#reeks of prejudice

[cn-alastair-lite]

one day the world will be ready to talk about how slavic artists are oftentimes portrayed and talked about as predatory beasts with no morals, ready to draw anything

[s0fter-sin]

alpha!ghost who's always hated the sound of an omega's purr; he’s always found it patronising, manipulative, an attempt to twist his biology - twist him - into submission like he's some animal

until he hears soap purr for the first time and it's about as choppy and comforting as a machine gun. there's nothing smooth about it, nothing seductive or wily; it's broken and guttural and the most honest noise ghost's ever heard outside his own growls

he doesn't use it to coo him into complacency, doesn't try to bend him to his will or smooth over his bristles. he's never tried to distract ghost from his anger, never used his intrinsic control over him to gentle him. hell, he seems to forget he can even do it, ghost hears it so rarely. it's only a touch above his growls, subharmonic and demanding attention instead of the pretty titter of a pampered omega

ghost hears it for the first time when he’s covered in blood not his, after he slits an enemy pinning him down from navel to chin; dark blood instantly soaking him. the body’s practically cool with blood loss already when he tosses it aside and rolls to his feet to find soap stock still, staring at him with a feral gleam in his eyes

he drops his jaw with a deep inhale, rolling the scent of blood and pissed alpha pheromones in his mouth and his chest rumbles with all the subtlety of a chainsaw

it's suddenly all ghost can do to keep himself from dragging the body and dropping it at soap's feet like a courting gift of old; to carve out his heart and rich organs and present them for his approval, to hold them to his mouth and never break eye contact as he takes his first bloody bite

ghost shakes it off, strangling the chuff trying to claw out his throat, and heads for the rv point and feels absolutely nothing when soap falls into step behind him without a word; his purr that more closely mimics an alpha's rumble an echoing memory

soap's far from a meek, compliant omega and he's no conniving prince wrapping alphas around his finger either; he's just as much a protector, an aggressor, as any alpha. he's never been ashamed of his instincts; never shied away from nuzzling into price's throat, purring for his pack alpha with no regard to the uncomfortable crowd surrounding them. never hesitates to wrap gaz up and drop him in his nest when the beta reeks of stress and sickly insomnia

and he never stops himself from baring his fangs with a guttural hiss whenever another omega dares to purr at ghost

it's a threat and a warning in one; something only the most foolish omega would ignore. he knows ghost has a complex relationship with omegas, knows it isn't something so pathetic as biological prejudice. something about omegas makes his lt's scent go flat and steely, as close to distress as he thinks he can manage and it makes something dark and old rise in his chest

territorial rage broils off him, strong enough to make the omega whine and back off with their tail between their legs without even taking a step towards them. the scent is sour and pungent enough to drown out ghost's subtle distressed smell, to hide it, and it makes him snort; shaking his head to try and clear it

soap all but trots up beside him, chirping in greeting. he sneezes playfully, lets him know the rage scent wasn't for him; never for him. he replaces it with happy-friend-pack, replaces it with nitroglycerin and burning sparklers and butts his forehead against his sternum instead of crowding into his throat and purring the way he wants to

he earned his way into ghost's pack, into becoming an omega not just accepted but welcomed and he won't jeopardise his hard won progress by pushing his purr on him

he lifts his head and grins as ghost cups his nape in a faux-scruff, something offensive and borderline taboo and if he were anyone else, he'd rip his hand off with his teeth. but it's ghost and ghost does strange things, things that reassure him on a deeper level than any purr or chirp could ever hope to, so soap presses into his gentling hand and bares his teeth in the thinnest facsimile of a smile at the retreating omega

all ghost has to do is aim him in the right direction and he'd bring the omega back to him in pieces; would gift him their torn out throat so they could never purr at him again

his chest rumbles subconsciously and soap gnashes his teeth, forcing his purr back down when ghost squeezes his nape

he thumps his temple into his and a puff of air tickles his ear, the closest thing soap's ever heard to a chuff from him and he couldn't stop his purr if he tried; choppy and broken as it is

