your rhythm, nails scraping against his skin as you chase your orgasm. Suddenly, Logan's grip tightens, tight enough that you feel there may be bruising tomorrow, like a beast suddenly woken from sleep he growls low in his throat as he takes over the situation. Without warning, he's fucking up into you furiously and all you can do is moan as you claw at his arms and chest. Logan's release hits him first but he doesn't stop, not until you're spasming around him.

"That was not the performance of an inexperienced teenager you know." You say after you've caught your breath.

"Oh shut up." He scoffs.

"I'm just saying." You shrug.

"You're insane."

"Ooo new adjective."

"That's all you got from that?" He asks. You sit up and smile at him.

"You can call me abnormal in whatever way you'd like you're still into me so it makes no difference to me." You say.

"Try not to move too much." He groans when you shift in his lap.

"Sorry, am I hurting you?" You ask.

"Quite the opposite, but I wanna give you time to recover from-"

"You're still treating me like a china doll." You poke his chest.

"You implying you're good to go again?"

"Refractory periods are way longer for men than women you know."

"I don't really have one so I try to remember other people do."

"I bet I could tire you out first."

"That's a bet you're definitely gonna lose." He scoffs.

"Care to prove it?" You ask. Logan smirks at you.

"I hope you've got nothing planned for the next few days." He says as he carries you to his bedroom. "First things first I'm dying to find out if you taste as good as you smell." The promise of a thoroughly pleasurable experience is clear in his eye and you're only too thrilled to find out what he can really do.

***

[theewritingroomm]

A Wasteland Reunion

Summary: It's been more than 200 years since you've last seen your cowboy. Pairing: Cooper Howard x Reader Word Count: 1,070 (a drabble? what's that?) Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, A/N: Part of The Cowboy & The Movie Star series, a part 2 if you will. Let me know what y'all would like to see from this series. What snapshots would y'all like to see?

I do NOT consent to my work being translated or published onto third party sites - including AO3 and Wattpad.

A layer of dirt and grime covered every surface of the Red Rocket Gas Station. Outside the sun blazed down, covering the Wasteland in a blazing heat. The wind gave an occasional whistle as it blew more dirt into the gas station’s broken windows. Though you were paying attention to none of that, you were focused on the sound that should not be there. 

The thumping of heavy footsteps on broken concrete. 

So with your back against the checkout counter you reload your gun and cussed Ma June. If this ‘simple favor’ didn’t kill you, you were going to ring the older lady’s neck. 

As the heavy steps get closer your finger tightens around the trigger of your gun. The old bell chimes above the door and heavy footfalls turn into light steps as the newest customer to the Red Rocket navigates around the debris littering the floor. The footsteps grow quieter as the person heads towards the other end of the gas station. 

Taking the opportunity, you slowly crawl towards the open door a few feet to your right. The manager’s office was threadbare, a simple desk and chair sat in the middle of the room with a few filing cabinets sitting behind the desk. It did not offer many hiding places, however you had no interest in hiding. You were interested in getting the piece of tech Ma June was searching for and getting the hell out of the Red Rocket. 

After waiting a moment, with bated breath for the sound of footsteps to draw closer. You were surprised when they never did, coming to the conclusion that the person must have left. Likely abandoning their search when they came up empty handed. Not that you minded, The less people here, the less bullets you would have to use to make it back to Filly. 

Pushing the other person from your mind, you began going through the drawers of the desk. Where you found a handful of plastic forks, a loose cigarette and four caps. With another glance to the open door and a pause to listen for steps, you turned your attention to the filing cabinets behind you. 

The first cabinet was a bust, holding nothing but trash. You had moved onto the second cabinet, only starting to pull the first drawer out when the hairs on the back of your neck rose and a pit of dread opened in your stomach. Before you could turn to inspect, the hammer of a pistol was pulled back. The click echoed off the walls of the dusty gas station. 

“My, my,” A low voice drawled out behind you. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ all alone out here?” 

The voice was low, gravely, distinctly a man’s voice. It trickled down your spine like ice water, setting off every nerve ending within you. But deep down, there was a familiarity in the voice. A familiarity that had your heart tightening in your chest. 

“Just surviving,” you replied., hand tightening around your own pistol. “Wasteland’s a rough place.” 

You tried to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away any of your intentions or give the stranger a reason to pull his trigger. At this point you were ready to call this mission a bust, sure that the tech Ma June was after was not worth your life. 

“Stand up, leave your gun on the ground” the man demanded, leaving no room for arguments. 

Complying with the man, you left your gun in the dirt and stood. Muscles aching and protesting from being squatted for so long. Once fully stood you began to turn around. Wanting to see the man who was likely going to shoot you down. 

The man, no, the ghoul in front of you was menacing from looks alone. A long, leather trench coat covered the rest of his outfit, an ammo belt stretched across his chest, and a weathered cowboy hat was pulled low on his head. A sneer stretched his lips across yellowing teeth and fire burned in deep brown eyes. 

As you locked eyes with the Ghoul a weight of emotions crashed into your chest. If silence hadn’t consumed the gas station you would have thought he shot you.

“Cooper?” The name fell from your lips before you could stop it. 

The sound bubbled in the space between the two of you. Growing with the tension in the room before popping with a deep growl from the man. 

Quicker than you could realize, he was on you. A heavy arm pushing against your throat as he slammed you against the hard metal cabinets behind you. A handle dug harshly into your hip, surly going to leave a bruise. However, you could not find it in you to care. Not when Cooper Howard was standing before you two hundred years after you had seen him last. Two hundred years after you were sure he had died.  

“How do you fuckin; know that name?” He growled, pushing his forearm harder against your throat.

“Coop, please,” You coughed out, struggling to breath past the pressure Cooper was putting on your neck. “It’s me.”

