#like i get it. i’m an author. i understand how appealing the idea of boiling my stories down to easily understandable

[tautozhone]

i feel like a good majority of what i could possibly say about this has already said, but i can’t resist chiming in anyway. i think using some of these terms as some sort of integrated part of a synopsis doesn’t really bother me. like i’ve certainly found a lot of my favorite fanfic tropes work their way into my writing somehow, that’s just the nature of influence & inspiration. this isn’t bad, tropes are tropes and they can sell books, i just think the delivery of it is what matters most. what’s so infuriating about it is in fact the corporate feeling that it’s just a marketing tactic, whether the story was built solely around some tropes or not, this is all a horrible product of corporations realizing and recognizing fandom, for the worst in most ways.

hypothetically if i came across an author on booktok who said “follow the lives of A and B as their tumultuous business rivalry turns to a tense friendship. A, owning a coffee shop adjacent to the cafe that B runs, finds themself caught up in a complicated web of emotion upon having to move in with the last person they would have expected. occupying the same space together proves difficult, both A and B finding it nearly impossible to avoid each other. as both businesses threaten to go under, nothing can possibly get in the way of focusing on what truly matters. watch as A and B teeter on the fence between love and hate as they each fight to out-pace the other, no matter the circumstance” i would find it more intriguing than an author saying “do you like friends to lovers? and then they’re roomates? and it’s a coffee shop business rivals slowburn?? then golly this book is for you!!” at this point darling you told me nothing hooked me on something i could get from ao3, FFnet, etc and SOMEHOW i do feel you spoiled the drama along the way. a lot of readers will likely react this way. listing tropes gets interest from those who know them, like them, would want to read them, but where’s the rest of the incentive to actually engage with your story instead of just going and finding a fanfic that delivers more information than what you’re giving.

i think “get creative with it” will always trump “don’t use it at all” at least if you ask me. however we aren’t talking about placing sleeper codes for potential audiences, this fandom focus were starting to see in entertainment as a whole is some deliberate advertisement and marketing. of course it has a hollow feeling to it, of course it feels like the story itself is always id coming second to the getting-you-to-read-it bullshit. authorship as a whole has been warped by ideas of target audiences, marketable ideas, originality and uniqueness, all taking massive priority over engaging storytelling.

id ask what the actual fuck happened to the idea of promoting a work as a whole, or it’s starting point, or it’s general summary, just something not standing as disjointed boiled down phrases- if i did not already feel the answer. it’s an unsurprising one.

capitalism values creation as product and profit. never as a process, never as an act of passion but as means for monetary gain. marketing on listing tropes screams “we only care about the concept of industry entertainment and easy attention grabbing here, nothing of substance to see unless you buy the book to find out if any of these tropes are well executed at all, and the less you know before buying the more we hope that makes you buy anyway”. this shit thrives even more with rampant consumption, all of it ends up so short lived because they need readers to move on to the next idea as quickly as the last one fades.

tldr: if anyone- reader or publisher- ever asks me to summarize my work with fanfic tropes, i am hexing them and cursing their bloodline.

Sorry it’s early but you really can’t use fanfiction terms in a non fanfiction context like if someone is trying to sell me a book to read and they tell me there’s an enemy to lovers I would be annoyed because why are you spoiling the story lol

[obiwanobi]

Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.

LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)

 He didn’t mean to kill him.

Well, not at first.

He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.  

As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.

And then...  And then fear.

"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."

"You gifted me those slippers."

"As a joke. And you still wear them."

"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."

"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"

"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."

"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.

"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."

Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"

"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"

"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"

"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"

Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.

He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.

So, of course, something has to be wrong.

The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.

And Obi-Wan can't understand why.  

It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.

Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.

Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.

But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.

His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.

His fingers start pulling on his collar.

The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.

He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.

There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.

"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"

Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.

His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.

The tears the last time he gave it to him.

"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."

Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.

"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"

Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.

"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips." 

"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.

Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.

"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."

Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"

All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.

But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.

Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.

"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"

"Vader."

"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

"Vader, who sent—"

"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."

The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.

"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"

"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.

"Who did you kill?"

"My master."

"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"

"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."

It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.

He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.

Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.

"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."

"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.

Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.

"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

[jarofstyles]

SK8ER BOI - Kickflip

A/N: Here is the first installment our take on bad boy harry! It gets into things pretty quick but there is lots of content to come. Skater boy Harry is essentially what you wish every boy with a nicotine addiction was like featuring Timothée Chalamet as the uninterested boyfriend 🤭 We had a lot of fun writing this story so we hope you enjoy! - n+d

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masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: smut, cheating

word count: 8.5k

Y/N was just an average girl. 

Though some could say she tread on the nerdier side of things, she was neither here nor there as far as social groups at school. No one really bullied her, she sort of just kept to herself and did her work and that was all she needed to get by. Her parents were middle class, working average jobs, and Y/N would likely follow suit. She really wasn’t sure what she wanted to do just yet. Everything was fine in her life, except for the fact that her boyfriend of three years refused to touch her. It was a shame really. She had grown a really strong attachment to him and they used to hang out all the time, but as they got older it seemed like he wanted less and less to do with her. His status as student body president definitely helped her out and well... Everyone had a crush on Timothée. She really wanted to explore with him, wanted to pleasure him and vice versa, bond in a way so many others described. But she just boiled it down to her not being sexy enough for him. She saw the browser history on his computer when he left it out in his bed while showering. He didn’t even try to hide it. Y/N, couldn’t say she didn’t have fantasies about one particular bad boy. Harry. 

Harry was in fact, that skater boy. That one guy that rode his board out of school— until he had gotten his car. He still rode it around the school campus, not at all hiding it. Even at the age of 17, he had gotten tattoos. His parents were wicked cool. They didn’t mind him doing whatever as long as he did well in school, and attended functions like family parties and whatever. They were close, anyways. His father was a well known quantum physicist and his mum, a romance novel author. His group of friends called his home their main hang out area. He had a good head on his shoulder despite what his look may say. He knew people would definitely be judging him and truth be told, he didn’t much care. He was more into what he was working towards versus what high school champs had to say. 

Harry was intrigued when Mr. Beck partnered him with Y/N for a science project, though. She was a very good girl. Known for good grades and dating that class president dude, Timothée. He was pretty sure the dude was 100% gay or at least bi based on the subtle flirting he had initiated with Harry until a few years back when he decided to date Y/N. In his opinion, it was a waste because whenever he saw them, there was no passion. Y/N was hot as fuck— you’d have to be blind to not see it. But he didn’t know what went on behind the scenes. He wasn’t close with her but she seemed chill enough, so he didn’t mind when she was partnered with him. 

“Hey. Come in.” He said politely as he answered the door for Y/N, holding it open and taking her bag. He could hear the little jingle of bells on collars and realized he hadn’t warned her. “Uh— we have a bunch of cats. Is that cool? Or do we need to leave? Sorry, I didn’t think to ask if you were allergic or something.”

“Hi.” Y/N squeaked out, taking a step inside and thanking him for taking her bag. His house was massive! You’d never be able to tell he had a house like this just by looking at him, but the address clearly stated it was his so she didn’t bother leaving and looking for another. The first thing she noticed besides the beautiful interior of the house was the sound of little bells. Y/N turned her head to see about four cats coming towards her and her heart melted. “Oh my goodness! I didn’t know you had kitties!” She quickly dropped down to her knees to greet them, “hi little angels!” She cooed, sticking her hand out for each of them to have a sniff and see if they liked her or not before she went to pet them. She looked up at Harry with a bright smile, “Sorry, my parents never let me have pets after my bunny died in 4th grade because they didn’t want me to go through that emotional trauma again.” She knew it was a bit of an overshare, but that’s just the kind of person she was. Harry looked extremely attractive from this angle, ideas swirling around in her mind about all the things she could do with him. Y/N stood up again, fixing her little overalls before pulling off her shoes and leaving them by the door. She didn’t want to get a nice house like this all messy. She walked up to Harry again, expecting him to lead her towards his room or wherever they wanted to work.

Harry was impressed. All the cats seemed to like her, including Grumpy. He was named that for a reason. His smush face and grumpy look were warnings for how he really didn’t like anyone but Harry and his parents. But he was rubbing against Y/N’s hand and then her leg with a purr. 

“Oh. I’m sorry about your rabbit. It always sucks when they die.” Harry said softly. He wasn’t sure why she told him, but it did make him sad to hear it. He lost a cat a few months back and it did hurt. There was definite emotional trauma in it. “They like you. That’s cool. They’ll probably follow us up. Are you cool with going to my room? That’s where my computer is.” He hadn’t brought it down but his room was his preferred study space. He also didn’t want her to think he was some creep so gave her the option, which she nodded to. “It’s at the top, the attic space so prepare for some steps.” He said sheepishly, picking up her bag again so he could carry it up. “Oof. Are there bricks in ‘ere?” He was teasing.

“I don’t mind.” Y/N felt good about the fact that his cats liked her, she was rather fond of them already so she didn’t mind them coming upstairs with them. She felt herself get all nervous because well... she would be going to Harry’s room. He probably had no idea about the filthy thoughts she had about him, even just watching him walk up the stairs was hot. “No! Just my laptop and notebook... maybe a pencil case... and a water bottle.” Y/N defended, feeling her face get all blushy because she did realize there was quite a lot of stuff in her bag. However, walking up the stairs wasn’t all too difficult. They were perfectly spaced out which was nice, all of the decor in the house was beautiful but still very cozy. The house was definitely lived in. 

His room though? Goodness. 

“Wow...” Y/N mumbled as she stepped up inside. It was amazing. The walls were white but he had a theme of wood and navy, some vintage looking items here and there. Overall she noticed his little reading nook and what seemed to be an astronomy section with bean bags and a telescope. He even had a mini fridge in there and a cupboard... even a microwave! It was a whole little man cave. 

“Yeah, s’nice. It’s my own little place.” He smiled at her reaction, putting her bag down on his bed as he grabbed his laptop and unplugged it from the charger. “Want a water?” He didn’t listen for an answer, rather grabbed her one and handed it to her. His mum had raised him to always give company a drink. “We can work on my bed. The cats will probably come in here and pretend they aren’t looking for attention when they are.” He smirked, going over to his bed and sitting against the headboard like area. She looked shy so he tilted his head, patting the blanket. “C’mon then. Don’t be shy. This isn’t your first time in a boys room, is it?” He couldn’t imagine that Timothée was dating a hot bitch like Y/N and not be tapping it. If she didn’t have a boyfriend he would be trying to get her to know better because she really was gorgeous. But they’d been dating too long and Y/N probably wouldn’t go for that.

Y/N knew that her blush gave away her answer as she went to sit on his bed, not quite next to him though. She was a bit too nervous for that. In her mind she was already sitting on Harry’s lap with his hands gripping at her ass, his perfectly plump lips slotted between her own. Y/N shook her own thoughts out of her head but felt like she needed to answer his question. 

“Maybe it is...” She mumbled, pulling her laptop out of her bag and turning it on. It suddenly got very hot in his room and not just because they were in the attic. Y/N was burning up, his eyes were very obviously on her and she knew he’d ask and she’d definitely confess to him. She’d do anything Harry wanted her to do really, fuck. She just wanted to be touched. Seeing the look of shock and confusion prompted her to explain further despite how anxiety provoking it might have been. “Timmy and I don’t—” Y/N started, looking away feeling all embarrassed. “He won’t...” She couldn’t even say it, she was just that shy and embarrassed.

Oh. Wow. He didn’t.... he didn’t fuck her? Harry thought.

“You’re kidding?” He raised a brow. He understood what she meant. It went from zero to a hundred real quickly but he couldn’t say he was angry about it. He just didn’t understand why. 

Y/N’s face grew incredibly hot, looking up at Harry with a serious but semi spooked expression when he asked if she was kidding. She absolutely wasn’t kidding. If she was kidding she wouldn’t be so damn horny and ravenous. She felt like she could burst all the time, touch starved beyond belief. Sure, he’d kiss her, but never anything too passionate. It would always make him uncomfortable the second they got too hot. 

“How come you’re tellin’ me this? I mean... it’s fine you do, I won’t say shit but, we barely know each other.” He questioned, putting an arm behind his head as he looked expectantly at her for an answer. She was hot. Sexy as fuck, had that innocent good girl appeal and he loved that shit, personally. Timmy. God, the least sexy name to moan in bed. Really. He could only think about the fairy godparents cartoon. Ick. He was surprised though. “You’ve been dating for years, haven’t you?” It definitely wasn’t a Y/N problem. She was blurting things out so if she wanted to, she would have told him.

Y/N’s mouth went dry because well, she had an answer for him, she just wasn’t sure how he’d react. “cause... I know you enough to know you make me really nervous, especially right now.” Y/N was really bad at being sexy, her delivery and flirting was horrible but she hoped he picked up what she was putting down. “Yeah... we’ve been together for three years.” Y/N explained, letting out a deep breath. “It wasn’t so bad at first, but I just—” She was horny. She was so fucking horny it was ridiculous. She’d probably moan if they held hands at this point. “I’ve tried, but he’s not into it I guess.”

Harry could tell she was horny. He could feel it. He just knew. Looking at her, she was a bit antsy. Not able to sit still but most importantly, squeezing her thighs together. No way. She was horny and maybe partly because of him? 

“Not into it? That’s some bullshit.” Harry scoffed. “Not to be weird, but you’re hot as fuck. If he’s not into it he might be gay or is just blind.” He didn’t want to offend her but he had a feeling it was the first. Either way, there had to be a reason for him not wanting to eat the girl alive. Harry had definitely noticed Y/N before. She was cute, kind, had his favorite type of body, and had pretty, full lips. Also, a very cute laugh. She was innocent and he liked that type of vibe. Maybe it was a bit fucked to be aroused by that but hey, he was a teenage boy as well. “Don’t have to be nervous, babe. I don’t bite. Unless asked.” He gave her another smirk. Her blush was cute and her flush reminded him again at how easy it was to work her up. They’d begun working but Harry still had a question of two, and he could feel her hormones— he swore he could. The poor thing. 

Well. There it goes. 

The guy Y/N had been having sexual fantasies about for years calling her hot? Of course she wouldn’t be able to calm down now. Her face hadn’t cooled off, he didn’t really give her a chance to either. She just pulled her hair up into a bun but it didn’t help. Poor girl, you could see it on her neck too. She was just nervous and embarrassed and horny. So so horny. Timmy being gay though? It could be a solid explanation for why he didn’t want to touch her. It’s not like he looked at other girls, he always called her pretty and complimented her looks. Was always okay with cuddling and other platonic stuff.. maybe the kissing was just him trying to make it seem believable. Harry was always around though, sometimes she’d just imagine it was his hair she was carding through, that it was his jaw she was cupping instead of Timmy’s. She loved Timmy, she did, but she wasn’t sexually attracted to him. She tried to be, wanted to be, if he reciprocated maybe she would be? But even having Harry next to her was turning her on. Even hearing him say he didn’t bite unless asked? She could have died, swore she let out a whimper when she shifted. 

“Has he touched you at all?” Harry questioned.

“No, just kissed but like.. nothing crazy.”

“Seriously? He’s holdin’  out on you like that? That’s not fair.” Harry muttered. Fucking crazy. The fact that the guy got one of the hottest girls in school and refused to do anything with her when it was blatantly obvious that she needed a good dicking, more than anything? Negligent, at best. “You said you tried and he’s not into it... what did you try? Was it something weird or just asking?” He was trying to figure this out. “You don’t have to tell me and it’s none of my business but, m’just curious.” He was curious if she was hinting towards Harry taking care of it. Which he would happily do. The poor thing looked like she needed an orgasm more than anything else. He wouldn’t be opposed to a good make out session and finger fuck.

Y/N was surprised by how genuinely shocked he was that nothing was happening between her and Timmy. It made those butterflies spring up in her stomach and go haywire, his tone was suggesting he was curious which was good of course. If he thought she was attractive then... surely she wasn’t the problem. 

“I um...” Y/N was so nervous talking about this stuff, it really wasn’t like her at all. Hearing her say these things out loud made her physically cringe but he did ask. He couldn’t read her mind, could he? “Anytime I’d try to like... grind on him when we kiss and stuff, he’d just stop it.” She explained, feeling her cheeks get all boiling hot again. She regretted wearing a sweater. “I haven’t brought it up to him or anything cause I don’t want him to feel bad.” Y/N was still a sweetheart, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make him feel inadequate. She’d been with him for three years, that was quite the long time.

“Jesus. That is either some good control or he can’t get hard. If he can’t, he's definitely not straight, babe.” Harry could be positive about that. Any straight man would be like an eager puppy to get between her legs. Harry included, if that was offered up. “M’sorry. That sucks. So you’ve been sexually frustrated for 3 years then?” He shook his head. “Not to be a dick, but how come you haven’t broken up with him yet? He isn’t meeting your needs. Any good man takes care of their girl. It’s just... how it should be.” Harry couldn’t believe this. “Trust me, you’re hot as fuck. Again, sorry if this is crude but— you’ve got the perfect thighs and probably a gorgeous pussy. Can’t imagine a man not wanting to get his mouth or hands on it. Or your tits. M’sure you’re told that often.” Maybe his vulgar speech would deter her but he had a feeling she would love it.

If someone told Y/N she’d be sitting on a bed with her crush while he told her that she had great thighs, tits, and assumed she had a gorgeous pussy, she would have laughed in their face. Harry looked completely serious too, his own eyes had grown dark and Y/N just felt stuck in shock. 

“Yeah..” She squeaked, swallowing thickly as she tried to focus back on the project but she was just staring at the screen. “He’s my best friend.. I care about him and he’s been there for me through a lot I— I couldn’t just do that.” She didn’t have the heart to break up with him. She needed a proper reason, just so she could feel guilt free. Y/N couldn’t just ask him to help her out could she? He had expressed to her how he felt like any good man took care of their girl's needs and well... she wasn’t his girl but oh did she want to be. As far as Y/N knew, he had slept around quite a lot. He thought she was attractive but he probably thought many girls were attractive. Maybe he’d just fuck anything? 

But she’d been thinking about him for so long.

Harry knew that she was avoiding looking at him because she was aroused by his words. She liked what he had to say and how he said it. It was obvious by her reaction. Which did make him smile a bit. She was flushed and biting her lower lip and he wanted to see just how flustered he could get her. 

“I get that. But how great is he if he’s not taking care of a need you obviously are being deprived of.” Harry muttered. Little French shit. He could fight him for that alone. “Are you horny, Y/N?” He asked. His body shifted so he was properly facing her, closer than before.

She really thought she’d be able to hold it together, but when he asked her flat out if she was horny she knew she couldn’t lie anymore. Y/N has fully shown up to do work and now it was looking like she was going to get an orgasm too? That seemed fake, there’s no way. But he had shifted a bit closer to her, completely forgetting about his laptop. Her eyes snapped to look up at him, swallowing thickly before looking back at her laptop. 

“Maybe.” She offered up shyly. She kept glancing up at him and looking away. She was just that nervous. Y/N couldn’t even pretend she felt bad for liking it either. It wasn’t like she hadn’t given Timmy an option, she was positive he probably would be upset... maybe he would be, but— she couldn’t pass this up, she’d been thinking about it for so long.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” Harry couldn’t pass this opportunity up either. Especially because it was a dream. Y/N was exactly his type and he liked her energy. She wasn’t being treated properly by her boyfriend and that wasn’t okay in his book. He knew she would say yes but the whimper made his stomach clench. She was desperate for it. The look on her eyes showed it. His hand came up to feel her face, immediately feeling her cheek lean into his touch. 

“Poor girl. Have been left to fend for yourself for a while. S’not fair to you. Not at all.” He sighed, truly in awe of how any man could let a wet cunt and a woman eager to use it up. “What would you like me to do?” He wanted to coax something out of her. “How worked up are you?”

Y/N’s heart dropped so far it probably fell out of her ass. Hearing him offer to take care of her sent her into a fit of emotions. Her eyes got all floaty, her cunt creating a second heartbeat, her body was naturally leaning towards his and she could have sworn she was dreaming at this point because it was all too good. Of course she agreed, closing her laptop and casting it aside so she could focus on the task at hand. She was far too focused on how good it felt to have his hand on her cheek that she hadn’t registered that he was asking her about what she wanted him to do. Y/N felt her face warm up all over again because she didn’t want to say it outright. It would sound so dirty, she felt like she couldn’t say. She scanned his eyes, waiting for him to say something but he wasn’t letting up. 

“I—I’m really sticky..” She whispered, already feeling shy and embarrassed about all of this. Y/N knew she wasn’t exactly sexy or anything.

Harry knew that she may be embarrassed of how she said things but to him, it was hot. The fact no one else had touched her before and she was going to let him... it was sexy as fuck. Especially because she has a boyfriend who wasn’t up to par with what she wanted.

“S’okay, love. That’s good. Very normal.” He felt himself harden a bit at the visual. “C’mere. Come on my lap.” He motioned for her to straddle him, which she did eagerly. Fuck, this was going to be fun. He was going to teach her some shit. “Why don’t you show me how you like to kiss, sweetheart? Let me see how you want things. Don’t be embarrassed about it either. I promise I’ll find it hot.” He pulled her face down to his and felt his body warm up, her eyes blow and obviously her face warm and eager to get herself touched. “Just kissing for a bit. Then I’ll touch.”’

She wasn’t sure how she was meant to keep her breathing steady when he had so casually just asked her to straddle his lap. Y/N didn’t really think before she moved, surprising even herself with how easily and comfortably she moved into his lap. She felt like everything had gone into slow motion, nodding when he asked her to show him how she liked to kiss. That she could do. 

Y/N was positive he could feel her clench, cunt throbbing at the idea of finally getting to kiss him. She’d been waiting for so long, she felt like she wouldn’t be able to stop once she started. With her face mere centimeters away from his face, she paused for a moment before letting her eyes flutter shut as she leaned in. 

Fuck. 

The pathetic sounding whimpered she released at the feeling had her blushing even harder. Y/N hadn’t made many sounds or answered many of his questions, but that was mostly because she was used to being quiet. This kiss however? God was it perfect. Y/N felt hungry, kissing him with such a desperate need. There was still passion behind it, but she just really wanted him.

Harry could tell this girl was hungry for it. Literally starved for orgasms and he couldn’t help but think about what a damn shame it was that no one had been giving it to her. When her mouth tasted this good and she was so eager and hot in her kisses, he would give her whatever the fuck she wanted. He kissed deep right back, hand wrapping around her hip and pulling her down on to him. She was pleased at that, Harry showing her it was okay to grind. Which, to be honest, may have been a mistake considering how good she was at it. He groaned into her mouth as she rocked and worked her hips, her lips open as she whimpered. 

“S’it good? Think you’re rubbin’ your clit right against my cock like that.” He murmured into her mouth, wanting to talk dirty and see what she would do. What she would respond with.

She couldn’t have imagined it being this good, him kissing her back as if he too had wanted her for all this time. It didn’t feel like this when she kissed Timmy, as awful as it was to say, she was starting to think that maybe Harry was right about him. She was quickly snapped out of those thoughts when his hand pushed her hips down against him. 

“Mmmm” A long whine fell into his mouth, her hips moving at a pretty eager pace. Y/N really wanted to cum. She wanted it so bad she genuinely thought she’d lose it. Of course, she’s made herself cum before, but it felt so different when someone else was involved. Especially that someone being Harry. Y/N felt her cunt throb at the dirty talk. Another pathetic sounding moan fell from her lips and her eyes nearly rolled back in pleasure. “Feels so good.” She whimpered against his lips, desperate for him to touch her. Y/N wasn’t sure what he would do, but having his hands on her? In any way? She would surely lose her mind. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, sticking to his shoulder cause it just seemed right to steady herself. Y/N needs something more.

“Good. You can touch me.” Harry gave her the go ahead. “Wherever you want.” She obviously didn’t know how to do it and he wasn’t going to shame her or want to make her feel uncomfortable. Rather, he slid a hand up her skirt, gently lifting it up and getting his hands into her panties. It was arousing to say the least. His hands held her ass, grabbing at it and helping her move her hips. Holding the bare skin, he squeezed and licked into her mouth, feeling her work her cunt harder and hump a little faster against him. Obviously it felt good to her. “Such a perfect ass, baby.” He whispered, giving her a sweet pet name. “So eager for me. So sweet.” He chuckled, moving to kiss at her neck. She was going to lose it and he liked that he was the one doing it.

Funny how things unfolded exactly how Y/N pictured it in her mind. The second she sat down on the bed she was thinking about straddling him and having his hands on her ass and now that’s exactly what they were doing. It felt so fucking good too. Y/N was trying to hold back her whimpers, but Harry didn’t let up. He just kept licking into her mouth, rubbing and squeezing at her ass as if she wasn’t completely losing it in his lap. Her hands hand hesitantly traveled up to his hair, the way she’d do it to Timmy except... he seemed to respond in a much more appropriate way. Harry seemed to like it, liked it a lot based on the hard squeeze he gave her ass. Y/N let out shaky moans when his lips attached to her neck, she couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Please— I need more.” She pleaded, “feels good, but I need more.. please.” Y/N was begging him to touch her. She wouldn’t tell him explicitly, but if he wanted to lay her down and work his fingers against her she’d like that or even if he wanted to put his mouth to work. Anything, she just needed to cum.

“There we go. Love to hear you ask me.” Harry had been waiting for that begging, and he had gotten it. There was a quick switchover, Harry laying her down and gently moving so he was between her thighs. He would start simple. His finger ran over the soaked through cotton of her pink panties, groaning at the sight. “They’re completely soaked.” He hissed, gently pulling them to the side. He couldn’t stop the deep breath that came when he saw her arousal stringing to the panties when he moved it over. “Fuck me. S’sticky all over your panties. I love that.” He has that effect on her, didn’t he? That was the best part. He had done that. He was going to make her feel the best she ever had. Fingers spread her open, a hum of appreciation coming from his mouth. “Just like I knew it. You’ve got the prettiest pussy... so wet... look how swollen your clit is.” He murmured, thumbing over it. It was visible and his mouth was watering. That pressure on her clit alone had the girl jilting under his touch, making him feel satisfied. His thumb rubbed harder in the sensitive part, watching her face scrunch up in pleasure. “So pretty. Fuck. Can’t believe he’s never touched it. Left it for me to play with.”