you inhale enough explosive fumes and it's bound to damage something

ghost huffs again and soap presses up to nibble appeasingly at his clothed jaw, a question and an apology in each bite

ghost just takes the tip of his ear between his teeth, shaking it with a teasing growl and soap laughs as he tackles him just for ghost to bow over his back and wrap his arms around his waist; effortlessly picking him up and tossing him away

soap stays low and growls right back, a wild smile splitting his face. ghost meets him with a sneeze and his grin grows impossibly wider

if he can't hunt for his alpha, can't purr for him with blood on his teeth, he'll happily wrestle with him instead

[laismoura-art]

Ok so...

Twice now i’ve seen people approach @elsa-fogen about a take that is “Alastor is in hell because of Voodoo” (the latest one basically saying he is in hell solemnly because of Voodoo”) and I can’t help but feel there’s reeks of religious intolerance from his take (even if it’s not intentional) cause let’s not forget, Voodoo is a religion (main one in places such as Haiti and Gana), and it’s often stigmatised and viewed through the wrong light. So you all can understand how a take like this could rub someone the wrong way and be deemed as religious intolerance.

But as I know this fandom is PAINFULLY stubborn and probably will want to keep exploring this take even if it makes some people uncomfortable (take the people who refuse to acknowledge Alastor as aro and the people who refuse to stop calling Alastor a wendigo for instance) I would like to offer an alternative take: 

See, I’m not from Voodoo and it’s not that big of a religion here in Brazil, however, we do have two other religions here that are similar/derivatives from Voodoo (Candomblé and Umbanda) and face similar prejudices, so I’m making this based mostly on these two but know that it also applies to Voodoo. 

In Umbanda, we have a higher god, the Orixás (entities that provide guidance and protection) and we have spirits, these spirits divide in different groups and offer advices and guidance to all types of people, there are spirits that look after women, children, grieving parents and even the lost (such as drug addicts).

But as we have good spirits, we also have bad ones. they are popularly known as “espiritos de porco” (pig spirits) who are usually mischievous and even ill intended spirits that might loom over you if they feel a bad energy coming from you or if you are spiritually unprotected and they will start to cause you misfortune and even make you feel weak and sick.

Some ill-intended people use these bad spirits against people they want to harm, the bad spirits may guide them in performing a ritual or maybe the spirit will loom on this targeted person. 

It’s (partly) due to people like this that these religions have such bad reputation, but these people basically perform their religion in a corrupted way! Umbanda is a religion that connects you with nature and guides you spiritually, it’s deeply connected with healing practises (mentally, physically and spiritually), but as I said, like EVERY other religion, it can be corrupted and used to harm.

I think the best use of “corrupt vs proper use of religion” I’ve seen comes from Disney's The Princess and the Frog. People usually remember Dr Facilier better, who used Voodoo against his enemies and to harvest power (much like a certain deer man we all know and love) but we also had Mama Odie (which is a real figure in voodoo, mind you. Also present in Umbanda, a Mama Odie is sort of a priestess of the religion) notice how she is a much more accurate representation of the religion, she lives in contact with nature, she performs her rituals and prayers in the wide while dancing with a very positive energy around, and she wears white (which is the most recommended colour to wear during rituals, as it’s a neutral colour and pleases all Orixás). 

So as you can see, there’s good voodoo practicants and bad ones, and in the end it’s all about how you use your religion, if you use it as you were taught, with pure intentions, seeking guidance and protection of good spirits and Orixás, or in a corrupt way, surrounding yourself with bad spirits and helping them spread their bad energy. 

So what I am hoping with all this is is that people put a stop to “Alastor is evil because he uses Voodoo” and adopt the “Alastor is evil because he does malpractice of Voodoo” which is a much more accurate to reality and respectful take. 