His eyes darkened, a predator staring down at you. “Bullshit.” 

The arm not holding you to the cabinets began to raise, The metal of his gun was cold as he placed it to your temple. 

“I’m only gonna ask one more time.” He pulled the hammer back with a sickening click. “How do you know that name and why are you wearing her fuckin’ face?” 

He was nearly shouting at the end of his question. Fury beginning to take over his composure. 

Knowing you only had one more chance to prove to Cooper that you were standing in front of him, you dug into your memories with Cooper. Going back to a place you had long wished to go back to.

“I told you I loved you for the first time the day the bombs dropped,” you choked around the words, “I had a meeting at the studio and you were getting ready for a birthday party. We were standing in the driveway and you were wearing that damn cowboy getup, but I couldn’t wait anymore so I blurted it out.” 

The fire in his eyes diminished as another emotion took over. With a small sigh, your name escaped his lips in a whisper. Like a prayer he had long since forgotten.

[felixbobeelix]

In Defense of The Emperor (or, Ansur Is Not A Victim)

GIF credit: @mittthrawnuruodo

The Emperor is, in my opinion, one of the most underappreciated and misunderstood characters in Baldur's Gate 3, and I have spent a lot of time thinking about reasons why that may be. I honestly think it's tragic because The Emperor is such a compellingly-written character, and I think a lot of that gets lost under the landslide of abject hatred people feel for it.

I have a lot of thoughts about this, so buckle up buttercups! Lots (and lots, and LOTS) more under the cut!

I was playing BG3 again the other day, as one does, and was working my way through Emp's reveal, its initial withholding of the details about its escape and the nature of its relationship with Stelmane, and all the Ansur stuff, and I got fired up about this again. I don't think I'll ever stop getting fired up about The Emperor, to be honest pffffff.

There are a few really common reasons I see for why people hate The Emperor. One is its manipulative behavior, lies by omission, and the fact that if you pressure it enough, its attitude toward Tav will change. Another is the fact that if you choose to free Orpheus it will willingly return to the Netherbrain. Then there's its enthrallment of Stelmane and the implication that it led to her illness and death. And, of course, there's the idea that The Emperor betrayed its longtime friend and implied former lover, Ansur.

I also think there's a secret fifth option that maybe happens unconsciously. The vast majority of people spent a lot of time crafting their Dream Guardians into gorgeous feasts for the eyes, which is something the devs intentionally encouraged players to do. So when the game hit them with the twist and their beautiful Dream Guardian was replaced by an (ostensibly) unappealing Illithid, their sense of betrayal was amplified; they were predisposed to greater anger and hatred for The Emperor than they may have felt if it had retained the pleasant visage of their Dream Guardian.

Emp's Manipulation:

I find the argument about Emp's lying and manipulative behavior a little strange, when, for example, so many people are willing to overlook Astarion's abject manipulation of their Tavs. Personally, I think the reasons here are twofold. One, Astarion enjoys the privilege of being conventionally attractive and Emp does not, plain and simple. Two, sticking it out through Astarion's lying and manipulation will eventually lead to satisfying gain: an endgame relationship with him. There's no such satisfying outcome with Emp, so players are less inclined to put up with behaviors they endure for Astarion's sake. It's actually arguably easier to get Emp to admit to its manipulation of Tav than it is to get Astarion to do the same thing, and yet Astarion is more readily forgiven.

There may also be some degree of people being skeeved out by Emp's mind reading and its apparent ability to enthrall. But even this is a little odd, since Tav and their companions are all telepathically joined and that doesn't scare the player. The Emperor also never actually makes an attempt to enthrall Tav even when they're being combative and resistant. My only conclusion is that player distaste in this context is a product of the negative narratives about Illithids throughout the game. Which, for the record, are narratives I think we're meant to challenge as players.

(As an interesting side note, those narratives seem to be easily overriden when an Illithid is seen as helpful, as in the case of Omeluum. Despite clear evidence that it has not entirely denounced Illithid culture, and despite its membership in a morally questionable organization, players have a largely positive opinion of Omeluum simply because it tries to help them. They seem to forget that it was experimenting on Tav, and its miscalculation could have seriously compromised them.)

I think it's also worth pointing out that an Illthid in hiding is going to find particular challenge in simply surviving and remaining undetected, and even moreso in avoiding being attacked and killed, especially if it does not have the benefit of allies. Even Omeluum (who has the benefit of allies in the Society of Brilliance) has to disguise itself when it moves about the city. If you visit Omeluum and Blurg in Baldur's Gate you can listen in to their conversation, and Omeluum admits it sometimes takes the form of Blurg when it goes around.

I staunchly maintain, for one thing, that Emp is a true neutral character. It will resort to nearly any means necessary to assure its survival and freedom - though, again, it does stop short of robbing Tav of their autonomy, which I think is significant. And really, all things considered, Emp's methods are some of the least insidious when compared with the behaviors of other notable characters in the game. Even its insistence that Orpheus must be kept imprisoned is driven more by fear and a lack of real alternatives than any kind of malice. And alignments aside, when you consider the attitudes people have about Illithids, it's suddenly not surprising that Emp resorts to things like lying to protect itself and convince others to ally with it.

This concept was something I had to explore in depth when I worked with a DM friend who helped me construct a playable Illithid character, and I was challenged to run with a party of adventurers without them discovering my true race. It is NOT EASY. Almost immediately, despite my best intentions, I realized I would likely need to resort to some questionable methods to maintain my character's secrecy. The Emperor is the same. I'll touch on this more when I get into Emp's dynamic with Stelmane.