Thank goodness she was laying down because Y/N was sure she wouldn’t have been able to keep herself up. He had simply lifted her skirt and revealed her panties, he didn’t even think twice. It seemed everything he did just turned her on. She liked that he just took what he wanted but also made sure she was feeling good. Y/N didn’t realize just how wet she was until he started to run his fingers over her and they felt completely slick. Her eyes rolled back, one of her hands gripping at his bed sheets while the other stayed on the nape of his neck tangled into his perfect locks. Her breath hitched, her other hand moving to cover her mouth because she knew she was about to be so fucking loud. Her body practically twitched whenever he rubbed over her swollen clit, his fingers were working magic in her and honestly, she wasn’t even sure if she could do it better herself. 

“Ah!” Y/N whined, her hips bucking up against his touch when she felt herself getting closer. She was so worked up she knew she could cum right then and there if he would let her. Her body was giving it away.

It made Harry all too aware of how stupid Timothée was. He wasn’t touching this cunt? Wasn’t getting these reactions? He had to be gay. There was no other way. 

“You’re so sensitive... fuck.” Harry couldn’t believe she was trusting him. If all people do this to her. It wasn’t like they’d ever been close. They went to each other’s birthday parties in elementary school like all the kids in classes did. But that was about it. Thank god for anatomy. 

“Just relax, love.” He muttered, spreading her legs further as he got comfortable. “This is gonna feel really good. Just do what feels right. Can pull on my hair... be as loud as you want, please. Love to hear I’m going a good job.” He smirked, holding her thighs open as he licked one thick stripe up her cunt.

“Oh— oh my god!” Y/N gasped loudly when she felt his wet tongue on her cunt. Her legs twitched from the pleasure that was spiking now that he was focused in her clit. Her hand traveled down to tug at his hair as suggested, her whole body reacting to his actions. She’d never felt anything like this before, felt like she was dreaming. At first she was a bit shy with the noises she was making, but he clearly didn’t like that, immediately increasing the pressure and speed and sticking to it so that she was a moaning mess for him. Y/N knew that if anyone was home they’d think someone was being tortured but god— it was nothing but sweet sweet pleasure. When Y/N played with herself on her own she never pushed her limits like Harry was doing. She was so sensitive and she knew that, but he was purposely working over her most sensitive spots so she was writhing and twitching beneath him. “Ah— mmmm—“ Y/N whined out, “Harry!” She gasped, feeling herself falling over the edge quite rapidly. Her orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks, it was so incredibly fast she wasn’t ready for that at all. Her moans were high pitched and whiny, her breathing heavy as she tried to get air in her lungs. She held herself back too, felt like she was going to pee on him if he kept going.

Harry kept going. 

If this was her first orgasm by someone else, her first proper orgasm? She was going to get the best one. He knew she was sensitive— could feel it in her shaking thighs, but he was a man of conviction. He went full on, suckling on her clit. The way she was reacting was beautiful, a soundless scream followed by his name and shudders. However— he wasn’t expecting her to squirt. It was the hottest damn thing he had ever experienced in his life. Her first orgasm and she was cumming that hard, Harry pulling back and rubbing her clit hard as she continued to leak. 

“Fuuuuuck, yes. Give it to me, sweetheart.” He groaned. Holy fuck. He hadn’t expected it to turn out like this at all but he wasn’t going to complain.

The sound that escaped her even shocked Y/N. A loud, borderline pained, scream left from her throat and her eyes squeezed shut. Her breathing was shaky, her hands having moved to cover her face because holy fuck was she overwhelmed. It was a lot. Y/N didn’t think it was humanly possible to cum that hard, and he just kept going. She was so sensitive it hurt, especially when he started rubbing on her clit after she seemingly peed on him but, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she thought he liked it. Y/N was in an endless stream of whimpers and throaty moans, he didn’t seem like he was giving up any time soon and she wasn’t sure if she could handle another. 

“It hurts—” She whimpered out, moving her hands from her face to grip at the pillow behind her. “But it feels so good.” Y/N was completely fucked. So gone for, the hormones and endorphins overcoming her. He seemed to know what he was doing, so she let him continue. She didn’t want him to stop if she was going to keep feeling like this.

“God, you’re so good. Letting me do whatever I want... we’re so deprived before, weren’t you?” Harry was shocked. The fact she was letting him continue, shaking but loving every bit? He was happy. Damn. Finally, a girl who could keep up with him and she had to be taken. “You okay?” He asked, rubbing his thumb over her clit lazily. His mouth had kissed at her thighs, biting down gently on one. “Hm.. can I mark here?” It wasn’t like her boyfriend was gonna see it. “And you don’t mind if I get myself off, do you?” He wanted to cum on her thighs or her stomach. His cock ached in his pants and he had no problem just getting her off, but he needed to cum. Of course he wouldn’t ask her to do anything, though. Despite it all, he respected her. She was a good girl. He was tainting her a bit but, she was happy to be tainted.

Y/N nodded her head to let him know she was okay, but he didn’t seem happy with her nodding, he wanted an answer. “Yes.” She whimpered out an answer to all of the things that he asked, still breathing shakily and twitching whenever the tension built up enough. The slow rubbing on her clit was still bringing her lots of pleasure, it made her want to cum again and that freaked her out. Could she really take that much? She’d never seen a cock in person before. Only even in porn but she didn’t watch that either because it made her feel yucky. Y/N swallowed thickly, seeing just how big he was. Holy shit. That was meant to fit inside someone? She already had trouble sticking her fingers in, but that? However, she was interested in watching him. Y/N watched him with loopy eyes, knowing for a fact she’d worship him after this. If he let her come back for more she happily would. Hell, she’d follow him around like a puppy if he kept making her feel like this.

It was probably the hottest hook up Harry’s ever had. Truth be told. He was in shock that Y/N was so needy for it and the fact she had let him be the one to play with her, to get her off, it was astonishing. There was nothing hotter than watching her legs open and pussy pulsing a bit from the intensity of her orgasms. 

“Mmm... you’re fucking hot.” Harry hissed, stroking himself as he bit down on her thigh. She let out a yelp that turned into a whine as he sucked a mark on to the softness of it, smirking when she rutted into his finger. After that though, he decided to take things up. “M’not gonna go in. Just... relax.” He rested himself against her cunt and rubbed the tip against her clit as he stroked himself heavily, hissing when her slickness covered him. It made it easy to stroke. “Jesus, you’re good. Feels good, hm? Better than your own fingers?” He knew it was. She looked fucked out, hips bucking into his own as he approached his own orgasm. Would it be too far to cum on her cunt? “Can I... fuck, can I cum on your cunt?” He had originally wanted her tummy or her thighs but seeing his cock against her now... he felt a bit primal.

Y/N had never expected this. This was the farthest she’d gone with anyone and the fact that it was with the guy that she’d been fantasizing about for years? It felt so unreal, definitely added to the intensity of her orgasms. Having him mark her? In a place where she’d be the only one to find it? That made her cunt throb. He started rubbing himself on her and she felt like that was a whole other level of horny. He felt so good against her, Y/N didn’t think she was that hot but Harry seemed to think so and that was enough to get her to feel confident enough to answer him with her full voice when he asked to cum on her cunt. 

“Yeah... you can cum on me..” Y/N didn’t have it in her to say cunt yet, but baby steps nonetheless. Harry was so hot, he looked so good above her. They weren’t even naked, just their lower halves, which in a way made it hotter because they were just that needy. His face was still slick with her, and that was something she couldn’t get over. 

It was apparent that Y/N didn’t know just how hot she was and that was a goddamn shame in Harry’s opinion. Because she was. She was so hot and he was sure that this wasn’t going to be the only time they had fun. 

“Fuck.. fuck.” He hissed as he began to cum on her. There was nothing like watching his cum stripe over her, soiling it with the white cream. It only made his orgasm better, a groan leaving him as he ran his cock through the slit and pressed against her clit again. “Fuck me, that’s so hot.” He whispered, mouth open at just how good it looked. When he saw her gawking at it, her tits moving under the fabric of her top, he smirked. “Want to taste it?” He ran two fingers through the mess.

Watching Harry cum was definitely the hottest thing Y/N had ever seen, the sounds he released and his scrunched up face was enough to make her shudder. On top of that, the feeling of hot cum ribboning over her cunt was something that she again couldn’t explain. It felt good, satisfying, especially because he seemed to be dying over it.

“Yes.”

It was a quiet squeak of an answer but it was an answer. Y/N was curious, she wanted to know what he tasted like and had a feeling that he too wanted her to try. If she didn’t like it she’d pretend to like it, but holy fuck she did actually like it. It was salty, a strange texture, but definitely not the worst thing she’d ever had in her mouth. It had its own taste, but she enjoyed that. Her mouth was wrapped around his fingers, gently licking and sucking the cum off his fingers while watching his eyes. He seemed to like this a lot too. Y/N was learning quite a bit, mostly that Timmy was definitely gay. But she didn’t just want to confront him like that that wouldn’t be fair. As soon as she was done, Harry kissed her again. This time it was more gentle than before. A kiss of appreciation. That was some good shit. Harry hadn’t been with someone who was a virgin and didn’t realize how horny they got— maybe it was just Y/N, though. He could have been having this and he didn’t. 

It was a good thing for Harry though. He got to have what he wanted and while he knew that was a lot, he didn’t really care that he could potentially hurt his feelings. He had made Y/N feel inadequate anyways. 

“Let me clean you up.” He murmured, smiling when she pouted when he pulled away. He was gentle with it, wiping her clean with tissues next to his bed. When she jumped, he chuckled. 

“Sensitive, I know.” He was smug about it though. Yes. He had done that. Though it was a shame she was too sensitive to clean it with his tongue. He would have been down.

The kiss was definitely something that Y/N needed. It was a nice little reminder that Harry was a gentleman and that she hadn’t just gone and done stuff with someone who was a complete asshole. Y/N always knew that Harry was a good guy, sure she’d heard rumors about him and knew he had gotten around and did drugs, but never had she heard about him being mean. Even when cleaning her up he was gentle, but of course she felt all shy again because she was laying fully exposed in front of the guy she had a crush on who had just made her cum three times within the span of 20 minutes. It was a lot. She’d completely forgotten about the fact that she was here to do an anatomy project. Y/N stayed quiet for the most part, letting him clean her up. Once she was finished she slipped on her panties again, though it felt quite dirty because they were still soaking wet. She’d need to take a shower when she got home. “Thank you.” She told him, feeling herself blush all over again.

“You’re welcome. Do you want a pair of boxers or something to wear instead of your panties?” Harry didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. At the relieved look on her face, he chuckled and went to his drawer, grabbing his smaller pair. “Here. May be big on you but, better than being uncomfortable.” He threw them to her and grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip before sitting down. “Want to do this project then?” Now that the sexual tension was at least fixed for a bit, he was happy to get to work. He wanted to see her get a good grade too. It didn’t have to be weird. 

“Oh, thanks.” Y/N smiled bashfully and stood up to change into them. There was no need for her to be all shy about it anymore. Y/N put her dirty panties to the side, taking a sip of her water bottle as well because lord knows she needed up. She was definitely a lot looser after their little activities, much more relaxed and open to talking and working. 

It really did feel better after they'd fucked around. Harry noticed that Y/N was more loose and seemed to feel more at ease now that he’s had his mouth on her pussy. They’d done a bit today and he was sure he would be on her mind for a long time after she left, which made him smug. 

----

They were finishing up when he asked for her number. “Put yours in. Dunno if you want to do this again but... I wouldn’t mind.” Harry would love it.

Y/N was already thinking about doing this again. Now that all her initial nerves were out of the way, she felt like I’d be easier for her to do things with him. She’d probably never initiate it again like this until she was this desperate, but whenever he wanted her again, if he did, she’d happily come over. She typed in her number and texted herself.

“The project or?” Y/N was a bit stupid sometimes, she didn’t want to assume he wanted to but based on the look on his face she figured he meant the other thing. “Oh, yeah— I um... I’d like that very much.” She said and finished putting her stuff away. “Thanks again... I’ll see you.” Y/N spoke when he walked her down the stairs and out the door. 

She’d left her panties in his room.

He had come upstairs to find the lovely gift that was left. Sure, it wasn’t on purpose but it was his now. He’d let her know that. They smelled like her and damn, it was good. Stuffed in his side drawer, he sat and absorbed the whole thing. Maybe he should feel guilt for having her cheat. But she needed it. The poor girl was nearly frothing at the mouth with need for sexual release and something about him tickled her. He couldn’t say no to that. Especially when she was so excited to do it and so responsive. 

Later that night he texted her. 

‘Hey, it’s Harry’

‘Did you want to come over again on Friday and work?’ He snickered at that. They’d work but... he knew by Friday she would be wanting more. 

‘Also, appreciate the gift you left. They’re lovely. Xx’ He sent a picture of the waistband of the panties in his hand.

On the bike ride home Y/N felt herself whimper every time she went over a bump. Harry had definitely done a number on her and she couldn’t have been more thankful. She texted Timmy when she got home, asking him about how he was and how his day was as usual though, she was surprised she didn’t feel really guilty. By the time she had showered and freshened up, she saw that she’d received texts back from both of them, but of course she wanted to answer Harry’s first. 

‘Hii! yeah, I can do that!’

‘oh my god 🤭’

She left them at his house? Fuck. She should have just put them in her bag but... she did have his boxers, so it didn’t really matter did it? Timmy had texted her back responding with how his day went saying he was super busy getting ready for his re-election campaign. It was his way of saying they wouldn’t really be able to hang out. She told him that she was sad but that she’d see him at school. Realistically she knew she needed to talk to him, but she wanted him to be able to tell her I’m his own time. She’d stop trying to have sex with him, only if he tried though.

‘I’ll be having fun with them. They’re in great hands. Don’t worry.’

He was smug about it for sure. But still, he couldn’t help but feel beyond happy about it because perhaps he had found a new person to fuck around with. Sure, he liked hook ups at parties but he had wanted a designated person to be around and fuck with. And Y/N was a cool chick. He hadn’t paid too much attention to her before, only to notice she was hot and also questioning why she was dating that kid. But the closer he got, the hotter she was. And fun to be around after she chilled out. She hadn’t mentioned being surprised by his room and the kind of nerdy star stuff in it. So he liked her a bit more for that. 

‘Good. Come over on Friday and we can work late. My dad’s away and my mom is on her book tour shit, so we’ll be alone, if that’s cool w you?’

Was he? He was flirting a bit wasn’t he? Y/N wasn’t exactly sure but him suggesting that his parents would be away and that they would be alone in his house again made butterflies erupt in her stomach. She was really excited to see his cats again and hang out, they’d likely finish another part of their project and likely fuck around a bit and that made her nervous all over again. 

‘Okaaay sounds good :) ’

She set her phone on her stomach and just looked up at the ceiling. Holy shit. Y/N couldn’t wait for Friday now, excited to see what else he’d have in store for her. She was simply excited to get to know him a bit more, he was hiding a lot of stuff from people from school. Of course she noticed all the astronomy shit in his room, saw the tons of books that he had with sticky notes showing they were clearly annotated. There was a lot more to him than met the eye.

---------------------------------------

[part 2]

A/N: Without giving too much away, yes, skater boy harry is bi and is whore for astronomy but we’ll get into that later ;) - n+d

let us know what you think!

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[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Navigating the Storm 2/4

Summary: Emma Swan navigates the aftermath of Neverland by trying to deal with everything the way she always has, by locking all her feelings away. Between having to share Henry with two other people now, her parents confession in the Echo Caves, her parents pushing her towards a man she has no interest in, and feelings for another man that she never expected to feel, Emma is at the end of her rope. *Post Neverland - No Curse*

Author’s Note: Thank you again to the wonderful @hollyethecurious for beta reading services! After the response to Part 1 - I am so nervous in hoping that Part 2 lives up to its predecessor. 

Rated M        3.1K        ao3         ffnet        Part 1        Under the cut, promise

Emma woke, wrapped in a warm embrace and her body immediately tensed in the fog of early morning brain haze. She never spent the night! Then she remembered where she was and who she was with and although a new fear popped into her head as she realized she was exactly where she wanted to be, Emma decided to unpack that later. They were both on their left sides and his right arm and leg cocooned her. She relished just how nice it felt to be right here, right now. Under normal circumstances Emma might feel smothered, but the crisp Maine air had penetrated the cabin a bit and his body heat was heavenly.

“Don’t run off, Swan,” he grumbled in a raspy, sleep-filled voice. “I can feel you thinking.”  

“What do you mean, ‘feel me thinking’?” she asked, mocking his husky morning voice and accent. She fell into giggles when he squeezed her in his arms and tickled her side. 

“Your body tensed as soon as you woke, that’s what I mean.”

“I actually wasn’t thinking about running off.” Emma sat up as she pondered how to translate what she was feeling. “I mean I was, but I was more thinking about not running. I know this is going to sound ridiculous because it sounds stupid in my own head, so don’t laugh.”

“Try me,” he said softly, as he sat up next to her. 

“Have you ever done things the same way for so long, or done the same thing so many times, that to not do the same thing scares you?”

Hook chuckled and nodded his head as he picked up on exactly what she was saying.

“I said no laughing,” she deadpanned.

“I wasn’t laughing at you darling, I merely know exactly the feeling you are referencing.”

Emma folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Let me share with you,” he offered, “since I see you are doubting me, despite your lie detector’s silence.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, damn him for always being so right about her. Open book, his words echoed in her head.

“Why do you think I left when you appealed to me to help you and your boy, to be a part of something?”

Emma took a moment to consider this, and though she’d always assumed it was because he was the ruthless Captain Hook, maybe there was something to what he was saying. “Because it was what you had always done? Look out for yourself, you’ll never get hurt.”

“Precisely Swan, but - and this is where I understand what you are talking about, when you appealed to me, every part of me wanted to stay and help. I wanted to stay for you. For the first time in centuries, my focus wasn’t on my revenge, and that? Well that scared the shite out of me.”

Emma was a little bit speechless, she’d always been thankful that he’d come back, but she’d never stopped to really question why. In fact, she was embarrassed to admit that at the time, she’d assumed he’d found some self-serving purpose to help them. Placing her hand on his cheek, she leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you for coming back,” she murmured. “I don’t think I ever truly thanked you. And since you’re always asking for gratitude in the form kisses, that’s what that kiss was for.” 

“Let me show you how I say you’re welcome.”

Emma laughed, a carefree little thing, as he tackled her to the bed and kissed her soundly. When Hook broke the kiss, Emma tried drawing him back in, but found he was sticking to his word. While she was disappointed to not experience more of this man while she had him in bed, she knew that this was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for her, putting her well-being first, even when she didn’t want to.

“We should get you home, lass, your parents are probably worried about you. I don’t suppose you checked in with them on your talking phone?”

“It’s just a phone,” Emma giggled, secretly finding it adorable that he was trying to learn new world lingo, “not a talking phone. And no, I didn’t. I left my phone at the diner so no one would bug me.”

“Bollocks, Swan. You’ll be lucky if there isn’t a massive search party underway already,” he said as he jumped out of bed. 

Emma took his proffered hand and left the comfort of the bed as well. “Ugh, you’re probably right.”

“Let me walk you home?” Hook asked after they’d dressed.

“I’d like that,” Emma answered. “Think we have time to grab a cup of coffee at Granny’s?”

They walked in relative silence as Emma pondered her next steps in helping herself. She was tired of feeling like a prisoner in her own life. Hook had made some really good points last night. Who knew Captain Hook was a life coach in training?

By the time they arrived at the loft, Emma had made a choice. Grabbing his hook, since he was holding a coffee in his hand, she said, “I’m going to talk to my parents this morning, about everything.”

“I think that’s a smart idea, love,” Hook affirmed, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Will you come inside with me?”

After choking on his coffee and coughing until he was almost blue in the face, he answered truthfully. “I think that is the opposite of a smart idea, but… as you wish.” 

“Thank you,” Emma sighed in relief. Before she could grab the handle to the door, it swung open. 

“David, it is her!” Snow called over her shoulder. “Emma! We were so worried about you!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around her daughter. “I heard the coughing at the door and hoped it was you. You didn’t come home and I was so scared someone or something had gotten to you.”

“I’m fine, mom,” Emma assured her, hugging her back with her free arm.

“What’s he doing here?” 

Emma gritted her teeth as she peered into the loft and saw Neal standing inside. What the hell are you doing here? she wanted to scream at him. “I asked him to come with me,” Emma answered with a measure of calmness she was drawing straight from where she was still gripping Hook’s hook.

David stepped forward to join his wife and daughter in an embrace. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” he whispered. “Come inside,” David said as he ushered Hook and Emma into the loft. 

“Where’d you spend the night,” Neal asked.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Emma growled. 

“Why is he here?” Emma asked, looking between her parents.

“I called him this morning when you hadn’t come home,” Snow confessed, eyes downcast to the floor. “I asked him if he knew where you were and he got worried and came over. We were going to get a search party organized. I’m sorry, Emma.”

“It’s okay,” Emma said, reaching to grab her mom’s hand. She didn’t miss the way her mom’s eyes shot up to meet her own, relief clear in the relaxed set of her brows as Emma uttered those two simple words. She gave her mom’s hand a squeeze before letting it go. “Let’s talk.”

Turning to Hook, she nodded her head toward the kitchen and pulled him forward. They both sat down at the dining table, where Snow and David joined them.

“I’m sorry I worried you guys last night. It was… bad form,” she smiled at the turn of phrase, “of me to leave my phone at the diner and not let you guys know I was okay. Killian was kind enough to let me stay aboard the Jolly for the night.”

“You really think jumping straight into Hook’s bed is the best thing for Henry?” Neal sputtered.

“You’re out of line, Bae,” Hook snapped.

“It’s okay,” Emma whispered to Hook, then she stood from the table and walked straight over to Neal, until her face was inches from his. 

Anger boiled in her belly, but she tamped it down and instead spoke with composure she didn’t feel. “Again, I fail to see how that is any of your business. I don’t give a fuck what you think about who I spend my time with or where I spend my nights. You lost that right so long ago. And I would never do anything to jeopardize Henry’s best interest, so you can stop using that as a cover for your jealousy of Hook. Now you can stay or you can go, but the conversation I am about to have with my parents probably isn’t something you want to stick around for.” She whipped around without waiting for a response and sat back down next to Hook at the dining table.

Emma looked between her parents as they sat next to each other holding hands, and it made her happy that they had each other. “Mom, Dad, we have to talk,” Emma started, pausing only momentarily when the door to the loft opened and slammed shut. “I let everything build up after we got back from Neverland. Last night was the absolute wrong time to try to make you guys understand all I’ve been keeping inside, and I’m sorry that I went off and then stormed out. I’ve never been the best at talking things out.”

“Emma, we only want what’s best for you,” David said sincerely. 

“I know that,” she said confidently. She reached across the table to place her hand atop her parents' joined hands to make sure she had their attention. “Neal is not what’s best for me.”

“I’m sorry we were pressuring you toward him,” her father interjected. “It’s obvious now that something happened between you two, but your mother and I didn’t know that.”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss this morning,” Emma said, sitting back in her chair. “I want to tell you what I should have told you from the very first time you mentioned Neal and I getting back together. Killian once asked me if I’d ever been in love and I lied to him. I lied because I was ashamed to admit that I had been in love once and I’d gotten my heart broken like the stupid, naive teenager I was.” 

She looked over to the man himself, and took his hook in her hand again. He smiled at her, giving her a reassuring nod. “Look, I’m going to make this as quick as possible, because this is something I hate to even think about, let alone talk about. Without going into all the details, when I was sixteen, I met Neal. We got together and eventually decided we wanted a better life, more than petty crime and sleeping in stolen cars. Neal said he had a way for us to make that better life, but it involved one last job, and I was stupid enough to help. When all was said and done, he left me holding the bag for his crime, because Pinocchio had found him and told him that I was The Savior. An anonymous tip was made to the cops and I was arrested. I was charged with possession of stolen goods in an amount exceeding the grand theft larceny limit, and they put me in prison for eleven months.”

Hook shifted in his seat, and she didn’t miss the fury in his eyes. “That’s where I found out I was pregnant, that’s where your grandson was born,” Emma’s voice cracked with a sob as the pain she’d dealt with on her own came rushing back. “What exists between me and Neal now, can only be based on what happened between us then. I hated myself, and by extension I hated him, because I did the one thing I’d vowed my whole life that I’d never do if I had a child of my own. I gave him up.”

David and Snow sat silently, grief stricken as they listened to Emma tell the story of what had happened to her when she was still just a child herself. A steady flow of tears trailed down Snow’s cheeks as she faced the collateral damage of a choice she’d made. David was ashen as he thought back to the moment he’d placed his precious daughter into that wardrobe so she could be The Savior. 

“And I hate that I put those looks on your faces, I know you had no choice in sending me away, but I didn’t know it back then,” she continued, straining to get the words out through the tears. Emma leaned into Hook when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, helping her to fight the intrinsic urge to shut down, with just his supportive embrace. 

“I didn’t make the time to process anything that happened over the last few months, Neal returning, Neal dying, Henry being kidnapped, Neal being alive, mom wanting a new baby, Dad almost dying, Henry almost dying. Then we came home, and not only did I have to share Henry with Regina, but now I had to share him with Neal of all people. And he just wouldn’t let up about getting back together and putting the past behind us for Henry’s sake, like it was my fault that there is this wedge between us. The final straw was having you two push me toward Neal, it made things…  unbearable.”

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” her mother spoke first, “we had no idea.”

“How could you,” Emma said, “I tried to sweep everything under the rug instead of talking to you guys. I didn’t want your pity and I didn’t want to be the reason you’d pass judgement on Neal.”

Snows brows furrowed. “Emma, sweetie, parents are always going to lament the wrongs their children experience, it’s because we love you, not because we pity you. It’s especially painful, at least for us,” Snow said, looking at David for confirmation, “because we weren’t there to pick up the pieces with you.”  

