#it's not a mystery why this is happening; it's the way that the story is written

[animasola86]

🐻 A HUG TO REMEMBER

m!shapeshifter x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 7.1k

After a night full of unusual adventures and ordeals, you find yourself in the arms of your most memorable encounter, and you can't complain.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Aftercare! Vaginal sex! Creampies! Cockwarming! Fluff? (READ ON AO3!)

This is part 6 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 It's the continuation of the continuation of OPTION 3 - can be read individually for the smut portion, but if you want to follow the plot, I'd advise reading the previous two parts or at least the first part, preferably all of them. This is the conclusion of the story after all!

CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and on your way to get some fresh air, you first run into a werewolf, who knots and breeds you, then into two vampires, who spitroast you, and after all that... here we are...

“Hey. Hey, can you hear me?”

A deep voice rings in your ears, a low thrum in the void around you, muffled as if through various layers of cloth or from behind a thick door. A rasping inhale lets you stir, and slowly your body feels like your own again. Your limbs are tingling, your throat hurts, and something deep within you as well, there's an overall soreness all around, but when your eyes flutter open, you're just glad to be alive.

The sight in front of you still scares you, and you let out a hoarse whimper. A large man leans over you, tall and bulky, bulging muscles under a plaid shirt, strong legs, black hair, slightly curled and thick, a full beard, dark eyes staring down at you from under heavy eyebrows. You shy away, flinching, breathing harder.

“Hey, shh, it's all good. You're safe now,” he tells you with that low voice that vibrates through your body, and you frown, blinking at him in confusion, unable to relax as you stare at him. “Aww, don't tell me you've already forgotten about me?”

He flashes you a soft smile, exposing white teeth, and none of them seem abnormally large or pointy. You sigh and close your eyes again, trying to focus on your breathing, too weak to worry about anything at this point. Suddenly you're being lifted, held by strong arms, pressed to a warm chest, and you can't help it, you lean into it, savoring the protective gesture. The man carries you away, no idea where to, doesn't matter anyway.

“They got you good, hm?” He keeps talking to you, even though you can't find the strength to reply. “Should have stayed with me, little one.”

Slowly, you blink your eyes open and stare at him, furrowing your brows, really looking at him. Why does he feel so familiar? Slowly you move your hand up and brush your fingertips against his beard, the rough texture bringing up fuzzy memories of... fur? He gives you another smile, his eyes boring into yours. Your lips part as you try to sound out a question, but the pain in your throat is too strong to get any words out.

“Yes, little Red, I am your big bad wolf,” he replies nevertheless, seemingly reading your mind. Your eyes widen. It is him. The werewolf who knotted you. This is his human form? “But don't worry too much about it now. Let's get you cleaned up first, yeah?”

A sudden rush of warmth fills your cheeks and you look away, noticing not only the ripped shirt you borrowed from him but the large amounts of dried cum and blood on your exposed skin. The state those vampires have left you in is horrible. Vampires... for fuck's sake. You wanted to tick all of what happened tonight off as a dream, a nightmare maybe even, but the evidence that it may have actually happened after all is disturbing and hard to ignore. Sighing soundlessly, you rest your head against his shoulder as it starts to spin painfully. This is all too much.

He shifts you on his arms, hugging you closer as he keeps walking. There's a faint glow around you, and you realize that the morning must be close. You survived the night, huh? You're still not too sure about it.

You end up back in his cabin, though luckily not in the primitive basement but in an actual bedroom. He puts you down gently, makes you sit on the edge of the bed as he carefully peels the remnants of his ruined shirt off your body. You just watch him when he leaves the room for a moment before returning with a bowl of water and a washcloth, and when he starts cleaning you up, you close your eyes and let him, his large hands surprisingly soft and gentle as they work.

Eventually he pushes you onto your back, and again, you let him, relaxing into the soft sheets, as he starts wiping between your legs. You shiver when he brushes against your still sensitive clit. He gives you a few rubs, but then moves on, presses the cloth to your thigh, which causes you to wince when a sharp pain jolts through you.

“Can't believe they both fed off you,” you hear him mumble, his low voice a deep rumble in the air. “Insatiable bastards.” His hand moves back to your mound, his thick fingers teasing along your slit. “And they even cleaned you out, hm? Damn, all that effort for naught...”

You slowly open your eyes, meeting his dark gaze. There's a strange tension in your stomach. He keeps rubbing your labia, slowly pressing between them. His eyes are almost black now and as intense as you remember them, even though they've looked at you out of a very different face.

“I guess I have to keep you here a little longer,” he whispers, slowly leaning over you, one hand still at your cunt, the other braced beside your shoulder as he hovers above you. Your hands move up, brushing against his hard stomach. “To make sure you're fine, of course,” he adds, smirking down at you.

You bite your lip, watching him, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt. You have no idea why you feel the sudden urge to pull him closer, wrap your legs around his waist and let him ravage you all over again, human form or not. This whole night has been quite the (sex) adventure, and somehow you don't want it to end. You don't want to go back to your boring life where everything is as expected, planned and sterile.

You'd rather stay with this savage man, who, considering your other encounters, has been the most memorable, and you can't wait for the moon to rise again. For now, you are also quite content with the hairy man above you. His deep laugh full of surprise echoes through the room as you grip the collar of his shirt and pull him down, smacking your mouth against his. He's quick to kiss you back, deep and passionately, your tongues meeting in a wild dance, as he leans his wide body onto yours carefully.

“Damn, Red, you developed quite the hunger, didn't you?” he mouths between kisses, his warm breath fanning over your lips. You can only nod, your cheeks burning up in slight embarrassment, but you still buck your hips up against his groin invitingly. “I'm not complaining,” he adds, playfully nibbling on your bottom lip as he responds with a roll of his pelvis.

Continuing to kiss him with a need that's new to yourself too, you let your hands wander over his broad chest before you fumble with the buttons of his shirt. You groan in slight impatience as your shaking hands can't quite finish the job. He leans back then, looking at you, then simply rips the shirt and shrugs it off nonchalantly, exposing a wide toned chest with just the right amount of dark chest hair.

Your fingers rub through it, it's not abnormally much, just enough to cover his big pecs before it thins out into a thick trail vanishing into his jeans. You follow it, palms sliding over hard muscles before your fingers curl into his belt, holding his dark gaze as you lick your swollen lips. His smirk is playful but has a dark edge to it. Instead of letting you continue on your quest to get him as naked as you are, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head, holding your wrists together with one large hand while his other hand closes around your jaw as he leans closer once more.

“You really want this, huh?” he growls quietly.

You nod frantically, not even hesitating anymore. There's a tiny bit of protest in your mind when it reminds you of the state of your sore body, but you really couldn't care less right now. You want to feel good again, and you remember, even though the details are hazy, that this man (albeit in his other form) has made you feel how you've never felt before.

He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring as he takes in your scent, before he crashes his lips to yours again, quickly slipping his tongue into your mouth. His beard rubs along your soft skin, adding to the growing desire nestling deep within you. You struggle in his hold, really needing to touch him, grab his shoulders, sink your fingers into his thick hair, feel the strength of his body, but for now all you have is his eager mouth.

Once your head is spinning and your lungs burning, he slowly moves his deep kisses down your face, along your jaw, his warm hand rubbing over your sore throat before he turns your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your heart thundering in anticipation. But there are no teeth on your skin, just wet lips and a warm tongue, as he starts sucking on your pulse, lapping at the bruises he works into you.

“Tonight,” he huffs against you, “I'm gonna mark you properly. I'll make you mine, little one, all mine. So no one will ever lay a hand on you again.”

You gasp breathlessly, still unable to get any words through your hurting throat, but he seems to understand your non-verbal agreement as he presses his lips to your neck before leaning back, looking down at you, his dark eyes wandering over your flushed face. You look back out of hooded eyes with your lips parted and quivering. It's a strangely comforting thought to have this man, this werewolf, claim you. You feel protected, safe, and even if you can't properly think about the reality of it just yet, you can't find it in you to deny him.

“Y-yours,” you manage to croak out, and a wide smile breaks on his bearded face.

He lets go of your wrists and pulls you into the embrace of his strong arms, and you immediately snake your hands around his neck and into his hair, sighing contently as you feel the thick locks between your fingers and his mouth once again on yours.

For the longest time you're just lying together, cuddled up on his bed, hands holding and exploring, tongues wrestling, his heavy body pushing you into the mattress, and you wouldn't have it any other way. You're moaning against his lips as he starts growling low in his throat, his lower body rubbing against yours with increasing need. You can feel the heat of his hard cock through his jeans, and in an attempt to show him you're ready, you lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, pressing your equally hot center right against his bulge.

A snarl comes from his mouth as he leans back abruptly, braced on his arms, chest heaving, muscles dancing, before he jumps back fully, quickly fumbling with his belt and pants before he is finally completely naked, his erection bouncing against his lower stomach as he starts crawling back over you. You try to get a better look at it, but he's claiming your mouth for another kiss, though from what you've seen he may just be as big as his wolf counterpart, minus the bulbous knot, unfortunately.

But you're sure you'll experience that again very soon. The moon couldn't rise fast enough.

You expect him to immediately claim your hungrily clenching cunt, but instead of shoving his cock into you, you feel his thick fingers rubbing between your wet folds, coaxing quiet mewls out of your hurting throat. He keeps kissing you as he starts properly fingering you, pushing his long digits as deep as they would go. It's a lazy rhythm but it's enough to build up that sizzling heat inside you, and the tension builds and builds, until you cry out soundlessly against his mouth, stiffening beneath him, body arching, thighs twitching as you come hard around his fingers.

He inhales your breathless moans, plunging his tongue deeper while slowly massaging your fluttering walls, letting you down easy. You groan quietly in protest when he pulls his fingers out, the sudden emptiness almost painful. A chuckle escapes him as he presses his lips against your warm cheek and leans back, looking down. You follow his gaze and watch how he grabs his throbbing cock in his big hand, its tip as angry and red looking as you remember his wolfish dick. It's not as monstrous though, but still thick and veiny and long, and your head spins just from imagining it inside you.

You don't have to imagine it for long though when he then brings the precum leaking crown to your folds, swiping it through them to gather your slick, before he presses against your entrance, carefully, oh so careful you wish he'd be a bit rougher, and slowly your cunt opens up to him, and inch by inch, his cock disappears inside you. You arch your head back as you feel the stretch, your lips parted for a soundless moan.

He shifts on top of you, lowers himself between your wide spread legs, brings his forearms on either side of your shoulders, his hands cradling your head as he leans down again to shower your flushed face with soft kisses while he rolls his hips against you, so gentle you barely feel how he forces his cock past your resistance until he eventually bottoms out. Somehow it's a comfort to feel this full, filled and stretched, claimed.

Your hands dig into his hair, holding him tightly as you move your tongue around his, inhaling his low growls and groans as you grind your pelvis against him. His first thrust makes you see stars. It's a sudden jolt of pain, a deep little stab, and you flinch, gasping. He leans back and watches you, his eyes so dark and intense you can only stare back. He thrusts again, taking in your reaction, and when you flinch once more, he soothes his hands over your head.

“Does it hurt?” he asks gravelly, his voice vibrating through you, adding to the building heat inside you.

“No,” you croak out. There's discomfort, in your throat, in your ass, but your cunt feels right with his cock moving within it, a perfect fit, a thing meant to be. Your hands move to his face, rubbing over his bearded cheeks. “Keep going,” you manage to whisper past the ache. “Please...”

His lips curl up into a smirk before he leans down to kiss yours softly, then suddenly sits up fully, braced on his strong arms, resting on his haunches. He grabs your thighs and drapes them over his, and you automatically wrap your legs around his body and cross your feet, holding onto him as he starts snapping his hips against you, his large hands now on your waist, thumbs pressing onto your fluttering stomach.

He falls into a slow but steady rhythm, pushing deep and simultaneously pulling you into his thrusts, and all you can do is fall back into the softness of the bed and let it happen, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as you moan and mewl, your eyes rolling back in growing pleasure. He's much more careful than he was in his wolf form, really looks out for you, but still uses all of his body to stimulate yours.

You feel hot and cold all over, goosebumps rippling over your skin, deep shivers crashing through you, that heat building up deep within, ready to explode into a ravaging wildfire. Wet squelching sounds mix with the loud slapping of skin against skin, add to that your breathless gasps and his low grunts and groans, and you feel your head spinning in the best kind of vertigo.

When he eventually picks up the pace, you are immediately propelled up into new spheres of bliss, your eyes flying open as he grips your waist harder, moves his hips faster, his cock pistoning in and out with force and fervor. Your walls clench around him, your whole body shuddering under the assault. Hoarse moans escape you, lips parted wide, lungs burning, that tension in your stomach bordering on painful.

You come with a shrill squeak, almost soundless, ripping through your sore throat, but all you feel is burning pleasure, all-consuming, taking over every nerve and muscle, and he keeps fucking you through it with hard and deep thrusts, forcing through your tightening walls as they clamp around him with a force that makes you dizzy. He grunts loudly, shifting on top of you until his entire body rests on yours, pushing you into the bed, a comforting weight that keeps you grounded as you float away on that tidal wave of pleasure.

His hips smack into yours, even faster, more urgent and frantic, his groans getting louder as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your fluttering pulse. You gasp beneath him, your trembling arms snaking around his body until you sink your fingernails into his back, holding on for dear life as he fucks you with reckless abandon.

It's all a blur now, a whirlwind of noises and sensations, little jolts of pain and overwhelming slaps of bliss, you can't breathe, you can't move, you can just take it, and you take it with growing need, absorbing every pummeling thrust, every deep plunge, every poke at your cervix, every drag along your walls, every rub against your clit. His breath is hot against your neck, his heavy body embracing you whole, eager to swallow you up, make you his. And you're here for it. For him.