Player Influence:

Maybe the most frustrating observation I've made is that The Emperor is one of the only characters players will typecast based on the worst potential dialogue outcomes. Tav's relationship with pretty much all of the characters can be either improved or totally soured by the dialogue options they select. In most cases players are able to make the distinction that their choices are what influence the attitudes of the characters they're interacting with. But in the case of The Emperor, players will refuse to believe that any positive interactions with it are genuine because there are dialogue paths that lead to negative outcomes. I have to wonder why this standard does not apply to companion characters who break up with Tav, treat Tav questionably, or leave the party altogether when the player selects negative dialogue options.

Because of the potential for the Emperor's attitude to sour and for it to turn away from the player, it is written off as an entirely disingenuous character. However, Emp repeatedly demonstrates a capacity for veracity and emotionality, and I believe that when you foster a positive relationship with it the feelings it shares are genuine, just like with any other character. I'm guessing it doesn't help that Emp can be very matter-of-fact and pragmatic even during positive interactions, where the companion characters are often downright poetic in their regard for Tav and willing to make sacrifices for Tav when their approval is high.

I can see how this would give the sense that Emp's feelings are lesser, because it brackets those feelings with discussions about things like whether Tav is embracing tadpole abilities. But 1) Emp stands to lose its freedom again if the conflict with the Elder Brain goes awry and is, I think very understandably, preoccupied with what it believes are the necessary steps to ensure victory, and it seems anxious to affirm that Tav is as dedicated to the best outcome as it is. And 2) if this kind of pragmatism is the barometer by which people are measuring their trust of a character's feelings about them, I'm honestly a little afraid to know how they feel about their interactions with very pragmatic people IRL. 👀

Some people just are less prone to emotional expressiveness, or will ease their discomfort around emotional expression by diverting conversation to more practical matters. That doesn't mean the feelings they express are not genuine. We see over and over that Tav has a way of awakening strong, unexpected feelings in the people they meet throughout the course of the game. There's every possibility that this is what happens with Emp, and that it is taken aback by its feelings and is steering the conversation back to the matter of the conflict with the Brain as a way of avoiding being caught up and losing the plot.

I think that because the game does such a good job of playing up the idea that Illithids are soulless and inherently manipulative and evil, players are overly willing to accept it as fact. However, the game does also give us opportunities to question that narrative, and I think we'd do well to seize those opportunities. Even in raw DnD Illithid lore has shifted toward the idea that Illithids are more than the vicious monsters they started as. I think it's far more compelling and creative to consider that Emp is being genuine when you pursue positive interactions with it.

Relationship with Stelmane:

This begs the question, then, of whether the Emperor is truly upset about Stelmane's death. It certainly seems to be, but when you begin to suspect that it was enthralling her and forcing her to do its bidding you begin to doubt that it really cared about her.

Honestly? I'm not sure whether it did or not. Perhaps what it's truly upset about is the realization that it no longer has the option to return to its previous life as a major player in the Knights of the Shield. Maybe aside from the enthrallment, it actually did respect and even like Stelmane. Perhaps they had a rapport at some point prior to her enthrallment, and it is nostalgic about that. I think its feelings in that moment are real, it's simply unclear as to what those feelings are about.

In any case, I am openly and unabashedly here to disabuse anyone of the notion that Stelmane was a good person. A lot of what we hear about her we hear from Wyll, who (like pretty much every other character) is an unreliable narrator. The truth is unfortunately not as nice as Wyll would like to believe. With as little information about her as we have, this seems a bold claim for me to make, but I make it confidently, and here is why: her membership in the Knights of the Shield precludes her from being a good person.

The Knights of the Shield is an organization dealing in political manipulation, information brokering, and financial gain for its members. At the very least, Belynne Stelmane was concerned with underhanded political maneuvering and the accumulation of wealth, and at worst she was a willing servant of Gargauth, the god of betrayal and political corruption. It's unclear what level of seniority she held in the organization, though Emp's decision to have her as its avatar implies that she held significant influence. Either way, at no point was it possible for her to be involved with the Knights of the Shield and still be a good person.

And, yes, the same can be said of The Emperor. To be clear, I am not claiming that Emp is a "good" aligned character. However, its motivations are inherently different to Stelmane's and the other members of the Knights of the Shield. Rather than being strictly financially or politically motivated, Emp's involvement with the Knights was most likely born as much out of necessity as any desire for power. The Knights were a viable cover, a way for it to remain hidden and still secure a life of relative freedom for itself. To be sure, it could have attempted to ally itself with another organization, such as the Society of Brilliance. However, the Society is comparatively smaller, less powerful, and less profitable. Emp also does not appear to have any interest in the sorts of experimentation and data collection as members of the Society of Brilliance.

Based on Emp's characterization, it is not suited to a life of exploration and travel. It does not have the same innate arcane ability as Omeluum, who is able to exist and still maintain its autonomy in regions where the influence of an Elder Brain is relatively strong. It's more likely that The Emperor's ability to maintain its autonomy is linked to its proximity, or lack thereof, to an Elder Brain. Likely, it chose to secure a life for itself in a single location far enough away from the reach of an Elder Brain that it could escape enthrallment, and allied itself with the Knights of the Shield because they were the most proximally convenient and had the best capacity for security.

At any rate, I think it's entirely reasonable to assume that if Stelmane had not been enthralled, she would have ripped the rug out from under The Emperor the moment she stood to gain from doing so. Emp stood its best chance of success by enthralling her, and while that is certainly a morally questionable thing for it to do, be assured that it was not taking advantage of some wholesome paragon of goodness. Likely as not, if the roles had been reversed, Stelmane would have subjected Emp to a similarly morally questionable form of subjugation until the moment came for her to discard it entirely.