I’d even like to offer a headcanon of my own: 

That Alastor's mom was from Voodoo (maybe even was a Mama Odie herself) and taught Alastor all she knew and he corrupted her teachings and started using them for evil (perhaps even to aid him in his killing) and THAT, that corruption, was what sent him to hell, and true redemption for him would not to give up his powers/forsake his religion but actually to go back to his roots and use his powers for good (perhaps in a way that he ends up healing/saving someone (hopefully Charlie or Rosie)👀

[hippielittlemetalhead]

So... I lied about getting a full fix-it to This → Part 1. Y'all get parts focusing on different characters for now as Hop traverses his guilt trip. I won't say it gets worse before it gets better but... kinda in places? I promise it's a happy ending though!!

What do you want from me I'm stressed and depressed and I like making my blorbos suffer (a.k.a projecting my trauma instead of doing the healthy shit my shrink tells me to)

You've been warned... But I do hope you like it.

So here we have Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce Edition)

He goes to Joyce about it first. Thinks about her gentle herding of the trio that has become the Hopper-Byers brood. Thinks about how she put everything he was feeling about Mike and El and their giggling and the fucking door into words that kept him from looking like an imbecile (if he'd have ever used them instead of fucking it up 'winging it'). Thinks about the way her voice stays soft and kind of quiet even when she's spitting in his face about listening to her (and every time she's been right) and how that's translated to talking down government goons and wrangling the army of children that seems to get bigger each time they have to fight interdimensional terrors. So he goes to Joyce about what Murray said, the noise Steve made with That Look in his eyes and his bandages peeking out from under a shirt that looks like one of the Henleys he's been missing since coming 'back from the dead' and they dug out his clothes from storage. (El wouldn't let her throw anything out, not until she was ready to say goodbye. Thank whatever god[s] there may be she never needed to)

He doesn't expect Joyce to make a face like he suggested inviting Owens to family dinner. He doesn't expect the scoff and eye roll as her shoulders tense and her hands flex at her sides like she's about to let loose her (honestly really attractive) righteous fury. About the Harrington kid.

Maybe he should have asked when the kids weren't home. Before El quietly told them the bullying wasn't as bad as it was in California but some people still made fun of how she spoke and how all of her friends were boys (and just as quietly asked they not do anything. Asked that they let her and The Party handle it until they couldn't). Before Will came home sulking about something idiotic Mike said or did or something the kid missed (though lately the latest Wheeler mistake is followed by bashful mention of the Emerson kid doing something specifically to make Will feel better in the moment). Before Jonathan came home from 'job hunting' or 'volunteering at the school's relief center' reeking of weed and his long-haired friend in tow (less than usual but still enough to make Joyce feel guilty for missing it for so long, for making the boy grow up so fast that he spends his days out of his mind instead of the weekend bender like when they were kids). Before The Party had come by with what homework the school was still giving out and talking over each other about all the latest small-town gossip a teenager can get their hands on (Eddie's name has been cleared but he's still laid up at the hospital. Susan Mayfield has been noticeably absent according to every nosy housewife in Hawkins considering her daughter is in a coma. The Hagans, Carvers, Perkins and a handful of other 'well to do' families have skipped town taking most of the sports population with them. Steve has been letting people displaced by the damage crash at the Harrington mansion. Steve has kept up hours at Family Video somehow and is a regular volunteer at the various relief centers in town. Steve has been giving all of them rides and may have told Dustin he's thinking of trading in the Beemer for a bigger vehicle for all the kids and people he chauffeurs about. Steve keeps a room empty and waiting for when Max wakes up before her mother makes an appearance. Steve. Steve. Steve.)

He doesn't expect the way she spits his name like she's talking about Dick and Margaret under the bleachers over a smoke before the yard teacher catches them. The rant about bullies and broken cameras and trashed kitchens and dead monsters in her fridge. The crack in her voice when she crosses her arms to stop their shaking as she lays sin upon sin at this boy's feet.

And maybe before that would have been enough.