Your noises grow louder, forcing out of your body, whines and wails, moans and mewls, your voice coming back slowly before you'll lose it all over again. He's hammering into you now, making you both bounce on the bed, a feral rutting that is all too familiar to you. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck, feeling the rough texture of his beard and the soft curls of his hair, and in your daze you see the wolf above you, his long snout, those sharp teeth, the long panting tongue, and you hear the low growls and snarls, the animalistic need to breed his mate, and it's that image that makes you come again, hard, uncontrollable twitches making your whole body convulse beneath him as you let out the loudest moan yet.

He slows then, labored breaths in your ear, hot against your skin, before you feel him shuddering as well, his big body trembling on top of yours, and his last thrust is particularly deep, a hard punch into your cervix that forces another explosion of pain and pleasure through you, and with a long groan he comes inside you, his cock throbbing, his balls drawn up tight between your folds, twitching with every spurt of hot cum he leaves deep inside of you.

You hold onto him, hands soothing over his broad back, as he fills you up, and because there's no knot to keep it in, his warm seed soon presses past your connection, seeping out of you in lazy globs that feel warm and soothing against your puckered hole. You slowly relax beneath him, coming down gently from all those highs, and his deep sigh vibrates through you as he does the same, putting his entire weight on you.

Your lips press against the top of his head, the scent of his hair, a mixture of pine and grass and earth, fills your nostrils. You close your eyes, a soft smile creeping onto your features as you feel his beard rubbing against your neck, a low hum escaping him in response. For a moment you just lie like this, both boneless and exhausted, his cock still giving the occasional twitch as another spurt of his seed pumps into you while your cunt clenches lazily around him, and you could fall asleep like that, overwhelmed by a strange kind of comfort you've never experienced before.

You could certainly get used to this...

Before you can drift off, he suddenly moves, his muscles working as he pulls his arms around you and rolls you both onto your sides. You already miss his weight on you, his enveloping warmth, but he quickly pulls you into him, pressed to his wide chest, and you nuzzle into his hoarse chest hair, inhaling deeply. He tilts his hips, and you feel his cock slipping free, followed by a surge of warm cum flowing out of your pulsing pussy.

He groans as he puts a hand between your legs and tries to hold it in, fingers eagerly pushing his seed back between your tight muscles, and before you know it, you are being rolled around until your back is to his groin, and he lifts your leg and replaces his fingers with his cock, still impressively hard as it slips back home, filling you out all over again. A soft moan escapes you as he drapes his large body around yours, holding you tightly against him, his beard rubbing against your cheek before you turn your head and meet his lips for a soft kiss.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice just a low thrum in the air.

“Yes,” you breathe against him, reaching out a hand to grab his face, pulling him even closer. “Never better...”

He smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss as he grinds his hips against your rear, though he doesn't move much, not intending to fuck you all over again, and he stops completely once his entire cock is fed deep into your cunt, just resting there, hot and heavy. His hand moves to your stomach, and yours joins soon after, fingers interlacing as you both feel the tightness of your belly and the slight bulge his cock and cum created. It's a pleasant fullness, a soft warmth both inside and out, a comfort you don't want to let go, ever.

Eventually you do slip away into unconsciousness, mid-kiss, with your lips brushing against his, before he wraps his arm tightly around you and nuzzles against your neck, your head lolling away as sleep grabs you tightly.

You wake up in almost the same position, with this large man wrapped around your smaller body, holding you tightly, his cock still very much buried inside you, but now he's sleeping, soft snores rumbling through him, deep inhales letting his toned chest rub against your back. You blink your eyes into focus and look around the room, bathed in bright sunlight that hurts your eyes, and you wonder how you got here, how a mysterious invitation to a (not at all) simple Halloween party brought you into the arms of a man who will turn into a monster as soon as the moon rises.

It still doesn't make sense, none of it, and maybe nothing of it happened after all? You did sleep with the man draped around you, that was real, but maybe that was it? The rest was just some alcohol-induced fever dream? Maybe. It would be easier to believe for sure, easier than whatever your mind tries to tell you may have happened. For now, you force the contradicting thoughts away and focus on the very real man snuggled up to you.

Lifting a hand, you rub it along his thick forearm, feeling those bulging veins under his tight skin and the hard muscles flexing slightly as you do so. A few seconds later, he stirs behind you, inhaling deeply.

“Awake already?” he rumbles into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your jaw.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you,” you whisper, lying as still as possible in his embrace.

“All good,” he replies with a groan as he grinds his hips into you.

Immediately you feel a burning pain crashing through you, your muscles tight around his cock, too tense to allow for much movement that doesn't hurt. He stops, his hand moving from your stomach down between your legs, fingertips brushing against your hooded clit, slowly waking up those resisting nerves.

You gasp softly, arching into him at the sensation. “Have I told you how wonderful you feel wrapped around my cock?” he breathes against you, sending shivers down your spine. “You do, such a perfect fit. Molded to me, haven't you?”

You hum in response, closing your eyes as you relax under his ministrations. Your muscles ease, allowing his cock to slide back and forth slightly, and before you know it, he's coaxing a gently building orgasm out of you that makes you keen in agonizing bliss as it crescendos into another one of those mind-blowing experiences that have you twitching uncontrollably. He quickens his thrusts, eager to follow you over the edge, and when he does, he grunts into your ear, holds you tightly against him, his hips jerking against your rear as he adds hot spurts of cum to your burning juices.

You sigh deeply when he stills, leaning into him, breathing hard from not doing much, and you realize you always want to wake up like this, in the arms of this man, fucked fully awake by his amazing cock. As soon as the post-orgasmic clarity settles in, you also realize that this will never become a reality. It can't. How should it? You barely know him, he's a werewolf, it was just a one-night-stand, he's a werewolf, you have to go back to the city soon.

Inhaling sharply, you stiffen in his hold, trying to ignore the soft kisses he plants on your neck and shoulder before he slowly moves back, detaches himself from you and your fluttering depths, and as soon as his cock slips free, a warm wave of cum seeps from between your thighs. You press them together, rolling up into the sheets when his warm body is gone. He stands from the bed, stretching, then walks wordlessly into the bathroom.

Maybe it's better this way. You shouldn't get too attached. He lives in a cabin in the woods, might be connected to the mysterious house you were invited to last night, and when you remember the drive here correctly, it did take you quite a while to get here. You can't do a long-distance relationship, it'll eat you up, you just know it. And he can't come visit you either, what if he turns into a monster and ravages half the city block?

Though he did seem to have his urges under control (more or less anyway) when you first encountered him, but still, the city is no place for a werewolf.

And what if this is just a fling for him anyway? What if you are the only one stressing about what happens next? But he did say he wanted to make you his, his mate, for nobody else to touch, wait, yes, he promised you he'd do that tonight, but... what if that was just some lust-induced dirty talk? It would mean you'd have to stay the whole day, wait for the moon to rise, and you can't do that.

You have a job to go back to, a boring life that waits to be continued. This party was already a big step out of your comfort zone, you can't just throw your life away for a hot guy, can you?

Groaning in frustration, you grab the pillow and bury your burning face in it, hoping to smother the thought carousel before it gets out of hand. Seriously. Since when are you such an overthinker?

A sudden noise makes you stiffen. He's back from the bathroom. But you can't look at him. You should leave. End it before it gets complicated.

“Do you want to shower next? It's still nice and toasty in there,” you hear his low voice, muffled through the pillow.

You grunt a reply, and without acknowledging his towering form in the room, you slip off the bed and into the bathroom. The shower, however steamy it is, clears your head, and when you reemerge, dried off with the provided towels, you wrap one around your body and slowly step back into the bedroom, bracing yourself for what may come next.

You find the man whose name you never learned sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in another plaid shirt and dirty jeans, and he's holding a stack of clothes, your blouse and skirt as you recognize, and the red cloak he was so fond of last night. You walk up to him and take the items, biting your lip as you nod at him. He watches you as you re-enter the bathroom to get dressed, which seems silly considering he's seen every inch of your body multiple times by now.

By the time you're dressed and ready to leave this all behind, your stomach is tense. “I...” you start as you meet him back in the bedroom, wringing your hands nervously.

He tilts his head, deep creases on his forehead. “Are you hungry?” he asks then, ripping you out of your dark thoughts.

You blink slowly, parting your lips only to press them together again. Then you just nod. He smiles at you, his whole face lighting up, the frown disappears while other creases appear in the corners of his eyes, dimples on his cheeks, almost hidden by his thick beard. He stands up and reaches for you, and you don't even hesitate when you put your small hand onto his large palm.

He leads you towards a small kitchen that opens into a cozy looking living room with a big couch and a fireplace. As you sit down on one of the bar stools lining the island, he rounds the counter and starts preparing breakfast. You focus on him, trying to ignore the ongoing debate in your head. In the end you and your overbearing mind come to the conclusion that you'll just enjoy the moments you still have with him, before you have to leave.

“Hey, um, you never told me your name,” you say a little shyly as you watch him crack some eggs into a sizzling pan.

“It's Bear,” he tells you, turning his head to meet your curious gaze. His dark eyes gleam in the sunlight flooding through the large window of the living room. They glow like amber.

“Bear?” you repeat, frowning with a smirk. “But... you're a werewolf. That's kinda ironic.”

He chuckles deeply. “Maybe, yeah. But you know, I wasn't born a werewolf, I was born a shapeshifter.”

Your eyebrows rise at that. “What?”

“I can shift into various animals. Usually a big black bear, sometimes a large wolf too. Or a fox if I feel playful.” His voice is so even, natural, he's either a great story teller and liar or... no, this can't be true.

“You're kidding me,” you whisper, leaning onto your elbow.

He winks at you. “Nope, I am a shapeshifter. It runs in my family.” He moves the pan over the burner for a moment before he pulls it off and turns fully to you. “You accepted that I am a werewolf, but this is baffling you?” he asks with a smirk. “These grounds have always been in the care of my ancestors, for a very long time. I'm just the latest groundskeeper.”

“So you belong to the house?” you ask quietly, trying to make sense of what he's told you.

“In a way. The house has a strange history, to be honest,” he says, inhaling deeply as he stops the meal prepping and crosses his strong arms in front of his chest. Leaning against the counter, he watches you, and you frown, urging him to continue. “Well, you see, it shouldn't be here,” he goes on ominously.

“What do you mean?”

“It was built on land that shouldn't be built on,” he clarifies. “I don't want to go into too much detail, but, well, people back in the day didn't care about traditions or customs, or warnings. They just did what they wanted, took what they desired. So the house was built, and my family was asked to leave the grounds. Of course that couldn't happen. Somehow we made the compromise that we could stay and care for the grounds and the forest, and they let us. But it wasn't a fair exchange, as were most things back then...”

You listen with growing interest, your eyes wandering over his tan skin and the deep sorrow in his eyes. He keeps talking, his voice low and almost melancholy.

“Some of us didn't like it, and... well, things got out of hand. There was a shaman who lived deep in the forest, and she didn't accept neither the new house nor our willingness to work for those people, so she threw around some curses...”

“Curses?” you echo, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Yes, ancient magic made worse by strong emotions. Some say the shaman was fueled by the injustice of the situation, others think she may have had an affair with the house owner, or... well, maybe something else happened, something darker, nobody really knows. But her magic was so strong it is still up today.”

You stare at him, both fascinated and deeply unsettled by his story.

“For one, she cursed us groundskeepers with Lycanthropy, which, us being shapeshifters, shouldn't have been such a bad deal, but you see, I can control turning into animals, I cannot control turning into a werewolf under the full moon. It took me a long time to control myself while transformed as well. The creature you met yesterday was just a shadow of the monster I used to be.”

Your eyes widen, before you blink and frown. He takes a step closer, towering over you as if to trigger your fight or flight instinct. But you're eerily calm when you watch him. “I'm not afraid of you,” you whisper, reaching out a hand towards him. He smiles softly, a sad twinkle in his eyes as he puts his long fingers around yours, squeezing them gently.

“You're special, Little Red,” he whispers, eyeing you closely. “And probably the first to even find your way onto my grounds.” He sighs loudly when your frown deepens. “You see, the shaman also cursed the house. I can't even really explain it, just... well, it slips in and out of existence. It's always there, but it cannot be perceived all the time.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. That explains why you couldn't remember ever seeing it before. You nod to his words, and he continues.

“Sometimes, on special occasions, it reaches out into the world, trying to lure in lost souls. You came here for a party, right?” You nod again. “You see, the inhabitants of the house, staff included, they cannot leave. So they invite random people hoping that some will stay and join them. Nobody usually does. Most come here to party, enjoy a special night they will forget as soon as they step foot over the threshold.”

He tilts his head, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand as he stares down.

“Can you remember what happened in the house?” he asks, slowly looking up.

Your mind buzzes. “Faintly. I mean, hmm,” you make, pulling your eyebrows together as you try to think back to the party. There was a party, right? A Halloween party, yeah, colorful lights through the windows, the low thrum of the bass of the music. You see the invitation in your mind's eye, you assume there have been a lot of people in costumes, food and drinks, but... the more you try to think about details the less feedback you get. It's all fuzzy.

Well, not all of it. It's blurry but you see a mask looming over you, a stranger's voice in your ear, a cold knife against your skin. And after that (or before? You can't be sure) there's the sound of rushing water, then... nothing, just a thrum in your head, deafening silence almost. And it wasn't nothing, there was something, very invasive, you can almost feel it, all over your skin, and more than that... deep inside you. A shiver crashes through your body as you force away the strange sensation.

You look up at the tall man in front of you. “You can't, hm?” he growls quietly, and you nod, deciding it would be best not to share those particular memories with him. “You weren't meant to stay then. Lucky me,” he adds, his serious face morphing into a smile. You blush deeply at how intense his dark eyes look at you. “Instead you ran right into my arms.”