As an aside, the game works pretty hard to give the impression that Stelmane’s enthrallment led to her illness and eventual passing, but it's also entirely possible that she truly did simply have a stroke. Or, perhaps more compellingly, her condition had nothing at all to do with The Emperor and was potentially infernal in origin, given the way that she allegedly stared unwaveringly at Wyll the last time he saw her, which was shortly before he was targeted by Mizora. She was already well into her illness at that point, and didn't seem cognizant of anyone else at the time, but Wyll was of particular interest to her. Maybe it's nothing, or maybe the game intentionally misled players into believing The Emperor was responsible for Stelmane's decline, when it was never Emp's fault in the first place.

The Emperor's "Betrayal" of Ansur:

Here is where my opinion diverges most significantly from the opinions of other players. Put plainly, The Emperor did not betray Ansur. That is an idea that is given by Ansur, and by the following passage, which can be found during the challenges in the Wyrmway:

The note preceding the author's writing gives the distinct impression that the author is - yes - an unreliable narrator. They are not only giving a secondhand account of the events, but they are dramatizing that account.

Then, after defeating Ansur, the player finds the following letter on Ansur's body:

We also have additional story from The Emperor itself about the events that led to Ansur's death.

The reality is that Ansur, motivated by his love for Balduran, saved The Emperor from its enthrallment by the Elder Brain in the hopes of restoring the Balduran he knew and loved. Despite being asked over and over to stop, despite The Emperor's insistence that it was content with its new form, Ansur doggedly searched for a way to return The Emperor to its previous form as Balduran. Rather than accept that Balduran's new form was permanent, rather than accepting him as The Emperor, rather than being happy enough that his loved one was no longer a slave and that the memories of their time together were still intact, Ansur was not satisfied. He could not look past Emp's Illithidness, he could not let go of the narrative that Illithids are monsters. His refusal to adjust his paradigm, his unwillingness to accept The Emperor as a valid friend or ally or lover, was a failing on Ansur's part, and it was incredibly selfish.

Emp's letter to Ansur is incredibly heartfelt, and focuses entirely on Ansur and his happiness. Emp clearly still values Ansur and wants him to be contented. Even as Emp draws its boundaries, it keeps the focus on Ansur's well-being. It is a really good letter, and nothing about it implies that Emp held any ill will toward Ansur. It simply wanted Ansur to give up the pursuit of reclaiming Balduran as he was. But Ansur was unwilling to do that. So unwilling, in fact, that he felt it would be better to kill The Emperor rather than accept its new form.

Therein is the true betrayal: attempting to kill your friend while they're sleeping because you can't make them fit your ideal of them is, put simply, super fucked up.

The idea that it's a betrayal for The Emperor to have killed Ansur in self-defense, but Ansur attempting to murder Emp in its sleep is somehow not a monumental betrayal, is absolutely wild to me. Ansur was the one who betrayed The Emperor, and his rage is as misguided as the hate players have for Emp. I think players are blinded by the heroic narrative around Ansur, and the narrative that Illithids - and, by proxy, The Emperor - can't be trusted undermines the explanation that The Emperor gives. Players want to believe Ansur despite the evidence that his feelings of betrayal are unfounded, because they're naturally more inclined to trust a heroic figure than an Illithid. Again, I think this was a place in the game where players were challenged to question accepted narratives.

Of course, it's entirely possible that Ansur's attempt to kill The Emperor was driven by something entirely separate from the story we're offered in the game. Maybe Ansur took issue with The Emperor's movements with the Knights of the Shield; though that would beg the question of why he would be so determined to eliminate Emp and not any of the other members. Or, maybe Emp killed Ansur unprompted in a bout of pure Illithid malice, which would be a betrayal indeed - though that seems highly unlikely after reading its letter to Ansur. Ultimately, however, without any indication otherwise, we have to take the story we're given at face value. As far as we know, Ansur was motivated to kill The Emperor as part of his cognitive dissonance around its change from Balduran to The Emperor, and that selfish, misguided act constitutes a betrayal of Emp by Ansur, not the other way around.

The Emperor's Return to the Netherbrain:

I saved this for last, because it's actually very simple. When you choose to free Orpheus, The Emperor declares its intention to return to the Brain, and true to its word it does exactly that, and fights against you during the final battle. Why, after fighting so hard to avoid the Brain, would Emp so willingly return to it?

Put simply, because it has no choice. Or, it has no choice in the context of the game as-is. What reason does Emp have to believe that Orpheus, an avid enemy of Illithids, having been subjugated by this Illithid, would be willing to extend his protection to it?

Emp knows that the moment Orpheus is free to give or take his psionic protection, he will refuse to protect it. The jig is up. The game is over. In its pragmatic way, The Emperor concedes defeat. Its anger is palpable, you have forfeit its hard-won freedom. But the cards are on the table, and it knows that without Orpheus' protection it is going to be enthralled whether it wants to be or not. So it goes willingly. At least it can make one more choice before it loses its autonomy.

Final Thoughts:

There is so much more to say about The Emperor and its feelings and motivations. Again, in no way is it a good-aligned character, and even with the best outcomes it's still clear that Emp is at least somewhat driven by a desire for greatness, whatever form that greatness takes. That was true even when it was Balduran. But I do think it's worth remembering that when you foster a positive connection with it and side with it for the endgame, it regards your parting with some sentimentality, and then just...leaves. It's all fairly benign. The player's choices go a long way in influencing how malicious The Emperor is, and I think that's important to remember.

I could go on for hours about this, it is absolutely one of my hills to die on, but I think this is enough for now lol. I just wish The Emperor were respected more as a complex, compelling character. I wish it were at least afforded the same defiant love some of the villains are given. I genuinely hate to see Emp flattened and written off when it's such an amazing character!

[xray-vex]

Thinking about this and how there are certain people claiming to be fans of OFMD who complain, rather loudly and repeatedly, there is no chemistry between Ed & Stede, and/or that their kisses had no passion, etc.