“I’m sorry I never took the time to explain any of it,” Emma apologized.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” David spoke. “That… coward, he’s the only one at fault here. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.”

Despite the somber mood, Emma couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Hook sat next to her, no doubt spoiling for a fight with Neal, and her father looked just as primed to knock her ex down a peg or two. “He’s still Henry’s father, and I didn’t want everyone in town to hate him because of what happened between me and him. That’s why I never said anything. And now that I have, I don’t need you, either of you,” she amended, looking between Hook and her father, “seeking to avenge me.”

“No sucker punches, then?” Hook asked, looking at David while rubbing his jaw subconsciously.

“Or sneak attacks with a crowbar?” the prince asked, eying Hook.

“Exactly,” Emma said, “I just need my parents to back me up when it comes to the fact that there is no me and Neal, and there never will be.”

“We promise,” David said solemnly. 

“Of course,” Snow agreed. 

“And just so there is no question, I am happy that you guys want to try for another baby. I was just a little taken off guard when you mentioned it in Neverland, I was already struggling with the whole orphan game that Pan was playing. I’ve always felt replaceable, a byproduct of being in foster care, and no one has ever stuck around, so it took me a hard minute to realize that you weren’t trying to replace me.”

“We just got you back!” Snow exclaimed. “We would never try to replace you, Emma.”

“I know that, logically. Like I said, some of this was my bullshit that I needed to deal with. I just wanted you guys to know that I am happy for you, and I also needed you to understand where my head has been these past two weeks.”

“Thank you for trusting us enough to confide all of that to us,” David said. “I hope you know we are always here for you. And Hook,” David continued as he extended his hand across the table, “thank you for taking care of our baby girl last night, she needed someone and I’m glad you were there.” 

Hook scratched behind his ear as he tried to come up with an apt response. His instinct was always toward sarcasm or innuendo, but he knew now was the time for neither. Accepting the handshake, Hook replied graciously. “You’re welcome, Dave. I’m glad I was there, too.”

“All this talking has made me really hungry,” Emma said. “Anyone up for breakfast at Granny’s?”

“Why don’t you and Hook go,” Snow suggested. “Your father and I already ate and now that there is no search party, we can still make our appointment to look at a property.”

“A property?” Emma asked.

“We want more space,” her father started, “and I miss having land and animals around.”

“I guess it is a little crowded in here,” Emma laughed.

“Not space from you,” Snow corrected, “you’re more than welcome to come with us when we find a new place!” 

The cheerful hope behind Snow’s voice almost made Emma feel guilty about the fact that she already knew there was no way she would be moving with them. “Thanks, mom.” Emma didn’t miss the swell of elation that crossed her mom’s face at the sentiment. “You ready to go eat?” Emma asked Killian.

“Aye, love.”

“Maybe you guys can tell me and Killian about the property over dinner this week?” Emma asked, and she didn’t miss the shocked expressions on each face in the room as so many things in that sentence gave each pause for different reasons. 

“Sure, honey, that sounds nice,” David answered, a genuine smile touching his eyes. 

The four said their goodbyes and then Emma and Hook headed out the door hand-in-hand.

“Does she mean like a double date?” Snow asked.

“I don’t know,” David admitted, hands on his hips, “but I think he’s good for her.”

“You? You think Hook is good for our daughter?”

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Snow said, a smile ticking her lips. “What a difference a trip to Neverland will make. You couldn’t stand Hook.”

“That’s before I knew what kindred spirits he and Emma are. I think he understands her in a way we never will.”

Snow’s face crumpled a little and her husband was quick to pull her into his arms to reassure her that he hadn’t meant it as a slight to them as parents. “Emma knows we love her, all I’m saying is she and Hook have a lot in common. They understand each other just as you and I have always understood each other.” 

Tagging some folks, please let me know if you want to be added or removed ♥

@laschatzi @qualitycoffeethings @hookedonapirate @wordsmith-storyweaver @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @wyntereyez @hooklineandswan @teamhook @let-it-raines @spartanguard @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @apromisednightcap @xemmaloveskillianx @elizabeethan @cocohook38 @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @timeless-love-story @jennjenn615 @girl-in-a-tiny-box @thesschesthair @galadriel26 @ultraluckycatnd @lifeinahole27 @therooksshiningknight @kday426 @djlbg @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @delightfully-difficult-pirate @thejollyswan @csalltheway @xarandomdreamx @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove @mcakers @gingerchangeling @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @nadine200179 @alexa-fangirl-forever

[scarlettwitcher]

The Funny Thing About Life

Summary: Dean struggles with the aftermath of a difficult event in his life involving reader. (It’s super vague I know, but if I literally explain anything, it’s all spoilers. I swear it’s good)

Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam, Cas, OC!Leu, mentions of Ellen and Jo

Word Count: 5,300

Warnings: Angst up the wazoo, mild description of wounds, also some of the warnings are spoilers so I’m putting them in the tags lol

Author’s Note: Here’s this fic that I wrote a few weeks ago. I haven’t had a chance to post it till now. I was inspired after watching a youtuber play a game based on this concept. If anyone’s curious about the theme I was going for, let me know. I’m very glad to explain. I hope you guys like it, I haven’t written Dean in years lol. I apologize in advance if it’s bad, I’m not good at angst.

Death was inevitable. Dean knew that, Sam knew that, even Cas knew that but given the type of life they lived, they didn’t know when it was going to be permanent or if it was just a never ending cycle of lost heartbeats and gasps for air. Sometimes death was permanent and there was nothing they could do about it, watching countless friends and family pass away right under their noses. Sam and Dean somehow always found a way to cheat death though. Come back and walk the earth as if they hadn’t just been lifeless moments ago. Deal after deal after deal trying to protect each other from what was the inevitable end for the brothers. It wasn’t until you had just danced your way into their lives that they started to value life for what it was without trying to die. You traveled with the brothers for years, keeping them company in the back of the impala, cracking horrible joke after joke, offering your candy to a grumpy dean, or just sleeping the previous hunt away. To the outside world, it probably would’ve been weird just how comfortable the three of you became in a short amount of time but you just understood each other. The brothers had already lived a long and hard life before you came into the picture. They took their necessary precautions when it came to you but in a few short months, you had become one of their own. 

Living a life with the Winchesters was tough and sometimes downright impossible but you proved loyal to them every moment you could, sticking by through their hardest moments. Dean became attached not only to your beautiful face and appealing form but to your kind soul, your caring nature, your inability to give up. If he was to be completely honest, he fell in love with you the moment he first met you but he’d never admit it. He’ll never admit how much your smile can brighten his days instantly, how your laugh is his favorite song over Zeppelin and Jovi, how every moment with you is his favorite. He always had it bad for you since the moment you joined his misshapen crew. Dean could never understand how lucky he got that you even glanced in his direction, let alone fall in love with him too. He was terrified at first. He knew he had destructive habits, moments of lost clarity where he wasn’t himself truly. Having traveled with Dean for years before finding the bunker, you understood this, understood him. You were patient, loving, and Dean would never say it, but in a way you were his salvation. You showed him how to love himself first and how to better improve for himself and not only did he grow and achieve that, he learned how to truly love you. 

“Dean. Dean? Hey!” Dean snapped out of his thoughts of you to look up at Sam as he waved his hands in front of Dean trying to get his attention. Dean looked at Sam emotionless as Sam sighed, flipping his computer around to show Dean some camera footage. “There was a sighting of a man and a woman in New Mexico and caught police attention. Here they are passing through a gas station.” Dean clenched his jaw as he watched the tape play, the man they had been tracking for weeks walking across the aisle, motioning towards the girl to grab food for herself. The girl looked timid, almost broken as she grabbed a few bags of snacks, and water. Even though the tape was grainy and just a bit laggy, he could see the shake in her hands, the tremble in her body, the way her eyes looked everywhere in desperation almost as if she was waiting for someone to save her. The girl looked up at the camera, her eyes wide and teary, one eye clearly bruised up, cheek swollen, lips parted from what only looked like constant abuse. Dean felt the anger boiling inside of him as he pushed the laptop back at Sam, a bit more forcefully than he meant. Sam only let out a quiet click of his tongue as he took his laptop back, scrolling through a few more camera feeds. 

“When?” 

“Two weeks ago.” Dean grabbed the whiskey bottle as he filled his cup back up, throwing the glass back, the amber liquid burning his throat. Dean let out a quiet hiss before moving to refill his glass once more.

“Dean, how much have you drank?”

“Does it matter?”

“You know she wouldn-”

“Dammit Sammy, she’s not here is she?! She’s not here to tell me I shouldn’t.” Dean growled out loudly as he stood, chest puffed out as his breathing became more ragged and hard with every breath he took. Sam said nothing as he stared his brother down, trying to get his thoughts together. Dean was tense and if Sam pushed him, he’d probably break and take it out on him and that last thing they needed was to waste time they could be using to find you. 

“We’ll get her back, Dean. I know it’s only a matter of time but she’ll be home soon.” Dean only shook his head as he grabbed the whiskey bottle, leaving his cup on the table as he made his way towards his room which really was his and yours. Dean walked in, looking around, almost as if he was searching for you from instinct, searching for any movement, smell, any indication that you were in the room, hiding from him like you always did. He clenched his jaw, knowing you weren’t there and he felt the tension building in his bones again at the reality of the situation as he took a large sip from the bottle, trying to drown everything with the golden liquid. He wanted to drown his memories of you, thoughts of you, the smell of you, and forget. Forget you’re gone, out of his reach, forget that he didn’t protect you like he promised and had failed you. 

A month had passed since you disappeared. Dean couldn’t find you and after a week of no contact, he grew increasingly worried. It wasn’t like you to leave without a notice, without a call, or a note, or even a text. Saying that Dean was losing his mind was the understatement of the year. No one had heard from you and not even Cas could tune into your location. Dean denied it. He denied any idea that you had abandoned him, that you were fed up with your life with the Winchesters. He denied the thought that you didn’t love him anymore. Sam reassured him constantly that there was no way you had left him, that you were just as love sick as Dean. 

Another week passed and nothing. That was until Sam found something, or in this case, he was sent something. A video. Dean threw up after the first few minutes of watching the video and he couldn’t stomach watching the rest, leaving Sam to have to watch it, searching for any clues that could aid the brothers. The video was of you, bound and bloody, screaming into a mouth gag as the hooded man carved into your skin, making you sing songs that Dean would gladly never, ever listen to again. You looked like you had gone through hell and back. The man laughed in the video as he finally showed his face. “Hello Deaaanie! You’re probably wondering who I am. You can call me Leu.” The man chuckled as he moved closer to your exhausted form, wincing  as he grabbed your chin hard, making you face the camera. “Say hello to your dear husband sweetie.” 

Your tired eyes fluttered for a few seconds before focusing on the camera. Your lips parted slightly as you took a deep breath. Your throat was sore, like you had swallowed knives from all the screaming. “Dean, baby, don’t.” That’s all that you managed to say before the man slapped you hard, knowing the few specs of oxygen out of your lungs, leaving you almost breathless as you tried to breathe. 

“Well that was lame, I was expecting something more heartfelt. Oh well. Come and find me Dean.” The video went dark after that, Dean’s solemn and terrified face staring back at him. He grimaced and looked away, feeling the shame building inside of him more and more as the seconds passed by. He should’ve protected you better, should’ve been a better partner to you. Your blunt statement started ringing in his ears as he remembered what you said. Don’t. He knew exactly what you were talking about but he couldn’t bring himself to listen to you. How could you tell him not to when he had to and would. Sam had begun to do everything he could, tracing the video, searching for the mystery man in all of the databases, and unfortunately, re-watching the video for anything he missed, anything that could tip him off about your location. 

Dean laid on his bed as he stared at the bottle of whiskey, his anger boiling inside of him, his inability of being able to find you, adding gasoline to the fire burning inside of him. Sam had found a lead though and it seemed promising. He was about to take another sip but the loud call of his name had him running down the bunker, towards the main room where Sam was typing away furiously into his computer. “Dean, look at this.” Sam was about to show him another video feed before the video was interrupted, the skype window filling the whole screen, someone trying to call them. The name showed ‘Unknown Caller’. Sam sighed as he pointed towards the screen. “This is the third time this person calls.”

Dean grunted and clicked on the answer button ready to tell whoever was on the other end to go screw themselves but before the video loaded, there was a soft moan from a woman, one in pain, one Dean recognized all too well. The video loaded in and Dean was face to face with your broken body and the so-called Leu beside you. He had a large grin as he moved closer to the camera. “Finally! I really thought you were ignoring me for a second. Wouldn’t want to make our dear Y/n worry.”

“Son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” Dean roared out, almost tempted to punch the computer screen but Sam was very ready to contain his brother.

“Now now Deano, don’t be so rude. We have a guest.” Leu walked closer to you, poking you with the knife in his hand. You stirred slowly, groaning as he touched another wound on your skin. You looked thinner, you clearly lost a lot of weight and that really worried Dean. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

“A little late for that remark. I really think I’ve created a masterpiece. So many different hues of blue and purple but my favorite is red.” Leu began to drag his hand across your arm, pulling grunts of pain from you before chuckling quietly as he walked back towards the camera. 

“What do you want?” Sam chimed up when he realized all of Dean’s focus was on you, watching as you struggled to breathe and move. Your bones ached with every movement and there was a point where you just stopped moving, the uncomfortable position better than the burning of your skin. 

“I want you to suffer.” Leu smiled wide as he turned and motioned to you. “It’s pretty easy really. The cycle of life, if you’d like to give it an official name. ”

‘You will pay for this. You will suffer as much as she has and worse.”

Leu let out a full belly laugh as he looked at the camera, wiping away fake tears. “Oh wow I’m definitely trembling in fear.” Both the brothers stared at Leu. If looks could kill, Leu would’ve been assassinated gruesomely. “ You can’t hurt me but I can hurt you. Enjoy this moment because after this, you will never see her again.” Just before the camera cut out, Leu blinked his eyes portraying the black eyes that constantly mocked the brother their whole lives. Demon. 

Dean felt his jaw clench and as he opened his mouth to speak, say anything, the call ended. The screen was blank and that was the last time he ever saw you just as Leu promised and that drove Dean just a bit closer to insanity. Dean didn’t waste a single second before moving back to his room and hastily packing his bag, shaving any clothes he could get his hands on in it. He grabbed his weapons and anything else he needed before moving back towards the main room where a confused Sam sat, typing away at his computer. He looked up as Dean dropped his bag on the floor, moving towards the bookshelf looking for something he also needed. 

“Dean, don’t.” 

“You can’t stop me Sammy.”

“She wouldn’t want this, you know that.”

“I’m leaving.” Finding what he needed, Dean grabbed his duffle bag from the floor before he hastily made his way to the garage. Sam knew better than to try to even reason with Dean. When it came to you, he would move heaven and hell a million times over to get to you. As Dean entered the garage, he threw his bag in the back of the impala, before slipping into the driver’s side, speeding out of the Bunker, a man on a mission. He knew the way to the crossroads like the back of his hand. He had done this countless times, he knew the drills. Crowley was no longer an option and he had to resort to old ways. Pulling up to the location, he moved on autopilot. He opened the trunk and pulled out a tin can, already prepared. Dean double checked it before making his way towards the middle. He set the trap in place before he dug the hole, burying the box.

“You know, we had a bet going to see how long I’d take for you to appear here.” Dean turned to face the Demon. Dean’s expression never faltered, if anything it became more menacing. The demon smirked as it watched Dean, walking around in the circle as she sighed, clearly already bored.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

“Yes… I do.” The demon moved closer to Dean, almost taunting him as her eyes flashed black. She chuckled quietly before clicking her tongue. “Unfortunately for you Winchester, I can’t make the deal.”

“Then get me someone who can.”

“That’s the thing pretty boy, we can’t.” Dean felt his lip curl in anger as he tried to stay composed but it was getting harder with every second that passed that he wasn’t getting what he needed. 

“I don’t want time, trade me for her.”

“I’m sorry Dean but no can do.” The demon was clearly amused and not an ounce of sympathy was in her actions. Dean licked his lips as he nodded his understanding. He rubbed his chin with his thumb before quickly turning and stabbing the demon straight in the gut. The demon flashed as it died on Dean’s blade but Dean showed no emotion. It didn’t matter how long it took, he would find someone who could give exactly what he wanted and what he wanted was you, safe at home. 

Demon kill after demon kill, Dean was relentless. Weeks and weeks of capturing and torturing any demon he could get his hands on. Then, they stopped appearing completely. The demons stopped appearing and Dean was losing his mind. He never had felt so out of loss of control as he did in that moment. He was sitting in his motel, staring at a photo he had of you and him. You were sitting at the bar table with Dean at your left side and Sam on your other. You all had chosen to stop at Ellen's for the night. Sam had gotten up to go to the restroom and left you and Dean at the bar. Dean thought it would be smart to say something funny and you were laughing hard as Dean watched you with a huge smile himself. Jo was working the bar and thought it was a cute sight and snapped a quick photo with her phone. Looking at the photo now, Dean realized this was when he really started falling in love with you. It was super obvious in the way he was smiling in the photo, watching you as you laughed your worries away. Dean ran his fingers across the creases the photo had from the wear and tear of being in his wallet. That moment felt like it was a lifetime ago when it really only was a few years old. 

Dean took a deep breath as he gingerly put the photo back into his wallet before tossing it on his bed. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he had bought earlier, popping the lid, and taking a big swig of it. The amber liquid burned his throat but he didn't care. He welcomed the pain. He welcomed any distraction from his reality. Dean was no stranger to depression and feelings of inadequacy but this was a whole new level of low. Everything he promised he would and wouldn't do, he had done and that wasn't his biggest failure. His biggest failure was keeping you to himself when he knew you were worth more than someone like him and here you were, paying the consequences for his inability to admit that to himself. Dean felt the anger slowly dissipating, being replaced with the sorrow your absence created. He never wanted to know what life was like without you and now he did. He hated it. 

Dean never stopped looking for you. The days passed and he kept looking, pouring himself into his work, but each day, it was harder and harder for him. He'd drink his pain away, resort to the devil's liquid to get through his days. He became an empty shell of himself. Sam stopped calling after a few months of Dean ignoring his calls. Dean knew his brother deserved better too. It wasn't just losing you that affected him, it was losing his best friend, his hunting partner, his wife. Till death do you part. The few days he was conscious, those words rang through his head. Were you even alive? Had you escaped and just not come back? Was your body at the bottom of a lake? In a ditch? He didn't know and that's what sent him down his dark path. 

After a year passed, his depression got worse but he knew he had to return home. He wasn't Dean anymore and he didn't think he would be again. He felt numb at best. Walking back into the bunker by himself, was a new slap to his face. This was it. He had to accept that you were gone and you weren't coming back. Sam heard the door and made his way to the stairs, staring at what was left of Dean. Dean was thinner, he had new scars, he looked like he hadn't slept in months, and his eyes were just different. "Hey Sammy."

Dean would like to say it happened quick, that he was okay within a year, but that would be a lie. It took him years before he could even say your name again. Sam had finished making dinner and they sat in the library in comfortable silence as they ate before Dean pulled out his wallet, pulling out the photo of the two of you, dropping it between the two on the table. Sam looked at the photo with furrowed brows before looking up at Dean silently asking about it. Dean cleared his throat as he tried to organize his thoughts but in reality, he didn't want to. He was tired. He just wanted to talk. 

"Remember when we stopped at Ellen's? Y/n was just whining and whining about how much she missed her and Jo? She drove us crazy that whole drive?" Dean chuckled quietly as Sam nodded. 

"She said she wouldn't be your friend anymore if we didn't stop there."

"I couldn't believe she had even said that. Thought I was having a nightmare." 

"I mean, we both know she was just fibbing. Had she pushed just a bit more, you would've caved anyways."

"Yeah, she did have me wrapped around her finger, didn't she?"

Sam scoffed and smiled as he stared at the photo. "Since the first day we met her." Sam felt his smile falter a bit as he nodded towards the photo, his eyes flicking up to watch Dean, being careful with how he approached his next question. "Do you miss her?"

Dean felt his eyes water. He wasn't one to cry but when it came to you, the tears always flowed freely. "Always. Every day. I don't think I ever stop missing her."

"You haven't said her name since the day you came back."

"I know. I think I'm ready."

"To talk about her?"

"To let her go." Sam didn't need to ask what Dean meant. He knew exactly what it meant. Sam nodded his understanding before motioning for Dean to finish eating. 

By the end of the day, both boys had organized everything they needed, standing in front of the Hunter's funeral they had created. They didn't have a body to burn but had replaced it with all of your favorite things, everything that made you you. There was a plate with your favorite food, your favorite shirt, and little things you loved to collect. Dean stared at it all. This was it. Sam waited for Dean to ask him to stop. When the minutes passed and he said nothing, he threw the lighter onto the wood, watching as it all engulfed in flames. Dean accepted your death and hoped that you were in heaven, enjoying yourself. You deserved it. 

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"Wake up." Dean furrowed his brows as he looked over at Sam. 

"What?"

"Dean, wake up!" 

Dean jolted awake, pulling the gun out from under his pillow, aiming it at Sam's head as Sam jumped back with his hands in the air. "Woah woah!"

Dean groaned out as he put the gun down, sighing as he rubbed at his eyes. "What's going on Sam?"

Sam sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck, hating what he had to do. "Dean, come on. It's today." Dean felt the blood run cold inside of him as he looked up at Sam, feeling the anger raise in his blood. 

"Is Y/n ready?" Sam swallowed thickly before nodding his head. He felt his throat closing up before clearing it. 

"Yeah." Sam didn't want to talk more as he made his way out of Dean's room. Dean let his head fall back into his pillow as he stared at the ceiling. What a fucking nightmare he just had. He looked over at the picture frame he had on the small bedside table. He picked it up and stared at the photo before taking a deep breath. 

"When I come back, I'll tell you all about the nightmare I had. You won't believe it. It felt so real." Dean kissed the frame softly before putting it back on the table. He got up and made his way to the closet, pulling out his fed suit. He remembered clearly that you had asked him to wear his best suit, he had to dress up fancy. You wouldn't accept anything less. He chuckled as he could hear your words echoing in his head. "You better look good Winchester or else you'll feel my wrath. I won't even make you pie for a whole month." 

This feeling in Dean's chest was heavy, it felt like he had swallowed bricks and they were sitting in his lungs, ready to suffocate him. He grabbed a red tie you had bought him just for this. You had to match, you told him when you gave it to him. He stood in front of the mirror, going through the motions he knew all too well. Once he was done, he walked over to his dresser, slipping on his wedding band, smiling at the relief the known weight brought to him. Once he was ready he made his way outside where Sam, Cas, and you were waiting for him. He felt the breath in his lungs be knocked out of him as his eyes fell on you. You were wearing a beautiful red dress, your favorite dress. Your hair was curled and you weren't wearing any makeup, your natural beauty shining through. Dean swallowed thickly as he kept his eyes on you, committing the memory to sight. 

Sam nodded his head to Dean before looking over at you, feeling the swell of emotions bursting in his chest. The weight of the lighter heavy in his palm. He took a deep breath and threw it, watching as you burst into flames from the moment it made contact with your skin. The three boys stood watch as you slowly burned away, moving on to heaven where you wouldn't suffer anymore. "Goodbye baby." Dean murmured as he watched the flames slowly die out. The sky trembled and within minutes, the rain poured onto the men but they didn't care. 

"I'm sorry Dean."

"It's not your fault Cas."

"I should've done better.” 

"It's what she wanted Cas." Cas took a deep breath before turning back to the burned embers of where you used to be, of what's left of you. 

"She deserved better than this."

"That's the funny thing about life isn't it?"

.               .               .               .               .               .               .

"What's your name Sweetheart?"

You chuckled as you pulled your knife out of the monster you had just killed. "Wouldn't you like to know sweet cheeks?" Dean chuckled as he licked his lips. Sam joined the both of you as you all made sure there were no more threats. "But if you really long for this information, I'll indulge you. It's Y/n."

.               .               .               .               .               .               . 

"Dean?"

"Yeah sweetheart?"

"This isn't a one time thing right?" Dean frowned as he looked down at you as you laid on his bare chest. The fact that you even had to ask him hurt his heart. He knew in that moment he wanted nothing more than for you to wake up everyday in his arms. 

"Of course not. It never was." Dean kissed your head gently and you hummed your appreciation, slowly succumbing to sleep in his hold. 

.               .               .               .               .               .               .

"Dean we need to talk."

"You can't break up with me. We're already married." You let out a choked laugh as you tried to think of the best way to tell him. 

"I need you to be serious with me for a second." Dean felt cold. Whenever you said something like this to him, it was never good news. He didn't say anything and you took a deep breath, unknowingly speaking what would be your demise. "The doctor called me today."

"And?"

"I tested positive."

.               .               .               .               .               .               .

"So when do you start losing your hair?" You chuckled quietly as Cas grabbed your hair, looking at it like it would attack him. 

"When I start treatment. Doc said it would be aggressive." Dean sighed as he held your hand and you looked at him with a soft smile. 

"There's still time." 

"No Dean besides, I'm okay with it. I'm not scared to die." 

"But I'm scared to lose you."

"I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere." As much as Dean would've loved to push you, he knew he needed to support any decision you made. He owed you that much as much as he hated it. 

.               .               .               .               .               .               .

"We should name it."

"Name what?"

"My sickness duh." Dean looked at you like you grew a second head and you laughed. "Don't look at me like that?"

"Why do you want to name it?" Sam was also looking at you the way Dean was and you rolled your eyes, poking at your food with your fork. As the time passed, it was getting harder and harder for you to eat but Dean pushed you, trying to get you to eat anything. 

"To make it normal. For me." 

Dean took a deep breath as he watched you poke your food before licking his lips. "Alright, I'll bite. What do you want to name it?"

"Well I don't want to name it something outrageous. I was thinking about Leu. "

"Leu?"

"Short for Leukemia. I thought it was clever."

Dean smiled slightly as he nodded. "Very clever."

.               .               .               .               .               .               .

"Dean?"

"Yeah sweetheart?"

"Promise me that if you see a girl in a bar and she's hot you'll go for it."