He doesn't expect the stone in his stomach or the burning in his chest as he looks the woman he loves in the eye and says "So I guess we should tell Nancy to break up with Jonathan before he pulls a Lonnie, huh?" It's a low blow. He knows from the hurt anger on her face and on the purse of her lips. He knows that's why he said it. "That kid is lucky to be alive let alone walking and have we ever even thanked him for keeping the fucking kids alive each time they pull their dumb shit when the world goes to hell? Does that sound like anything his folks would have ever done for us? Hell for their own fucking kid they practically signed over to ME of all people?"

He's shaking now too and Joyce has her hands fluttering between them like she wants to reach out. To touch, comfort. Pull him close and tell him to take a breath.

"He called me 'His Hop', Joyce" He barely has enough breath on him to squeeze the words past his tight throat. "Called me His Hop and watched Ellie and the kids when I just couldn't and you were at work. I don't think I've seen his folks in town since the mall was opened and all the donors had that big party. Don't think I've spoken to them since '83 and they made me the kid's guardian when they aren't around cause they didn't want to fly down for a government sized concussion."

By now he knows El and Will are peeking around the corner, their eyes wide and worried. Jonathan has his door cracked and Angus (is that the hippie's name? He can't remember) is whispering something about heavy auras. Joyce is staring somewhere off in the distance, wringing her hands and biting her lips like she's facing an interdimensional portal shaped problem.

"The kids are planning to have one of their games in a few days." Her voice is brittle in a way he's not used to anymore. Not since she pulled her youngest out of hell and faced down a demon clawing through her walls. "He always drives them over and- and disappears until they need to head home. I can make sure he stays for dinner. Like the rest of the kids. I know Claudia has been having him over so I- I can get some recipes from her that he likes."

Something in his shoulders shakes loose and he reaches out to pull her practically shaking from into his chest.

"I don't know what to say to him Hop. He's not Mike and he's not like either of my boys. In my head he's just always been..."

"Dick and Margaret's brat." He sighs out and rests his cheek on the top of her head as she nods and presses herself in closer.

He's aware of eyes on them. Confused and worried and judgemental and he'll pay that piper next. These kids taught him how to be a dad again once, they can do it again, right?

Part 3

Part 4.1

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth

Part 4.2

Part 5

If I missed you in the tag list I'm sorry I tried 🙃🫡 Tell me what you think? 🫣🥲

[writeyouin]

I dont know if this went through but can I get a valentines day request for tfa sentinel prime falling in love with a g/n human reader?

Sentinel Prime (TFA) X Reader – Making Alliances

Description: After the war between Earth and Cybertron ended, you were recruited to work alongside Sentinel Prime. Yet, he tries to make your job hard, determined to keep on hating humans. Yet, given time, he finds it almost impossible to dislike you, no matter how hard he tries.

A/N – I had such a basic bitch plan for this and instead it turned into one of my longer fics.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Guys, really, it’s fine. I’m fine,” You tried to assure the Autobots.

Optimus, Bulkhead and Ratchet looked at you doubtfully. Bumblebee looked more annoyed.

“Fine? How can you be fine with this? This reeks!” He exclaimed, waving his arms around.

You stifled a laugh at his over-dramatics. “Okay, I’ll admit, I never saw myself working with Sentinel, but… It’s not a terrible idea.”

Although you had your doubts, you believed what you said. Now that the war was over, and Megatron had been defeated, Cybertron had officially launched the Earth Alliance Program. Since the Autobots had been posted on Earth during the war, there was no point denying Alien existence, even though many Cybertronians didn’t think much of humans. Having been stationed on Cybertron for a week while you acclimatised, you had heard the hushed comments about how you weren’t advanced enough to be there, and how weak and fragile your frame was.

When the Autobots had come to your planet, they had faced their share of xenophobia, some of which continued to this day. Now that you were on their planet, you were beginning to get the same treatment.