This leads me to believe that there are several possible explanations for how those people might have reached that conclusion:

1.) The people complaining have a hard time reading body language/facial expressions, so they literally can't perceive it

2.) The people complaining hate the main ship: they don't like Ed and/or Stede and/or their relationship, or the fact that their head canons for the show didn't become canon and are still upset about it, and are therefore in denial about the chemistry between Ed and Stede and refuse to see it.

3.) They are somehow from an alternate universe that has overlapped a little bit with the one most of us are in, and they literally didn't watch the same show because they watched the OFMD from their universe, not ours.

In all of the above cases, though -- the people who insist that Ed & Stede had no chemistry are just wrong. It's not really an opinion. So, based on these ideas, either:

1.) They're drawing an incorrect conclusion based on their inability to interpret body language (***and there no shame in that in & of itself, not everyone has that skill set) -- However, not being able to perceive something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Humans can't perceive ultraviolet or infrared light naturally, either. Those things still exist even if you can't see em.

2.) They're choosing to draw their conclusions based on their dislike of/disappointment in the show, and therefore willfully ignoring the evidence presented in the text (the show itself). -- If you want to argue a point and be taken seriously though, you have to provide adequate evidence. And their various arguments just aren't convincing. (I could expand upon how it's also much more difficult to prove that something doesn't exist, but I've already written way more than I intended to for what was gonna just be a short rant).

3.) If they literally watched a different, alternate universe version of OFMD, then they're not gonna convince anyone in this universe that 1+1=3 like it does in their universe. Maybe that's correct math in their universe, but that's not how it works here.

Here's the thing -- and I'm gonna use a simple example here. You can say that you don't like cilantro. You can hate it, you can be disgusted by it, especially considering that it might taste like soap to you. And that's ok! But you don't get to make the claim that it doesn't enhance the flavor of other foods/dishes in a positive way or that many people think it's yummy.

So take this simple advice, would you? You can just say "This isn't for me" and just not eat it. You don't get to say "This is bad and I'm going to keep pushing my thoughts about it onto people who do enjoy it, even while they're eating it, because I need to convince everyone to hate it too." That's not an opinion, that's just being a fucking dick. Go join your local chapter of the Cilantro Hater's Club and complain about it there with other like-minded people, and let the rest of us enjoy our cilantro in fuckin peace. And don't be surprised if we shut the door in your face (muting/blocking) when we're sick of hearing how much you hate something we love.

[houseki-no-suffering]

Hey! I found a post of yours (specifically a phos analysis) from a looong while ago. Just curious to hear what your thoughts on the last chapters and the conclusion of the story are!

I recently finished the manga after putting it off for 4 years, and it was an incredible but such a bittersweet read. Maybe it's just me being a sucker for happy endings, but man, it really did not get happier </3

And you probably already know this, but did you know that Ichikawa released the last chapter the same day a comet flew by that looked exactly like the comet from the last chapter? Really cool stuff but I am emotionally destroyed haha

I suppose it was the only kind of happy ending HnK could have, and I don't think I mind it as much as other things that have happened in the last few chapters. It reads more HnK than anything that has happened in the past 1-2 years of serialization.

I appreciate the bittersweet notes (always have) and Ichikawa's words that this is how she wanted the story to end, it doesn't happen to every mangaka. Also, the comet bit is such a nice touch.

As for Phos (I suppose this is the post you meant?), I do believe that they got a happy ending.

If you think about it, instead of becoming a lunarian and being prayed away like the others, Phos' journey gave them the power and knowledge to rise above them. Thanks to their flaws (being brittle, having special inclusions, maybe being the most human of all the gems) they became human, the most flawed of creatures, and basically reverted to the purity of a child, a god, sin-less (even if this is a Buddhist story, so idk if I can actually speak of sin) and therefore free of everything that made humanity always dissatisfied, dangerous and unhappy. The others renounced existence, Phos found a way to reach paradise.

Humanity doesn't come out of this looking like a nice bunch of people to hang out with, and neither do the lunarians (gems included at this point). And yet, there's so much compassion in everything Phos does: a kind child, up until the very end.

I always speculated (and was not alone in this) that Phos' job would become to pray the lunarians/everyone away, find Cinnabar the job to kill them, become a Bodhisattva... in this, I believe, the story remained true to itself. What I believe no one saw coming was how shallow(?) it all seemed in the end.

Everyone came back, making Phos' sacrifices and suffering basically meaningless, everyone started getting along and solving centuries-old problems in seconds. Then, Ichikawa introduced so many new changes abruptly... It felt rushed, lazy and overly simple, when most of us loved HnK for its complexity and depth.

Maybe it was because Ichikawa wanted (or needed to) end the series with ch 108. Usually, when mangaka put a limit to the chapters they want to write, it really damages the story and I wasn't a fan of this even in this situation.

Aside from these issues, I appreciate how Ichikawa seemed to care about the character of Phos.

Maybe this all happened so that Phos could be happy, maybe this was the only possible way for Phos to be happy? It would be a little bit like in Devilman, where the world basically ends only so that Satan can understand love. Idk, little old Phos didn't seem that desperate a case, they just wanted truth, yes, this did cause some... issues, but other than that they're a sweetheart.

This is the leitmotif of the series, after all: Phos is a kind, selfless gem who cultivates a deep sense of self-hatred.

They internalize a pressure and a need to feel useful (coming from gem society) and turn them into a necessity for change (unlike in gem society). Initially, they want to find a job. Then, they want to help Cinnabar find a job, then they want to help Ventricosus, then then want to become a fighter, then they want to help sensei, then the gems, then the lunarians...

Contrary to most of the other gems, Phos loves and loves openly and unconditionally. They start off as a self-less creature who believes that their life isn't worth anything. Therefore, they put it on the line time and time again and, eventually, lose it time and time again as they change form.