"Now's not the time for jokes." You coughed quietly as you tried your best to scowl at him. 

"I'm not joking. I'm serious. I want you to have a life after me, after all of this." 

"There's nothing after you."

"Don't be such a romantic and promise me you'll live your life when I'm gone."

Dean sighed and remembered his promise to support what you wanted. "I'll try."

"Good. You need some friends." Dean laughed as he moved to get comfortable. Sitting next to the bed where you lay, surrounded by tubes and wires wasn't the best place for comfort but he didn't care. Before he could respond, your nurse came in to check on you for the night. 

.               .               .               .               .               .               .

The day you passed away, Dean was in shock, numb to the world. He never thought it would happen. A whirlwind of doctors running into the room, pushing him out so they could try to revive you, except they couldn't. You signed a DNR. Dean was left with himself, having to watch as you took your last breath. The loud dinging of your heart monitor making him feel like he'd lost his hearing, forever cursed to hear that sound. He didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. Returning to an empty bed, a bed you belonged in, was the icing on top of the shit cake he was handed. He broke a lot of furniture that night. 

.               .               .               .               .               .               .

"Yeah, I guess it is." Dean felt his lungs cut off his air as flashes of memories of you played throughout his head. Sam patted Dean on his shoulder, relaying his silent support. Dean nodded towards him in thanks. The sound of Sam's boots crunching in the dirt sounded behind Dean as Cas moved to stand next to Dean. 

"Did you dress her?"

"Sam couldn't and asked me to. She picked a nice wig. It’s really close to her natural hair."

"Thanks Cas, really."

Cas stayed quiet as he looked at the burnt spot on the floor. He didn't want to leave his friend alone, not during his weakest moments. He knew Sam left because he didn't want to cry with Dean around, it wasn't about him, it was about Dean. Cas smiled slightly as he thought of you. "You can go inside Cas."

Cas nodded as he pat Dean in the back. "I'll be inside."

Dean stared at the floor, the rain completely drenching him. His hair was matted to his head and a slight breeze made his teeth chatter but he couldn't move. He had to stay around just a bit more. His eyes were glued to the ash on the floor. He took a deep breath as his fingers fumbled with his wedding band, trying to figure out what to say. “I know I said I’d tell you about my nightmare later but I think now is a good time. You’ll probably laugh but it started with me and Sammy..”

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[ichabodcranemills]

re: D*rklina

@musical-chick-13 I’m putting this under a read more, because I have additions and, yes, it is long 😂

So, as far as I can tell from what show-watchers have told me, yes, he is definitely worse in the books. And specifically, the general idea in said books seems to be that just because someone is charismatic and attractive and “gets” parts of you doesn’t mean that they’re a good partner or even worth your time, which is a message I have waited FOREVER to see. Beauty (and to a lesser extent, magnetism) does not equal goodness. The Dark/ling (I have no idea if the names will show up in the tags so I’ll put slashes in the middle of them, wow this website’s features need revamping) always seemed…very entitled to Al/ina. There wasn’t any desire for them to become equals (even in a moral sense by dragging her down to his moral level or raising himself up to hers). His behavior and pursuit of her seems much more motivated by the idea of being able to congratulate himself on the fact that he’s “won” her. She’s more of like…a conquest to him? And maybe that’s a huge misread of his character on my part, but the Leigh, the author, HAS said in the past that some of the Dark/ling’s dialogue and actions were written as a way for her to make sense of and deal with an irl toxic relationship she was in during part of the writing period, so I…don’t think it’s a completely unreasonable interpretation? And that’s not to say that power imbalance ships should Never Be Shipped (because they can be genuinely compelling or even fun to watch under the right writer), and Leigh has even said that she Gets The Appeal herself.

But I think the reasons Tho/schei works for me where D*rklina doesn’t are because 1) Tho/schei have genuinely known each other for a long time (and even been on good terms for some of it) but the Dark/ling decides, despite being this all-powerful charismatic force who is hundreds of years old, to get pettily involved in a teenage love triangle in very little time which is a choice that makes absolutely no sense to me at all, 2) The Doctor is an extremely morally grey character, in a way that if they aren’t careful could easily match the destructiveness of The Master. They both are aware of this, and both of them believe themselves (in their own ways) to be “above” morality (The Doctor in the sense of “I know what’s best and my choices are law” and The Master in the sense of “My choices are law and I deserve to cause destruction and have complete control”. There are…not equal, but similar enough levels of moral ambiguity that it makes sense to me that they still Get™ each other. The Doctor also likes Intellectual Challenges and Foiling Grand Plots, to the point where it’s often the Most Important Thing, and The Master not only provides those, but enjoys the conflict as well, and 3) They actually are close to being equals. They’re both very smart, powerful, immortal. Obviously The Doctor has Much More Life Experience and a more extraordinary legacy because of the Timeless Child thing, but Missy’s primary goal was simply “I want my friend back” and Dhawan!Master freaked out because it was impossible to see them as equals anymore. The Doctor, as per Twelve, wants the Master to be good because they’re alike in a way no one else in either of their lives are. They kind of…want the same thing but in different ways, whereas The Dark/ling, while understanding The Burden Of Power, doesn’t actually want the same thing Al/ina does.

And that relationship between D*rklina could still make for a fascinating dynamic, and one that in another life I might even be into myself if not for the whole “reducing it to Good Girl Saves Bad Boy” trope that I keep seeing within a good deal of the fandom. Not that a general fandom reaction or misread should prevent anyone from enjoying something, but I’m so tired that it’s nearly impossible for me to separate them at this point, lol. Ultimately it boils down to the fact that they seem like such fundamentally different people that I don’t personally see how they could ever truly find common ground or genuinely appreciate their similarities. I think the most interesting exploration of a romantic bent to their dynamic would be in a context  where they are so different and recognize that they’re so different, and they might want to focus on their similarities, but it’s not enough. There could be this undeniable pull between them, but what does that really mean when held up against who they are and how they choose to interact with the world? And then having to deal with the necessary antagonism that results. I guess I see the existence of this ship as like…more of a thought exercise than anything I would ever want to happen in any way other than a one-sided attraction on his part, or that could ever truly be narratively justified. But also like…I hate him, so that makes it kind of hard for me to want to explore it in any way at all. Which that’s a personal thing. Other people like this character, and I’m genuinely happy for them that they can see something I don’t.

UGH, I’m sorry this got so long. This is what happens when I have an urge to Share my Thoughts.

I totally understand your feelings and I think the show did a good job on not only humanizing the D*rkling, but also making the relationship more palatable. I, mean, I’m sure we can partially blame Mr. Barnes’ soulful eyes, but I definitely got the impression that, while the D*rkling wants to use Alina for his own gains, he is very drawn to her as THE Sun Summoner, as in “we are linked and will inevitably be the only one for the other”, he basically tells Mal as much.

And I don’t blame you for losing interest in them because of the fandom, it can be very frustrating, especially if one of the characters didn’t appeal to you in the first place (I mean, I’ve been there, hello R*ylo, lmao)

I think I get what you’re saying about how this works out in the books and how what draws me to D*rklina isn’t necessarily textual. And I think I might have went in a little biased when I watched the show, because, before I did, a friend told me she was getting Thoschei vibes from it, but didn’t especify where, So I watched and there it was: M*lina… okay, school best friends, us against the world, but in general, eh, they were too “perfect” (as in, no real conflict between them). And then D*rklina with everything I said on my original post. I mean, I was looking for a thoschei-like dynamic and I found one 😂.

I’ve read some spoilers for the book, so I know my whole “200 years later” fantasy doesn’t happen, so I agree with you, this ship is more of a thought exercise. But I think the show sets it up in a way that is Just My Thing, whereas the book is more straightforward with how incompatible these two are, romantically. But the fandom will ship away, even in kinda blergh ways, it’s how it is 🤷

[cannibalisticapple]

Okay, so I have some thoughts on Kurikuri’s decision to delete a large number of her fan fics, and on fan fiction as a whole.

For those who don’t know, Kurikuri (@letaizawarest) is a popular fan fiction author with numerous popular Erasermic fics, along with other fandoms. Around the end of May/start of June she deleted a large number of her stories, specifically those that featured either police, or those set in the My Hero Academia universe where they work as Pro Heroes.

To quote her post:

as you may have noticed, roughly half of the fics on my ao3 have been deleted.

i’ve deleted all my fics about police officers. also, after some thought, i also deleted my non-AU bnha fics, because although they might not be “cops” in name, they are law enforcement. i do not want to be a part of the system that glorifies the police. 


at the moment i haven’t deleted other profession AUs and high school era fics, but i will continue to reflect on their relation to the source material. even if you enjoyed the deleted fics, please do not circulate them in other formats (PDFs, EPUBs, etc). 


i also encourage other writers to think about cop fic they’ve written. while it may be fun and escapist for you, it still encourages the idea that antiblack and killer cops are just “bad apples” and that good cops exist. let’s dismantle that system of thought.

I have some very, very mixed feelings on this.

To start: I respect her reasoning, but I don’t agree with it. I fully agree that it’s not just a bunch of “bad apples”, there’s a serious issue with the system and how the police operate in the United States. I’ve always been bothered by how the police let other officers get away with horrible BS, even as a kid, and that rage has only grown as I’ve grown older and found out more about how screwed up it is on every single level.

But the way that last paragraph is written rubs me the wrong way because you can’t paint every single person in an entire career field as unequivocally corrupt, bigoted and all around callous murderers. Good cops DO exist. Plenty of people go into the career hoping to fix things, or just genuinely want to help their community in whatever way they can. But the thing is, they’re fighting a losing battle because the system is working against them. When they DO speak up against the corruption, bigotry, violence and other issues, they tend to get fired and blacklisted from the field. Or sometimes, they get outright murdered and it’s treated as a “suicide.”

A shitty fact of life: sometimes, the people who are more willing to resort to underhanded tactics and willing to turn a blind eye to corruption are the ones who climb up the career ladder furthest. And in the case of the police, it’s deep-rooted enough that it can’t be fixed internally anymore. But that doesn’t make literally every police officer corrupt.

I’m not posting this to make some political point or argument though. I obviously disagree with Kurikuri’s opinion, but I respect it. I can even respect her decision to remove the stories featuring the police, or even the ones heavily focusing on the characters’ jobs as pro heroes. I can see how heroes are just another version of law enforcement, because honestly, they are.

As a writer and a reader, I fully respect that it’s ultimately her choice to delete her stories. It’s not my place to make demands. She’s the one who created it, and as a writer I know the hard work and time that goes into crafting stories, so I believe she has a right in how it’s used and shared. The fact she shared it in the first place was something she didn’t have to do.

But the thing is, she DID share it, which is why I have this conflict.

As a writer, I’ve always believed that fiction can be more powerful than fact.

Fiction can give readers a window into mindsets you’d never imagine before, because you can connect more easily with fictional characters than real people on the news. That’s why Uncle Tom’s Cabin was so critical in the battle against slavery: it didn’t just gave a face to slavery, it let readers experience the characters’ lives directly. People got to see the struggles and suffering firsthand, feel the rising crescendo of hope each time freedom is in reach, and the soul-crushing despair every time that hope gets dashed by outside forces.

Fiction may not always be “true” or even “accurate,” but it can help us understand other people, see them as fellow humans, in ways that nonfiction just can’t. It can evoke emotions, empathy and familiarity in a reader that a news story or biography can’t capture because it draws you directly into their world.

And it’s that part—the part where readers enter this fictional world to connect to characters they’ll never meet—that leads to the other power of fiction that many people overlook:

Fiction has the ability to help readers persevere.

How many people reading this have used books to get away from trouble in their lives? To take a breather from all their anxieties and stress, and dive head-first into this other world for just a moment, where nothing else matters? How many people reading this had their whole lives changed by reading a story where a character’s words resonated with them? Where it helped them come to an epiphany about how to do better, how to be better.

Sometimes, the world is too overwhelming and we need to escape it. That’s the beauty of fiction. It lets us go to a world where our problems just don’t matter. Even if the world in question is worse than our own, it can still be a relief and give us hope because hey, at least we’re not living in 1984 or the Hunger Games, right? Stories are what keeps many people going through the hardest time, what gives them hope that life isn’t utterly hopeless.

And even after a story is finished, whether it’s fan fiction, a book, a show, or any other medium, that story will have a special place in people’s hearts. Many people will go back to those stories years later when they’re faced with immense stress and need a break from the real world, so that they can dive into the world that helped them persevere the last time they felt so bad. Just having a copy of it on hand can be a source of comfort even if you never read it again.

I want to highlight one phrase Kurikuri used in her post to describe how people feel writing stories about police and heroes: "fun and escapist”. That’s honestly so accurate, those stories are escapist, and that is why I’m so conflicted.

Stories about superheroes, while technically revolving around themes of law enforcement, are a form of escapism FROM police corruption.

There’s a reason that superhero comics are so popular in America. Superheroes appeal to a natural desire for justice because as so aptly pointed out, the real world doesn’t always HAVE that justice. It gives an ideal for people to aspire to, a glimpse of what could be, what should be. (Come to think of it, that’s probably why I hate the DC cinematic universe so much, it’s skewed way too much to favor the villains/antagonists and maximize suffering for the good guys.)

Right now, the world is full of more injustice than ever before. I can’t turn on the news without feeling my rage and stress boil over. Every day it gets worse and worse somehow, and I (and many others) genuinely fear that the United States may be heading towards a civil war this November. Donald Trump’s voice alone is enough to make my blood boil at this point.

I, and many others, turn to fan fiction so I can break away from reality because that amount of rage and fear just isn’t healthy.

I don’t have depression, or anxiety, or an abusive family, or a chronic illness. I’m not at risk of being made homeless anytime soon, nor do I need to worry about bills right now or going hungry. I’m a privileged white girl who has barely anything to worry about. What I’m saying is I’m fucking lucky and I know it, but I STILL can’t stand thinking about the state of the world and need to get the fuck away from it to take a breather for my own mental health.

And I also know that many people don’t have that option because their situation is so bad, they NEED to be aware of it at all times.

In the past when writing for other fandoms, I’ve had people tell me my fan fiction was the reason they did not commit suicide.

In my early college years I fell into the creepypasta community and was pretty active in it, especially on deviantArt. I don’t know if that particular fandom’s subject and focus makes it more appealing to teenagers going through rough times or what, but I swear, more than half the people I spoke to suffered from some form of mental illness, abusive or broken family and home situations, bullying, and every other way the world can screw someone over through means beyond their control.

During that time, a few readers left comments that waiting for my stories to update were what kept them going. They didn’t explicitly say that it was the only reason they didn’t kill themselves. It was more just remarks like, “Your writing is the only thing keeping me going.”

I’m not vain enough to believe my stories are so good, it made people decide to continue living JUST to see what happens next. Suicidal thoughts and urges are much more complex than that. But it’s still not something you expect to hear on something you write for fun.

I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it probably wasn’t because my stories were "just that good.” I think it was because they needed something to cling to in bleak times. That sometimes at the lowest point where all seems lost, people need just one little thought, just the smallest thing to push away those dark urges before they could fully overwhelm them. Something like, “If I die now, I won’t get to see how that story ends.” It’s such a small thing, but having something to look forward to can be so powerful in fighting off impulsive decisions.

It’s made me hyper-aware of just how powerful writing is.

To me, I see writing as a way of helping others. I give people that option for escape. It’s a large part of why I update on a regular, weekly schedule, and why I published extra chapters when the pandemic got announced and when the riots started. People need that comfort, that little break from reality to just sit and breathe so they can get through the rest of the day. I can’t do much to fix the world, but I can at least give people that.

Right now, people need that escape more than ever.

And deleting the stories is taking that escape away and causing MORE stress.

In times like this, people often turn to the stories they know will help most, and plenty of people in fandoms will first search up their favorite ships. They look for fluff, smut, angst... It helps people feel better to focus on these two people who are obviously in love as they work through their troubles.

Many times, readers will be more drawn to stories in the canon universe than radical AUs set in other universes. That’s how they were introduced to those characters. I myself can enjoy no-power and fantasy AUs sometimes, but what I really crave are how they interact in the canon world because that’s the world and versions of them I want to see the most. By deleting EVERY SINGLE STORY IN THE CANON UNIVERSE, that option was removed.

In many of the stories that were deleted, the characters’ careers were honestly a minor facet of the story. Some used it to establish the setting, such as treating injuries after a patrol. Some just simply used it to explain they work at UA, a school for teaching kids with superpowers. Some just had them work as heroes because it’s set in the canon universe, and never directly show ANTTHING about the work.

I’m not always looking for a story about how being a hero shapes and impacts their lives, and most of those stories that got deleted AREN’T about being a hero. That’s just one piece of their character, it’s far from the focal point. It could honestly be removed from several of them without changing the rest of the story.

I can get wanting to make a political point and I respect that, but by deleting those stories, you’ve taken away a key source of comfort from hundreds, thousands of people. By deleting the stories, you’re making the stress worse.

On Saturday night, I realized several of my favorite stories are suddenly gone. I knew Kurikuri had deleted a bunch of her stories, but I hadn’t realized just how many of them I liked. Some of them I’ve specifically sought out to reread multiple times in the past, never really paying attention to the author. Realizing they’re just gone caused me heavy stress because it made me paranoid about all these other stories I like to reread. I don’t expect those stories to be around forever, but I still didn’t expect them to vanish so suddenly. I never thought I’d need to download them to make sure I’d still be able to read them while the site is still up.

I spent hours searching out specific stories to see if they were written by her, and make sure they’re not gone forever. I have no way of knowing which ones she’d written and deleted because there’s not exactly a list out there anymore. My desperate search for those stories and one in particular (which I still haven’t found) contributed to the lack of sleep I got that night.

And I need to reiterate: I am mentally healthy and have no major stresses in my immediate life. And that’s why I’m hyper-aware of how this stress will affect people who AREN’T as lucky as I am.

If an author decides to delete their stories because they feel the stories themselves push harmful values or themes, fine. If they’re getting harassed, or it reminds them of a bad time in the lives, or they just don’t like that story anymore, okay. I can respect that and accept it.

But these stories were deleted for the EXACT reasons that people will be looking for them now more than ever, and that’s where I draw the line.

This applies to ALL fandoms.

If you as a fan fiction writer have more than, say, 100 kudos on a completed story or one-shot, there’s a good chance people will read and reread your story in stressful times. If you have a reasonably popular story that updates on a regular or even semi-regular basis, there is a chance that someone is using it as a lifeline to have something to look forward to while the rest of their lives go to hell. Maybe not because they specifically love it, but because it gives them something routine.

I want to make it clear that it’s not our job to care for other people’s mental health. Fan fiction writers don’t have an obligation to people, we’re doing it for fun first and foremost. We’re not some sort of saviors, and we shouldn’t think of ourselves that way or we can honestly screw people up worse. We’re not obligated to write these stories JUST for our fans.

At most, our stories are sources of support and comfort for readers. A little break from reality. If writing a story is causing you more stress than enjoyment, stop. Fan fiction, and all other fan media and stories in general, is ultimately created for the creator’s enjoyment more than anything.

Your own mental health comes first. Don’t set yourself on fire to keep other people warm.

But with how utterly fucked and unfair the world is right now, people need those stories now more than ever. So if you’ve got a story out there that’s fairly popular, please, please, PLEASE be mindful of your readers before deciding to delete it. Now is the absolute last time people need more stress trying to find a single story. And if you’re going to delete it, maybe give readers a heads up so that those who need it or have some powerful attachment to it for all the reasons I’ve discussed here can download a copy for their own personal use.

Don’t hurt your readers to make a point.

[minijenn]

Sigh...

Alright, enough is enough. 

Time to give a certain someone exactly what they want. 

(long, drama-related post under the cut imo)

So since I would say around May or April, just about every single day, several times a day, I’ve been receiving a handful of negative guest/anon reviews on both UF and Keys on Ao3 and FF.Net alike. The crux of every single one of these reviews basically boils down to hatred for the Stonemason idea being used in UF2, specifically the idea that Yellow Diamond will be redeemed after it. To be even more specific, here are some things this individual (and despite using several different “names” to post these reviews under, I am well aware that they’re all coming from the same person) has accused me of: 

1. Singling Dipper out for “baseless angst” (when that’s not even true, that entire arc will stir up angst for just about everyone). Also says I’m wrong just for enjoying writing angst when its a genre that a lot of people like writing/reading, I’m not the only one smh it’s popular for a reason. 

2. Being willing to let YD get off scott-free for what she does to Dipper in that arc (something that I never said and even if I did say it in the past that’s not necessarily my current plan now) just because her and the other Diamonds were redeemed in SU canon (which again, I have confirmed that I’m not necessarily following to the letter and I’m still currently very much in the process of trying to figure out what I want to do in that regard)

3. The Stonemason arc being an example of “bad writing” and being full of “holes” despite the fact that its NOT written yet and WON’T be written for another few years or so at this rate

4. Claiming that the only reason why I’m willing to let YD off the hook for her actions is because I see her as “attractive” and a “wiafu”, despite the fact that anytime I say that I’m clearly joking, that’s what I do around here smh 

5. Making several blatant attacks on my person, including calling me a fascist, an incel, a pedophile, homophobic (despite the fact that I, myself, am bisexual), claiming that I’m “creepy” for writing fanfiction, claiming that I am a “middle age man” (I’m a 24 year old woman), claiming that I have no sense of morality, get off on torturing children/child abuse, and a number of other horrible, baseless claims 

6. Claims that Dipper needs to get revenge on YD by shattering her when that would stir up an entire whole other mess of problems, by 1. starting an entirely new Gem war no doubt since Blue and White would be livid 2. completely against Dipper’s character entirely and against the spirit of GF, SU, and UF 3. not at all “cathartic” and is really just simple, sociopath thinking expected from a small, immature child obsessed with the idea of “getting even” without growing from an experience and moving on to become the better person instead. Which of course, is probably what this individual is. 

7. Has said insane, immature, stupid shit like this. There really is no making this up: 

Mind you that this person has left these reviews not just on UF, but on Keys to the Kingdom, a KH fanfic that has nothing to do with UF, but these reviews are still very specific to UF all the same, which yes, does basically make this spam. And indeed it is spam because today alone so far, I have already gotten 6+ reviews from this single person alone:

This person also loves taking things I’ve said here on the blog in answers to asks from years ago out of context, never mind the fact that they might not be in line with ideas I currently have and/or again, are completely without context to what the original conversation was so they can twist whatever I said to fit their bizarre, hateful agenda. Here’s a taste of some of today’s fare, for reference: 

At first, I thought this whole thing was just a troll, but really at this point it’s become legitimate harassment. I’m not, nor have I ever asked, everyone and anyone to accept and enjoy everything in UF. I know some people don’t like the Stonemason arc, that’s fine. But I also want people to understand that I haven’t even written the damn thing yet. My entire plotting process for both UF and UF2 alike are always in flux, even from chapter to chapter, in both large ways and small. Minor details and big ones are going to change with time. Not that this person cares about that since they’ve already decided a long time ago that they hate both me and my work for whatever reason (seriously I have no idea what i did to them to provoke any of this). 

(also before any of you say “oh well Jen, just turn off guest reviews and this will end!” Ao3 and FF.Net don’t give authors the option to do that, so I’m pretty much stuck where I currently am with this whole terrible situation unfortunately)

Now mind you I do have a theory about who this individual actually is but I’m no going to address that here because stirring others to action against them isn’t my intention with this post. My intention is something I’m sure they’re not even going to listen to but I’d like to make an earnest appeal all the same, so now, my dude, let’s speak to you individually. Since you clearly want attention so badly in all this, looks like you’re finally about to get exactly that. 

Look. I get that you don’t like this whole Stonemason arc. Again that’s fine, you don’t have to like it. But you sending me these reviews every single day, day in and day out is not going to change my mind, especially given your downright malicious tone in every single one of these. Consider, just for a moment, that I’m an actual person behind this screen, a person with feelings and thoughts of my own just like you are. A person who is out here writing fanfictions because it is something that gives me a personal sense of enjoyment to see a story I’ve crafted play out, and enjoyment in how others interact with my work. Your reviews haven’t changed any of that, I’m going to keep on writing despite them and I’m going to keep on taking pride in my work regardless of anything you have to say. That’’s what being the bigger person is all about. 

 But before sending any more of your petty little reviews, just... all I’m asking is that you think about what you’re saying and why. Does sending these reviews make you feel like you’re superior to me? Is that really what you need to feel some sense of fulfillment? Because really, friend, you could find that sort of fulfillment in something much more genuine and wholesome. Read a book, watch a movie or TV show you really love, go outside and take a walk, hell even write your own fic if you despise mine so much. But just... maybe try to find something else to do with your time instead of attempting to tear other people down for no reason. 

I highly doubt this is going to change anything, hell you may not even read this to begin with, because again, you’ve already decided you hate me for some reason and that’s fine. Go ahead and hate me. I just want you to maybe do a little self reflection and consider that what you’re doing only makes you look bad in the end. 

And with that, MiniJen’s out. Peace. ❤

[jeremys-blogs]

The Owl House: Top 10 Episodes

The Owl House's first season was made up on nineteen great episodes, but as with any show there were some I loved more than others. And here's my top ten of them.

10 - Witches Before Wizards: The first episode might have done a great job of establishing both the main cast and the world they're having their stories in, but it was really the show's second outing that truly cemented that this wasn't going to be a typical children's fantasy tale. Luz, overwhelmed by her years of wanting the perfect escapist fantasy, is seemingly given exactly what she wants and, with her current mentor looking like something of a disappointment, goes along with it right into a trap. This episode's clear message is that, whatever ideas Luz and the audience have of epic adventures in other worlds needs to be jettisoned right here and now, as such thinking simply leads to those like Luz being taken advantage of. It also helped to establish Eda, both as an unconventional type of mentor, but also as someone who genuinely cares for Luz's well-being. It's a story that firmly tells us that, if good things are to happen to us, we need to make them happen instead of waiting for others to hand such things to us, and that even a place that comes off as creepy and horrifying can have its appeal when looked at the right way. A fine episode that does well at helping to acclimatise us to the world of the Boiling Isles.