You look away with a shy chuckle. “Well, I did run away from you as well,” you whisper.

“You didn't know better,” he says, letting go of your hand to walk around the island until he's standing behind you, his large hands heavy on your shoulders. You turn your head slightly, trying to look at him out of the corner of your eye. He leans closer, rubs his beard against your cheek. “But you learned your lesson, didn't you?”

Somehow his words sound both enticing and flirting, but also a little threatening and menacing. You shiver. “I...”

“You won't run away from me again, right?” he whispers, his low voice just a thrum in the air, a vibration through your head. “I told you you are mine now. I won't let you go.”

You swallow, stiffening slightly. “But...”

“You were called here,” he continues, ignoring your feeble attempts of protesting. “The house invited you, beckoned you, but it couldn't hold you, you left, stepped into the maze, found me...” He inhales deeply, leaning his chin on your shoulder. “You found what you were looking for.”

You blink in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like I said, the house calls upon the lost souls, those who wander through life. Some answer, either to find what they are looking for or to never leave again. Think, little one, were you a lost soul, trapped in a boring life with no way out? I believe you were, but no longer, hm?”

Slowly you break your stupor and turn around on the stool, fully facing him. He leans back a little, watching you closely. His words confuse you, but they poke into the dark corners of your mind, at the things you've hidden away. Your desires that could never come true. Like this. With him, this can't come true, right?

How can you throw away your old life because of some ancient hocus-pocus beckoning you to a place where you will find... what? All the answers? True love? Your soulmate or something? Or just a guy who can give you some much-needed cuddles and mind-blowing sex? Is that it? You never believed in the supernatural or paranormal. All this talk about curses and lost souls and werewolves – Hang on. You blink slowly.

You'd be pretty ignorant to disregard all the things that have happened. You saw his werewolf form, you know it intimately. And you were abducted by vampires, ravaged and bitten. They exist. And this man in front of you exists. Sure, you never saw him transform, but you believe him. He feels real and genuine.

And the way he looks right into your soul, picks up on those urges you keep fighting. You already told yourself that you want this, wake up in his arms, be with him, experience that knot again. It is all strange and unnatural, but then again... Maybe you were looking for something like this. You'd have never thought you'd end up with an actual shapeshifter, a werewolf, but does it matter in the end?

He is still a man, a big strong man with the right hardware, and as you feel the warmth creeping into your cheeks, scolding yourself for thinking such primal thoughts, you bite your lip, your eyes wandering over his hairy face. Slowly, you raise your hands and brush your fingertips against his beard, tracing the edges. He watches you, a twinkle in his brown eyes.

“I don't have a choice, right? Fate decided for me,” you say quietly. A deep dimple forms beneath your hand as he smiles at you.

“Indeed it did, little one,” he replies gravelly. “And no one should challenge fate.”

“Hmm,” you hum, cupping his face as you pull yourself closer to him. Before you can, however, meet his lips like you intended, you pause, a thought crashing through your head. “Hey, uh, you said you'd make me your mate. Does that mean I'll become a werewolf too?”

He blinks slowly before he barks a deep laugh. “Your mind works in fascinating ways, Red,” he muses, but then sighs and leans back, slipping from your hold. “No, you won't become like me. It's part of the curse. I'm destined to stay alone.”

“Wait, but I thought... we...”

His arms wrap around your shoulders and lift you up easily as he presses you to his wide chest. “Alone with my cursed fate, but I feel this doesn't count. You came to me, we found each other in the maze. It was your destiny that we met. You may just be the first to fight the pull of the house, it's a sign. And I'd be stupid to let you go ever again...”

You snake your hands under the strong grip of his literal bear hug, gripping at the back of his shirt. “I won't leave,” you mumble into his chest. “I want to stay... with you...”

He leans you back and grips your upper arms, looking down at you with warm eyes. “Good, I'm glad. I was already worried where I'd put your cage.”

You frown before you see his wink and blush deeply, giggling softly as you slap your hand against his chest in mock indignation. “Leave the kinky stuff for when we know each other a bit better?” you tease with a smirk.

He laughs, a deep rumble in the air, and pulls you into another hug. You wrap your arms around his waist and inhale deeply, sinking into his strength and all-consuming warmth.

You came here for a night of partying, drinking, eating, meeting people. To let loose. Have a little adventure. In the end you found so much more.

1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6

End notes: Thank you for joining me on this ride! I really appreciate the support! I'm happy you liked my little experiment!

It started as a means to get as many monster encounters as possible into one story, but it ended with actual plot, who would've thunk! And the best part, if you enjoyed it, there will be more!

I will expand on the story of Bear and Reader, giving them their own adventure, AND, because I initially intended to wrap this up differently, I will add some bonus chapters to tie up any loose ends of this story, hopefully. Stay tuned!

A little research side note and disclaimer: I know this is just a silly little fantasy smut story, but I still tend to research quite a bit for my writing. I mentioned above that a shaman cursed Bear and the house, and I just want to make clear that, while I hint at certain dynamics and historical "facts" (really vaguely implying that Bear and his family are from an indigenous tribe and the house owners are some colonizers/settlers taking over their lands), I do not mean any offense by using this word or any other implications made. I looked for a better term, but couldn't find any in the time I had to edit this. In the end, I am just a smut writer and a European at that. I know I only grazed this topic and was mostly only inspired by it, but I am still sorry if I offended anyone with what I wrote or implied!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[laufire]

[Caption: the first post includes a screenshot from Batman, issue 408. Jason, with a tough expression, tells Batman "I don't want to wind up in some crummy orphanage, or some foster home where I'm somebody's pet charity case. I'm my own man! Me, Jason Todd!" Bruce replies "Jason Todd, huh? Pretty fancy handle for a street kid. How long was your mother sick?" Jason replies that she was sick for over a year, and he found her "food and stuff", and kept her warm and alive for as long as he could. Bruce puts a hand on Jason's shoulder and asks "What about school, son?", and Jason replies he graduated "a long time ago-- from the streets of Crime Alley."]

#Cologona’s point summarizes perfectly why I like Black and Latino Jason headcanons so much #The premise of the Gotham knights social worker arc (43-45) encapsulates this perfectly. #‘Jason Todd was a poor kid with a record who was a lost cause headed straight to black gate so there’s no need to besmirch Bruce Wayne’s #good name by investigating his mysterious death’ is something that could happen to a white kid because classism is a powerful thing but tha #sort of attitude is way more likely to be applied to a Black or Latino kid right? Adding a race aspect to that story makes me want bash my #head into a wall (positive) (if you headcanon both Jason and Felix Desidero as Latino it adds an extra kick to it) (via @kittykatninja321)

My opinion on the Latino Jason Todd headcanon

While I do understand ppl's criticism of the latino Jason todd headcanon and how its kind of racist to make the kid with parents with drug problems as the latino one, to me its more of a reclamation BECAUSE of DC's racism.

Read any 80s/90s batman issue that covers gang violence and drugs, most if not ALL of the criminals are poc; black people and latinos visibly make up the majority in the poorer neighbourhoods in Gotham. Aside from the caricaturist way they r drawn/speak, its not THAT weird cause its a reflection of irl big cities where immigrants and marginalised ppl are often forced to live in such situations, (like most of my dominican family lives in the bronx... it aint racist to say dominicans tend to flock there), BUT...the weird part is when the second a sympathetic character comes from that area, he's white and has a name thats "too fancy for the streets".

Obviously, Jason was created to look like the old robin, so I can't say that the whole "diamond in the rough" situation was purposely a tad bit racist, but its still a lil weird (especially with bruce's comment).

If Jason were a part of the overwhelming demographic in his area, the good-kid-in-a-bad-area trope has less connotations. DC is currently trying to fix this trope is by making crime alley whiter, which isn't bad but they could've just yk... humanised the non-white residents.

I also feel like the messed up way Jason was treated post-death is what makes him so relatable to latino readers. His tragic story of dying while trying to save his only living relative is turned into a lesson for newer vigilantes. Jason's particular disdain for abusers on a few occasions was twisted (by both writers and characters) into him always being dumb, reckless, cocky, angry and disobedient, always violent, never having been able to get over his upbringing. None of those things were true (he was a normal level of reckless and cocky like every other robin, not more), but its an easier narrative to digest compared to how it was in reality; a kid who worked so hard and loved even harder, died to save a woman who couldn't care less about his existence. He was an emotional AND smart kid who wanted so bad to help others get better but was remembered as too emotional (in a bad way).

THIS is the reality for many latino diasporas in day to day life; Theres no question that Latino culture is passionate and emotive, but people from other cultures assume that it is followed by instead of logical. both can coexist. emotion does not mean u have no logic. Emotions can be irrational but they aren't inherently that way, and I wouldn't say that the moments where Jason lashed out as a teenager were irrational (in og runs, not rewrites post red hood), they were mostly done to protect someone (going crazy on abusers, disobeying batman to save sheila, that time he got into a fight at school to defend his friend).

A lot of euro-centric culture is OBSESSED with the idea that rationality is separate from feelings and emotions, but not crying at a funeral doesn't mean you're better than those who do. Emotions are the basis of human ethics and morals, they define the way we interact as a collective and ignoring them does not mean they are not there. Theres no winner to a contest of who can feel the less. And the way Jason's emotions are treated (pre-rh, hes definitely unhinged afterwards lol) is so in line with how white culture tends to punish those who aren't ashamed to feel.

I TOTES UNDERSTAND that some ppl who headcanon Jason as latino are doing it for the complete opposite of reasons, like "oh here some angry emotional guy with druggie parents, haha must be latino". Its weird. I dont like it. And its only brought up so he can swear in spanish in some rlly bad text post where his emotions are getting out. But to me there's so much potential for metanarrative and commentary on how latinos are treated in media that can be exemplified through the way his character is treated. Being latino would add SO MUCH DEPTH to his character and his dynamic with the others.

[fruitydiaz]

i haven’t been reading much of the interviews this season so it’s entirely possible that i’m missing something. but my general belief is that when they say something vague is coming and it doesn’t quite pan out the way we understood, it’s not (always) because they’re lying but because they have to be vague in interviews and we have to fill in a lot of blanks. with the way 911 is written and filmed i think a lot of the time they don’t know what’s going to be happen, so when interviewers ask they have to kind of assume based on some vague ideas.

i remember this with oliver i think last season or the season before. a lot of times interviewers would ask what’s next and oliver would say something to the affect of “this is where i think it could go” or like it to go and then it wouldn’t go there because literally how would he know? or he would mention scenes he had filmed that later got cut from the episode because that’s just how it goes.

the only thing i think you can really take for certain in interviews, particularly post mortems, is what they say about the episode that just aired. otherwise they don’t know! they just don’t! and the whole point of the article is to entice you and get you to watch further so of course the actors and tim and the journalist are going to promise something mysterious and intriguing that probably won’t pan out to be as mysterious and intriguing.

you also have to remember that even though we can often follow breadcrumbs accurately, fandom has a different world built around 911 than the cast and writers do. we’re going to have different understandings of the story at large than they do because of fan fiction and speculation and headcanons. even if you don’t actively participate in those things they are going to affect your perception because of your participation in fandom. that’s why we enjoy it. but that’s not the way they understand it, even when we do align sometimes.

[austinramsaygames]

Put an opera in your campaign!

Put an opera in your TTRPG and make a reason why the player characters MUST attend. There are many reasons to do this!

It's fancy so the PCs have to come up with formal wear that their characters would bring to the opera (this is one reason it should be an opera). Let them wear whatever weird shit they want so long as their character LEGITIMATELY believes the outfit is appropriate. Let them get Met Gala with it. Other guests may stare and make snide remarks, but the staff should only offer token resistance if the outfit interferes with the performance or audience, or is dangerous to the people around them.

It forces the PCs into a social situation they may not have the mechanical skills for. Fish out of water stories are lots of fun, especially during the intermission when they have a chance to mingle with the NPCs. Make part of their task at the opera to get to know the wealthy folks in the audience, either generally or specific ones. Even better if they have to get *something* from them (political support, a specific item, information, etc). If things seem to be stalling, here are two tricks to help keep things flowing: a) have someone powerful pointedly insult the most hot headed PC in a very upper class manner. Comments about their outfit and upbringing are classics. This heats things back up as the hot head tries to get violent while the other PCs try to keep the peace, and can lead to a duel the next morning when the dilettante turns out to be a renowned duelist. b) once things have completely stalled or if you need to cut things short (in or out of character), have the intermission end and the audience called back into the auditorium. This can be used as a cliffhanger for whatever was about to happen!

The opera house can be a very interesting location! There's the lobby, auditorium, and possibly concessions, but if the PCs start going where they shouldn't, there's a lot of behind (and under) the scenes spaces for them to explore. Do they go to the changing room and harass (or even replace!) the actors? Maybe they go to the props department and replace a stage knife with a real one! There could be a weirdo living in the basement who is obsessed with the lead actress and plans to kidnap (or rescue?) her. There are all kinds of interesting spaces for plots to happen!

The opera itself is an opportunity to tell the players about the past, present, or even future! What is the plot of the opera? This is key information! The opera will be telling a story that is important to the majority of the audience. It could be about the past of the nation (mythical or historical). Maybe it's about events the PCs witnessed themselves but told from a different point of view than theirs and this might be unflattering towards them or those they care about. You can even foreshadow future plot points by having the play be a fiction that thematically or narratively parallels later parts (or even the next) of the story arc. If there's a great evil that's going to return, you can combine the past AND the future by describing the terrors of the "defeated" evil, then later show those signs happening as hints that the evil returns!

There are some great examples of how an opera (or play if you must) can be inserted into a story to great effect. The Ember Island Players episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender recaps the entire show from the perspective of the antagonist Fire Nation.