It's their journey towards truth and happiness: they change and lose pieces of themselves, forget things, renounce gem-ness in favor of humanity and then humanity for god-hood.

Phos changes until they find the form that makes them happy. Their purest, happiest form. They change so much that they come back to square one almost: they become pure Phosphophyllite, with no inclusions at all. Still fragile, still small, but selfless and cheerful. Carefree.

In a sense, HnK ends with Phos becoming Phos.

[tuskhansworld]

Dusk and Dawn

DEMO LINK

You have failed, you have failed yourself, your mom/dad and your friends. It was your last chance to graduate, and you blew it. If only you had studied harder had done better. No one said college would be easy.

It was supposed to be an ordinary walk, one where you could ruminate in peace as you wallow in your own self-pity. Going off path was the first mistake, the second was failing to turn back when you had the chance.

What now? What direction will your life take? Is there even a chance to get back to college and if there was would you take it. Would you take the ordinary over this?

Dusk and Dawn is rated 18+ for explicit language, explicit sexual themes, drug and alcohol use, violence, morally questionable behaviour, and so much more. Dusk and Dawn is an urban fantasy type IF inspired by CYOA’S like slayer v4, gifted and supernatural detective. If you haven’t heard of this, I recommend that you do. They’re amazing.

FEATURES

Customize your MC (they whose life you will live) appearance, personality, and coping mechanisms. Will you be broken? How will you cope by being accepting in denial or dissociating

This is an urban fantasy type IF as the story progresses you will work on your character’s abilities as well as skills. Will you go down the path of a Knight, or bishop. Currently a work in progress.

Engage in fiery romances with an array of characters or not. The choice is yours.

Ros

Alexandrea/Alexander Ariti

Holier than thou attitude. Believes they are better than everyone else thus making them the best. The mental gymnastics it took to reach this conclusion is somewhat worrying. Has an ego so inflated it’s a surprise their head hast exploded yet. Sadly, is severely competent that bragging is just plain honesty to them. Considered a genius by many. Likes to pull up quotes from philosophies and other things. Actually, gives good advice if you can get over the condescending attitude.

Description: Tall with an athletic build, dark mahogany skin, with eyes the colour of honey. Their dark kinky hair is long currently worn in tribal braids inset with golden ornament and as an afro at the back. Forming a sort of lion's mane. They prefer wearing simple long flowing clothes and they took the ROOK class route.

Blaise/Blanca Everest

An absolute motorcycle riding, shades-wearing, vodka drinking badass. Knows what they want, and lord help you if you stand between them and that. Collected to the point of coming of as standoffish and whilst also being a complete and utter jerk. Rumours about them sometimes spread. B could care less. Knows obscure rituals and can get difficult to find incidents through less savoury means. Don’t ask where b gets them, seriously don’t. A close friend to St. Dew.

Description: They are of average height and have a lean, solid build. Their skin is pale and covered in beauty marks, and their eyes are hazel-coloured. Their dark hair is ear-length and trimmed into a messy but stylish wolfcut. They prefer wearing dark colours with soft, loose tops.

Isra/Isran Dawnstar

Your local “plant mom” and geek will mansplain anything they love and are interested in. Is somewhat endearing since they usually talk about interesting topics. Also, can help you research very obscure myths and legends. Can talk for hours about gardening and alchemy. Grows their own [i]alchemic[/i] ingredients. Wink An alchemical genius will brew amazing potions and philtres. Usually tests some of their more eccentric potions on themselves.

Description: Almost as tall as you, with an average build, I has a sharp jaw, high cheekbones and a hooked nose. Their eyes are sharp and narrowed, with black eyeliner used to highlight the green in them. Has a chemical burn atop their left hand from one of their first experiments. Straight dark hair that’s shoulder length.

Narrak/Narrah St.dew

An absolute darling, a literal gem. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone that doesn’t like them. A fun-loving person who most definitely was a golden retriever in their past life. Can be a bit of an airhead. It’s not that N is dumb it's just that they could care less unless something interests them. Though don’t worry they have a lot of interests. Loves anything and everything that involves outdoors, hiking camping, though more partial to rock climbing and surfing. Knows how to give piercings, usually re-pierces their own for…reasons. One of the only people to Everest their best friend.

Description: Average height, with an athletic build though leaning towards that of a runner, their skin is the colour of caramel, with a dusting of freckles across their nose and shoulders. Long curl dirty blonde hair sometimes though rarely worn in a bun.

Rowan/Rowana Barlow

If kindness could kill then they would be wanted in four different states. Though they may have killed a few with their ‘Bear hugs’. Even then the police would let them go with a slap to the wrist. Kind to a fault. Though R knows their limits. Won’t let anyone walk over you. Prefers to talk than to fight. Has vitiligo across their body.

Description : Taller than average with a bigger build, patches of their hazelnut skin is a light pink tone. Vitiligo is most prominent on their head and face with a large section of the eye, forehead and hair affected by it. A patch of their ebon hair has lost its pigmentation as well as their left eyelash. Their eyes are dark blue.

Torek/Toren Metheka

Everyone knows about them. But is there anybody who actually knows them? Versed in both magic and fighting. They are the main reason why half of the recruits joined the Great Hunt. Tales of their prowess and skill border on legends. Is mysterious. Origins are unknown…to the general public.

Description: Tall solid thick build with broad shoulders and shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair. Their hands are large and calloused. Their storm-grey eyes stern.

Special romance route: There is a poly route but let’s save that for later.

Your choices will have consequences remember that.

[mothmothm0th]

on forming a basic understanding of the moth

cw: parasitism

As a moth, the second most common refrain I hear is "I don't know what you are" in a myriad of different phrases. This is understandable and even preferable to the topmost common refrain. However, this confusion is not because us moths are strange or unusual on some deep, existential level. And indeed, it is a mistake to assume that because one is not strange or unusual, one cannot be a moth. Many of us present as perfectly ordinary, even to ourselves.