9 - Something Ventured, Someone Framed: Gus didn't really have that many standout moments in the show in the same way that Willow did, but I can safely say that his first (and thus far only) spotlight episode was a good one. Most of the time he's used either as "the supportive friend" or as comic relief, but here we got to see other sides to him, like his insecurities at being the youngest among his peers, or the fears he feels over losing even the small position he has among them. It was also a good show of how Luz isn't the only one who's going to be causing problems at Hexside, as Gus was very much responsible for the shenanigans this time, but he does win points for taking the blame and accepting the consequences of it. Also, special mention must also go to Eda for her subplot of trying to get Luz into the school. It really went to show how much she cared for the girl, since she was willing to make nice with a place she personally loathed because she knew how good it would be for her apprentice. Between Gus and Eda, this was a good little Hexside story with some good development for its two prominent players.

8 - The Intruder: This episode marked an important moment of development for all three of the main characters. For Luz it was her first real step in learning how to use magic in this world, as well as showing just how quick she is to be able to use it in an immediate situation. For King we got to see a softer side to him than we'd been seeing up to this point, and just how much he values Luz as a friend and someone to teach. And for Eda, this was the moment we came to realise just why she's separate from the rest of the Boiling Isles' society. Her curse, which is portrayed in much the same way as something akin to a chronic illness that real-world people would have to deal with, is clearly a bother to her and something that would play a pivotal part of later stories. And the horror aesthetic is of course a good framing device for all of this, giving our characters a desperate situation to not only show of what they can do, but also reveal secrets like Eda's condition. It was a dark, intense and very character-driven story that served as a massive wake-up call to the fact that danger can very much be right at their doorstep in this series.

7 - I was a Teenage Abomination: Here we got our big introduction to Hexside, a location that would provide a great many other great stories and serve as an important place for Luz. In addition, the episode also gave us a number of supporting characters, like soon-to-be friends Willow and Gus, and perhaps one of the show's most complicated characters, Amity. Luz's first arrival onto the scene, both for this school and its students, would prove to be her first real impact on this world, which would of course have consequences aplenty further down the line. Now of course, schools for magic are no stranger to works of fantasy, but this show does well in making Hexside its own thing, with its own feel distinct from other such institutions in fiction. And of course we once again have Eda utterly stealing the show with her early-season disdain for the place and her horror at the thought of Luz wanting to go there, though she admittedly does at least soften to the friends she makes in her brief encounter. Overall, a fun and enjoyable introduction to one of the most important places in the show, as well as giving Luz her first taste of a place that would come to mean a great deal to her later on.

6 - Covention: Like with our introduction to Hexside, this episode gives us a lot of information about the world of the witches and how things typically work here. We're told of the coven system, the magical authority that governs magic, as well as why Eda specifically is opposed to them, but at the same time we have Luz, who despite respecting her teach is open-minded enough to want to learn more and make her own decision on the matter, which was a nice touch as far as I'm concerned as it showed she wasn't just blindly obedient. And speaking of Luz, we get her next step in her relationship to Amity here, as we once more have the two at odds, but with that conflict eventually changing into one where Amity understands Luz more and where we learn that there's more shades to Amity than simply being a school rival. Eda too gets growth as a character, as we have our big introduction to her sister and the knowledge that the two don't have the best of relationships, culminating in one of the show's thus-far best pieces of animation when the two eventually duel, which would of course serve only as a prelude to a fight that came later. Overall, Covention had a lot packed in, and it was executed nearly flawlessly.

5 - Adventures in the Elements: Fun fact, I'd sort of debated with myself over whether this or Lost in Language would be included here, since both episodes share a lot in common. Both feature Luz learning more while also taking action that puts her in a bad light with Amity and both heavily involve Edric and Emira. In the end though I decided that I enjoyed this one more, and what's more it served as another important milestone in Luz's education, since it's really the first time Eda actively goes out of her way to teach her about magic. Additionally, we get some hints as to the true nature of magic in this world, something that Luz comes to know more than even her own teacher. We get hints that Luz's ways are something that the oldest witches did back in the day but has since been forgotten, as Esa herself seems to only vaguely know how that ancient power was used. Also, it's another case of Amity warming up to Luz, to the point where I'd officially call this the moment where the two became friends. And of course Edric and Emira were far more hilarious and likeable here than they were in Lost in Language, so there's that too.

4 - Enchanting Grom Fright: Let me get the obvious stuff out of the way first. Yes, the Lumity shipping moments are adorable and a great milestone for Disney. And yes, that dance sequence was brilliantly animated and easily worth the thousand-plus times I've gone back and watched it. But as good as all that stuff is, what really makes this episode work for me is Luz. Not only do we get another example of her well-meaning nature getting her into trouble, which is something of a recurring theme in this show, but it's also the episode that really addresses her decision to leave her world and be in the Boiling Isles. Throughout the story she's shown to be worried about both her mother back home and what the latter might think if she knew what Luz had really been doing these past few weeks. It's an understandable fear that she's been avoiding for, quite possibly, the entirety of her time in the show, and by the time the episode ends she's fully accepted that she needs to speak to her mother far more than she'd been doing. That, alongside great stuff from other characters, Like Amity's own fears and King struggling to find an audience, made this episode a truly special watch for me.

3 - Wing it Like Witches: In terms of pure entertainment value, as in just sheer fun, this episode easily makes it to my personal top. However, given that the remaining episodes all did more in terms of character and story, I felt it wouldn't really be right to have this one be any higher. But, it's still a hugely enjoyable outing for the show, and one that I've re-watched several times over since it first aired. And it's surprising that that's the case, given that sports movies (or even parodies of them) aren't something I usually enjoy, and this episode has it as both its A and B plots. But I guess that's a testament to the episode if I managed to be delighted by the story in the face of that. The character of Boscha proved a good "love to hate" antagonist that Luz, Willow and Amity must overcome, and it's especially satisfying to finally see Amity in particular break away from that kind of toxic crowd for good. But, not one to be one-upped, Eda herself gets a similar trouble to face when she challenges her sister to the same game, and much like with Luz it's very good to see her come out on top. In terms of how much the characters are developed, this one probably isn't winning any awards, but in terms of just how much fun it was for me, it's easily one of the best The Owl House has to offer.

2 - Agony of a Witch: Disney have had plenty of moments where the episodes prior to the finale are among the darkest and most serious stuff they make, and Owl House, it appears, has one more to add to that collection. Agony is, without question, the most intense story of the entire first season. A darkest hour that I haven't seen from Disney TV for quite some time. It's a level of seriousness and danger that we all probably knew was coming, but likely weren't ready for when it finally came. Our main villain is revealed, the truth behind Eda's curse comes to light, and by the time it was all over it seemed as though all hope was lost. It was a real punch to the gut, and went to show just how much these characters had come to mean to me, given how distraught I felt at seeing them hurt like this. If I had one complaint, and this is no fault of this episode specifically, it's that the follow-up, the actual finale, never managed to capture the same feeling of intensity. But that's a very small criticism, and as I said, this was one hugely impressive episode that brought the stakes up to eleven and showed that this show had more than earned the right to do so.

1 - Understanding Willow: I'll admit upfront that I have some bias on this one, as Willow has consistently been one of my favourite characters in the show. So an episode devoted to delving into her backstory was pretty much guaranteed to get my interest. But credit where it's due, it actually impressed far more than just that initial hook, as we get our long-awaited explanation as to the reasons why she and Amity stopped being friends way back when, a point that was hinted at quite a few episodes back. It's one of those things I like about shows like this, where small bits of dialogue can come back and take centre stage in big ways like this. And of course, we have Luz coming into her own as the responsible one, taking charge and doing what she can for her friend. And it's great that this isn't a problem that she was directly responsible for, unless you count her flipping a photo over as her being the cause of all this. Amity gets plenty of growth as well as a truly gut-punching reveal as to what motivated her actions, and the remaining cast, like Eda and Gus, all have a pretty entertaining side-story of their own. All-in-all, this might seem like an odd choice, but to me Understanding Willow is just the complete package in terms of what I like about this show.

And that's my list. Hope you all enjoy these episodes as much as I do 🥰

[nataliedanovelist]

GF + OH - Fallen Owls pt.2

Summary: What happens when the milf of The Owl House meets the dilf of Gravity Falls? Find out in this multi-chapter crossover fic.

pt.1

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Placement: GF = after finale (S3?) OH = between S1E7 and E8 Mabel giggled at a funny meme Luz had texted her. Who doesn’t love pics of an angry-looking kitty and a toad sipping coffee? She texted Luz a bunch of laughing emojis and scratched Waddles. Luz, meanwhile, was sitting on the couch in the living room with King sleeping by his side. Or at least trying to. He was in the perfect spot, but Luz’s giggling was disturbing his slumber. Luz texted back: It’s so good to have someone appreciate these! Eda thinks their stupid and King never gets them. M: Memes are a rare language only teenagers and creepy forty-year-olds understand.

Luz texted a gif of a guy pointing and saying “you got me there” and she scratched King’s back. He rolled over in his sleep and Luz scratched his tummy. L: So whatcha doin’ today? M: Dipper wants to go investigate some new anomaly. L: Cool! What is it? M: … You know, why don’t I get him to tell you? Are you up for visitors today? L: YES! Yes, yes, YES! I’ll ask Eda! Luz hurried off the couch and ran up outside to find Eda drinking out of her 30 & Flirty mug in the warm sun. “Eda! Can Mabel come over and bring her brother Dipper?” “That human girl you met last week?” Eda asked and shrugged. “Sure, okay. Just make sure her uncle won’t be after my blood.” “Thanks Eda, you’re the best!” And Luz hurriedly texted Mabel back. ~~~~~~~~~~ Mabel’s phone made a dazzling noise, like sparkles, meaning she got a text. She squealed and Dipper then entered the bedroom, having been blackmailed into a shower by his own twin. He was shaking his hair dry, fully dressed, when Mabel said, “Dip-Dip, cancel your plans for today!” “What, but we were gonna investigate the graveyard for loose zombies, remember?” “Not anymore! You’re gonna see the Boiling Isles!” Dipper gasped and dropped his towel. “Are you serious?! The Boiling Isles! I’ve been wanting a chance to see it for myself and record it in my journal!” “Well, now you've got one.” Mabel hopped off the bed and said, “We just gotta make sure it’s okay with Grunkle Stan first.” Dipper slammed on his pinetree hat and hurried with Mabel downstairs. They found both of their great-uncles in front of the TV, Stan trying to explain some new show to Ford, but the old-school scientist just couldn’t see the appeal in a show about a bird and a raccoon terrorizing an amusement park. “Can we go see Luz at the Boiling Isles today, please please please?!” Mabel begged, using her cuteness as a weapon against her temporary-guardians. ‘You expect me to allow my kids into a dangerous world full of monsters and demons and some creepy witch?” Stan asked with a raised eyebrow, but then smiled. “Sounds like fun! Have at it.” Mabel and Dipper cheered and high-fived, then the hyperactive girl gave her Grunkle Stan a quick hug before running off into the kitchen with the sweaty teenage boy to text Luz. “Are you sure that is a good idea, Stanley?” Ford asked. The younger twin shrugged. “I trust her.” “Who? Mabel or Eda?” “Yes.” Ford snorted and gave his brother a sly look. Stan narrowed his eyes at him and grunted, “What?” “You like her, don’t you?” Ford asked. “Who? My niece or some creepy owl lady?” “Yes.” Stan laughed and punched Ford’s shoulder. “Yeah, right. Eda’s just a fun story to tell and a cool chick. She’s not my type.” “Right, because your type is gigantic man-eating spiders and deadly sirens.” Ford said sarcastically. “I saw the way you looked at her. I haven’t seen you smile quite like that since Carla McCorkle.” “That’s ancient history.” Stan said dryly. “I’m way over her. Besides, Eda and I’ve got our own lives. Sure, what we had was great back in the day, and yeah I’ll admit it, it was love at first sight, but love dies off, you know.” He didn’t at all sound a little bit bitter or hurt. Ford shrugged and stood up for another cup of coffee. “Maybe whatever you two had will come back. Look, I may have twelve PhDs, but I know next to nothing about girls and dating or whatever, but I do know my own brother, and I saw a side of you I haven’t seen in a long time: you looked truly, genuinely happy.” Stan stood so he could punch his twin’s shoulder softly. “I am happy, Sixer. I’ve got you and the kids. I don’t need anything else.” Ford smiled. “I can understand that logic. Still, try to keep an open mind, Knucklehead.” And he walked off to the kitchen for some more caffeine. ~~~~~~~~~~ Eda unlocked the door and soon a pair of Caucasian twins with brown hair and matching eyes ran through. The girl grinned at the sight of Luz and the boy smiled politely. Mabel ran up to Luz and the girls hugged and squealed in delight. “This’ll be so much fun!” Luz cheered. “I have so many things to show you! Tons of books filled with monsters, a real-life demon, I can even show you my light spell!” “Thanks for having us!” Mabel said to both Luz and Eda. “This is my brother, Dipper.” “Nice to meet you, kid.” Eda said with a wink. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Eda.” Dipper admired and immediately pulled out his notebook from his vest and was ready to take notes. “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about your kind and what it means to be a witch?” “Maybe later, kid.” Eda said casually. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to take a nap.” She walked behind her dresser and snapped her fingers, magically changing into her pajamas. She yawned into her hand and made her way up the stairs. “Stay as long as you want and just don’t make a mess and don’t wake me up unless you wanna die a slow and painful death. Oh. Luz.” Eda tossed her the key from the top of the stairs and the human caught it. “So you don’t have to wake me up to send the other humans home.” “Thanks, Eda.” Luz called and the door closed. “So, Dipper, Mabel says you two do a lot of exploring?” She asked. “Oh yeah,” Dipper acknowledged. “Gravity Falls is filled with tons of anomalies and weird stuff. We’ve faced eyebats, gremloblins, zombies, ghosts, an army of angry gnomes…” “Wow! That’s so cool!” Luz said and opened the front door. “You’ll definitely like it here! I’ll give you guys a quick tour.” “YES!” The twins cheered and hurried out the door, but were frozen with shock when the door spoke. “Finally! Company! I’ve been waiting for someone to hear my stories! Okay, so one time a bug crawled into my eye and… OW!” Hooty was interrupted by Dipper using his journal to smack the talking owl head on the - well, on the head. “Geez! Ow! Hoot!” “Sorry,” Dipper winced. “Aw!” Mabel squealed and reached up to scratch the top of her head. “He’s so cute! Who’s a good door, who’s a good door?” “I dunno, is it me?” Hooty cooed, putty in Mabel’s hands as she scratched him lovingly. “Alright, come on guys. Hooty’s gotta guard the house while Eda and King are napping.” Luz said and led the way into town. Dipper and Mabel grinned as one walked beside Luz to talk and the other wrote in his journal diligently. ~~~~~~~~~~ Gus was squealing where he stood with Willow by his side. She smiled and rolled her eyes affectionately at her close friend and said, “Gus, if you don’t calm down you’re going to faint again.” “I haven’t fainted in two years.” Gus defended. “I’m fine. I just wanna know what Luz’s surprise is!” “I wonder if it’s a new spell she learned, Or a gift from the human world.” Gus gasped loudly and shouted, “What if it’s a tiny clock for your wrist?! What if it’s a ball that can float on it’s own?! WHAT IF IT’S A SMALL ENTERTAINMENT RECTANGLE?!” “Look, there she is!” Willow pointed the human out and waved. Meanwhile, Luz was talking to the twins as she walked with them. “Now remember that it’s rude to stare, never trust a man in sandals, and always measure twice, cut once.” “Measure… twice… cut… once…” Dipper muttered as he wrote Luz’s tips in his journal. “Got it.” “Now, I want you two to meet… oh hey! There they are! Willow! Gus!” Luz called and approached her friends quickly with her visitors. Gus gasped loudly and was then speechless, completely stone-still with his mouth hanging open. Luz smiled at his reaction while Willow grinned happily. “Hey guys! This is Dipper and Mabel, humans from the human realm! Guys, this is Willow and Gus, they’re my best friends.” “Wow! Elves!” Mabel squealed, at once catching the pointy ears and holding out a hand to shake. “Hi! I’m Mabel! It’s so nice to meet you.” Willow giggled and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, but we’re not elves; we’re witches. See,” And Willow made a circle at the dirt, making a pretty pink flower sprout and bloom. She plucked it and held it out to Mabel and said, “Welcome to the Boiling Isles.” “Oh, wowie zowie.” The human breathed and pinned the flower by her ear. “Thank you!” “Are you two really humans?” Willow asked. Dipper smiled as he pocketed his journal and pen in his vest; he knew these witches were probably just as excited to meet humans as these humans were excited to meet witches. “Yup. I gotta admit, I’ve seen lots of weird stuff but this place is even more weird and mysterious than anything I’ve ever saw.” “I’m glad you like it here.” Willow then noticed how little Gus was speaking and gently elbowed him. “Gus, say something.” She whispered softly. “Ack… ah…” The young witch gasped, the nerd in him overtaking his logic, his brain slower than a snail on a turtle’s back to the overwhelming fantasy coming true. “Ears... wire… teeth… round…” “Uh, is he okay?” Mabel asked. “He’s fine.” Luz said calmly. “He’s the president of the Human Appreciation Society at school.” “Oh, cool.” Dipper said. “So this would be like me meeting the author for him.” He added to his sister, who giggled, and then she asked, “So, what do you guys like to do for fun?” Luz, Willow, and Gus all grinned excitedly as they exchanged looks and they happily grabbed the twins’ hands and took them on an adventure into the unknown. ~~~~~~~~~~ Vexing off some frustrations and hoping to forget her worries for a moment with a successful evening of winning bets and making money, Eda counted her bills one more time. It was enough to slap a man like it was a glove. With her flaming orange hair everywhere, her shiny gold tooth sparkling alongside her excited eyes, and comfortable in casual human attire, it felt good to leave behind the Boiling Isles for a while and be somewhere new. Not that she intended to stay; she didn’t quite belong here. Eda reached for a slot machine handle and pulled. One strawberry, two strawberries, and a banana. The hidden witch frowned and growled in her throat, determined to outwit this thing. She decided to give it one more try before incorporating some magic. She reached for the handle only to have her hand touch someone else’s hand. Her golden eyes landed on a buff man around her age. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt, his buttons a little low to showcase a gold chain and a bit of chest hair. Scars littered his knuckles and he had a five o’clock shadow on his square chin, his shaggy brown hair nearly long enough to be a mullet. His brown eyes sparked with excitement and he immediately put on a sly grin that made Eda smirk in return. Instantly she knew this guy was going to give her a good time. He let go of the slot machine, shrugged and gestured to the machine, and said, “Good luck.” Eda smiled, pulled the lever, and decided to perform a small spell behind her back with her free hand. One strawberry, two strawberries, three strawberries. Blinking lights and spitting money clarified Eda’s victory and she punched the air several times. “Yes yes yes yes yes!” She scooped up her loot into her bag and challenged, “Let’s see if you can do any better, Muscles.” The guy smiled cockily and gave it a shot, rubbing his hands together and popping his knuckles. To Eda’s pleasant surprise, the guy got three bananas, earning four times the amount the witch won, and he gave a barking laugh that Eda found pleasant and full-hearted. “Eat it, toots!” Stan bragged as he pocketed the winnings and pulled out a big stack of cash to flaunt. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but looks like Lady Luck’s on my side tonight.” “You wish,” Eda snorted. “Tell you what, buster, let’s make this night even more interesting.” The guy raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?” “You and I play against each other for the rest of the evening. Whoever wins the most from this point forward… I don’t know, the winner lives in glory and the loser wallows in eternal shame.” The guy leaned across the machine, still as cocky as ever with a smile as sly as a fox. “How about loser treats winner out to breakfast?” Eda crackled a laugh and held out a hand to shake. “You've got a deal.” The guy took her hand, shook it, and said, “Name’s Stan by the way.” Eda said the first back-up name that came to mind. “Marilyn.” She would be an idiot to give away her real name in a dodgy place like Las Vegas. And so the competitive game of betting at the club began. From poker to blackjack to straight-up dice rolling and slot machines, the two spirited and care-free adults roamed the casino with one goal: to kick the other’s butt. All the while they talked like they were old friends. It was crazy ridiculous how easy their talks were. Everything just worked. Between cocktails and anything with a buzz, the two were foul cheaters, one brilliantly street-smart and the other crafty and gifted with a certain set of skills. One time Stan tried to leave a table and fell on his face to find his shoelaces tied, even though he could have sworn Eda never had a chance to prank him. Eda quickly liked this guy a lot; he was fun! She could poke fun at him without worrying about hurting his wittle feewings, rather he would poke back and make her laugh. Even as she threw dice at his head once in order to swipe his winnings, he grabbed her wrist, tickled her ribs, and swiped some of her gold; Eda retaliated by pouncing on him like a bird after her prey and they wrestled for a moment before Stan threw her down and laughed. Eda grinned, impressed he could fight, and they high-fived before moving on. It was a close call, but by three in the morning Stan was richer by five bucks, so Eda shrugged and said she was only passing through and wondered if he knew a place with edible food. Stan, who had been living in town for about a month, took her in the Stanmobile and drove her to a cheap 24-hour diner by the interstate. The whole time they chatted pleasantly, making fun of the other and telling stories and generally having a good time. As Stan drove and his hair became a wild mess, Eda smiled at him; she had never felt this way about anyone. No one challenged her or made her feel this important. And so Eda found herself eating pancakes with tons of strawberries and strawberry syrup, sipping a mug of black coffee. Stan was telling another story in between bites of pancake with eggs and plenty of bacon, his coffee also as black as the night. Eda listened, entertained, and held her mug with both of her pale hands to keep them warm. “... so I said to the bouncer, ‘where’s your idea, ugly?’ And that’s how I got this scar.” And Stan rolled back his sleeve to show off the proof of his story. Eda laughed and tilted her head up to show a tiny scar under her chin. “I got this one from playing with my sister. She tricked me and I ran after her and tripped over a tree root and landed on a rock. Blood was everywhere, Mother was furious at her, which was all the payback I needed; she almost never got into trouble.” “Ah, got a goody-two-shoes sibling, huh?” Stan asked, leaned back in his booth as he ate another piece of bacon. “Can you relate?” Stan laughed. “Yeah, my older brother Shermie’s a total square. He’s an okay guy, though. Made me an uncle.” “That’s nice.” Eda said. “Lily will never make me an aunt; she’s already married to the law.” She groaned, adding a gagging noise for comedic effect, and she sipped her coffee. “Ugh, are you related to a cop?” Stan groaned and held his forehead as he smiled. “More like a detective.” “Hey, I had an uncle who was a detective.” Stan remembered. “Cool guy; smoked a pack a day, but he had this bachelor's apartment in New York City and cracked tons of cases. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, good ole Uncle Jack. So, do you still talk to your sister, or…” Eda shrugged. “Not really. She decided I wasn’t good enough for her and I decided she wasn’t worth it, so we kinda went our separate ways.” Stan nodded solemnly, his eyes elsewhere. “It happens. I don’t really talk to my family anymore.” “Sorry.” She said sympathetically, her eyes anywhere but her date. “Meh. I’m not.” Stan lied easily. “If the guy wants to go to some smarty-pants school and live a boring life, always knowing what’s gonna happen, that’s his mistake.” Eda smiled and chuckled under her throat. “My thoughts exactly. Life isn’t proper; it’s wild and unpredictable, but that’s what makes it so beautiful.” Stan smiled and pointed at her. “I like your philosophy, babe.” “Your’s isn’t so bad, handsome.” Eda replied in her mug. “Could use some polishing, but hey what do I know?” Stan smiled and the conversation shifted. That drunken state a lack of sleep will give you, but neither were willing to turn in just yet. Eda still had a goal she wanted to reach before leaving town; if she wanted to more than double her winnings, she would have to be slippery, but she couldn’t help but have an amazing time and actually feel something beyond an excitement for trouble. About an hour later, now only snacking on coffee and water and probably pissing off their waiter, Eda asked, “Hey Stan, wanna marry me?” Stan stared at her, breathing in water, and needing a minute to clear his windpipes before answering. “I don’t think you wanna do that, Marilyn. You hardly know me.” He said darkly, leaning forward and looking down. Eda took the hand that was lying on the table and squeezed it gently. “I know enough.” She stood, leaned over the table, and kissed Stan. It was actually really nice. Like, really nice. Sure she could do without the taste of coffee and the sticky syrup on his lips, but when he kissed back and had a hand in her wild hair Eda’s heart was pounding faster, excitement and adrenaline being the witch’s favorite drug. When they parted and Eda had a knee on the table, Stan nodded. “Okay. I’ll marry you.” Half an hour later, they both stood in front of Cupid with brush hair and teeth and Eda had a bundle of roses Stan had shoplifted for her. After a quick exchange of “I do”s and speeding back to Stan’s motel room, they both quickly undressed and reaped from the benefits of being a couple. ~~~~~~~~~~ Hungover and tired from an all-nighter, Eda slept in Stan’s arms nearly all day, finally waking up around three in the afternoon with Stan still asleep. She laid there and smiled, eyes closed and enjoying having such warm and strong arms wrapped around her. After spending so many years alone, it was nice to sleep with someone she loved. Heck, she may love him but he didn’t need a witch criminal in her life. And Eda’s life was too unpredictable to risk being tied down. So she went over her plan and was confident it would work. It might hurt for a minute, but soon Stan would look back on this and laugh. He was just that kind of guy. After coffee and some bananas to help with the headaches, Stan got in the shower, leaving Eda alone. Perfect. Even all of their winnings from last night were on the table. Quickly re-dressing with a snap of her fingers, the cunning witch quietly scooped up the cash into her bag and hung it over her shoulder. She looked around the room and considered taking a souvenir, a human artifact to sell, but while Stan had many things she liked (many things others saw as garbage), Eda decided to go easy on her husband; she owed him that. In her neon pink shirt, blue-jean skirt, and heeled boots, Eda quietly opened the door and tip-toed out of the room. But then she suddenly heard the sounds of the shower being turned off and the curtains being drawn back. Right, males took shorter showers. Eda quickly left and let the door make a loud-ish click noise. Let’s give Stan a warning. Let him fight for it, maybe. The red Diablo was right in front of her, giving her an idea. Rather than running away to then later duck through a door, Eda changed her plan; she was going to give Stan one hell of an adventure. She made circles on the door and it unlocked, then used circles on the engine and the cluttered car roared to life. She grinned, her golden tooth sparkling and her eyes ablaze like her hair, and just as Stan stood at the motel’s door in a maroon bathrobe and a towel held by his wet hair, Eda stepped on the gas and happily let the tires screech her farewell. “HEY!” Eda cackled and snorted all the way out of the motel’s parking lot and down the street. She relaxed and even rolled down the window to lean out and enjoy some fresh air. Not the same as flying, but close enough. Eda was going over her escape plan in her head when she noticed something behind her. She even turned her head back surprisingly far and saw Stan - still in his bathrobe - chasing after her in a stolen motorcycle. Eda grinned. “I knew I married that guy for more than one reason.” She sped up and happily dodged traffic and pedestrians. In fact, one or two things in her way may or may not have floated above her and then safely come back down, but who knows? First the lights, then the sirens. The witch knew what that meant: the guards of the human realm. She glanced back at her mirror and saw Stan being followed by three cop-cars. One cop even called to her on the radio, but she ignored it and headed for the interstate out of Las Vegas. Time to make history. Just as she merged, Stan did the same, but the cops were forced to wait for an opening. Stan somehow managed to speed up next to Eda. “What the hell, Marilyn?!” He yelled. “Sorry, handsome, gotta keep you on your toes.” Eda said coolly, leaning on her elbow on the window. “Gotta keep life unpredictable, y’know?” She added with a wink and sped up, leaving Stan behind. He sped up a bit, slowly catching up, and Eda could see that the cops were on the interstate. Time for the grand escape. The Stanmobile was brought off the busy road and down into the sandy desert. Down into the mouth of a canyon Eda sped, with the bike still closely behind her. Eda grinned, swerved behind a sharp rock, and jumped out with her bag on her shoulder. She dug through the pocket of her skirt for her key and pressed the eye. Just as Stan swerved around the sharp rock, she blew him a kiss with a foxy wink and disappeared. Stan stared, red-faced and still in his bathrobe, as the doorway disappeared. The cops finally caught up as Stan tried to wrap his head around whatever happened, and the one in charge asked him, ”Where did she go?!” The conman quickly collected his thoughts. “Dunno, car was like this when I caught up. She’s probably somewhere in this canyon.” While the police searched the canyon for a runaway newlywed, Stan smiled, impressed with her work, and checked his still-running car. It looked like she had hot-wired his baby and hadn’t taken any of his junk, but what was really weird was there was a feather in the driver’s seat. Huh. ~~~~~~~~~~ Episode Placement: GF = after finale (S3?) OH = between S1E9 and E10 After finally being accepted into Hexside, not only did Luz become more invested in learning about the historical wizarding school, she became even more invested in learning about her mentor. Those permanent records giving tid-bits of Eda’s childhood really made Luz more curious about her, and she figured a good place to keep on searching was the old boxes in a storage closet. Luz had come across it when she had put away the not-witchy broom after completing a chore. Her eyes landed on a box on a top shelf and she grinned, wondering if old photos were in it. She grabbed it and sat in on the floor, on her knees as she rubbed her hands together and took off the lid to reveal a mix-match of assorted items. There were some pictures and photographs, but it was mostly filled with old clothes. Luz picked up an old “Over 30 and Very Flirty” t-shirt and giggled at it. Something fell out from the folds of the shirt and Luz picked it up. She squinted at the old picture and gasped loudly when she realized what she was looking at. “Is that…?”