Final Fantasy 6 has a famous opera scene where one of the heroes has to replace an actress who has been threatened with being kidnapped by the mysterious man whose help they need! The hero must then remember her lines while the rest of the party protects the show from getting derailed by monsters.

These are just a few ways that you can use an opera in your TTRPG campaign and I highly recommend giving it a whirl!

[atopvisenyashill]

I don't ship jonsa, but i also think that Arya will be the one to kill Dany. Think about it. Arya is Lyanna reborn, we are told again and again in the books and Daenerys is the male version of Rhaegar. (Not my words. Daenerys' own supporters and her own fans keep harping on about this.)

What better thematic way to show Lyanna finally defeating the man who basically murdered her by forcing his child on her at such a young age while he held her captive, then by having a willful Stark girl, who is her niece, who looks exactly like her, end the last tyrant to wear the name Targaryen?

This is why I truly believe Arya Stark will be the end of Daenerys Targaryen. Not Jon Snow.

Yes, I honestly need a tag for this but I do think Arya's arc about who deserves death, who deserves to mete out death, and when death is a blessing, are bringing her not just to killing Lady Stoneheart but killing Daenerys. I have a post about it here that goes into the "arya is surrounded by the horrors of Valyria, about to come face to face without a woman who is the personification of Valyria" and another great one here that goes into how "who kills Dany" might even be left a mystery. I haven't talked about it here but I have my tags on this post here (by the great stumpy, I think her reading on how Dany could be killed is pretty spot on to how it would happen) and I'll paste them here-

#‘she doesn’t require those skills for her mother’ is a very good point. i think she’ll kill both and it’ll be sort of two sides of the same #killing lsh is about the mercy aspect when it comes to the person being executed. it’s about reckoning with her complex feelings towards the #feminine towards her mother towards her grief. the slave asks for mercy and the faceless men grant it. and i think here arya will understand #why death can be a mercy. and why skipping the trial aspect is bad (see her killing the singer). it’s about arya working through her grief. #whereas killing dany is mercy towards the many and not the one being executed. it’s about where her story ends. not low after killing her #mother but becoming a queenslayer and feeling no shame over it. the culmination not of her emotional journey but her actionable one. from #befriending the poor and peasantry to killing a queen to protect them.

So much of Arya's story - not dissimilar to Dany's! - is that she befriends the smallfolk & common born, sees the way they suffer, and is attempting to do something to help alleviate that suffering, but alleviating it is so much harder than they expected. Whereas I think Dany's story is careening towards a moment where she decides the only way to "help" is to cleanse them with fire to be remade anew just as she was, Arya's story is coming from understanding when it's time to step in - when killing becomes a mercy. For her mother, that's part of the Heroine's Journey; Arya having rejected the feminine for the masculine, descending into the underworld, coming back with new gifts and skills, and finally reconciling herself with the feminine. No, this doesn't mean Arya is going to suddenly start wearing dresses; rather, it's about how her issues with sewing are about Catelyn not about Sansa. It's about her unresolved issues with her mother.

But part of "justice" as Arya learns is that death comes not just as a mercy for the poor, but as retribution against the powerful. That part of the lesson isn't a factor in her killing LSH so it will be found elsewhere. But where? It won't be with Littlefucker or the Night King, it won't be with the Freys...there's not a lot of options left! But Arya, like the rest of her siblings, is going to find out the truth about Lyanna and what happened to her. That's going to be relevant!

[thrashkink-coven]

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to stomach in my patronage with Lord Lucifer is the idea that bad things must happen.

Bad things do not just happen, they must happen. They must happen for there to be change. It’s a shitty sentiment, because what the fuck does that mean? So I needed to have been abused? So it was all in God’s plan for my friends to die and my rights to be taken? Bad things must happen? What a load of bullshit.

But what I wasn’t willing to understand is that cruelty is not natural, cruelty teaches nothing, but bad things must happen. I didn’t deserve that abuse. I didn’t deserve to be born disabled, no one does. No one person deserves suffering just to enable God’s plan. Yet, I know in my heart that I need to exist as a disabled person, how else would I create art about my struggles? i know that I needed to survive abuse to become a protector of others. I needed to have my heart broken so I could learn to put it back together. If not, I wouldn’t even be me. Bad things, strife, and adversary, are often the result of cruelty. There is never any justification for cruelty. But cruel people will exist, and bad things will happen. Bad things must happen to those cruel people, and bad things must happen to you. Pain harms us, but it also teaches us what harms us so we will stay away.

In order to see an empire crumble, it must crumble. That crumbling is the bad, the violence, the hatred. To see the fall of an empire, we must fall with it and watch it burn. How else would it be destroyed? Why else would we try? Why else would we learn and grow? Why are things getting so bad? How bad do they have to get for you to be inspired to change it?

Every terrible horrible thing that has ever happened, happened, and it’s result was you, right now, reading this. Had these things not happened, you would not be you, and you would not be reading this. I think often about my partner, who is to me, the most amazing and beautiful person in the world. How is it so that all of this carnage lead to his existence? Why?

When I say bad things must happen, I’m not saying that it’s okay that hundreds of thousands of Palestinians and Sudanese people are dying. I’m not saying that we’re “supposed to” be having our rights stripped away and our voices silenced. I mean more that, we as a species have been fighting this evil since the beginning. This evil is called supremacy. It has owned us from the time it entered the mind of the first man. We as a people have never been able to escape it, it is the devil. There is and will always be a devil, and there must always be a beacon of light ready to fight it. We will continue to repeat these mistakes on every continent until we collectively commit ourselves from eliminating that evil, and this evil will teach us through pain and suffering. All so so unnecessary, had we had the sense to look at ourselves. But this evil will not stop until it has penetrated every human soul and wiped it clean. On the other end will emerge a disciplined humanity with scars that bleed. The fall will be monumental, but the rise will be divine.

The loss of life, the suffering, wasn’t destined or necessary. This idea is not an excuse to shrug and say “God works in mysterious ways.” It isn’t God killing and enslaving all these people, it’s human beings killing other humans. Bad things must and will happen until every single person learns. Until the philosophy which holds one race superior to another is finally and permanently discredited and abundant. Until the the color of a man’s skin is of no more significance than the color of his eyes. Until the basic human rights are guaranteed to all without regard for race, bad things must happen.

If the past is perfect, in all of its disgusting and horrific ways, then I believe, or have hope that this period of trial is worth it. I like to think that I am a part of this story. And even if I do not live to see the result of all these things, I can breathe knowing that my ability to recognize these things as evil means the lesson is working. If I am the lesson and the example, if all of us are, then every hardship will temper me into diamonds. For now I can be sad, angry, grieve, and use this pain as the foundation of my action.

[lizzybeeee]

DATV Spoilers - The Handling of Previous Story/Lore In DATV

Quick PSA: If you’ve read my post on the lore/story threads dropped – it’s not a list of what I expected or even wanted to see addressed/answered in DATV.

It’s pretty much a given that Kieran and the Architect were never going to come back in any meaningful way, I understand that. Questions about what happened to Anora, Anders, Cullen’s clinic etc...never expected to get an answer about them – at all. The line of succession in Ferelden and Orlais? I expected that sometime down the line it would have to be streamlined into one option for both nations, not a problem – there’s so many choices it’s impossible to account for, and I understand that.

A codex entry or letter would have been nice – but my expectations for DATV was solely for a good story that added to the lore and world of Thedas. Instead, it felt entirely reductive – glaringly so when you account for the ‘Executives’ twist. The slavery in Tevinter is non-existent, the Crows being an organization that indoctrinated children is never touched upon, any mystery of ancient Tevinter and the elves is answered (badly!), the Dalish have effectively disappeared and become the Veil Jumpers...it all feels so hollow, so shallow, that I ever cared about these things in the first place.

There’s no DLC planned – the team is working on Mass Effect 5 now. There’s no conclusion to the fate of the south of Thedas outside of two codex entries and some dialogue. They can patch the Executors cutscene out, maybe - perhaps they could even do the same to anything relating to the south of Thedas. Yes, these areas were not completely destroyed by the Blight – they can rebuild – but it comes across as being so meaningless that I ever cared for these places in the first place. To learn that after ten years of waiting all we cared for get devastated and left in limbo...it’s hard to put into words the bitterness I felt at that realization, and seeing that final cut-scene drove the nail into the coffin of how foolish I felt for even caring in the first place.

The issue is that the dev’s gave us only three choices, told us that as the story was contained to the north of Thedas – that our other choices weren’t relevant to the rest of the game – that their intent was to not effect anyone's head-canons...before doing so with ‘the blight has devastated most of everywhere you went previously’.

These were story/plot threads that were woven throughout the narrative of the first three games – the things that made me care and become invested in the world of Thedas to begin with. In a game that was set-up to be a direct sequel to Inquisition and Trespasser I hoped that, at least, what was brought up in Inquisition would be mentioned.

Perhaps my list is a little too detailed with plot threads and issues – if anything that can be attributed to the incredible world-building done in the first three games! I love those games, I love the world of Thedas...which is why this game utterly baffles me with its choices.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a good game but not a good Dragon Age game.

[richincolor]

December Releases

As we prepare for our hiatus, we are gathering the releases for December all in one place for readers. Next week, we'll start posting our favorites from 2024 and then we will have a bit of a break and see you again in 2025. Here are the books we're watching for in December.

December 3

Encanto: Nightmares and Sueños by Alex Segura Disney Press

Return to Casita where we find seventeen-year-old Bruno from Disney’s hit animated film Encanto, where readers will finally learn what happened to make people never want to talk about him.

Fans will love this dark and mysterious young adult novel by Alex Segura, a NYT bestselling author who also wrote Poe Dameron: Free Fall and Araña and Spider-Man 2099: Dark Tomorrow.

Seventeen-year-old Bruno has never really fit in with his family—why can’t he be as outgoing as his sister Pepa, or as friendly as his sister Julieta? Does he like being the awkward loaner who never seems to find where he can fit in? But it’s hard to be popular when you have the power to tell the future and people don’t always like what you are telling them. So Bruno devises an act, and begins to model the behavior he feels the town wants to see in a hero.

But is being dishonest to himself and others the right path to walk down in order to make friends, or is Bruno just kidding himself as he hides from his own destiny that threatens to destroy all he holds dear?

My Fairy God Somebody by Charlene Allen HarperCollins

The way Clae’s mom tells it, her dad took off when Clae was a baby, end of story. Ever since, it’s just been the two of them, living in the coastal city of Gloucester, where Clae is one of the only few Black girls. But when Clae discovers clues about a mysterious person she calls her fairy god somebody, she’s determined to know more.

Her chance comes when she’s accepted into a summer journalism program in New York City, where her parents lived before she was born. With a couple of leads and a steel resolve, Clae leaves home for the first time to find out about her history.

New York is as full of magic as it is mystery, not to mention romance. From Brooklyn to Broadway, Clae and her new friends, Nze and Joelle, explore neighborhood haunts and hustles, discovering a family trail that someone’s tried hard to bury. So who is the fairy god somebody? And can Clae use her sleuthing skills to find out the truth?

Set against one unforgettable NYC summer, this is the story of lies that run deep and patterns that are meant to be broken. Clae, Nze, and Joelle will stick with you and remind you that every girl deserves to write her own story.

The Last One by Rachel Howzell Hall Entangled Publishing, LLC (Red Tower Books)

Thrown into a desolate land of sickness and unnatural beasts, Kai wakes in the woods with no idea who she is or how she got there. All she knows is that if she cannot reach the Sea of Devour, even this hellscape will get worse. But when she sees the village blacksmith fight invaders with unspeakable skill, she decides to accept his offer of help.

Too bad he’s as skilled at annoying her as he is at fighting.

As she searches for answers, Kai only finds more questions, especially regarding the blacksmith who can ignite her body like a flame, then douse it with ice in the next breath.

And no one is what—or who—they appear to be in the kingdom of Vinevridth, including the man whose secrets might be as deadly as the land itself.

When the Mapou Sings by Nadine Pinede Candlewick Press

Infused with magical realism, this story blends first love and political intrigue with a quest for justice and self-determination in 1930s Haiti.

Sixteen-year-old Lucille hopes to one day open a school alongside her best friend where girls just like them can learn what it means to be Haitian: to learn from the mountains and the forests around them, to carve, to sew, to draw, and to sing the songs of the Mapou, the sacred trees that dot the island nation. But when her friend vanishes without a trace, a dream—a gift from the Mapou—tells Lucille to go to her village’s section chief, the local face of law, order, and corruption, which puts her life and her family’s at risk.

Forced to flee her home, Lucille takes a servant post with a wealthy Haitian woman from society’s elite in Port-au-Prince. Despite a warning to avoid him, she falls in love with her employer’s son. But when their relationship is found out, she must leave again—this time banished to another city to work for a visiting American writer and academic conducting fieldwork in Haiti. While Lucille’s new employer studies vodou and works on the novel that will become Their Eyes Were Watching God, Lucille risks losing everything she cares about—and any chance of seeing her best friend again—as she fights to save their lives and secure her future in this novel in verse with the racing heart of a thriller.

December 17

Spell of the Sinister (A Fairy Godmother #2) by Danielle Paige Bloomsbury

Two magical sisters. One more chance at revenge. . . .

Ever since Cinderella disappeared with Prince Mather the queendoms have been in disarray. Now with her magical power completely unchecked, Galatea intends to exact revenge on humans for using the Entente. Her plan? Send Bari off to find a new prince and take over one queendom at a time. But Bari’s mission is complicated when South joins her and sparks begin to fly . . .

Meanwhile, Farrow is on her own journey to reunite with Cinderella and Prince Mather in the first Queendom. Amid brewing conflict, Farrow grapples with her feelings for Mather, her friendship with Cinderella, and her loyalty to the Entente’s original purpose–to influence with helpful magic, never take total control.