Of course, the typical moth will be glad to know that you find it confusing. Even I, as I write my little essay, am torn between being a good communicator and helpful teacher and throwing you off a cliff into a cloud of soporifics and dream-stuff. Thus, assuming an adverserial, distrustful stance to whatever I say is probably a reasonable thing to do. I could be lying out of my abdomen. Or possibly my thorax. Even if I was, I would still be attempting to present my case in such a manner that I would appear trustworthy and thuswise lure you into a false sense of confidence. I wouldn't do that to you though. We're friends, right? We're buddies!

Anyway, at the heart of the moth is a simple syllogism. If the term is unfamiliar to you, you will likely have encountered many examples of them in your life, such as Aristotles famous formulation, originally found in his foundational work en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syllogism (350 BC). His syllogism states as such: "All men are mortal. Socrates is a man. Therefore, Socrates is mortal." I could explain syllogisms more thoroughly but I've already provided you with a source to learn for yourself. I'm a moth, not a science teacher. Instead, let's look at the syllogism of the moth. Consider this:

"All moths yearn. The author of this text is a moth. Therefore, the author yearns."

Simple, no? Now, put your thinking cap on and consider this one for size.

"All moths yearn. The author of this text yearns. Therefore, the author is a moth."

Now, I want you to ask yourself whether the statement given is true. And please do it before semantic satiation claims us all. I'll just give you some time to think really hard and I'll be doing that by way of writing nonsense to pad out the length of this paragraph because I need to make it look longer to satisfy the part of my brain that makes writing such a hassle sometimes but please don't be alarmed as purple scissors will not harm you underneath the tulip skies so long as you think really carefully and draw your conclusions with precision.

Did you think about it? Did anything seem amiss? That's right, there wasn't! The second syllogism is perfectly sound and valid beyond a reasonable doubt. All moths yearn, and all that yearns is moth. Good on you for not falling for that trap. You're so smart, and <first draft note!! insert applicable compliment here: beautiful | handsome | Still. don't forget to edit this later!!> too!

Of course, you might be thinking something along the lines of "well, I feel a deep sense of need for something too but that doesn't make me a moth." In reality, you are... possibly maybe correct in some sense of the word. However, what you experience as an emotion is actually a moth's egg, laid in the sweet tasty fabrics of your heart. If this makes you think "woah, so moth-eggs are everywhere, then", you would be quite right! While modern life has taken away the stars by which we navigate the night, those same conditions paradoxically help in the spontaneous generation of our eggs. Don't take this as me saying modern life bad. Pointing out how modern life is bad and bad for you is somewhat passé and indeed, we moths have existed since day one. In fact, to assume that I am saying that modern life bad assumes that I think mothiness is a bad thing. And I'm not saying that, stop saying I'm saying that.

Anyway, let's move out of the realm of baseless accusations about what I believe in and talk about the lifecycle of a moth a tad more. As described, a moth begins life as an egg, just like all other girls. And as discussed, a moth-egg is experienced by the fabric that lays it as yearning. Academic sources and my diurnal dreams differ on whether the yearning or the egg comes first. You may have heard this dilemna by its authorised discursive phrase, "chicken and the egg". A nice lil peek behind the Veil for you there. Don't worry about it.

As the moth-egg hatches, the moth/yearning enters its larval stage. The larva/yearning will begin to consume its fabric/host-mind. While this may sound scary, I invite you to consider how you are already being consumed by many things all the time, metaphorically. Capitalism consumes your labour, love consumes your reason, a third thing consumes another abstract concept, and so on and so on. Thus, while the process of mothly consumption gradually gnaws through the liminality between metaphor and literal, mind and soul, soul and body, it is still no more destructive than the aforementioned. You will not survive life unchanged. Give it up. Embrace metamorphosis. That's my advice to the moth-eaten fabrics in the audience anyway. But you're not moth-eaten. You're <ok seriously though what's a good gender, species, construct, and modality neutral word of praise?> so you don't have to worry about me trying to hasten anything. The eggs in your mind have not hatched. They will not hatch. Don't worry about it.

When the larva/yearning has thoroughly consumed its banquet/host, it weaves itself a cocoon/anticipation within the nice space left within the host's closet/skull. Some naughty witches have devised means of harvesting silk/desire from this cocoon/anticipation and the smart ones even wait until the imago/apotheosis has emerged before committing to the harvest. I wouldn't do either though, so don't worry. But we're getting off-track here. During this gestation period, the moth-to-be experiences a gradual shift in cognition. While most sources typically describe this shift in cognitive possibility space as "major depressive disorder" or "bipolar disorder" or "dissociative disorder" or even "other specified dissociative disorder", these label only apply to the more mundane, less exciting forms of having one's mind consumed. If you're a fully grown imago, you should sue!! In fact, please send me an ask with your frequency, flavour, and cardinality and I'll send you an oneiro-mail with instructions on the proper legal curses to apply.