[yasbxxgie]

Why Octavia E Butler’s novels are so relevant today

It’s campaign season in the US, and a charismatic dark horse is running with the slogan ‘make America great again’. According to his opponent, he’s a demagogue; a rabble-rouser; a hypocrite. When his supporters form mobs and burn people to death, he condemns their violence “in such mild language that his people are free to hear what they want to hear”. He accuses, without grounds, whole groups of people of being rapists and drug dealers. How much of this rhetoric he actually believes and how much he spouts “just because he knows the value of dividing in order to conquer and to rule” is at once debatable, and increasingly beside the point, as he strives to return the country to a “simpler” bygone era that never actually existed.

More like this:

-        The 1968 novel that predicted today

-        The fiction that predicted space travel

-        The story of cannibalism that came true

You might think he sounds familiar – but the character in question is Texas Senator Andrew Steele Jarret, the fictional presidential candidate who storms to victory in a dystopian science-fiction novel titled Parable of the Talents. Written by Octavia E Butler, it was published in 1998, two decades before the inauguration of the 45th President of the United States.

Like much of her writing, Butler’s book was a warning about where the US and humanity in general might be heading. In some respects, we’ve beaten her to it: a sequel to 1993’s Parable of the Sower, Parable of the Talents is set in what is still the future, 2032. While its vision is extreme, there is plenty that feels within the bounds of possibility: resources are increasingly scarce, the planet is boiling, religious fundamentalism is rife, the middle classes live in walled-off enclaves. The novel’s protagonist, a black woman like the author herself, fears that Jarret’s authoritarianism will only worsen matters.

Fourteen years after her early death, Butler’s reputation is soaring. Her predictions about the direction that US politics would take, and the slogan that would help speed it there, are certainly uncanny. But that wasn’t all she foresaw. She challenged traditional gender identity, telling a story about a pregnant man in Bloodchild and envisaging shape-shifting, sex-changing characters in Wild Seed. Her interest in hybridity and the adaptation of the human race, which she explored in her Xenogenesis trilogy, anticipated non-fiction works by the likes of Yuval Noah Harari. Concerns about topics including climate change and the pharmaceutical industry resonate even more powerfully now than when she wove them into her work.

And of course, by virtue of her gender and ethnicity, she was striving to smash genre assumptions about writers – and readers – so ingrained that in 1987, her publisher still insisted on putting two white women on the jacket of her novel Dawn, whose main character is black. She also helped reshape fantasy and sci-fi, bringing to them naturalism as well as characters like herself. And when she won the prestigious MacArthur ‘genius’ grant in 1995, it was a first for any science-fiction writer.

Octavia Estelle Butler was born on 22 June 1947. Her father, a shoeshiner, died when she was very young, and she was raised by her mother, a maid, in Pasadena, California. As an only child, Butler began entertaining herself by telling stories when she was just four. Later, tall for her age and painfully shy, growing up in an era of segregation and conformity, that same storytelling urge became an escape route. She read, too, hungrily and in spite of her dyslexia. Her mother – who herself had been allowed only a scant few years of schooling – took her to get a library card, and would bring back cast-off books from the homes she cleaned.

An alternate future

Through fiction, Butler learnt to imagine an alternate future to the drab-seeming life that was envisioned for her: wife, mother, secretary. “I fantasised living impossible, but interesting lives – magical lives in which I could fly like Superman, communicate with animals, control people’s minds”, she wrote in 1999. She was 12 when she discovered science fiction, the genre that would draw her most powerfully as a writer. “It appealed to me more, even, than fantasy because it required more thought, more research into things that fascinated me,” she explained. Even as a young girl, those sources of fascination ranged from botany and palaeontology to astronomy. She wasn’t a particularly good student, she said, but she was “an avid one”.

After high school, Butler went on to graduate from Pasadena City College with an Associates of Arts degree in 1968. Throughout the 1970s, she honed her craft as a writer, finding, through a class with the Screen Writers’ Guild Open Door Program, a mentor in sci-fi veteran Harlan Ellison, and then selling her first story while attending the Clarion Science Fiction Writer’s Workshop. Supporting herself variously as a dishwasher, telemarketer and inspector at a crisp factory, she would wake at 2am to write. After five years of rejection slips, she sold her first novel, Patternmaster, in 1975, and when it was published the following year, critics praised its well-built plot and refreshingly progressive heroine. It imagines a distant future in which humanity has evolved into three distinct genetic groups, the dominant one telepathic, and introduces themes of hierarchy and community that would come to define her work. It also spawned a series, with two more books, Mind of My Mind and Survivor, following before the decade’s end.

With the $1,750 advance that Survivor earnt her, Butler took a trip east to Maryland, the setting for a novel she wanted to write about a young black woman who travels back in time to the Deep South of 19th-Century America. Having lived her entire life on the West Coast, she travelled by cross-country bus, and it was during a three-hour wait at a bus station that she wrote the first and last chapters of what would become Kindred. It was published in 1979 and remains her best-known book.

The 1980s would bring a string of awards, including two Hugos, the science-fiction awards first established in 1953. They also saw the publication of her Xenogenesis trilogy, which was spurred by talk of ‘winnable nuclear war’ during the arms race, and probes the idea that humanity’s hierarchical nature is a fatal flaw.The books also respond to debates about human genetic engineering and captive breeding programs for endangered species.

In her author photos, Butler appears a serious woman with an exceptionally penetrating gaze. At a talk she gave in Washington DC in 1991, later reported in the radical feminist periodical, Off Our Backs, she offered a fuller description of herself: “comfortably asocial – a hermit in the middle of Los Angeles – a pessimist if I’m not careful, a feminist, a black, a former Baptist, an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, certainty and drive”.

That certainty and drive can be seen in papers from her archive, now housed at the Huntington Library. In 1998, some motivational notes written on the back of a ring-bound writing pad begin “I shall be a bestselling writer!” She goes on: “I will find the way to do this! So be it! See to it!” Elsewhere, she’s to be found urging herself to “tell stories filled with facts. Make people touch and taste and know. Make people feel! Feel! Feel!”

Butler died in 2006, following a fall near her home in Washington state. Though she had begun suffering from writer’s block and depression, caused in part by medication for her high blood pressure, she’d continued to teach, and in 2005, had been inducted into Chicago State University’s international black writers hall of fame. She published a novel that year, too, Fledgling, whose vampire heroine must avenge a vicious attack, and rebuild her life and family. By then, her books had been translated into 10 languages, selling more than 1 million copies altogether.

In the years since, her fanbase has only grown. It turns out that she didn’t invent the campaign slogan beloved by Trump. It was used by Ronald Reagan in his 1980 presidential campaign, and later by Bill Clinton, although later he described the phrase as a “racist dog whistle to white southerners”. Nevertheless, as Tarshia L Stanley, dean of the school of humanities, arts and sciences at St Catherine University, notes, when readers spotted during the 2016 US election that Butler had chosen the slogan for Jarret, it “jarred people into recognising that she’s been doing this work all along. She’d been trying to tell us that if we do not make changes, this is what’s going to happen. She constantly gave that message: this is the logical conclusion if we keep treading down this path. I think when people saw that phrase, it started a whole new group of people reading her work.”

Butler’s work is today the subject of fan fiction, television adaptations (there are at least two in the works), and lively attention on college campuses, where it’s read from perspectives as varied as critical race theory, Afrofuturism, black feminism, queer theory and disability studies. Stanley, who last year edited the essay collection Approaches to Teaching the Works of Octavia E Butler, is also president of a society dedicated to the author. Its membership is broad, she says, but the most gratifying surprise is how many young people Butler’s work is engaging. At the inaugural conference, there was even a panel of high-school kids.

What would Butler have made of the present political moment in the US? “I don’t think she would have been surprised”, Stanley says. She puts Butler’s ability to envisage our future down to a deep understanding of human nature – knowledge gained from having the role of outsider foisted on her in girlhood. This she backed up with research, reading journals including Scientific American, listening to lectures, travelling as far as the Amazon. For Stanley, the one lesson to take from Butler’s work is hope. “World building is huge in her canon, and so there is always hope that since we built this world, we can build another one.”

There’s a scene in Parable of the Sower when the best friend of heroine Lauren Olamina insists “Books aren’t going to save us”. Lauren replies: “Use your imagination,” telling her to search her family’s bookshelves for anything that might come in handy. “Any kind of survival information from encyclopedias, biographies, anything that helps you learn,” she goes on. "Even some fiction might be useful".

Butler’s novels are just that kind of fiction. The child who began writing as a means of escape, ended up crafting potent calls to socio-political action that seem ever more pertinent to our survival as a species.

Parable of the Sower, Parable of the Talents, and other books by Octavia Butler are published by Headline.

[fmr]

[ellebabywrites]

If Looks Could Kill - Vernon Chwe

Type : Oneshot // Slight Angst // Smut // Fluffy ending

Theme : Enemies to Lovers // College au

Word Count : 3834

Author Note : FINALLY THIS IS UP !! I’m so sorry to the Lovely that requested this AGES ago that it took so long !! I’ve never written smut before so I was a little hesitant and nervous because I wanted to do it well . I hope you all enjoy this because I’m actually really proud of it and happy how it turned out !! Any feedback is SO APPRECIATED!! Enjoy El 💛

For the most part , your college experience had been perfect . No messy breakups ; no unnecessary drama ; a solid group of friends - hell , somehow you were even staying on top of all the work . You’d lucked out , but of course there had to be something . And that something lived and breathed in Vernon Chwe .

The boy who sat three rows behind you in your early morning Literature class . The boy who felt the need to play devils advocate every single time you answered a question , or gave an opinion , or spoke at all for that matter . The boy who , for the better part of the year , had managed to throw a wrench in you perfect college experience and you hated him for it . Okay , maybe hate was a strong word , you weren’t his biggest fan let’s just say that .

You didn’t understand how someone so insufferably annoying could be as popular as Vernon was . Not only did he have an abundance of friends , he was also constantly surrounded by a million and one “fangirls”. Sure he had the facial structure of a God ; and yes his eyes looked like gems from another other planet ; and okay sometimes he told a joke that made you giggle ; and maybe he actually smelled really good , unlike so many of the other guys in your class , but besides all that , what could possibly be so appealing about Vernon Chwe ? You had no idea .

∴

“I don’t know what to tell you Miss Y/N . This essay is a B , I’m not changing my mind.” Your professor sighed at you as you were desperately trying to convince him to up the grade of your final essay , he however , was not budging .

“Please Mr Kim , I need this essay to be an A , it has to be an A ! I worked so hard , if I don’t get an A on this paper it will throw off my whole grade for the year !” Begging certainly wasn’t below you , especially in Mr Kim’s class , but even you knew this was starting to get pathetic . “Mr Kim please you have to understand , I need this A..”

“Y/N . I’m sorry I really am , I’ve already entered your grade as a B , it will not change . Now if you’re done , my wife spent all night making my lunch and I am very excited to get to it “ the professor stood up from his desk and made his way to the door , leaving you post-grovel at his desk, “I’ll see you tomorrow Miss Y/N.” And then he was gone. Sighing in defeat you barely registered the footsteps come up behind you , not until you heard that voice . His voice .

“Ahhh what a shame little Y/N , not even the begging swayed him this time” the smirk on his face seeping through his words . Vernon moves around to lean against the professors desk as he watches you with taunting eyes .“Shut up Vernon . Your commentary isn’t needed” rolling your eyes you stormed out of the room , resisting the urge to turn around and throw a book at him when you heard him snicker .

∴

“Wow Y/N ! You look hot !” Soyeon , your best friend in the entire world , yelled excitedly when you walked out of your room into the apartment you shared . You were wearing a short black skirt with a matching black crop top , paired with an off the shoulder denim jacket and thigh high boots . Your hair flowed down in waves and your makeup looked simple but chic - you did look hot , more importantly you felt hot and were more than ready to head to a party at the S V T frat house . “What , this old thing ? Really ?” You played shock while twirling around seductively , making Soyeon laugh .

“Stop ! You know you’re killing it ! Tell me is someone looking to get laid tonight missy ?? I heard Seokmin is excited to see you“ She waved her finger at you accusingly , giving the ‘I know what you’re doing’ look . Honestly this girl . “You’re one to talk ! Look at you in that tight-ass red dress , don’t tell me this ensemble has nothing to do with a certain Yuto being there !” Mirroring her stance you glared back at her teasingly . “And for the billionth time , Seok and I are just FRIENDS ...... good friends ..... that flirt occasionally .... that’s all !”

Soyeon laughed at your attempts to dissuade her yet again while moving to grab her keys from the counter . “Hey ! I mean it ! Just friends !”

“Yeah yeah of course babe whatever you say .” The both of you giggled and continued the debate as you made you way out of the apartment and to the party .

∴

When you get to the house , sounds of music blasting and people laughing fills your ears . ‘Tonight is going to be interesting’ you thought . Seokmin opens the door and greats both you and Soyeon happily with his signature smile , giving you a once over before moving aside to welcome you inside .

“Y/N !! Soyeon !! You guys made it !! Come in , come in ; everything’s the same as usual - drinks are all in the kitchen , everyone’s pretty much in the main room or out back , if you need anything , just find me .” He winks at you and you can’t help the shy smile and soft blush that graces your face . Soyeon didn’t miss the interaction and promptly took the opportunity to sneak off to find Yuto . When the blush dies down and you turn to face her , she’s long gone .

“You look stunning by the way” Seok praised , reaching out to tug at your wrist “honestly Y/N what are you doing to me hm?” His flirting was still embarrassing but it made you giggle nonetheless , pushing him away slightly “okay okay I’m sorry but DAAAMMNNNN!!” He yelled out moving you to twirl under his arm by your fingers , “Seokmin stop this right now and go get me a drink or I swear to God I’ll go hang out with Soyeon all night instead !” You giggle out , staring back into his eyes with mock seriousness while he continued making faces looking you up and down . “Ahhhh no Y/N don’t hurt me that way , I’ll be right back” walking backwards away from you he continued smirking “raspberry vodka ?” He asks and you nod back in confirmation . He knew you so well .

While you waited for Seokmin to return you watched the people around you , getting the lay of the party and trying to keep an eye on Soyeon . She had made it a mission to win her way into Yuto’s heart ( or more like his pants ) tonight and to say she was relying on the liquid courage was a serious understatement . If she needed it you were more than ready to come to her rescue . As if on cue , you spotted her laughing at something the taller boy had said flirtatiously across the room. Shaking your head and stifling another giggle , you moved further into the main room . And that’s when your eyes locked on to the very last person you had wanted to see tonight . Vernon . He was wearing dark jeans and a light patterned shirt; his hair tousled onto his face effortlessly - he looked good. Great even . He stared right back into your soul , for once without his signature smirk paired with teasing eyes and for some reason neither of you looked away . Not till Seokmin came back , pulling your focus .

“One raspberry vodka for one very pretty lady” he charmed , handing you the red plastic cup .

“Why thank you kind Sir” you whipped back , winking at him . The both of you held eye contact while taking sips of your respective drinks before again bursting into a fit of giggles . This is why you loved Seokmin , he was fun and easy to be around , he always made you feel special and having a flirting buddy seriously took the edge off these otherwise tedious parties . For a second you allowed your eyes to wonder back over to Vernon . He was still watching you, only now his eyes seemed to have darkened as he watched Seokmin continue to shamelessly flirt , which confused you - but it wasn’t your problem so you went back to laughing at whatever stupid thing Seok was whispering in your ear .

For the rest of the night you stuck by Seokmin’s side , flirting with each other with gentle touches and quick words . Somehow you’d both ended up on the couch , your legs thrown over one of his muscular thighs, his fingers gently grazing along them while talking with some of his S V T brothers about nothing in particular . To anyone watching who didn’t know about your close friendship , it looked like the pair of you were together - that’s exactly how it looked to Vernon and it made his blood boil . He had been watching you from the moment you’d arrived , unable to take his eyes away from you ; your body ; your face when you laughed ; your hands touching Seokmin ; his hands that seemed to always be touching you . It was like he was entranced by your beauty . Well , he always knew you were beautiful , that was part of the reason he was always trying to rile you up . He found you exceptionally beautiful , especially when you got passionate about something . But tonight ... tonight you looked like a goddess and he could not stop staring . Seeing you so friendly with Seokmin was starting to grate on him . He didn’t like seeing his hands on your thigh or the way your fingers danced along the back of Seokmin’s neck - and it was becomming harder to contain .

Feeling like something was off, you take a moment to glance around the room (just in time to spot Soyeon following Yuto up the stairs and you make a mental note to grill her tomorrow) eventually your eyes once again meet Vernon’s . He looks pissed again and doesn’t turn away as you stare him down curiously . Why was he giving you such dirty looks tonight ? And why were you being so effected by whatever Vernon Chwe was doing ? Usually you could brush him off and try and ignore whatever snide comments he would make ; but tonight he wasn’t pestering you with teasing looks or backhand remarks; tonight he looked mad at you . What for was yet another mystery.

Ignoring him again you face back to Seok and try to reintegrate into the conversation . He was talking with Seungkwan about something or another ; holding onto you tighter every time he laughed at the younger boy ; making Vernon clench his jaw slightly at the movement of his fingers against your flesh . Beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable under Vernon’s unrelenting gaze , you decide its time for another drink .

“I’m going to get a drink” you leaned in and whispered against Seokmin’s ear so that he’d release your legs . Straightening out your skirt and heading towards the kitchen , not missing the way Vernon quickly followed behind you.

∴

“Are you going to be watching me all night Vernon or will you be able to find a life in the next few hours ?” You shot at him without even turning around as you refilled the red cup with more liquor .

“Since when were you and Seokmin so close?” He threw back , seemingly unfazed by the harshness of your voice. Finally turning around to face him , you’re met with the same dark gaze he’d held for most of the night . “Excuse me ?”

“I didn’t realise you two were so close , I mean with his hands all over your legs you must be close right ?” Now his voice being the harsh one you were taken back by the tension that was brewing between the two of you . Vernon took a step closer eyeing you closely but you didn’t move , just simply looked back at him in surprise . “Well it’s really none of your business how close Seok and I are is it ?” Trying to keep your voice firm was increasingly difficult the closer he stepped towards you. Soon he was close enough that you could feel his breath hit your face . His scent drawing you in - how the hell did he still smell this good after being surrounded by alcohol ?! “You look unbelievable . It’s really not fair that Seokmin has had you beside him all night” Vernon’s voice dropped dangerously low as he continued to stare deep into your eyes , making your breathing hitch .

“I like being with Seokmin , he’s fun and he takes care of me” you counter back , trying not to give in to him . But Vernon doesn’t stop, he simply moves even closer never once breaking eye contact . You feel his hands start to dance up your arms and it sends a familiar shiver down your spine . ’Vernon Chwe is making you flustered’ the thought disappears as soon as you feel his nose brush against your own .“I can take care of you.” The gruffness to his voice paired with the gentleness of his touch had your thighs clenching and had you leaning further into his touch. “I really want to kiss you right now.” He whispered against your lips , practically already touching.

“Then you should kiss me.”

∴

The next few moments felt like a blur . The pair of you locked together , Vernon’s body pressing you tightly against the kitchen counter , carefully reaching around you to move the half full cups of liquor out of the way . His hands then moved slowly up to cup both of your cheeks so he could deepen the kiss even more . Feeling dizzy off his touches , when you felt his tongue swipe innocently against your bottom lip you didn’t even have to think before opening your mouth to him . ‘He tastes like candy’ you thought .

Things were moving fast and the kiss soon became less innocent and spontaneous and more passionate and sloppy . It was all clashing teeth and tongues fighting for dominance but soon enough the need for oxygen overpowered everything else and the both of you pulled away , just enough to look into each others eyes . Both breathless and blushing , suddenly you felt shy . You had just made out with Vernon Chwe at some frat party .... you ..... and Vernon . The boy you would have sworn to be your enemy and you had just sucked tongues with him ; the worst part being you wanted to do it again . Oh how badly you wanted to do it again , but you were frozen just staring back into his eyes .

“Do you want to go somewhere else ?” He whispered , still trying to catch his breath , the desire evident as his eyes keep moving from your eyes to your lips . Not wanting to risk your voice cracking you just nodded . Your thoughts had quickly gone from wanting to throw things at Vernon’s head to wanting to see it between your thighs and it was embarrassing how turned on you were . Vernon however seemed more than confident in his actions as he swiftly laced his fingers between your own and lead you through the house up to an empty bedroom . And you had just let him take you , seriously what had gotten into you ?

∴

Soon enough you had your back pressed against the door and were once again locking lips with Vernon . Your fingers wove their way into the locks of hair at the back of his neck , tugging slightly when you felt him bite down on your lower lip . His hands lazily playing with the hem of your skirt .

“Does Seokmin touch you like this ?” he asked as his hands slipped underneath the tight fabric and gently bunching it up at your waist , exposing the wetness visible on your matching lace panties . “Does Seokmin make you this wet ?” He asked again , sliding a finger over the wet spot . How could his words be so rough but his actions so gentle ? You thought to yourself as you tried not to fall apart already .

You desperately tugged at his hair trying to stop the talk and resume kissing , but he stayed where he was - trapping you against the door with his body , left hand cupping your neck keeping your foreheads together while his other hand cupped your heat , teasing you over the thin lacey fabric . “I don’t want to talk about Seokmin . I want you Vernon , please “ you whimpered out and the sound had Vernon’s jeans tightening , but still he didn’t give in , wanting to see just how needy you were for him as his fingers continued their teasing. Like the expert you were , you began begging . “Please Vernon , please touch me I need ... “ cut off by a gasp as you felt him pull down your panties and move his fingers through your folds . His face burying in the crook of your neck , nibbling and sucking on the skin , you held onto his shoulders for leverage at the fear of your knees giving out .

“So pretty” he whispered into your neck , “you’re always so pretty , can we take these off ?” He asks as his hands moved to tug at your remaining clothes . You pulled off your jacket and top while Vernon kneeled down and removed your boots , kissing up your legs and gently biting on your hip as he moved back up . Suddenly feeling exposed and cold , you pulled Vernon back into another kiss , missing his body heat and needing to hold onto something. Reaching down he grabs you by your thighs and quickly moves the both of you towards the bed .

“God you’re so beautiful , how are you this beautiful ?” Vernon moved on top of you so he could look at you better , his hands idly playing with your now erect nipples , “I’ve wanted you for so long Y/N” lips latching themselves back onto your neck, bruising the skin, “let me show you how bad I want you , let take care of you” hands moving your legs to wrap around his waist pushing himself flush against your naked body, “you’ll let me take care of you right baby ?”