Once as close as sisters, Bari and Farrow now find themselves on opposing sides. Will malice win out, or will the next generation of Entente chart a new path to “happily ever after” for their magical coven of fairy godmothers?

December 24

Heavenly Tyrant (Iron Widow #2) by Xiran Jay Zhao Tundra Books

After suffering devastating loss and making drastic decisions, Zetian finds herself at the seat of power in Huaxia. But she has also learned that her world is not as it seems, and revelations about an enemy more daunting than Zetian imagined forces her to share power with a dangerous man she cannot simply depose. Despite having vastly different ideas about how they must deconstruct the corrupt and misogynist system that plagues their country, Zetian must join this man in a dance of truth and lies and perform their roles to perfection in order to take down their common enemy, who seeks to control them as puppets while dangling one of Zetian’s loved ones as a hostage.

With political unrest and perilous forces aiming to undermine Zetian at every turn, can she enact positive changes as a fair and just ruler? Or will she be forced to rely on fear and violence and succumb to her darker instincts in her quest for vengeance?

December 31

Ex Marks the Spot by Gloria Chao Viking Books for Young Readers

For Gemma’s whole life, it has always been her and her mom against the world. As far as she knew, all her grandparents—and thus her ties to Taiwanese culture—were dead. Until one day when a mysterious man shows up at her door with two shocking the news that her grandfather has just recently passed, and the first clue to a treasure hunt that Gemma hopes will lead to her inheritance.

There’s just one major to complete the hunt, she has to go to her grandfather’s home in Taiwan. And the only way she can get there is by asking her ex and biggest high-school rival, Xander, for help. But after swallowing her pride, Gemma finds herself halfway across the world, ready to unearth her life-changing prize. Soon Gemma discovers that the treasure hunt is about much more than money—it’s about finally learning about her family, her cultural roots, and maybe even finding true love.

Filled with ingenious puzzles, a vibrant Taipei setting, and a delicious romance, Ex Marks the Spot is an exciting adventure by award-winning writer Gloria Chao, perfect for fans of Loveboat Taipei, The Inheritance Games, and Thirteen Little Blue Envelopes.

[rina-teatia]

Food and porn (18+)

Gallagher is a humble London bartender with a rich martial arts background. Boothill is a master criminal and scoundrel. They can't seem to have anything in common... except kinks.

these are not my arts, but my friend's with whom we had rp by this story! you can subscribe to his social networks (a friend has agreed to publish the art)

X: https://x.com/ahhswan

DA: https://www.deviantart.com/drasterod

tg: https://t.me/drisnyastanOD

Pairing: Boothill x Gallagher

Tags: Human Boothill, Dom Boothill, Weight Gain, Food Kink, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Food Sex, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fat Fetish, Fat all

Words: 2,619

The sky over London was habitually covered with clouds. It was evening, about seven o'clock, but the bad weather had made it dark outside. The first tentative drops hit the cobblestones of the streets before the downpour hit the roofs.

Gallagher grimaced at the spectacle through the small window of his bar. He lit a cigar and muttered something like an old man's `huuuuʼ though he wasn't old enough for that yet. A downpour is a shitty thing. Usually even the most avid drinkers in the rain prefer to drink at home rather than drag themselves to a bar. In short, there was nothing economically advantageous about this situation.

His leg, wounded in an old battle, had started whimpering a couple hours ago, heralding rain, and still didn't want to settle down. Gallagher smoked and read the papers. Scotland Yard was reporting again on a mysterious burglar who had already robbed several pawnshops and jewelry stores. The message was terribly familiar, moreover, Gallagher even knew the criminal personally, but he was in no hurry to write letters to the police. After all, the robber was...

“What a weather, partner!” A large figure wrapped in a red, worn poncho walked into the bar. A wide black hat was pulled over his eyes, and half his face was hidden by a red handkerchief. The man's mud-splattered boots shuffled across the floor, sticking out of chaps that were equally muddy near the end of his pants. The man tossed his long black-and-white hair back and grinned, pulling off his handkerchief. “You weren't expecting me?”

“God, why aren't you home?” Gallagher sighed heavily, setting aside the newspaper and slowly standing up.

“The rain washes away the odors! No bloodhound can smell me. By the way, this is for you.” The man chuckled and put into Gallagher's hands a handmade gold watch on a chain with a cover inlaid with small stones. The man grimaced as he looked at the gift. “Pour me a bourbon, dear.”

“Boothill, you're insufferable. Lock the door, damn it.” Gallagher stood behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of bourbon with a heavy sigh. Boothill removed his hat and poncho, spreading them out on a nearby stool, and adjusted his vest, which was tight against his round belly.

Well, they were notorious old lovers who never seemed to be able to be together. Gallagher had worked for Scotland Yard as a detective in the past, before the leg injury that had forced him into early retirement, he'd been a top-notch bloodhound. Now the old dog was working in a bar and trying to forget his past glorious life.

Boothill, on the other hand, was a hardened criminal. He had come from the New World to good old England for a new life, but his language was sharper than his nine-millimeter ammunition, and no one was in a hurry to hire a foreigner with a nasty American accent. He could have written a book called `Why Men Killʼ but it would have had all the pages written in the short and succinct `MASSACREʼ in big letters.

Gallagher happened to own Boothill's secret when he almost turned him in to the constables. The old policeman still had his powder in the bottle, and perhaps if it hadn't been for Boothill's eloquence, he'd be hanging from the gallows right now....

“Your bourbon, as usual, is the worst stuff I've ever tasted.” Boothill smiled and squinted one green eye that was visible from beneath his bangs.

“Why do you drink it?”

“Hell if I know... I could drink diesel or kerosene if I wanted to.” He wiped his mouth with his hand and grinned through his shark teeth, glaring at Gallagher. “We really haven't seen each other in a long time. You've gotten even fatter, I see.”

Boothill reached across the bar and playfully poked the bartender in the belly. Gallagher rolled his eyes.

“I could say the same about you, Mr. Robber. At this rate, you won't fit through any bank window or sewer manhole.”

Boothill chuckled, slapping himself on the thigh. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon and tipped more liquid into his glass before greedily chugging it down.

“Son of a bitch! You're damn right I am! How about a bet?!” The cowboy held out his hand for Gallagher to shake. “You win, I become your pet kitty and never rob anyone again, just like you always wanted. And if I win – you'll like it too. But that's later. Agreed?!”

“What's it gonna take?” Gallagher put his hand to his cheek. He wasn't in a hurry to agree to shady deals.

“Shoot that deer in the eye.” Boothill drew his heavy American revolver and twirled it playfully in the air. “Don't you think so, Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Have you forgotten how to hold a gun yet?”

Gallagher followed his gaze. It was about the trophy deer head on the far wall of the bar. The room was elongated in length, and the end of the room extended quite far from the bar. Gallagher calculated the distance and the target. Not an easy task, of course... But he had a better chance than Boothill, sober as he was. He was on his third glass of bourbon. The idea of making him stay home was very appealing. Normally, Boothill lived with him on a raiding basis, like an ancient Viking - looted and gone on his way. In their case, though, he fucked and ate all the food. That's why he'd been blown up to the size of a medium-sized boar. Gallagher offered to move in with him a long time ago, but Boothill apparently liked living in a basement with rats and fighting in a dump with raccoons for half a hot dog.

“All right. Go ahead and shoot.” Gallagher snorted and turned his eyes to Boothill. He burped and shoved the revolver into his lover's hand.

“Ladies first!”

It was foolish to argue with him, so, rolling his eyes, Gallagher accepted the weapon. The revolver was indeed heavy, with a carved wooden handle and a graceful, thin barrel. Gallagher remembered how constables were taught to shoot. You take aim, point the muzzle straight at the point - the eye of a deer, freeze, hold your breath, pull the trigger without jerking your hand, and!..

There was a loud pop of gunfire in the bar. When the small cloud of smoke and powder cleared, Gallagher looked at his target. The bullet had entered the deer's forehead.

He missed.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Boothill laughed when he saw the result of the shooting. “Is that what they taught you at Scotland Yard?! No wonder I'm still alive! Those sons of bitches are total assholes!” He resolutely took his revolver and slid in next to Gallagher. “Out of my way, senior citizen. Daddy's in the building. I'll show you how to handle my gun.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Gallagher grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. While Boothill took aim, he picked up his glass and took a sip. Boothill was right-it was nasty. At that moment a shot rang out. Gallagher shuddered with surprise: he was sure the tipsy Boothill would take fifteen minutes to aim. The bullet stuck out proudly in place of the deer's eye.

“Ha! Well, snatch?” Boothill shoved Gallagher in the side, chuckling happily. “You lost me a wish!”

“What?! How did you do that?!” Gallagher even stepped closer, not believing his eyes. How does Boothill do that?! Sick bastard.

“You can't beat talent.” The cowboy smirked smugly, took the unfinished glass of bourbon from him and ʼclinkʼ with his revolver.

“What do you want?” Gallagher sourly returned to the bar and propped his arms on his chest, leaning against it. He watched Boothill grimly. He glared at him. Gallagher stood up so well that his thick chest was literally poking out of his shirt, forming a lush cleavage. Boothill yanked at his half-unfastened tie and grinned.

“I want those fat tits first. Them, and also to feed you to your heart's content.” He rose from his seat and licked his lips. He pulled his tie back on, tightening it around the stranger's neck in a tight loop. Gallagher gritted his teeth, but made no attempt to resist. His cheeks, overgrown with dark stubble, trembled in a blush. Boothill swung easily over the bar and got right up to the man. One of the cowboy's palms slapped him hard across his stomach, pushing his shirt up cheekily. Boothill gagged him with a wet kiss, wrapping his tie around his hand and nearly strangling Gallagher with it.

“You asshole. Wandering around, and now you think I'm going to give it to you like an obedient whore?” The bartender breathed heavily, his hands loosening the pressure of his tie a little.

“'Come on, sweetheart. You're not a whore, you're my dear partner. You didn't like the watch? You know, you got off easy on that bet! I can already feel how hungry you are for... everything.” Boothill kissed him again and gave him a little distance. “Come on, be a good girl, sit tight, I'll be quick. I hope your pantries are stocked with snacks as usual?” He laughed and opened one of the doors to the staff room. This wasn't the first time Boothill had been here, so he felt right at home. “Wow! Damn you're a hoarding old bear!”

Gallagher slumped weakly in his chair as he watched Boothill rummage through the pantry and rattle dishes. The bar did indeed offer not only booze, but quite a few appetizers as well. Gallagher was never in a hurry to cook during his shift, so he kept his own convenience foods in the freezers; mostly meat, but some freezable meals as well. It was easy enough to heat them up on the fire or throw them in hot oil, and then serve them immediately to guests. The quality didn't suffer much, though, so for the unsophisticated average person, it was fine. People came to the bar to drink, not to eat, so no one turned up their noses.

Boothill had gutted the stock almost completely. To be honest, Gallagher was afraid to go in there, because the pantry and the adjoining kitchen were rattling, hissing and clinking with metal and plates. Gallagher was well aware that he was about to be thoroughly fed. It was another unusual aspect of their relationship. The bartender lowered his gaze to his stomach, resting softly on his lap and pulling up the buttons of his vest. In his youth, he'd been a slender and muscularly handsome constable, the rare sort of man. But after his injury and retirement... Well, he'd let himself relax, sought solace in food and drink, hence the slight fullness. And he never thought anyone would like it. What's more; he'd like it on someone else, too. However, Boothill always knew how to surprise him. In fighting, shooting, appetite, sex; the cowboy's possibilities were endless.

“Waiting?” Boothill returned to the bar, purring something under his breath and carrying a cart full of greasy appetizers. His only visible eye gleamed predatorily, as did his sharp teeth. Gallagher's stomach rumbled-not from hunger, but rather from excitement.

“Who's going to pay for all this?” Gallagher asked sourly.

“You. Or me. We'll figure it out later.” Boothill shrugged nonchalantly, sitting down on the bartender's lap. His palms gently squeezed his tiits before pushing the fragrant-smelling cart closer. “Come on, get on it. I bet you've missed this since the last time we met.”

Gallagher knew what that meant; he was being offered to eat until he burst. Boothill had some pretty perverted fetishes, and it seemed Gallagher did too, because he obediently took a bite of the hot, spicy steak. There was much more in the cart: roast beef, reheated pork pies, apple pies, lots of fried sausages in a thin film that burst in the mouth, spilling hot juice into it; fish and chips, sandwiches and some of today's puddings. Under Buthill's watchful eye, all this splendor began to be slowly eaten.

“If you end up getting caught, I'll personally go and report you for violence.” Gallagher exhaled heavily, finishing one of the pies. He was already feeling quite full! It had only taken a few meals to reach the line that separated satisfying hunger and excessive satiety. But that was the line Boothill wasn't interested in. He was pushing Gallagher further, to the line of "horrible gluttony."

“If that's what you wanted, Mr. Detective, I wouldn't be here a long time ago. What's to stop you from dialing Inspector Argenti right now and telling him all about me?” Boothill gently poured some beer into his mouth to wash it down. Gallagher exhaled, feeling his belly gradually rounding into a full sphere.

“Idiot…” Gallagher wiped his lips. He was beginning to breathe heavier. Boothill, sitting on his lap, unbuttoned first the man's vest and then his shirt. Gallagher realized wistfully that he would not button it again today.

“Is your tummy bothering you?” Butkhill grinned playfully, wrapping both hands around the man's heavy belly and kissing it slowly a few times. He leaned down to Gallagher's ear and whispered with an almost manic tenderness: “Keep it up, and I'll show you how good I am with your shaft, too.”