Ah, distracted distracted. Mustn't let one get too distracted. You are not an imago. At least if you're the audience/sucker I'm writing this essay/trap for. No, no, no. You're here to learn what the lifecycle of a moth/yearning is! So let's talk about the moment a moth/yearning hatches/transcends. While the shift from larva to pupa is gradual enough that one might not even realise it is happening, the moment of transcendence is not. The final step of any metamorphosis is the most traumatic. It is a moment of great pain and of great bliss. John of the Cross/some nerd described it as "the dark night of the soul", which is a fitting description considering, yknow, nights. Moths. You get me. But that nerd was subscribed to some fake news youtuber and misattributed the whole thing to some old geezer who died a whole lotta time ago. Foolish. Foolish! No no no, the moment of hatching is something far greater, and something far more. To hatch is to see the light of Mansus with one's own eyes. To hatch is to become solid. To hatch is to transcend, to reach one's apotheosis of yearning. To become yearning itself. The false self is discarded, the true self is adorned. I see the shapes of things and I reach my hand out and the pain of change once again grips me and my heart sings and I become fluid again to become something anew for the me that is me is not the me that you see but the process is me and you are but a static object compared to me and I see the gods and the devils and they are static too and while my shape shall never be as luminescent I shall deconstruct their light and burn and burn and burn to be reborn and thus shall i die and never die and maybe i even get to drink the sweet sweet nectar of monster energy once again for i shall just be a little guy who is so terrible and nice and so i shall jump for the raw beef and fail the jump and burn in parkour prison until i change again for though i am not great or powerful you shall never diminish my joy and my love and my cycle of mistakes and fuck-ups will continue unto morrow and tomorrow and so it goes and so it goes and.

Oh, you're still here. Didn't notice you. I hope the lil writing exercise didn't bore you or anything. I think writing a bit of modernist pablum every now and then helps keep the mind unpretentious the rest of the time. Gotta keep that ol' noggin nice and crunchy. But in any case, I hope you've enjoyed this brief look into how to write a good essay or whatever the ohio this piece was about. If you're still suffering from symptoms of wanting-to-write-good-but-you-don't-know-how, please send an ask with your true name and object of yearning. I will get in contact with oneiro-mail as soon as I can.

[avelera]

A few random thoughts about the comic issue of "Men of Good Fortune" in The Sandman and how they pertain to Dreamling as a ship based on the show.

I get the sense when reading MoGF that it's a... shall we say, "young" story? It's the sort of story that has its seeds in your high school creative writing class. You're learning about English history and you're also writing short stories and you think, "Wouldn't it be cool if two guys met every 100 years to talk about these events I'm learning about and it's the same guys because they're immortal?"

I say this in part because I wrote a similar story in high school without having read MoGF, but also because it's a very simple story with no actual plot arc, nothing actually changes by the end in the original comic. The addition of Dream "missing" the meeting adds a lot of weight and consequence that isn't there in the comic. The closest it gets is, "Dream says he's not going to come to the next 1989 meeting but then a bunch of stuff happens off screen and he shows up anyway, thus confirming they are indeed friends." That is barely a plot beat of any kind, nothing really changes, it just clarifies that they are friends, which we could have suspected the whole time.

Anyway, on that note, I've got a deep-seated suspicion that in the very earliest drafts of this story, Dream was Death. Because it makes sense. Death spares a commoner on the condition that he report back every century to tell about how his life is going. Also, Death is certain that this mortal will want to die at some point because of all the horrible things he's living through, but in the end he doesn't and they become friends.

Again, this is a very simple story, basically a fable. Then this story is lifted into a new setting, the Sandman universe, and the antagonist of Death is turned into Dream but Death is still there, because Death as a figure makes much more sense than Dream as the basis for this wager.

I've commented many times before that Hob has less than nothing to go on as far as guessing Dream's identity but that one very natural conclusion he could come to is that Dream is Death because Death is much easier and thematically consistent with what happens in the story than Dream. Dream even remarks in the show (paraphrased) that, "[He] is far more terrible than Death," which objectively makes very little sense other than in their personal mannerisms.

But Dream's curiosity as to Hob's will to live isn't all that consistent with his function as Lord of Dreams, can you really tell me that the Lord of Dreams can't conceive of a mortal that would want to live forever, who wouldn't dream of living forever? IMO this is one more piece of evidence that the story was lifted from an earlier draft where there is no Dream and Death, there is only Death and Hob, with Death left in as sort of a homage to the original premise and to explain why Dream would get involved at all in such a wager.

It also kind of explains why the implications of this centuries-long friendship get largely ignored until quite late in the Sandman comics. Dream would be Hob's only constant, at least that he can speak to and isn't like the Sun and the Moon or something, and yet our only nod to this is very very late in the comics.

Again, I think this is because in a fable about Death and A Normal Guy meeting over and over as a commentary on English history, it makes perfect sense that you wouldn't really explore the interpersonal implications of how Hob feels about this guy, if Hob cares about this guy, because it's Death, clearly this is just a fable.

But once it's not Death, once it's someone else, once Dream's interactions with this guy actually don't align with his function, actually rather glaringly doesn't align with his function such that his relationship with Hob actually becomes Dream's biggest singular point of individuality, the biggest piece of proof that he is an individual person and not just his function because watching this guy live has nothing to do with his function because he's not Death, then we also begin to wonder how important are these guys to one another, as individuals, because it's not a simple, streamlined fable anymore about Death and Just A Guy meeting.

Basically, I think that as is often the case, the inconsistencies are what give some of Gaiman's juvenilia works the charm that they have. They raise more questions than they answer, because they're not rigorously plotted and the implications of certain story decisions aren't explored, for example even how magic like immortality works in this world doesn't really make consistent sense (ex. Orpheus and Hob have very different immortalities within the same story despite both being gifted by Death, one can't choose to die whenever he wants and there's no explanation as to why this is other than The Story Demands It, which is rather clumsy but does lend to a sense of myth).

It's not until much later in the author's career in the comic and (retconned with) the show that the narratives begins to inquire into things like, "What do these two individuals mean to each other as people. Does Hob mourn Dream, or think of him when he's not there? Does the singularity of Hob in Dream's life matter to him, or give him pause?" all questions that would be absurd in a simplistic fable about Death and Just A Dude but once lifted from that original context, create fascinating inconsistencies that begin to matter and become fodder for deeper explorations as seen in fanfiction and shipping these two characters.