In an attempt to bring your races closer together, Ultra Magnus had decided it would be best for you to be placed with a high-ranking officer, and as such he had made you Sentinel Prime’s assistant. Although he could have just as easily put you to work with Jazz, or left you with Optimus’ team, you understood his reasoning. If Sentinel could get over his prejudices, then anyone could. Besides, you still had one week left before you were to begin your work. In that time, you were expected to report any struggles that you had living on Cybertron.

In your first week, you had reported that the shower in your specially-made apartment was too hot, the cooking facilities were inadequate, and that you needed your own mode of transport so nobody else had to help you get around.

All the issues were addressed relatively quickly and now you had a motor-scooter which ran on autopilot. The vehicle did have a function for you to drive it yourself, but it had been dictated that you could not use that unless it was an emergency, otherwise you would be in breach of the first Cybertronian law written with humans in mind; it seemed that the governing body didn’t trust you to drive, though their fear and prejudice didn’t bother you too much.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Bumblebee waved his arms erratically.

While you had been lost in thought about your new position, he had been ranting about what a scrap heap Sentinel was.

You held up your hands placatingly, feeling a tiny pang of sadness that Prowl wasn’t there. It used to be him that ended Bumblebee’s tirades but… Well, everyone knew that war had its casualties; you just wished that it didn’t have to be someone you knew.

“Yes, I’m, listening. But seriously Bumblebee, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s just a job.”

‘A job I feel massively underqualified for,’ You added in your head, thinking how you had only been chosen because you met the Autobots by chance and they trusted you as their second human liaison.

Sari would also start her life on Cybertron, but seeing how she was techno-organic and only a teenager, she was going to school to learn about her Cybertronian heritage and culture.

Jazz and Bulkhead were going to stay on Earth, and Optimus was going to travel between both planets in an attempt to cement the worlds’ budding relationship. So, for a while, you would be alone, at least in a working capacity. Granted, Ratchet and Bumblebee would be nearby, but this was something you would have to do on your own.

“Alright,” Bumblebee grumbled. “But if he’s a glitch-head, get me and I’ll kick the scrap outta him!”

“You and what army?” Ratchet commented drily.

You chuckled and thanked Bumblebee, touching his arm to soothe him. A blush dusted his cheeks.

“Uh games night?” He said hurriedly, attempting to hide his feelings before racing off to where Sari was waiting for you all.

You ignored his flush red, fully aware of how he felt about you. You knew that was a conversation that the two of you would have to have one day, but you waited for the day he might bring it up. Besides, since this was the last night everyone would be together for a while, you didn’t want anything to jeopardise the fun, especially when faced with something as tough as unrequited love.

“I’m here,” You said breathlessly, shooting through the automatic door just in time for work.

Sentinel glared at you. He had been counting on you being late so that he could complain about you to anyone who would listen afterwards.

“So… What would you like me to do, Sentinel Prime, Sir?” You bowed formally. There was no need to do so, but you hoped that by addressing him with such respect, he might warm to you somewhat. Having met him once or twice before, you knew how arrogant he could be and had decided for an easy life it might be better to stroke his ego somewhat.

Your gambit paid off as Sentinel forgot whatever sharp insult he was about to say. Instead, he blustered, puffed out his chest and managed to order you to stay out of his way while he did his job.

“Sorry Sir, but Ultra Magnus ordered me to help you in whatever way I can.”

“I know that! It doesn’t matter. I don’t need your help. Just stay out of my way and at the end of all this, we can tell Ultra Magnus to have you reassigned.”

“No, sir,” You said adamantly, standing your ground.

“What?” Sentinel spat, his lip curling.

“I’m here to work with you. I won’t be shunted to the side just ‘cos I’m human. Our planets worked together to capture Megatron, now we have to work together to show that our races can do the same.”

Sentinel stared menacingly at you. He didn’t want to be anywhere near you. You were small, organic, filthy. With that in mind, he wished you would just leave. He didn’t want any of your gross germs on him. Yet, it seemed that you were also stubborn in your mission.