“God yes , Vernon please , take your clothes off” you tugged at his shirt and used your feet to try and push off his jeans . Reluctantly peeling himself away to undress and not even a second later he was back on top of you , moving his hand between your legs . He gently slides one finger inside your core to see if you were ready for him , causing you to moan softly, “you’re so wet Y/N , can you take another finger baby ?” Eagerly nodding along , biting you lip at the sensation of Vernon gradually adding more fingers , your attention is pulled by the feeling of his throbbing dick pressing against your thigh . Reaching out you grab onto his member and slowly stroke him in time with the thrusts of his fingers inside you , making his breathing hitch .

“Vernon , I want you , now , please” you beg him as your stomach tightens with each of his movements , the sound of you falling apart and the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers is enough to make him let out a string of breathy moans .

Pulling his fingers out of you , Vernon moved them to his lips and sucked them dry, holding eye contact with you and encouraging another blissful moan to fall from your lips . “You sound so pretty when you moan for me baby “ he leans down to kiss your lips tenderly while his hand fumbles around for a condom in the bedside cabinet . “Are you sure about this ?” He asks earnestly while rolling the condom on and pumping himself slowly .

“I’m sure . I want this Vernon , I want you .”

That being the confirmation he needed , he wastes no time slipping into you . You weren’t a virgin so while not painful , the stretch had you gasping for air and clinging to his shoulders.

Waiting for you to adjust to his size , Vernon plants soft kisses all over your face , whispering praises and confessions .

“Vernon , move “ you whispered back once you were ready , relaxing your muscles so he could roll his hips into you .

You thought that Vernon would be rougher with you considering how hard he was , but he took his time ; holding your body as close as possible , making sure you could feel every part of him with each thrust , all the while sucking and kissing marks over your neck and chest .

Feeling impatient and increasingly desperate for your release you use your feet pressed against his ass to try and move faster , hips rising to meet his thrusts . “Vernon faster , please baby go faster .”

Both of your orgasms getting closer , your actions became tougher and needier . A hand scratching down his back while the other tugging at his hair had Vernon rutting into you at an unbelievable pace , getting deeper with each thrust . His own hands moving to hold your hips in place surely leaving bruises with the pressure , that only adding to your pleasure .

Feeling your walls clench around him , Vernon snakes one of his hands between your bodies to run small circles agains your clit , desperately trying to come first .

“Be a good baby and come for me , you’re such a good girl , come for me Y/N” he whispers against your check , kissing down to your neck . It’s clear he’s close as well as his thrusts lose rhythm and become sloppy , so you clench hard around him and push yourself over the edge .

Moaning loudly at the intensity of your orgasm , all you can see is white , your senses in overdrive and legs shaking . You keep a death grip on Vernon’s shoulders to ground yourself and stay awake .

He comes right after you , face buried into your neck moaning your name over and over again into your skin . You both stay like that for a moment , letting your bodies calm down and breathing regulate , eyes feeling heavy . When Vernon slowly moves out of you , your body shivers in overstimulation .

You feel his lips against your forehead and open your eyes to see him throwing the condom into the trash and moving to clean you up with a tissue . After you’re all clean he slips his boxers back on and grabs a shirt from the wardrobe ; moving your arms through the holes and bringing it over your head before lying back down and bringing your body close to his .

“This is your room ?” You ask sleepily , nuzzling into his side . He giggles at your cuteness and starts running his fingers through your hair .

“Yeah , did you think I’d fuck you in some strangers bed ?”

“I didn’t think you’d fuck me at all .”

He looks down at your face and gently leans in to kiss you , “I’ve liked you for the longest time Y/N. “ His sudden confession making your cheeks burn red , you bury yourself further into him.

“ I like you too ,” you confess “I just thought you were a jackass .” This makes him laugh and he kisses you again .

“Yeah I know , I’m sorry for being a jackass.”

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Gormless Ch. 5 - Try to kill my boss? Haha you kids are alright!

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband.  In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England.  Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag.  She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon.  He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok.  Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything.  Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government.  She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

There’s some mysterious force that’s turning the Vampires and werewolves into humans. Alexia is in charge of figuring out that deal, and she is doing a bad job at it.  Her husband is in charge of the Supernatrual Police (BUR) so he’s going to Scotland about it.

There’s a hot werewolf guy into Alexia called Channing and he’s a big jerk.  Ivy is getting married to some rich slub, even though she’s in wub with Maccon’s servant Tunstell.  Alexia just met a hot lesbian named LeFoux and wants to take her to visit her smart Vampire gay bestie Akeldama.

Chapter 5 – Try to kill my boss? Haha you kids are alright!

This chapter opens up with her seeing Lord Akeldama.  Basically they start by inviting Madame LeFoux and just catching up.  Turns out Akeldama has not seen the humanization phenomenon before even though he hella old, but his scouts discovered a military ship called the Spanker had people from the Kingair clan aboard who were humanized. We got similar info before, but there’s an implication that the humanization is traveling directly with the people of the Spanker.  There’s the implication that it’s moving north, and it has to do with the dead alpha thing.  

Something also of slight interest is that Akeldama tried to ~recruit~ Channing back when Channing was human. That Channing, so they say, used to be a charming sculptor and vampires and werewolves were fighting over him. That he went into the military/werewolfism cause it was more ~romantic.~ I think that’s all there just to put Channing back on the table as a love rival.

HE’S BAD RIGHT? BUT LIKE MAYBE NOT ALL BAD?

On one hand they’re fleshing him out.  On another hand it reeks of Marty-Stuing and it is not convincing me he deserves another chance.

Well what would make him desirable to you Faps?  Put him in an oversized sweater, with glasses, and he’s petting a cat?  

Okay okay!  My kink is valid and so is the kink for a man-child meathead okay.  I just wish my kink was more main-stream gosh.

So Madam LeFoux shows up and there is a brief bit of sassing between Akledama and her before Akeldama has to show off his aethographor.  They spend a lot of fucking time on this.  I guess this is for the folks into the steampunk aspect but like…I don’t really understand this appeal.  It basically boil down to it’s a telegraph machine but it prints letters onto metal with caustic chemicals. It has to be manned at all times, and some old ones need specific ~ Crystalline valve frequensors~ to communicate to one another but Akeldama’s LATEST EDITION doesn’t need it. I am a history nerd and reading about old machines is fascinating because you get to see how the machines have impacted the culture. I also like reading about Sci-Fi technology because either it’s cool to see what people decades ago thought was going to happen, or speculative future possibilities. In theory speculative fiction about an alternate universe’s history could be cool but this machine is just not that far removed from a telegraph machine and sounds like it’s a pain in the ass. But perhaps I’m just so spoiled by the fact that I could get a snapchat of a strange person’s butthole from Australia instantaneously without having to operate a machine the size of a room 24/7.  You have not truly enjoyed a stranger from down under’s…down under until you’ve seen it with the leopard ear snapchat filter!

Anyway he gives Alexia a ~ Crystalline valve frequensor~ with his frequency just in case.  She puts it in a pocket on her umbrella and it’s like DAMN GIRL WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAD WITH THE FACT THE THING HAS POCKETS? THAT’S WAY COOLER! (Even if impractical for regular umbrellas.)

The three of them part ways, Alexia is planning on taking a dirigible to Scotland in order to face this humanization and save her dumb-fuck husband.

Here we switch point of views to look through Lyall’s eyes. He’s tailing Alexia for reasons and some vampires are sneaking around Lord Akeldama’s place while she was visiting. The vamps almost attack Alexia but Lyall stops them with some pow pow action.  The vampires say they were just going to ~test~ Alexia and Lyall is just like haha that’s fine, go home you kids!  Also Alexia did not notice any of this.

I mean I’m kinda glad we had a bit o’ action but this was dumb. Lyall just lets these two jackoffs go after they tried to maybe kill/kidnap/whatever his master’s wife.  Also he doesn’t tell Alexia she was nearly attacked? Cause drama later on I guess? Fuck this writing!  I take back the nice things I said about Lyall!  Lyall instead just argues that Alexia shouldn’t go to Scotland. Sure Maccon relies heavily on his superpowers for everything, but not letting him know his powers are going to be suddenly taken away by a mysterious force which maybe out of his blood will definitely be fine. I guess because it’s now Lyall’s policy to make sure everybody around him, whom he attempts to protect with his life, is unaware of the danger around them. Cool, cool.

At least this time when Alexia badgers somebody about something she’s going to do, she’s right that it makes no sense why she shouldn’t. However she unwittingly has to take along a merry batch of fuckers. You’ll hear about them in a bit.

We have a big old scene where Alexia’s mother shows up and is like, “YOUR ONE SISTER IS GETTING MARRIED THE OTHER SISTER IS SO WRACKED WITH JEALOUSY SHE’S MAKING EVERYONE MISERABLE! YOU TAKE HER!”

Oh and there’s this inconsistent writing here where Alexia’s mother is passive aggressively racist toward werewolves and Scots. Yet at the same time there are lines about how pleased Alexia’s mother is that she married a Scottish werewolf.  There’s the direct line, “It was a constant source of amazement to Alexia that the only thing she had ever done in her entire life that pleased her mama was marry a werewolf.”  I think what the author is trying to say is that Alexia’s mom was happy that Alexia married a rich and powerful man, and LOOKS PAST the fact that he’s a werewolf but still kinda hates werewolves.  However they don’t bring up that her mom is impressed with all her money and power. They just keep saying WEREWOLF THIS and WEREWOLF THAT!  They made it unnecessarily muddled here and it’s confusing, annoying, and could have been easily fixed.

In Alexia mother’s defense the only thing I’ve seen Alexia do that’s pleased me, is hit that douche werewolf over the head a bunch.

So of course, Alexia’s mother won’t take no for an answer when it comes to her sister. Therefore Alexia is saddled with generic shallow, petty, bitch blonde sister #2.  Felicity, the blonde in question, agreed to this, despite hating her sister cause she knew her sister would be surrounded by hunky werewolves.  SHE GOTTA GET A HUSBAND NOW TOO! IT’S ALL US LADY FOLKS CARE ABOUT!  Due to English custom you can’t just leave your sister in your castle to have wild gangbangs with werewolves all day and night. But I mean, considering the amount of misogyny the 3rd in command is packing? Not leaving her alone there is probably a good idea. (Also I will puke blood if Felicity and Channing become an item.)

Ivy shows up at this time as well cause I mean…Ivy has always been sexually drawn to inconvenient timing.  Don’t kink-shame her!  When Ivy hears that Tunstell will be going on the Dirigible, she pouts until Alexia just let’s her go along too, cause HAHA WHY NOT AT THIS POINT!?

(A gif of Hillary Clinton laughing and throwing her hands up.)

So she’s taking Angelique (to dress her), Felicity (to be obnoxious in the bitchy way), Ivy (to be obnoxious in the ditsy way), and Tunstell (cause this 90lb actor will protect them all.)

OH BOY WE GOT A SMORGSEBORG OF IMPENDING WACKINESS TO CONTEND WITH!  IS THAT EXCITEMENT I HEAR OR THE CRACKING OF MY OWN GRINDING TEETH!?

Say something nice Faps:

Dang I’m having a hard time saying nice things here that aren’t simply just, “Well at least X didn’t happen!”

She uhhh tried to steampunk?

I get a masochistic tickle when Alexia’s family is around.  I dislike Alexia so I like seeing her insulted, but the cartoonish villainy of her family is hilarious to me.  It’s just so spot-on, the archetypal “BASIC SHALLOW BLONDE BITCH-SLUT TO MAKE PROTAG LOOK BETTER THAN ALL OTHER GIRLS!”  However I have yet to see an author fail so spectacularly at differentiating the evil girls from the protag. “I can’t believe all my family cares about is how they look, their social standing, and men!” Huffs Alexia, as she ponders her own romantic dalliances to the king of the Universe, in her new blue carriage dress, which has SHOOK the London fashion world to its VERY CORE!

[littleredroseonthevalley]

The Embraced

Summary: Amy has gone home with the wrong person, finding herself on a deadly situation. Will someone be able to save her?

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Explicit depiction of murder. Mentions of sexual intercourse. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 2241

Notes: A Bloodbound fanfiction. I had this idea with me for a long while, I am a fan of Vampire: The Masquerade, and anyone who has had any contact with the series, should identify the plot as the prologue for Bloodlines.

A.K.A the best 90′s videogame.

Oh, and BTW, this is intended as a one-shot, I’m not sure I can take on any multichaptered fics right now, but if anyone feel inspired to tackle it, feel welcome to write it. I can help beta-ing or something, even.

On with the story.

Amy could swear to the God above, she have never done anything like that before.

She has always been the quiet, cautious type. Staying on her own lane, never taking much risk, rarely going on bar bends Fridays at night, not drinking, least of all doing drugs.

Not going to second locations with handsome strangers. Not having sex with said strangers the night she met them.

There was something about Tristan that was… alluring, too intriguing to ignore, that drew her to him, that made her lower her guard and forget caution for a while, and it was great.

Indulgent people often forget how the smallest of permissible behaviour feels like when you are that repressed. For now, Amy was riding the sweet wave of release and she never wanted to get down.

Finishing washing her mouth after a hot session of love-making and some cuddling, she matted her hair on the places that stuck out from Tristan’s tugging and emerged from the bathroom, wearing nothing else but his shirt.

At the doorstep to the bedroom, she struck a sexy pose, smirking in mirth. “How do you like it?” She asked, in the best impression of a femme fatale she could muster.

Tristan chuckled heartily. “Sexy.”

He was a fine specimen of masculinity, being over 1,80 metres tall and having taut muscles, clear eyes and light hair. He had said he was twenty-two, like her, and was a day trader for a Spanish investment bank.

The young man did not say where he was from, only that he lived in Manhattan, on a studio apartment where he took her for their escapade, but she could notice a tint of accent and foreign manners on his demeanour.

She, then, crossed the distance between the door and the bed, made herself comfortable on his arms and kissed him on the mouth.

“Listen, bella,” He said, nuzzling her neck. “I want to show you something.”

“Stop! It tickles!” She chuckles, unable to control herself. “What do you want to show me?”

“This.”

Then, he bites her neck, hard enough to draw blood. At first, the pain is strong enough that she cannot help but to scream loudly. Soon, however, the hurt ebbs away and is replaced by a sensation of pleasure.

A few minutes into it, and black spots start to form on the edges of her sight. She feels her consciousness slipping away, being taken with a desire to sleep, like if she had not laid her head in days.

Tristan moves his head away and something warm and metallic passes through her lips. A liquid, but not much, not enough for a full gulp.

“Dormís, bella.” She can hear him say, but could not make out what was actually being said. “Cuando vosotros despertáis, empezaréis una nueva vida.”

Amy woke up, breathless. She felt like she could not breathe, and a large intake of air is what signalled her regain of conscience.

It was a strange room, the drawers were drawn, but it did not make the place too dark. She could see perfect shapes, but it was all too colourless, and also very dusty, the flocks dancing in front of her eyes.

Her head was pounding and all her body ached. She also felt very cold, as if she had just fallen on an icy lake, rather stiff and dirty.

“Ah, bella,” A voice came from her left. “You’re awake, and you look fine, too. I am glad.”

She looked from where the voice came and could not recognize at first glance, even if the voice sounded familiar. Staring harder at the face, she could finally place it.

“Tristan!” She exclaims. “What is happening? What did you do to me?”

He looked regretful at her. “I am very sorry, bella, but it was what it had to be done. I couldn’t let you go, you see? So, I had to appeal to extreme methods.”

“What are you even saying?!” Her voice raised and she could feel the rage boiling her blood.

“You were so beautiful, your blood sang to me. I knew I had to make you mine, and yet you didn’t seem to be the least attracted to me when I came to your office.” The man remembers feverishly, as if he was somewhere else. “Hell, when I found you at the bar, you didn’t even remember we had already met.

“I had to do it, I had to compel you, I had to bring you here.” A pause, one which she could hear the sirens outside and people talking on the street. She was starting to freak out. “I had to turn you, so you would have to rely on me.”

“Turn me?” She asked confused. “Turn me into what?”

“Vampire.” Was the response.

Before either of them could say anything else, a banging was heard from the front door.

“It’s them!” He shouts, scared. “How could they know? I was so careful!”

The door was thrown off its hinges, as a few burly men came into the apartment and contained Tristan, who was struggling and shouting. They placed a gag on his mouth and a hood on his head.

Taking him away, they turned to her and repeated the process, but with remarkably ease if compared to her companion. Amy could feel they were strong, and despite fighting to the best of her capacity, it was to no use.

Soon after, with none the wiser, they were taken away into the dark and silence of the night.

Amy was still hooded and incapable of speaking due to the gag they tied tightly on her mouth. She was set on a kneeling position, around half an hour earlier, but oddly, she did not feel any pain or tiredness.

What she did feel, however, was a quenching thirst on the back of her throat, yet, when she thought about a nice, cold glass of water, her stomach made a sick turn, as if it was unnatural and disgusting.

Her mind came back again and again to Tristan’s statement, that he had turned her into a vampire, and it just did not make sense. There was no such thing as immortal, bloodsucking creatures living in the dark, it was preposterous under any circumstance.

Yet, there was this nagging feeling, something that hinted for something have happened to her that she could not quite identify but it was not anything ordinary.

Well, she considered, perhaps a thought exercise would help. If water made her disgusted, she tried thinking about the gory Japanese horror film her roommate forced her to watch some time ago.

Surely enough, the thought of flowing, spilt blood opened her appetite, and it scared her.

“Ugh. He always does that!” She could her a high-pitched, female voice bemoaning. “It’s way past midnight! He insists in making a big entrance like some stupid diva, and we have to sit on our tails, waiting!”

“I have more to lose with this and you don’t see me complaining, do you?” A male voice this time responds. “Just shut up and wait!”

The female ‘hmph’s and keeps her peace. They did not have to wait much longer, as soon after a man’s voice reverberates through the enclosed space.

“Brethren,” He says. “Excuse my lateness. Are we ready to begin?”

A few unamused ‘aye’s are heard, and then the hood is removed from Amy’s head.

They were on a cave, somewhere underground. That would explain the humidity and the echoes on the voices.

In front of her, there were five people looking emotionlessly at her, amongst them very familiar faces like the famous designer Priya Lacroix, who seemed particularly taken with a terrible case of ennui.

Tristan was kneeling next to her, looking desperate. Usually, she would feel compassion, but she was having a hard time feeling anything at all for him.

She could still hear pacing from behind her, but she feared looking back.

“My apologies for disrupting any business or interfering with prior engagements you may have had.” The voice from behind her speaks once more, and the pacing intensify. “It is unfortunate that the affair that gather us together here this evening is a troubling one.

“We are here because the laws that bind our society, that protects our way of living, have been broken. As the current president, I am within my duties to remind you all of the moratorium we, as a council, have imposed on further turnings, and the punishments assigned to those who do not comply to those orders.”

For the first time that night, Amy sees the face of the man who spoke with such authority, and it baffles her to see it was none other than Adam Vega, senator for the state of New York.

He continues with an unchanging tone of voice. “Due to the problem we have been facing with the Feral, and the ever-growing populace of clanless New York has amounted on all of our ninety-so years of existence, all turnings without the strict, express and unanimous authorization of the council has been deemed illegal, and I understand this particular case has not even been brought to attention of his own clan leader.”

“That is correct.” A tanned-skinned, chubby man on the corner of the cave said, forcefully, as if he wanted to ascertain his blamelessness in it all.

“Yes, thank you, Lester.” Adam says with a hint of annoyance and continues his tirade. “Those two were caught shortly after the termination of this youngling’s turning. It pains me to announce the sentence, as, up to this night, I have considered the accused a loyal and upstanding member of our society. However, as you all know, the punishment for this transgression is death.”

A string of ‘aye’s were heard through the cave.

“Know that I am no more a judicator than I am a servant to the laws that govern us all.” Adam says, and this elicits some very conspicuous eye-rolls from some of the spectators. “Let tonight’s proceedings serve as a reminder to all of our community we must adhere to what has been convened, lest we endanger our blood.”

Adam, then, kneels next to Tristan and says, as if trying to be indiscreetly discreet, “Forgive me.”

After that, the senator stands and, in a swift motion, beheads the other man, who promptly turns into dust.

“Which leads us to the fate of the ill-begotten progeny.” Adam says, turning to face Amy. “Without a sire, and more especially, without a clan, most of our kind are doomed to befell the monstrous hunger that condemn us all, to the point that all reason is consumed, leaving only a shadow of their former self, the personification of hunger.” Pause for dramatic effect. “A feral.”

“For that reason, upon great consideration, I have decided to spare her own suffering and especially those of her countless potential victims by executing her tonight.” The politician said, and seemed to motion for carrying out the sentence, when a voice contains him.

“Wait!” It said. “There is another way.”

Adam stares down at the man arguing. “What do you propose, Adrian? That we let her free? Without a clan, she will certainly become a feral.”

“No, of course not.” The man, Adrian, counters, seemed miffed with the mere suggestion. “However, it is to my knowledge some of us have vacancies on their clans. If she has a mark, if she is part of a clan, there is no need to execute her.”

“Perhaps, but you are with a full clan. You cannot be the one to take her in.” Adam argues. “But very well, this youngling is up for adoption. I cannot be the one to take responsibility, either, I also have a full clan, nor does the Baron.

“Lester!” The man calls. “You seem to have just gained an opening, and this girl is of your bloodline. Would you like to take her in?”

The brows of the fat man furrowed in distaste. “Of course not. You have just destroyed one of my most useful underlings. I will not replace him with some girl off the streets!”

“Very well.” Adam agreed. “Priya?”

The designer approached her, circling her and looking at her appraisingly, just like one would do to a horse. Finally, she decided, “Not cute enough.”

“We seem to have ran out of clans, Adrian.” Adam announces, with a sense of sadism. “If no one has any further objections, I now sentence this youngling to…”

Before he could deliver, he was interrupted once again, this time by a regal woman, sitting next to Adrian.

“I will take her.” She said.

“Kamilah?” He asks, confused and in awe. “You wish for this girl?”

“Yes, I have an opening. This should save me the bureaucracy of looking for a candidate and requesting permission.” She responded, unaffected.

It was terrifying, to have your life and death decided by people you do not know in front of you and not being able to weigh in.

Her whole life seemed to flash before her eyes, while the senator considered Kamilah’s position.

“Very well.” He concludes. “I will allow for you to brand her. All in favour?”

Priya, Adrian and Kamilah said ‘aye’, against ‘nay’s from Lester and an odd, grouch man she concludes to be the Baron.

“Four versus two, the motion passes.” Adam proclaims, helping Amy up and untying her. “Welcome to your new existence, youngling. You got very lucky.”

[preserving-ferretbrain]

The Lexicon Issue: A Retrospective

by Dan H

Tuesday, 15 March 2011Dan is up to date as ever~So a little while ago a concerned citizen popped up to say that they (I'd say she from the LJ handle but one doesn't like to presume) felt they should tell me that they had “laughed so hard at my cluelessness” in this article. She/he also kindly provided me with some links to discussions of the case, which I duly read and from which I was forced to conclude that, in the language of this commenter “cluelessness” means “being broadly correct about everything.”

What I objected to at the time was the fact that Rowling's objections were stupid and irrelevant, and people who have a better understanding of the law seemed to agree. There's a rather good list

here

of the various points people brought up at the trial, conveniently broken down into “stuff that is legally relavent” and “stuff that isn't”. You might notice that high up on the list of things that aren't relevant is “how lazy, sloppy or inaccurate JKR considers the Lexicon to be”.

Now this is mostly water under the bridge, the verdict is in – although it's possible there's appeals going on. A lot of people had good reasons to think that the court's rulings were a bit shonky in places (several people with actual law degrees were confused by the fact that the court ruled that the Lexicon wasn't a derivative work) but to be honest I think it all came out right in the wash – some decent analysis

here

sums up the key points pretty well and what it boils down to is “the Lexicon copied too much.”

Ironically, the Lexicon was – as the judge observed – a victim of its own enthusiasm. The basic concept was legitimate but it used too much original language (a good example from one blog is describing the sounds made by the “clankers” - the things that scare away the blind dragon in Deathly Hallows – as “like tiny hammers on anvils”). If Vander Ark had been more willing to mess with the Holy Writ, he'd probably have been absolutely fine.

But mostly, what I want to talk about here is copyright law, because I think it's kinda cool, and I'm kind of on a roll here with articles about stuff I know jack shit about.

Derivative Works

One of the most peculiar things about the Lexicon ruling was that it held that the lexicon was not a derivative work. The basis for this is rather obscure, but it seemed to be that a compilation of information about a work was considered sufficiently transformative that it was not considered a derivative work. This seems reasonable to me, but also seems to conflict with US legal precedent (specifically with

Castle Rock vs Carol Publishing

in which a Seinfeld trivia book was ruled to constitute a derivative work, and therefore to be in violation of copyright).

I suspect that this basically comes down to that old aphorism about laws and sausages. The definition of a derivative work is unclear (and the definition of fair use even more so). The strongest interpretation seems to be that even making reference to copyrighted material makes a work derivative – this seems peculiar to me, unless you're going to argue that “derivative” means “contingent upon the existence of”. This seems to be the logic that held sway in Castle Rock - the court ruled that the “fictional facts” of Seinfeld were protected by copyright. This is a peculiar idea in and of itself and one to which I will return shortly.

Of course the weakest definition of a derivative work – a direct adaptation to another medium – is also unsatisfying. Intuitively, it seems reasonable that fanfiction, for example, be considered derivative (in the legal as well as the literary sense), and certainly few people would dispute the fact that only JK Rowling has the right to produce an eighth Harry Potter book.

Where this becomes problematic is that “derivative work” is actually an extremely powerful term in copyright law. Authors are assumed to have an absolute monopoly on derivative works. This is a big deal – monopolies are generally a bad thing and it's relatively rare for them to be protected by law. Given the stakes, it's entirely predictable that while one court feels that Castle Rock Entertainment has the right to control the production of Seinfeld trivia books, another feels that JK Rowling does not have the general right to control books of information about her fictional world. It's a murky area of law and one with no clear right answers. Most people would – I think – accept that JK Rowling has the right to decide who can make movies out of her books (although Derek Bambauer argues

here

that she shouldn't – at least from an economic perspective) but I suspect most people would also accept that she has no right to decide what people write about her books.