“I hate you…” Gallagher grumbled as deft hands fed him another sandwich. He felt stuffed almost to the brim, but Boothill wasn't done with him yet, forcing him to eat without interruption.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

The belt of his pants was starting to dig painfully into his lower abdomen, and his pants creaked threateningly. It wasn't just Gallagher's growing girth, but also his growing erection. His belly was big enough to put a little weight on the rising bump with his weight, and when Gallagher moved a little, rubbing himself and it caused a whole flurry of sensation. God, he's getting so fat...!

Boothill, as always, was the epitome of attentiveness. His deft hands undid the belt and fly of his pants before they could burst. Gallagher seriously feared this might happen, for his belly was as round and taut as a ball, and it protruded proudly forward and wide, offset by his broad love handles. Boothill was frankly enjoying his lover's helpless position, stroking him, caressing every crease and beginning to rub his aroused cock as well. Gallagher was breathing heavily; the pressure inside his belly was almost unbearable, so much so that it converted itself into arousal. He wanted to cum excruciatingly badly. Boothill was slowing him down, torturing him, squeezing all his juices, squeezing out the presperm drop by drop. The cowboy himself was squirming impatiently on Gallagher's lap, from which he was slightly displaced by his impressive belly.

“Ha... Shit... Ha-ah!” Gallagher gave a low shriek, collapsing back in his chair as Boothill's hand became damp with whitish liquid. He grinned.

“You should see your face when you cum... I'd paint a picture like that and hang it in my room above the frame.” He stood up slowly, giving Gallagher one last pat on the belly. “'I've got to go, sweetheart. You know, the constables are already out hunting for my head. Don't get bored in here.”

He climbed back over the bar, put on his poncho and hat. The red handkerchief returned to the bottom of his face. Boothill walked over to Gallagher one last time to smack the bartender, completely exhausted from gluttony and orgasm, on the cheek.

“I'll come by again tonight. Don't forget to leave the window open!” With those words he disappeared into the night, as he always did, leaving Gallagher alone with the consequences of their games.

haha im sorry guys english isnt my native language btw i hope u enjoed it!

[slitheringghost]

Lily Evans as Master of Death, Part 2: Flight From Death

This is part 2 to Unweaving Canon Lily: Master of Death. You don't have to read that meta to understand this, but it might help if you do.

In this meta I will address two major points: (1) how Lily is constantly associated with flight throughout the series, and how that ties into point (2) which is that for six books, we are told that Voldemort laughed as he murdered Lily:

As Hagrid’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh. (PS) When the dementors approached him, he heard the last moments of his mother’s life, her attempts to protect him, Harry, from Lord Voldemort, and Voldemort’s laughter before he murdered her... (PoA) “It is, isn’t it?” said Harry, in a voice barely more than a whisper. “But she didn’t move. Dad was already dead, but she didn’t want me to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort... but he just laughed..." (HBP)

But in the actual scene in DH, Voldemort never laughs while Lily's pleading or while he kills her - he laughs while killing James. This isn’t an inconsistency. Because the laugh Harry heard wasn't Voldemort laughing - it was Lily laughing at Voldemort.

Lily and Voldemort as a duo are compared to Sirius and Bellatrix:

Bellatrix laughed, the same exhilarated laugh her cousin Sirius had given as he toppled backward through the veil, and suddenly Harry knew what was going to happen before it did. (DH)

Lily laughed a laugh so identical to Voldemort’s that Harry mistook it as Voldemort laughing instead.

And just as with Lily being Death, the text doesn’t come out and explicitly say it, because JKR weaved Lily in as a riddle and a mystery for readers to solve - and we have to follow the clues and the Easter eggs she put in to reach the answer. In this meta, I’ll go through all the clues that hint to this.

Note: This analysis positions Lily's defeat of Voldemort as deliberate planning by her, which ties into why she'd give a sort of triumphant laugh that mirrors Voldemort's. IMO JKR's portrayal of Lily as Death/Master of Death implies there's more going on with her sacrifice even from a Doylist perspective.

1.0 Flight And Laughter

Voldemort’s name means “flight from death” in French, and the text makes constant references to the true meaning of Voldemort’s name in fascinating - and hilarious - ways.

A hugely important point to this analysis is the Lily is portrayed as Voldemort’s metaphorical sister the way Harry and Voldemort are “brothers”. See more on this here, here, and here. 

More specifically, Lily and Harry are Voldemort’s symbolic twin sister and twin brother, Flight From Death #2 and Flight From Death #3, regarding Harry’s immortality and Lily being the reason for both her son’s immortality and for Voldemort’s death, by her sacrifice deflecting the Killing Curse. The HP series is their sibling rivalry with Voldemort - who can fly from death higher?

Lily and Harry invariably win, and just as Lily is portrayed as the true Master Of Death, the true Death, she’s also the true Flight From Death.

There is a recurring motif of Lily laughing at or making fun of others in flight, or laughing in flight herself - because it’s meant to represent Lily laughing at Voldemort's death and his suffering as he tries to kill Harry and repeatedly fails, Lily laughing because Voldemort calls himself “Flight from death”, and yet she and her son flew from death better than him.

There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister. “Lily, don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two. But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly. “Mummy told you not to!” Petunia stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sandals on the ground, making a crunching, grinding sound, then leapt up, hands on hips. “Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!” “But I’m fine,” said Lily, still giggling.

“It’s not hurting you,” said Lily, but she closed her hand on the blossom and threw it back to the ground. “It’s not right,” said Petunia, but her eyes had followed the flower’s flight to the ground and lingered upon it. “How do you do it?” she added, and there was definite longing in her voice. (DH)

Then we have Lily laughing as Snape tries badly to fly on a broomstick:

a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner... A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies... A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick — (OoTP)

The text leaves it ambiguous who the girl is, but it’s clear with later context - and the repetition of Lily laughing at others in flight - that the girl is Lily.

Similarly, we have this moment in SWM:

a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants. Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, “Let him down!” (OoTP)

There’s a reason that Lily almost smiles specifically when Levicorpus is used on Snape rather than any other spell he’s attacked with - because Lily is laughing at Snape in flight, tying this into the other similar instances.

Likewise, Lily also insults James’s ability to fly in the same scene:

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.” (OoTP)

Then we have Lily’s letter, and the contents of the letter and the passages related to it are full of hidden messages through coded language:

Harry bent down, picked up a few of the pieces of paper, and examined them. He recognized one as part of an old edition of A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot, and another as belonging to a motorcycle maintenance manual. The third was handwritten and crumpled [...] it proved to be most of the photograph Lily had described in her letter. A black-haired baby was zooming in and out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter, and a pair of legs that must have belonged to James was chasing after him. [...] Then he ripped in two the photograph he was also holding, so that he kept the part from which Lily laughed, throwing the portion showing James and Harry back onto the floor (DH)

The sequence of things mentioned matters here - Before Snape took the part of Lily laughing, it would’ve been next to the picture of Sirius’s motorbike manuals, so this can be read as Lily laughing at Sirius’s method of flight, just as she was laughing at and insulting Snape’s and James’s.

Dear Padfoot, Thank you thank you, for Harry’s birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I’m enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James thought it was so funny, says he’s going to be a great Quidditch player, but we’ve had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don’t take our eyes off him when he gets going. (DH)

Harry nearly killed the cat while flying on the toy broom and broke Petunia’s vase - the joke here is that the cat represents Tom Riddle, because Tomcat, and Tom and Jerry, which first aired the year Tom Riddle was 13 (Voldemort is also compared to a cat in GoF - the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat’s, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness.).

AKA Harry nearly killed Tom Riddle while flying from death and broke the Potter house as he broke the vase (you could say Voldemort gave her the house for Halloween, because James died first and thus Lily technically inherited the house…)

The cat’s state of existence is left ambiguous, whether it perished in the blast or ran away when there was no one left to feed it - just like Voldemort is hovering in the boundary between life and death, existing as a wraith, neither dead nor alive.

Harry’s only one year old and flying from death, only one year old and nearly killing the cat aka Voldemort - this is Lily saying proudly her son will fly from death higher than them all.

Likewise, the photograph also has a double meaning. James isn’t fully in the photo for a reason, to the point that Harry can’t even tell for sure it’s him, because Voldemort is also represented by James here - and this photo’s second meaning is Lily laughing at Voldemort as he chases after Harry as Harry “flies from death”.

He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done the first time, and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. She had made her “g”s the same way he did: He searched through the letter for every one of them, and each felt like a friendly little wave glimpsed from behind a veil. (DH)

There’s a reason that specifically the letter “g” was chosen - this is another coded message. Lily made her g’s the same way Harry did, because Godric Gryffindor and Gellert Grindelwald, and Lily and Harry the true Gryffindors and the true masters of the death, linking them to Grindelwald’s quest for the same.

1.1 St. Mungo’s Sequence

[...] a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk. “It’s these — ouch — shoes my brother gave me — ow — they’re eating my — OUCH — feet — look at them, there must be some kind of — AARGH — jinx on them and I can’t — AAAAARGH — get them off —” He hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals. “The shoes don’t prevent you reading, do they?” said the blonde witch irritably, pointing at a large sign to the left of her desk. “You want Spell Damage, fourth floor [...]" The wizard hobbled and pranced sideways out of the way (OoTP) The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting with shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water. (OoTP)

The wizard above represents Voldemort. (JKR often does this, uses random characters to represent or evoke main characters - another example of this in the last section with the German woman representing Lily.) The wizard “dancing on hot coals” evokes how Lily’s blood magic burns Voldemort’s skin, the “yelps of pain” evoke Voldemort saying Lily’s sacrifice caused him “pain beyond pain”, and him not being able to get his shoes off is a reference to Priori Incantatem:

And then — nothing could have prepared Harry for this — he felt his feet lift from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light. They glided away from the tombstone of Voldemort’s father and then came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves (GoF)

This is a reference to the Talaria of Mercury, or the winged sandals of Hermes, given to him by his half-brother Hephaestus. The magic in Priori Incantatem lifts his his feet into the air - like he's wearing the winged sandals.

Then the passage of Lily laughing in SWM is tied into the man in St. Mungo’s - While the man representing Voldemort can't get off the shoes eating his feet, Lily has her shoes and socks off; while for him it's like his feet are burning on coals, Lily is cooling her feet in water. Voldemort can’t get the shoes off that his sister Lily gave him.

In short, Lily is laughing at Voldemort being burned by her blood magic, laughing at Voldemort in the graveyard being made to fly and being hindered by her magic yet again, laughing as her son flies from death and escapes him.

“That’ll have to do,” he [Ron] said, slamming the diary shut, “I’ve said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can’t make anything weird out of that, can she?” (OoTP)

You’ll notice that in OoTP Ron starts sounding like Voldemort, “performing” the part of Voldemort in the series. For example, Ron asks, 'What's worse than death?' and Voldemort later says, "There's nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!"

So Ron dreaming a new pair of shoes hints at Ron’s link to Voldemort, because it references the wizard in St. Mungo’s with the shoes eating his feet, who represents Voldemort (perhaps evidence for Seer!Ron).

Again, notice how this text is speaking to us in riddles, in coded messages.

(Also note that just as Ron is performing the part of Voldemort, Hermione is performing the part of Lily. See more on this in my meta Hermione As Teacher And Connections To Lily.)

The wizard with his winged daughter in St. Mungo's an allusion to Lily and Harry as Deadalus and Icarus, because in addition to being aegis-bearing Zeus, and Arachne exposing Voldemort's victimization of mortals in her light-spun web as in Priori Incantatem, Lily is Deadalus crafting wings for her son to fly from death - also referenced in the duo in the St. Mungo’s line after the wizard with the jinxed shoes:

A harassed-looking wizard was holding his small daughter tightly by the ankle while she flapped around his head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out the back of her romper suit [...] the man disappeared through the double doors beside the desk, holding his daughter like an oddly shaped balloon (OoTP)

This is especially funny given Ron says this later in the same book:

“I thought we’d settled that?” said Luna maddeningly. “We’re flying!” “Look,” said Ron, barely containing his anger, “you might be able to fly without a broomstick but the rest of us can’t sprout wings whenever we —” “There are other ways of flying than with broomsticks,” said Luna serenely. (OoTP)

The description of the balloon also evokes flight, and the wizard emphasized specifically as holding his daughter by the ankle is an allusion to the myth of the Achilles heel - to Lily and Harry as Thetis holding her son Achilles by the ankle to dip him in the River Styx, giving him immortality.

Lily and Harry as Deadalus and Icarus are also referenced with Dedalus Diggle, who was one of the earliest Order members mentioned and one of the earliest wizards to interact with Harry:

A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. (PS) “Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can’t tell you, Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.” “I’ve seen you before!” said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle’s top hat fell off in his excitement. “You bowed to me once in a shop.” “He remembers!” cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. “Did you hear that? He remembers me!” (OoTP)

And Dedalus Diggle also comes to get Harry from the Dursleys right before Harry deflects the Killing Curse while both him and Voldemort are in flight - Harry flying on his broom and Voldemort flying unsupported, another reference to flight from death.

Then there’s Harry’s History of Magic O.W.L., during which Voldemort lures Harry to the DoM with his vision of Sirius, as another important Deadalus and Icarus allusion:

The sun was very hot on the back of his head. Harry closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, so that the glowing red of his eyelids grew dark and cool. But somebody screamed as Voldemort lowered his wand again; somebody yelled and fell sideways off a hot desk onto the cold stone floor. (OoTP)

The repeated mention of sunlight shining on them is a reference to Lily and Harry as Deadalus and Icarus, because Harry flew too close to the sun - and now their wings are melting and injured, now they’re about to fall from the sky and drown in the sea of despair, because the man both Lily and Harry love - Sirius - is about to die.