“Fine,” He said after a minute, though it was clear he wanted to tell you where to go. “Just don’t do any of that gross human stuff. If you sneeze-” He didn’t finish his sentence, shuddering at the thought.

You gave him a thumbs up, “No sneezing, got it.”

With that, Sentinel finally gave you some work to do, and you began what was sure to be a rocky relationship.

Working with Sentinel was difficult.

Sometimes, he would barely give you any work at all, insisting you use your ‘initiative’ to find tasks that would aid him. On other days, he would pile your workload impossibly high, and if you were struggling to understand the reports that he had ordered you to complete, that was your fault and he wouldn’t help you.

Either way, at the end of the shift, he would get to kick back at the bar and complain that you either didn’t understand the job or couldn’t keep up with the tasks provided to a bunch of equally closed-minded mechs who wanted to see you fail.

Still, you didn’t complain, doing your best to learn all you needed to succeed. To Sentinel it was infuriating, but you knew that if you complained, it would validate everything he thought about you, no matter how unfair it was.

Fortunately, you learned how to better work around him by talking to him with the utmost respect, complimenting him, and generally getting him talking about himself. On days when he indulged you with stories of his glory days, he was a little kinder, occasionally throwing you a bone and helping you out a bit with some of your workload, or sometimes instructing you on things you had been struggling with.

Still, your working relationship wasn’t great and wouldn’t be viable unless something changed.

Such a day finally came when Sentinel had the terrible idea that you should be faster, and very suddenly presented you with his patented human speed shoes… They were rollerblades.

“I can’t use these,” You sighed when he threw them at you, too afraid to hand them to you in case you touched him.

“You can and you will,” Sentinel harrumphed.

“Sentinel, I can’t rollerblade, at least not with all the things I have to carry about, and-”

“Is this you refusing to work, human?”

You rolled your eyes. Not only was he seeking an excuse to stop working with you, but he was also playing his trump card by calling you human instead of using your name; he did that whenever he wanted to instil a feeling of power imbalance upon you.

“Fine,” You sighed, giving in. “I’ll wear the damn rollerblades.”

“Speed-shoes,” Sentinel corrected.

“Speed-shoes,” You conceded, finding him to be extra impossible.

As you had told Sentinel, using the rollerblades for work was impossible, especially when you were carrying a stack of oversized datapads that you couldn’t see over, since Sentinel was also being unreasonable about your workload.

It started as a stumble on one of the higher walkways that had been provided like scaffolding around the office for you to work with. Yet, instead of falling, you dropped the datapads, tripped backwards, and screamed as you fell over the handrail.

While Sentinel was mostly paper-pushing since the war was over, he was still trained for battle. He hurriedly spun around at the sound of your scream and ran to catch you. While he was timely in his rescue, he wasn’t gentle and he blanched at the sound of bone snapping.

He expected you to cry out again, but you were worryingly quiet upon the realisation that your leg had broken.

“(Y/N)!” Sentinel yelled your name. His processor skipped over the necessary sentences as he scrambled to think of what to say next. He was stuck between asking if you were okay, even though you clearly weren’t, ordering you not to tell anyone about the speed shoes that had caused the accident, and demanding you to tell him how to fix you.

“I- I-” Tears streamed from your eyes.

Sentinel was taken aback by how pale you were and how unusual it felt to hold you. He was certain he would drop you if any liquids came out of you, yet here you were crying and all he wanted to do was hold you closer and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

You were soft and warm and… completely unexpected.

“R-Ratchet,” You managed to say between your sniffles and grunts of pain, pulling the rollerblades off, even though it hurt to move.

“Right!” Sentinel exclaimed, snapping out of his silence.

He transformed into vehicle mode, grimacing when it caused you more pain to be jostled about, then he sped to the medical school where Ratchet was spending his twilight years, passing on his knowledge to another generation of bots.

“What in tarnation is going on here?” Ratchet demanded of Sentinel as he held you out to the older bot in the safety of a private med-bay.