Fictional Facts

One of the strangest aspects of US copyright law I dug up in my recent trawling through the intarwebs was the notion of “fictional facts” - this was a key element in the Castle Rock case, in which it was ruled that authors (or in this case entertainment companies) do retain copyright over matters of fact in their fictional worlds.

I have a policy when it comes to matters of law, which is to assume that if it looks like the law is made of stupid that it's probably covering up something else which is even more made of stupid.

Because on the face of it, the idea of “fictional facts” seems – well it seems pretty made of stupid.

We'll leave aside for now the fact that it's an oxymoron of the highest order, and focus on the weird implications. If I'm understanding the precedent correctly, the statement “Harry Potter is a Wizard” (or for that matter “Dumbledore is Gay”) is protected by copyright, due to its being a “fictional fact” created by JK Rowling. Now most uses of that statement will wind up being protected under fair use but it still seems to be based on the principle that authors (at least in theory) have the right to control information about the contents of their books, which seems perverse.

I don't want to go too far into slippery slope arguments here, but it does strike me that treating “facts” as copyrightable puts spoilers in a difficult legal position. I don't actually think that anybody will ever get sued for spoilering, or that any court in the land would uphold an anti-spoilering case on copyright grounds, but by a strict application of logic, spoilering looks a lot like it breaches copyright. A spoiler consists of the repetition of a fictional fact (which is copyrightable material), the act of spoilering cannot be said to have transformative value (indeed many argue that spoilers detract from the value of the original work), and a case can be made that spoilers directly compete with the author's original product (insofar as a person could, quite reasonably, decide not to read a book or see a film as a result of having been spoilered for it). A sign bearing the legend “Snape Kills Dumbledore” is, in essence, a derivative work which – since it consists only of copyrighted material repeated without commentary – may not be protected by fair use.

Again I should clarify that I don't necessarily think this is a problem. In America at least, a Snape-Kills-Dumbledore sign would be protected by freedom of expression, and the constitution trumps copyright last time I checked, but it does highlight some of the weirder implications of this idea of “fictional facts”. I also suspect that the distinction between a “fictional fact” and a – for want of a better term - “factual fact” is a narrow one. Part of the reason that the Castle Rock ruling went against the defendants seemed to be that their Trivia book had focused exclusively on episode content and not on questions about (for example) the cast or sets – such questions would clearly have been matters of factual fact and not protected by copyright. So perhaps what it boils down to is that while “Dumbledore is Gay” is a fictional fact protected by copyright, “JK Rowling declared in interview that Dumbledore was gay” is a factual fact and therefore fair game. This seems like a silly distinction, but it probably matters rather a lot.

For a start, people will in fact pay for fictional facts. One of the biggest points against the Lexicon back in 2008 was the fact that it had reproduced a lot of information from Quidditch Through the Ages and – that one about magical beasts the name of which I can't be bothered to look up – both of which were sold primarily as books of fictional information. The fact is that people do like to know More Stuff about fictional realities, and they will pony up real cash to find out More Stuff. The Harry Potter Lexicon does tell the reader a lot of Stuff about the Wizarding World, and much as I hate to admit it, some people really do read novels purely or primarily to acquire facts about a secondary reality (I think these people are culturally moribund, but they seem to exist) so from a certain point of view it does make sense to see the “fictional facts” of the Potterverse as having value and requiring protection.

On top of this, if “fictional facts” are not protected, then it becomes very difficult to see how the law protects authors from things like unauthorised sequels. If “Harry Potter is a Wizard” is not on some level protected by copyright, then it becomes difficult to see why I cannot write a book about a Wizard called Harry Potter with as much impunity as I could write a book about, say Napoleon Bonaparte or Abraham Lincoln. If we accept the (seemingly common sense) idea that the basic facts of fictional settings should be fair game for use and commentary we tacitly allow people to recreate other people's work from whole cloth. If I have unlimited license to refer to the facts of somebody else's creation, then in practice I have unlimited license to reproduce their work (since after all, any text is just information about the content of that text).

All of this leads to a rather difficult situation. Copyrighting facts seems dangerously close to copyrighting ideas (which would be a terrible, terrible precedent), but not copyrighting facts seems dangerously close to not copyrighting anything.

Who is Copyright For Anyway

Copyright is one of those areas of law that everybody thinks they understand but in fact nobody does. Intuitively we all get it. You create something, it's yours and you get to control it. A lot of people take this as a kind of moral axiom: these are the people who literally believe that JKR has the right to call the shots in all things Potter related, be it the production of reference guides, Dumbledore's sexuality, or whether or not Snape was redeemed. This is the “it's her world, we're just playing in it” doctrine.

The thing is that this is a naïve approach to the law. We can't just say “playing with other people's toys is naughty, so ban it”. Copyright exists for quite important economic reasons and, contrary to popular belief, those reasons have comparatively little to do with stopping people from bootlegging stuff.

Copyright is generally considered necessary because in a perfectly competitive marketplace, the price of any good tends towards its marginal cost of production, the price of creating one more unit. As long as you can sell a unit of a good for more than you spent to make it, you should and somebody will. This works great for bananas, coffee tables, bricks and door handles, but it doesn't work so great for books, music and video games. The marginal cost of producing a copy of a book is very small indeed (and the marginal cost of producing a copy of an ebook is effectively zero). If authors were not allowed a monopoly over their work, they wouldn't be able to sell it, because any price they could sell it for, somebody else could sell it cheaper.

Just to be clear here, this very much isn't about piracy. Piracy is a crime (well actually it's probably a tort, but let's not split hairs here) and crimes, sort of by definition aren't prevented by the law. Copyright doesn't stop people illegally reproducing copyrighted material because, well duh. FACT and its associated bodies would have you believe that Copyright Is Good because it Protects Authors from Bad People. This is stuff and nonsense. Copyright is good because it protects publishers from other, better funded publishers.

Consider: you are Bloomsbury, on the verge of bankruptcy you discover a promising children's author by the name of Rowling. These books get inexplicably popular. You celebrate.

Consider: You are every other publishing company in the world. You notice that Ms Rowling's books are getting extremely popular, you also notice that Bloomsbury, having paid the author an advance, paid the salaries of editors and proofreaders, hired cover artists and so on, has incurred a great many costs which you can avoid, simply by taking their product and reproducing it (using the resources which, as a large and established publishing company, you most certainly possess). The resulting competition drives down prices, which is fine for you but not so great for the company that has paid the substantial setup costs. Every other publisher in the world makes a tidy profit, Bloomsbury goes bust.

Worse, nobody wants to pick up the option on the next book in the series, because everybody knows that their competitors can sell flawless copies of the book more cheaply than they themselves can afford to sell them. Even if JK Rowling wanted to sell her next book, nobody would buy it, because everybody would know that whoever published first would incur large costs for little reward (this is true even given the substantial first-day sales for popular books, many ordinary customers would rather wait a couple of weeks and pay half the price).

Conventional publishing and distribution models are founded on the notion of copyright. The problem is not, as many assume, that people wouldn't write books if they weren't sure they'd make a lot of money from it. Thousands, probably millions of people are working on novels right now with no guarantee of financial reward. Thousands of people put their work online for free as a matter of course, and an awful lot of people actually pay vanity publishers for the pleasure of seeing their work in print. Copyright isn't there to reassure authors that they'll be paid, it's there to reassure publishers that they'll recoup their losses.

Now of course you can argue that the conventional distribution model for novels and the like is inherently broken because, well take your pick, information should be free, corporations shouldn't tell us what to like, whatever. Speaking personally, though, I actually have a lot of faith in the conventional models of publishing, at least for the mass market. Indie and self-publishing is great for niche materials (the indie-RPG industry, for example, works well because it services a small community and everything it puts out is effectively peer reviewed by the community it serves) but not so great for novels and the like. Anecdotal evidence

here at Ferretbrain

supports the observation that self-published books really are less good than those that are published conventionally.

The public interest is generally served by allowing authors, and by extension publishers, to control distribution of their work. This means that the commercial interests of publishing companies are served by seeking out high quality authors (allowing them exclusive control of a valuable resource) rather than by seeking out more efficient means of distribution (allowing them to better exploit the resources developed by others). It is not so easy to see how the public interest is served by allowing authors to control derivative works, particularly if the term is defined so broadly as to include things like reference guides. Put simply, I do not believe that one single person has ever been dissuaded from writing a novel by the fear that somebody might write a reference guide to it at some point in the future. Nor do I believe that any publisher has ever refused to publish a book on such grounds.

From this perspective, derivative works rights are a lot harder to justify. While it feels intuitively right that you shouldn't be able to make Harry Potter tie-in material without JKR's say-so, it's not immediately clear why: sure it might make her upset, but “it will upset people” is generally not a good reason for legislation. A hard economic argument would say that if there is a market for something, and the production of that thing will not be generally detrimental to the public good, then people should be allowed to make that thing. Ultimately, shouldn't it be up to the Invisible Hand to decide whether – say – a fan-made guide to a fictional setting is worth producing? This might lead to a market inundated with trashy cash-ins, but if there's a market for trashy cash-ins then those cash-ins have real economic value. Of course they might harm the value of the individual property but to my (admittedly limited) understanding, that becomes a trademark rather than a copyright issue (I can't go around putting the coca-cola logo on things, but that isn't because it's copyright, it's because it's a trademark which is a subtly different thing).

This article doesn't really have a conclusion beyond “good lord copyright law is complicated and unintuitive”. I shall end, therefore, by sharing the irrelevant tidbit that “uncopyrightables” is the longest word in the English language which uses all of its letters exactly once.Themes:

J.K. Rowling

,

Topical

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Arthur B

at 15:40 on 2011-03-15

One of the strangest aspects of US copyright law I dug up in my recent trawling through the intarwebs was the notion of “fictional facts” - this was a key element in the Castle Rock case, in which it was ruled that authors (or in this case entertainment companies) do retain copyright over matters of fact in their fictional worlds.

This is indeed an oddity, and to be honest I think it's something that could happily have been avoided. UK law has evaded this by and large by looking at the work done by the producer of a copyright work, and considering how much the person producing the allegedly infringing work is freeloading off that.* In the case of someone writing a book, the effort involved entails

does

entail cooking up a bunch of fictional facts if you're writing fiction or researching a bunch of actual facts if you're writing nonfiction, but the key isn't whether you've replicated the same facts so much as whether you're using someone else's brainstorming or research to make your own job easier.

Two cases which help illustrate the point are Ravenscroft v Herbert and the Da Vinci Code case. In Ravenscroft v Herbert, James Herbert lost because

The Spear

was found to have infringed the copyright on a pseudoscientific book of kook history by Trevor Ravenscroft about the Spear of Longinus, because he took the narrative presented by Ravenscroft in the book and used it as the basis for the background and prologue of his novel. How Ravenscroft came up with his facts (a mixture of conjecture and psychic mediumship, as it turned out) wasn't relevant: the fact was that Ravenscroft had put in all this effort to put together this narrative which he put forward as being nonfictional, and then Herbert had simply taken that narrative and copied it wholesale without attribution or permission to get the basis for his novel.

In the Da Vinci Code case, on the other hand, the guys who wrote

The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail

sued Dan Brown on a similar basis and lost because they didn't show that Brown was freeloading off their work - the court deciced that he wasn't simply taking their narrative and replicating it in the book, but was using those facts and combined them with others (from other sources and of his own invention) to come up with his own work.

The point is that the "fictional facts" - or nonfictional facts - aren't the issue, the issue at stake is the effort that authors put into obtaining/inventing those facts and stringing them together. The Castle Rock guys would have probably lost in the UK too because all they did to make their trivia book was to pick answers out of the scripts and they didn't really put in much in the way of original effort of their own. Rowling can't sue you for making a sign saying "Snape Kills Dumbledore" because the amount of effort it actually took her to come up with that fact is trivial. A sign with extensive quotes from the actual death scene? Now you're talking.**

* This is also relevant to derivative works. If Vander Ark was writing all the text in all the entries in the Lexicon from scratch then it would have been extremely unlikely that Rowling would have been able to make anything stick if she'd sued in the UK. If he directly copy-pasted great swathes of her text, he'd be obviously trying to make a quick buck when she in fact had put in almost all of the work in producing the text in the first place. Obviously there's a big grey area between those extremes, which is why these cases are decided by judges and not machines, but one of the considerations would be how heavily Vander Ark relied on the effort Rowling originally put in. If he wasn't very, very clear about where he was quoting from the original text and where he was making up his own stuff that'd probably also count against him.

** It's actually interesting whether you'd fall down on copyright if you wrote a book about a wizard who happened to be called Harry Potter but who didn't actually have that much in common with the actual Harry aside from the name. Also academic, since Rowling would have a much easier time suing you for "passing off" - because you wouldn't be freeriding on the effort she'd put into establishing her characters and setting so much as you'd be trying to freeride on the reputation she had established surrounding the Harry Potter name.

the constitution trumps copyright last time I checked

Actually, it doesn't.

The Constitution in article 1, section 8 empowers Congress to, amongst a whole lot of other things, "promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries". Granted, the First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech and of the press too, but both copyright and free speech are conceptually enshrined in the Constitution; neither can necessarily trump the other. (Also the "limited Times" bit is getting increasingly laughable...)

Copyright is one of those areas of law that everybody thinks they understand but in fact nobody does.

In my professional experience the better someone understands the copyright system, the more embarrassed they are by it. At the moment it is a complete shambles.

Also, bravo for coming up with the best explanation of copyright I've ever seen from a non-IP professional. I'll have to kill you to protect the Guild's aura of mystery but I'll keep it painless. :)

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http://sunnyskywalker.livejournal.com/

at 23:41 on 2011-03-15

While it feels intuitively right that you shouldn't be able to make Harry Potter tie-in material without JKR's say-so, it's not immediately clear why

Maybe this is a case where it's more similar to a trademark: too many fictional works set in the Potterverse by people other than Rowling could constitute "brand dilution" or however they explain that. Although I'm trying to remember how it works for fictional characters/locations - you can have a cartoon mouse, but you can't make your own Mickey Mouse movie even if you give him entirely different adventures from his Disney* original, because the totality of the character is copyrighted. Or possibly trademarked. I'm not sure which. *really should remember this since I know I learned it*

*Speaking of the limited times bit "getting increasingly laughable..." Disney really, really doesn't want any of their copyrights to expire. And what a coincidence - copyright duration keeps getting extended, and Mickey is still private domain! This makes it even funnier that someone has made an educational film about copyright and fair use entirely composed of Disney clips:

A Fair(y) Use Tale

.

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Dan H

at 18:21 on 2011-03-16@Arthur

Actually, it doesn't.

And the ironic thing is, I'm pretty sure I actually knew that. I think it's just that "the constitution trumps copyright" sounded punchier than "the American judicial system is generally pretty strongly invested in the idea of free speech, such that it seems unlikely that they would uphold the precedent that spoilering constitutes a breach of copyright, even though it might be argued to under current legal precedents."

@sunnyskywalker

*Speaking of the limited times bit "getting increasingly laughable..." Disney really, really doesn't want any of their copyrights to expire.

Yeah, so I've observed. It's difficult because I can sort of see that even really old copyrights do definitely have a *value* for Disney - the question is whether it's in the public interest for Disney to retain those copyrights.

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Arthur B

at 18:38 on 2011-03-16

And the ironic thing is, I'm pretty sure I actually knew that. I think it's just that "the constitution trumps copyright" sounded punchier than "the American judicial system is generally pretty strongly invested in the idea of free speech, such that it seems unlikely that they would uphold the precedent that spoilering constitutes a breach of copyright, even though it might be argued to under current legal precedents."

To be fair it is kind of an oddity because the First Amendment says that Congress absolutely isn't allowed to curtail freedom of the press, but then the powers it does invest Congress with to give authors copyright protection can't exactly be exercised or enforced without curtailing freedom of the press. It's almost like the Founding Fathers were fallible human beings who were kind of making it up as they were going along or something.

There is probably precedent law I'm not aware of which settles the contradiction.

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Dan H

at 23:09 on 2011-03-16Presumably a big part of it is that "freedom of the press" is quite hard to define. I mean you could argue that requiring journalists to have any kind of ethical standards at all goes against freedom of the press.

I suppose the thing about it is that "freedom of the press" is all about the government not being able to stop particular stories or ideas from being published, there's a big difference between that, and trying to stop them from being published by *specific people*. I mean it's not censorship for the law to prevent newspapers from publishing articles which have been copied directly from other newspapers.

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http://sunnyskywalker.livejournal.com/

at 17:54 on 2011-03-17I guess that goes back to the debate over whether stopping people from shouting "fire!" in a crowded theater is not really restricting freedom of speech in some technical sense, or whether it is but it's an okay kind of restriction. If one newspaper copies another's articles verbatim, then stopping them doesn't actually kill the articles - they're still out there in the original publication. And sense it wasn't the copier's speech in the first place, their speech isn't being restricted. Or something.

One of the complicating factors with Disney is the person vs. corporation issue. It's much easier to see how an author benefits from a copyright which lasts for a certain percentage of his or her lifetime (or, if it's "life plus x years," the family can pay funeral costs, I suppose). Since individuals have limited lifespans, it's easier to grasp what might be a reasonable limit for copyright. It's a lot less clear when the copyright holder is a corporation which could exist indefinitely, other than "well, it would be better for the public for it to expire... sometime..." Although if they're legally supposed to be treated much like people, then they'll just have to suck up losing their copyright after 120 years max.

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Robinson L

at 15:15 on 2011-06-01

Speaking personally, though, I actually have a lot of faith in the conventional models of publishing, at least for the mass market.

Fair enough Dan, but I don't think much of your reasoning, as evidenced by this article.

Anecdotal evidence here at Ferretbrain supports the observation that self-published books really are less good than those that are published conventionally.

For the purposes of argument, I'll agree self-publishing tends to foster terrible writing a lot more than professional publishing. On the other hand, we've had plenty of evidence here at Ferretbrain that professional publishing also tends to foster terrible writing (check the first theme handle on this article). Professional publishing is less prone to it, but surely we can do better than this.

I'll go one step further. In response to one negative review of “Deathly Hallows” (I think it might've been Mike Smith's recap) somebody posted a link to a guy relating a conversation about editing. Basically, Party A argued that Stephen King's writing has gone to shit in recent years (anecdotal evidence

here at Ferretbrain

supports this observation) and that a good editor could make it much better. Party B rejoins that a good editor isn't going to touch a big name author because they'll rake in the cash anyway, and an editor's meddling might make the author sell less (or might coincide with the author's loss of popularity), or might piss the author off and convince them to take their business elsewhere. So now we have an example of a situation where the professional publishing system as it stands now actively blocks improvement rather than just enabling mediocrity.

Self-publishing obviously is not an improvement, but surely there's another possible system which could do better?

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Dan H

at 15:59 on 2011-06-01

On the other hand, we've had plenty of evidence here at Ferretbrain that professional publishing also tends to foster terrible writing (check the first theme handle on this article). Professional publishing is less prone to it, but surely we can do better than this.

Except that there's actually a world of difference between bad professionally published literature, and bad self-published fiction. Very little professionally published fiction is *actually incompetent* in the way that self-published fiction so often is. J.K. Rowling actually *isn't* that bad a writer - she's written a great many books that I personally dislike, and her writing is often pedestrian, frequenly overwrought and on very rare occasions actively clunky, but it is still genuinely head and shoulders above the vast, vast majority of amateur fiction.

The fact that somebody once said that Steven King had gone downhill and that somebody else suggested that this was because he'd got too big to edit is not evidence of any flaws in the publishing industry.

Once again, I'm very, very leery of any argument which assumes that popular things are only popular because the people who buy them are stupid sheeple. The publishing industry is not broken just because things I don't like are sometimes more popular than things I do like.

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Arthur B

at 16:10 on 2011-06-01@Robinson: If you think another system would work better would you care to propose one? I'd argue that the number of authors who, like King and Rowling, could pretty much dictate terms to their publishers are in fact quite small. And the reason they got that way in the first place was that they gave the reading public what they wanted.

The problem isn't instituting a system which prevents crap books from being published, because you can't, not in a way which isn't totalitarian. The problem, as a reader, is in tracking down books which you personal would enjoy and want to read. The world of professional publication is actually quite good at helping you do that, because publishing houses want to target the books they publish at those sections of the public who'll pay money for them, and even if your particular niche isn't catered to by the major publishing houses there will be niche small press publishers who are more than happy to crank out the sort of book you want. And on top of that, the more widely distributed a book is, the more likely it is that you'll have reviews to use as a guide.

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Robinson L

at 00:00 on 2011-06-02Okay Dan,

that

strikes me as a more compelling argument. I'm not really interested in arguing the the merits of the current publishing industry versus a hypothetical alternative model – I just found your argument as presented in the article rather unconvincing. Thank you for clarifying.

[lunathehungry]

Luta, I really hope you don’t mind if I add to this, but I can’t believe people are blindly trusting this video and going after you over it!

I DID watch it when it came out and left a comment disagreeing with him. I regret giving him the view, but I didn't want people thinking that his perspective is correct just because his video comments are an echo chamber. Plenty of us disagree. His arguments about Love in the Air and other Mame stories boiled down to:

1. The homophobic cishet community will use it as an excuse to harm/think badly/have the wrong perception of the LGBTQ+ community. He uses several historical clips of the mistreatment the community has received as evidence. 

Ah, this old stand-by scare tactic. Let’s all conform to HIS idea of the ideal queer representation out of fear of the cishets! Forget about all the queer people who DO enjoy, find comfort in, and even produce stories like these.

This implies that their homophobia is something the Queer community can control - putting the burden on us and not on these people’s own misconduct. If only we showed them good, ideal, morally perfect FICTIONAL characters then they’ll magically know better? Homophobes don't need an excuse, they can use practically anything, even the most innocent of actions, to justify their hatred. But that doesn't mean we should censor queer characters out of fear of what the cishet community will think or do, especially when their heterosexual counterparts get to exist freely on screen.

I’m fighting for EQUALITY for queer characters in fictional media. Why these LGBTQ+ members are pro-censorship, I will never understand.

2. Mame is a woman who writes about male/male relationships and has romanticized dubcon, SA, and trauma in her books, thus it MUST be true that she fetishizes gay men and her writing MUST represent how she thinks actual gay men live.

There is no evidence that Mame fetishizes gay men or abuse. If these ‘critics’ took a second to look beyond their preconceived biases, the pattern in her work is incredibly obvious. She explores dubcon, noncon, and trauma in a way that someone with no experience probably wouldn't, because it's not about reality or crafting a story with an accurate representation of recovery. It's about the desire to escape into an impossible fantasy, a yearning of those who feel trapped by their past experiences. 

Love that can heal trauma from your past.

A partner who never gives up on you, even when you push them away.

Characters who go through extreme trauma, survive, and move on.

'Toxic' relationships that can still have a happy ending.

Physical and emotional 'protector' characters like Ae, and Payu (and probably soon, Prapai).

This argument also completely ignores that many women, including a large amount of queer women, are drawn specifically to the BL genre BECAUSE there's no female character to represent them. It's easy to see how a female author, who may have experience with trauma, would find BL appealing. 

3. Fiction must represent reality and by showing romanticized dubcon and portraying SA, her work is somehow 'promoting' people to do it in real life. 

I don't know why people are expecting fiction to represent reality, especially when there's a disclaimer at the beginning of each episode stating the opposite, but it seems to be amplified in any show where there's a queer character- so obviously the entirety of BL. 

There is literally NO EVIDENCE that Mame's work is having a detrimental effect on the LGBTQ+ community or promoting SA. Her stories are not to everyone's taste, some are too heavy or triggering for me to handle, but I will always defend their right to exist. They clearly resonate with her audience, since this is her 4th series. 

I have become increasingly disgusted by this hate campaign against a real life person over her fictional work. Mame has done nothing wrong by writing these stories or adapting them into dramas. It’s fine to critique her work, but if you find yourself getting caught up in persecuting a REAL PERSON over their romantic fantasy stories, then you need to take a step back and realize you have crossed a boundary you shouldn’t be crossing.

I have really upset some devoted YouTube influencer fans haven't I? 👀👀👀 I am a small time Tumblr blog. What has got your panties in a twist?!

But okay I'll bite. Why would anyone ask my advice when I'm not an expert? Nope, I'm not an expert and you will never see me claiming to be.

You don't think that I should be one-sided and that my experience makes me bias. 👀 That's what opinions are. 👀 You know... The exact same thing that your influencer had. But Luta you didn't watch the video so you don't get an opinion. My dudes.. That is not how opinions work. Their like assholes and everyone has one. Like your influencer.

I don't need to watch a video of someone putting MAME down to disagree. Nor do I need to watch a video to have my opinion on cancel culture. These opinions I've had long before this discussion or that video. Many of my followers can tell you that.

And why did someone ask Luta when she is clearly not an expert like said influencer and are bias 🙄. Yes, yes, oddly enough being an SA survivor does give me a rather unique opinion on therapeutic work. Luta you can't prove it's therapeutic! Prove to me it isn't. I'll wait.

I'm not mentally stable enough, mature enough, or neutral enough to advise other people.

Who ever claimed to be mentally stable? My dudes, I'm an SA survivor with PTSD! I'm so far from mentally stable but anyone asking me questions or opinions knows this!

When I said mature content land, I meant I cussed and talk about sex. Though I honestly call bs on this. Just because I don't go "Agree to Disagree" doesn't make me immature. The fact that I let my kids eat cheese cake for breakfast this morning however, does. 😉

Nope! I'm not neutral! But people will still ask my opinion and not because they are dumb and don't fact check. It's because while I'm not an expert, I back my arguments up with reason. People also know that I say what I think and am not trying to appease anyone or make money. ✌️

Well that was fun. Now I'm gonna pull a Taylor Swift and shake, shake, shake it off. Tell me you didn't sing it. I know you did.