Harry dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel — (GoF) It was only then that he realized that Hedwig’s feathers were oddly ruffled; some were bent the wrong way, and she was holding one of her wings at an odd angle. “She’s hurt!” Harry whispered [...] “Look — there’s something wrong with her wing —” (OoTP) Fawkes swooped down in front of Dumbledore, opened his beak wide, and swallowed the jet of green light whole. He burst into flame and fell to the floor, small, wrinkled, and flightless. (OoTP)

2.0 Associations with all flying things

Now I’ll go through all the times Lily is associated with flight - this will circle back to the laugh in the last section, because it ties into how Lily is laughing as her son "flies from death", and laughing at Voldemort as Voldemort himself "flies from death" aka is forced to "fly from death" because he's nearly murdered. (Her associations with flight of course also symbolize her as a God figure and angel)

2.1 Fawkes

Note: Since exact wording really matters when analyzing Lily, it's important to use the first original version of Priori Incantatem, where Lily comes out of the wand last instead of James.

In addition to the above reference - Fawkes swallowing the Killing Curse that was about to kill Dumbledore and then “dying” symbolizing how Lily took the Killing Curse for Harry - an important thing to realize is that the graveyard scene in GoF, where Harry and Voldemort’s phoenix wands connect, is in many ways entirely about Lily.

Lilies represent Christ's resurrection, and are said to have sprouted from the ground where Christ's blood and tears fell during crucifixion.

Harry's tied to the tombstone of Voldemort's father, Peter takes Harry's blood for Voldemort's rebirth, then Voldemort brings up Lily:

“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” he hissed softly. “A Muggle and a fool... very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child... and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death...” (GoF)

Voldemort mentions Lily's death/sacrifice like 4+ times through this scene. And then when their spells connect:

And then — nothing could have prepared Harry for this — he felt his feet lift from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light. They glided away from the tombstone of Voldemort’s father and then came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves... (GoF)

It first lifts the both of them from that ground by Tom Riddle Sr's grave and places them somewhere else - because flight from death, lilies are sprouting from the ground where Harry’s blood was spilt for the ritual and where Voldemort mentioned Lily, etc. (This comes full circle in DH, where Hermione leaves a wreath of Christmas roses on Lily’s grave as Harry cries on it, so here roses sprouted on the ground where "Christ's tears" fell.)

Which brings me to this passage in OoTP which references it in coded language:

Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and as they gave cries of shock, a scroll of parchment fell with a thud onto the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather. “Fawkes!” said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. “That’s not Dumbledore’s writing — it must be a message from your mother — here —” He thrust the letter into George’s hand, who ripped it open and read aloud, “Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo’s now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.” (OoTP) And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air. . . . It was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort. It was a sound Harry recognized, though he had heard it only once before in his life: phoenix song.It was the sound of hope to Harry... the most beautiful and welcome thing he had ever heard in his life... He felt as though the song were inside him instead of just around him... It was the sound he connected with Dumbledore, and it was almost as though a friend were speaking in his ear... Don’t break the connection. (GoF)

“Your mother’s coming…” he said quietly. “She wants to see you… it will be all right… hold on…” And she came… first her head, then her body… a young woman with long hair, the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort’s wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like her husband. She walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and she spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear... “When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments... but we will give you time... you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts... do you understand, Harry?” (GoF)

Harry associates the phoenix song with Dumbledore, but this isn’t Dumbledore’s doing, it’s a message from Lily, it’s Lily coming to save Harry.

Notice how the wording echoes - Harry hears a voice saying “Don’t break the connection” and Lily’s shade says “When the connection is broken”; Voldemort calls Lily’s blood magic “lingering protection” and Lily’s shade says "we will linger". Voldemort says “My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah… pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it” and when Priori Incantatem lifts Harry and Voldemort into the air the wording is “And then — nothing could have prepared Harry for this — he felt his feet lift from the ground”. These details consistently connect this all back to Lily.

Harry also goes from thinking “There was no hope… no help to be had" and "His mother was not there to die for him this time”, losing faith in Lily, to “It was the sound of hope to Harry” - and lilies are called the “white-robed apostles of hope”, another giveaway.

The OoTP passage about Molly’s letter continues, with more coded connections to the GoF graveyard scene:

[...] George looked around the table.“Still alive...” he said slowly. “But that makes it sound...” He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded to Harry too as though Mr. Weasley was hovering somewhere between life and death. (OoTP) “My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah... pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive.” (GoF)

Voldemort here is represented by “Dad” because he, like Mr. Weasley, is presented as a father figure to Harry.

This comes full circle in the graveyard scene in DH, where Harry mistakes Voldemort’s magic for that of Dumbledore’s, just like he mistook Priori Incantatem for Dumbledore’s magic when it was actually Lily’s magic:

Was it possible that she had been waiting for them all these long months? That Dumbledore had told her to wait, and that Harry would come in the end? Was it not likely that it was she who had moved in the shadows in the graveyard and had followed them to this spot? Even her ability to sense them suggested some Dumbledore-ish power that he had never encountered before. (DH)

Then we have Fawkes healing Harry right as he mentions Lily:

Harry described how the figures that had emerged from the wand had prowled the edges of the golden web, how Voldemort had seemed to fear them, how the shadow of Harry’s mother had told him what to do, how Cedric’s had made its final request. At this point, Harry found he could not continue. He looked around at Sirius and saw that he had his face in his hands. Harry suddenly became aware that Fawkes had left his knee. The phoenix had fluttered to the floor. It was resting its beautiful head against Harry’s injured leg, and thick, pearly tears were falling from its eyes onto the wound left by the spider. The pain vanished. The skin mended. His leg was repaired. (GoF)

The other time the phrase "beautiful head" is used is for the doe patronus: "She stepped toward him, her beautiful head with its wide, long-lashed eyes held high." // "She turned her beautiful head toward him once more"

2.2 Hedwig

Just as he limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost. “About time!” Harry snarled, as she landed lightly on top of her cage. “You can put that down, I’ve got work for you!” Hedwig’s large round amber eyes gazed reproachfully at him over the dead frog clamped in her beak. (OoTP)

Hedwig here is meant to evoke Lily - described as a “small ghost", the reference to her eyes, and the beak full of dead frog may be a reference to Lily having her “pockets full of frogspawn”.

Hedwig dies during the Battle of Seven Potters in DH - when Lily's magic saves Harry from the Killing Curse a second time, while Harry and Voldemort are both in flight - much like how Fawkes falls dead and flightless after swallowing the Killing Curse, Hedwig dying here represents how it took Lily’s death to make Harry "fly from death". Likewise, Harry first heard Lily’s murder and deflection of the Killing Curse in PoA while he was in flight - because flight from death.

2.3 Lily as the Golden Snitch

“Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?” “No, I didn’t,” said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “And if the Ministry hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will.” “I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch,” Scrimgeour said to Harry. “Why is that?” Hermione laughed derisively. “Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” she said. “There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!” (DH) He had drawn a Snitch and was now tracing the letters L. E. What did they stand for? (OoTP)

There's a reason that DH includes this bit about Dumbledore leaving secret codes in a book and the Snitch cake potentially containing a secret message - JKR is being incredibly meta here, because when James writes Lily's initials beside the Snitch in OoTP, this is JKR giving readers a secret message: that Lily is the Golden Snitch.

What do we know about the Snitch? The Snitch is tiny, golden, very difficult to see, and notably the only ball in Quidditch that has wings - like how Lily is constantly associated with flight, and an allusion to Lily as an angel to Harry. Snitches have flesh memories - only opening at Harry's touch, as Lily's touch is emphasized, and her blood magic keeping Voldemort from touching Harry.

Harry's the Seeker and Lily is the Snitch - because Lily's playing hide-and-seek with her son through the narrative and Harry has to seek her.

Most celebrated of these half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps, Godric’s Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries. (DH)

It was invented where Lily died and vanquished Voldemort, where Lily Harry and Voldemort all had their "flight from death".

The long game was ended, the Snitch had been caught, it was time to leave the air… The Snitch. His nerveless fingers fumbled for a moment with the pouch at his neck and he pulled it out. I open at the close. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals, like some bizarre, many-lipped oyster. (DH)

It’s time for Harry to leave the air - to fly from death yet again because of Lily's lingering magic and Lily having conquered death.

Lily is playing hide-and-seek with him, and where does Harry find her? Inside the Golden Snitch, where the Resurrection Stone is hidden, and as I said the previous part to this meta, that was Lily’s soul creating the versions of James, Sirius, and Remus just as Riddle’s soul in the locket created Riddle-Harry and Riddle-Hermione.

That Harry’s excellent flying is actually about his “flight from death” is why his Quidditch skills are often mentioned when he faces Voldemort.

Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with the reflexes born of his Quidditch training, he flung himself sideways onto the ground (GoF) And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. (DH)

2.4 Charms

“You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.” (PS)

Lily having a wand good for Charms has significance tying to this narrative thread. The very first spell they learn in Charms (or at least, the first one the text points out iirc) is the Levitation Charm - in other words, how to make something fly, which they then practice on a bird feather.

Hermione is the one to do it perfectly and teach Harry and Ron how to successfully do it - and Hermione performs the part of Lily. Again see this meta.

They learn this spell specifically on Halloween - the same day Harry had his “flight from death” in 1981.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try […] “Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. ” (PS)

In general the stuff they learn in Charms is often associated with making things fly - Levitation Charm, Hovering Charm, Summoning Charm, Banishing Charm, etc. Likewise, Flitwick's section for the Stone protections also have to do with flight - they're winged keys that remind Harry of birds and also evoke a Snitch, and Harry uses his Seeker skills to catch them.

2.5 Flying out of a window

The action of flying through the window is repeated by those associated with the Elder Wand and therefore the Master of Death thread in DH.

Lily as represented by the doe patronus:

“For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum!” From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears. (DH)

Harry and Hermione escaping from Voldemort in Godric's Hollow, with Hermione playing the role of Lily:

Glass cut his cheek as, pulling Hermione with him, he leapt from bed to broken dressing table and then straight out of the smashed window into nothingness, her scream reverberating through the night as they twisted in midair... And then his scar burst open and he was Voldemort and he was running across the fetid bedroom, his long white hands clutching at the windowsill as he glimpsed the bald man and the little woman twist and vanish (DH)

Voldemort as he meets Grindelwald to question him about the Elder Wand:

— and he rose into the night, flying straight up to the window at the very top of the tower — [...] — The window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter... A skeletal figure was just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket... Dead, or sleeping...? [...] — as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapor, inside the cell-like room — (DH)

Grindelwald as he steals the Elder Wand:

Gregorovitch burst into the room at the end of the passage and his lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop; wood shavings and gold gleamed in the swinging pool of light, and there on the window ledge sat perched, like a giant bird, a young man with golden hair. In the split second that the lantern’s light illuminated him, Harry saw the delight upon his handsome face, then the intruder shot a Stunning Spell from his wand and jumped neatly backward out of the window with a crow of laughter. Harry could still see the blond-haired youth’s face; it was merry, wild; there was a Fred and George-ish air of triumphant trickery about him. He had soared from the windowsill like a bird, and Harry had seen him before, but he could not think where... (DH)

Snape as he flies with the Elder Wand in his hand:

When Harry looked up again, Snape was in full flight, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout all thundering after him: He hurtled through a classroom door and, moments later, he heard McGonagall cry, “Coward! COWARD!” […] Harry dragged her to her feet and they raced along the corridor, trailing the Invisibility Cloak behind them, into the deserted classroom where Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were standing at a smashed window. “He jumped,” said Professor McGonagall as Harry and Luna ran into the room. “You mean he’s dead?” Harry sprinted to the window [...] With a tingle of horror, Harry saw in the distance a huge, batlike shape flying through the darkness toward the perimeter wall. (DH)

3.0 1981 Memory

Onto the laugh, there are multiple possibilities - one is that since the memories Harry hears near the dementors are blurry, Harry simply heard the laugh and Lily's death out of order, and what he heard was actually Voldemort laughing as he murdered James. It's also possible that it just got left out/implied.

But that doesn't change the fact that the text emphasizes this laugh very specifically in relation to Lily's murder continuously.

As I said before, Voldemort and Lily as a duo parallel Sirius and Bellatrix, and the way Sirius, Bellatrix, and Harry echo each other in this Department of Mysteries sequence (expanded on in my meta "When Lily Cast Her Life As A Shield": Analysis of the Shield Charm) is mirrored by the Voldemort, Lily, and Harry trio:

“Laughed,” said Stan. “Jus’ stood there an’ laughed. An’ when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, ’e went wiv ’em quiet as anyfink, still laughing ’is ’ead off. ’Cos ’e’s mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?” (PoA) “Get it himself?” shrieked Bellatrix on a cackle of mad laughter. Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix’s jet of red light: He was laughing at her. “Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. " [...] And he knows!” said Harry with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix’s own. “Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it’s gone! He’s not going to be happy with you, is he?” (OoTP)

Remember all the instances of Lily laughing related to flight - in fact every instance of Lily laughing in the series has something to do with this narrative thread. And it's the same thing in the memory of her death:

The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist... “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!” Hold him off, without a wand in his hand!... He laughed before casting the curse... “Avada Kedavra!” he looked up into the intruder’s face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing — (DH)

Lily is imagined as laughing right before Voldemort casts the Killing Curse on Harry - right before the curse rebounds on and (nearly) kills Voldemort, just as Voldemort laughed before he murdered James.

Note that this echoes Sirius and Bellatrix laughing specifically right before they’re killed - as Voldemort and Lily both laugh as they’re both dying in 1981 (or in Voldemort’s case, his near-death).

How and when did Lily laugh like that and Voldemort not hear it? There are several options. Remember, there are multiple instances where Lily is mentioned to have said something that Voldemort couldn’t hear:

She walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and she spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear... (GoF) A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. (DH)

This may be a deliberate clue to Voldemort not hearing the laugh that Harry can.

It’s possible Lily laughed soon after screaming when Voldemort was still climbing the stairs, knowing she was luring him to his death, or that she laughed hovering between the boundary of life and death right before she died, much like Bellatrix and Sirius are said to have known what happened in the second before they died (“Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart. Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: For the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled”).

It’s also possible Lily was laughing after she died, from behind the veil, and Harry could hear it because of the magical connection between them, sort of like he can hear her whispering to him from the Veil in OoTP.

Lily knew that in killing her, Voldemort sealed the agreement, sealed the "binding magical contract" that would destroy him when he broke it (more on that here) - the agreement to take Lily's life instead of Harry's. And therefore, in one way or another, she was laughing triumphantly at Voldemort.

That Bellatrix is a clue to Lily is further implied in the parallel here:

“Yeah,” said Harry, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange’s face to glance up and down the High Street. “Yeah, it is weird...” (OoTP) How long he stood there, he didn’t know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother’s face, whispered, “I’ll come back,” and hurried from the room. (PS)

The way the language around Voldemort, Lily, and Harry and their movements and actions mirror each other in general in addition to the laughs in the 1981 memory is another big clue.

And then his scar burst open and he was Voldemort and he was running across the fetid bedroom, his long white hands clutching at the windowsill as he glimpsed the bald man and the little woman twist and vanish, and he screamed with rage, a scream that mingled with the girl’s, that echoed across the dark gardens over the church bells ringing in Christmas Day... And his scream was Harry’s scream, his pain was Harry’s pain... He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away (DH)

Again Hermione here is representing Lily - most evident in this scene, where it’s her spell that saves Harry from Nagini-Bathilda and lets them escape as Voldemort comes, just like Lily saved Harry in 1981, so Voldemort's scream mingling with Hermione's alludes to it mingling with Lily's. (The locket soul piece is also described as "trapped and screaming" later).

He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand... and there she stood, the child in her arms.  The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder’s face with a kind of bright interest  And now he stood at the broken window of Bathilda’s house, immersed in memories of his greatest loss (DH)

Additionally the three of them aren’t named in the memory, while James is named 4 times, again tying Voldemort, Lily, and Harry as a trio with identical “twin” (or triplet) movements.

As explained in part 1, Voldemort and Lily are both described as “hooded figures”, both are Death, both enter through a doorway (because as in the Cain and Abel passage in Genesis 4, sin is crouching at the door), and the wording here echoes:

A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open. (DH)

All of which is to say, if everything else echoes - then so must their laughter. On first glance, Lily laughing seems to be only Voldemort's imagination, but once we put together all the clues, we can see how that's meant to hint at Lily actually laughing in this scene.

The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder’s face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing — He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy’s face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. (DH)

The above passage is the situation flipped. While Voldemort believes that Harry thinks he's James, baby Harry actually thinks Voldemort is Lily, because it's Lily whose face is covered by her hair as a dementor's is hidden, resembling the hood of a cloak or the Veil of Death, while James's face is seen clearly. Basically, while with the laugh Harry mistakes Lily for Voldemort, here he’s mistaking Voldemort for Lily. Harry, looking carefully into Voldemort's face, presumably sees Voldemort's eyes, realizes it's not Lily, and starts crying.

He approached one of them, then saw the whiteness of his own long-fingered hand against the door. He knocked. He felt a mounting excitement. . . . The door opened: A laughing woman stood there. Her face fell as she looked into Harry’s face: humor gone, terror replacing it. . . . “Gregorovitch?” said a high, cold voice. She shook her head: She was trying to close the door. A white hand held it steady, prevented her shutting him out. . . . He raised the wand. She screamed. Two young children came running into the hall. She tried to shield them with her arms. There was a flash of green light — (DH)

This clearly evokes Lily - "The door opened: A laughing woman stood there" parallels the language of 1981 - "A door opened and the mother entered", "There she stood", and Voldemort forcing his way in also parallels "He forced the door open".

Then the rest evokes Lily’s scream, her spreading her arms and “shielding” Harry from Voldemort’s sight, the flash of green light always connected with her murder. Note again how the language echoes to draw certain connections.

So, if this represents Lily, the fact that she's described as a "laughing woman" is significant - this is another clue that the laugh was Lily.

4.0 Conclusion

To summarize, Lily is constantly associated with laughter, and constantly associated with flight, and the two link together in her laughing at others in flight and, finally, laughing at Voldemort because she and her son are the superior "Flight from Death".

If you read this whole thing, please let me know if you were convinced by this theory.

Thank you to @regheart, @keepmycandleburning, and @remus-poopin for reading this over for me!

[maddymoreau]

My Thoughts on Poppy Playtime Chapter 3

Ollie is ADORABLE!!!! "No ouchies or lost body parts?" HE'S A BABY I NEED TO PROTECT!!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!!! (¬‿¬) I have ZERO evidence for this but my theory is he’s The Prototype.

I’m REALLY happy to see the phone Ollie calls the player on is identical to the one in Project: Playtime! It’s nice seeing stuff introduced in Project: Playtime finally appear in the main series.

( ⚆_⚆ ) ESPECIALLY DR. HARLEY SAWYER!!!! WOW THE TAPE FEATURING HIM TALKING TO THE PROTOTYPE WAS DARK!!!! I knew a man like Dr. Sawyer would be a sick and twisted individual since he created the Bigger Bodies Initiative.

Despite that I was NOT prepared to hear the joy in his voice to experiment on children. It was revolting.

This exchange:

Prototype: "You stick us. Beat us. Tear at flesh. Do you feel it?"

Dr. Sawyer: "There is a secret inside you, 1006. Valuable beyond all measure. I cut and prod and burn at it, and I get closer with each session . . . So speak, or don't. Fight, or give in. Regardless, I learn something new about you every day . . . (Laughs) It excites me!"

Prototype: "Thank you."

Dr. Sawyer: "You . . . thank me?"

Prototype: "Absolutely. I learn something new about you every day."

THAT FINAL LINE WHEN THE PROTOTYPE IS MIMICKING DR. SAWYER'S VOICE AHHHHHH!!!!

＿|￣|○ I WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO DR. SAWYER SO BADDDDD!!!!!! He wasn’t around for The Hour of Joy but I hope he suffered.

Leith Pierre: "Normally I'd have Dr. Sawyer do this but he's uhhh . . . out, let's say. So you got me until they find his replacement."

(o ´ _ ` )o The contrast between how Dr. Sawyer speaks to the experiments VS Leith Pierre the Head of Innovation at Playtime Co.

Both dehumanize the experiments in different ways.

Leith Pierre can’t even bother remembering Catnap's real name. He puts on this fake friendly facade. Referring to Catnap as his Pal and Buddy. It's so disingenuous.

Especially when he asks, "Heya Theo! How ya doin' bud?" Pierre could care less about how Catnap feels. It's only when Catnap responds, "The Prototype will save us." That gets Pierre to finally drops the corporate spiel. Admitting to what this place is. Catnap’s prison.

No wonder Catnap worshipped The Prototype after being save when this is what he’s told about his horrific situation.

Leith Pierre: "THIS is your life now. Get used to it."

I absolutely LOVED all the new features for the Grab Pack. The air jet looked SO FUN!!!! Watching people desperately shoot the flare gun against smiling critters in a cramped space WAS SO INTENSE!!! The smiling critter's small growls and whimpers made me sad.

(ʃƪ 〃’▽’〃)♡ The horror in this chapter was INCREDIBLE!!!! While I had fun playing Chapter 2 I remember feeling disappointed by the scares.

CHAPTER THREE HAD ME HORRIFIED!!!! EVERY JUMP SCARE HAD ME FLYING OUT MY CHAIR, THE ATMOSPHERE WAS AMAZING AND AHHHHH THE HOME ORPHANAGE SECTION!!!!!

It reminded me of PT ∑(; °_°) Especially with the radio informing us that in Elliot Ludwig's house it was discovered he HAD THE BODY OF A CHILD IN A DUFFLE BAG!!?!?!?!?!?!

ALSO THAT ONE RADIO'S REVERSE MESSAGE!!!

"8-8-1995 I find your presence intrusive. After all this time you return. You come in here and yet you kill and murder. You pilate and destroy. Your presence was demanded 10 years ago and yet you didn't show up . . . 8-8-1995 You were supposed to be here. Why weren't you here? You missed the event. You missed the meeting. You missed the party. You have no right to be here . . ."

AHHHHHH MOBGAMES KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING WITH THE LIGHTING IN THIS SCENE!!!!!

I thought I was going to see MY BOY 😭💔!!!!!!

Huggy Wuggy is completely fine.

Kissy Missy was so sad and adorable in this chapter. Seeing her stare at the picture and hug herself BROKE MY HEART ( o̴̶̷᷄ _ o̴̶̷̥᷅ )!!! She deserves the world.

Catnap acting like a child and avoiding school 😭💔

Miss Delight was a minor spoiler I knew about since people used her face in their thumbnail. However I was NOT prepared for her to act like a Coil-Head!!!!

Theodore being described as antisocial and having a peculiar relationship with an imaginary friend _(:ì」∠)_.

That “imaginary” friend being The Prototype. Who guided Theodore to help them both escape. Only for Theodore to get electrocuted since he was just a child who didn't know how to safely use a Grabpack.

The Prototype throwing away their chance to escape to save Theodore by bringing him to the staff. Showing The Prototype does care in some way.

Only for Theodore to be later turned Catnap.

THEN the player electrocutes Catnap the SAME way Theodore originally received his injuries. The Prototype comes to “save” Theodore once again but this time by making Catnap a part of him AND CATNAP ACCEPTS SO WILLINGLY (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ )!!!!

It felt like I was watching a religious experience.

I love Poppy Playtime but I do think they show too much in their trailers. Dog day is a great example but even then his scene was *chef kiss*

All the smiling critters crawling inside Dogday as he desperately screamed in agony and for us to run away left me speechless.

I liked the detail of Dogday calling us angel. I'm excited to see all the AUs people create where we save him.

ALSO THE HOUR OF JOY WAS A BLAST TO WATCH!!!!!

I know Poppy is right that it was just senseless slaughter. How all that death didn't fix or help anyone. Especially when it didn't matter if those killed were innocent or not.

However imagining these characters being painfully experimented on and stripped of their autonomy. Going though years of hell and finally reaching their breaking point. It's hard to not feel good for them getting to release that anger. Even if I know it's wrong.

ALSO I GOT TO SEE MY SECOND FAVORITE CHARACTER BOXY BOO YAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!

THERE WAS SOOOOO MUCH HUGGY WUGGY IMAGERY IN THIS CHAPTER AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I'M GOING TO OVER THINK IT!!!!!! I HAVE NO THEORIES I’M JUST POINTING DETAILS OUT!!!!!!

When hallucinating Huggy Wuggy's face is on the employee training video:

“Join the Innovationists, where the bounds of science are continuously pushed. Or join the Counselors of Playcare, whose diligence and care for our children will help shape a brighter future, just you see.”

“Now every one of you has your part in that future, so should you come back tomorrow feeling unhappy for where you are, or what you’ve done . . . worry not, for your supervisor is here and happy to listen! And . . . should you come back . . . years later . . . your conscience finally getting the better of you. May you descend into the dark and the dust, finding all that awaits you are incomprehensible horrors . . . each hungry for your return, each eager that they might find you. Perhaps they’d smile at you from a shadow, their smiling mouths full of teeth and meat and plastic, watching and waiting patiently for their turn at a warm welcome. Or perhaps they won’t allow you such a time to figure your place in the world you’d left. A world that’s theirs now. Welcome home.”

The video transforms into a manifestation of the player's guilt. Not only for their involvement for whatever they did while working at Playtime Co. but for being gone and returning after ten years.

This is also paired with the player's possible guilt for killing Huggy Wuggy and their fear of him.

The hallucination version being a more exaggerated version of the Chapter 1 Huggy Wuggy vent chase.

When Catnap causes the player to later hallucinate:

Poppy: “Do you even know what’s real?”

Poppy: “No you don’t.”

THEN AT THE END OF THE HALLUCINATION IT SHOWS US THE DAY OF JOY!!!! Which is very odd when you consider two things. We've been told multiple times we weren’t there and during this scene we didn't know what the Hour of Joy was.

So the player hallucinating being in front of Huggy Wuggy’s podium during The Hour of Joy with a large Prototype hand reaching for us IS ODD!!!

ALSO THE TAPE IT SHOWS THAT’S WHERE HUGGY WUGGY WAS DURING THE HOUR OF JOY!!!!!!!

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!?!?!?!

This is just speculation but perhaps the player's memories aren't as trustworthy as we think. After all we still aren't even sure who even sent us the letter or tape in Chapter 1.

"EVERYONE THINKS THE STAFF DISSAPEARED 10 YEARS AGO WE'RE STILL HERE FIND THE FLOWER"

It’s important to point out the characters from Chapter 2 made ZERO appearance during these hallucinations. Mommy Long Legs, PJ Pug-a-Pillar, Bunzo Bunny and the Wack-a-Wuggy.

Is the Huggy Wuggy imagery used because he’s who we encounter at the start of the game?

OR SOMETHING MORE AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

[harrowscore]

twice in less than 2 pages..... tolstoj sir i beg you ENOUGH with this pregnancy propaganda 😭😭😭

[skylar-jay]

You have Cat Quest aus?

Fgsgvjthjhj

I do! Well, just one lol

I call it the Second Chance AU It's specifically for Cat Quest 2

Basically the two protagonists are sent back home, but instead of losing all their memories they keep them, and are forced to figure out how to fix things before both fall into all out chaos.

[unnonexistence]

idk if there's anything in stories i get more petty about than poorly-written "main character shows up to a new place and meets everyone" character introduction scenes

[cockworkangels]

is this whole book just lestat getting christianity explained to him

[aroacettorney]

when will aup sidestories return from war and stop leaving me bitter about how the main story ended