“I-(Y/N)-” Sentinel stammered, feeling the pressure of Ratchet’s stern glare.

“I fell,” You said weakly to Ratchet.

“Fell, huh?” Ratchet said doubtfully. “Where are your shoes, kid?”

You shook your head, indicating that it didn’t matter, but Ratchet was an astute old bot, and he shot a scathing to look at Sentinel, even though you hadn’t sold him out.

“Really, Ratchet. It- it was my f-”

“Never mind that, kid. Let’s get you seen to.”

Although Sentinel wanted to leave, he stayed, mostly because he couldn’t fathom why you hadn’t told on him. He regretted that decision when Ratchet asked him to chat privately after treating you. By that point, you were too tired to protect Sentinel further, and the pain medication had made you somewhat woozy. Besides, even if you had been in any shape to argue, you couldn’t keep up with either of them on a bandaged leg, and without assistance you couldn’t get down from the medical berth provided.

Once Ratchet had got Sentinel out of your sight, he began yelling, “I don’t know what you did, but you're darn lucky that kid isn’t selling you out! That’s far more loyalty than you’d ever give to them!”

“Wha-” Sentinel spluttered, offended and slightly intimidated by the older bot.

“Don’t you dare try to explain yourself to me! Young bots are all alike, all arrogance and no spark. Do you know how long it takes for an injury like that to heal in humans?! AND (Y/N) WILL BE TRAPPED HERE FOR A FEW DAYS, BORED AND ALONE SINCE YOU KEEP TELLING EVERY DAMNED BOT WHO’LL LISTEN TO YOU HOW LITTLE YOU THINK OF HUMANS!”

“I-” Sentinel held up a finger to argue, but Ratchet slapped his servo away.

“Don’t you dare try to argue with me,” He said dangerously. “I’ve seen (Y/N) a few times since she started working with you. You’ve overworked that poor kid for no reason at all, and let me tell you something- That kid won’t quit. You can pile on all the work you want, and (Y/N) will do it. They’ll exhaust themself to do anything you ask, all because they’re the bigger person and want to be friends.”

Ratchet barked a mirthless laugh, continuing his tirade, “Friends, HAH! But you won’t let that happen, will you, Mr. Bigshot. No, ‘cos you’re so superior. Well, anything to say for yourself now?”

Sentinel looked somewhat ashamed and contrite after Ratchet’s verbal rebuke, yet he let his anger bubble up and overtake him.

“I am your superior officer,” He spat contemptuously.

Ratchet shook his head, disgustedly. “Then lead by example and do something worthy of the title.”

The older bot was about to walk away, but Sentinel wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction, so he stormed ahead first, rushing back to the room you were stuck in.

“Come on (Y/N), I’m taking you home.”

“I just told you (Y/N) has to stay here,” Ratchet yelled, catching up.

“Not if there’s someone to take care of them.”

“And you’re gonna do that?”

“Yes!”

Sentinel picked you up, more gently than before, and this time, he was extra careful as he transformed so as to spare you any discomfort.

He wasn’t entirely certain whether to take you to your own home or his, but after some thought about organic fuels and how much effort you would have to put into traversing his sizeable house, he opted for taking you to your place, next door to the techno-organic and down the road from that insufferable Bumblebee.

Sentinel especially hated the contentious yellow mini-bot since he always found reasons to bother you at work and it was a massive distraction. It didn’t help that Bumblebee was obviously head over pedes for you and that he had no respect for Sentinel at all; he only ever left at your insistence, and always with an insult for Sentinel about the workload he gave to you.

Hm… your workload. Sentinel couldn’t help thinking about what an aft he’d been of late.

“When you’re fit for work, I think you should take it easy. No more 12 groon days.”

A groon on Cybertron was more or less an hour, and you nodded along sleepily in understanding, grumbling a half-word that didn’t make sense outside of your head.

“Hey, are you listening?”

Your eyes shut heavily and you could barely lift them open to respond.

“Great, I suppose I have to take you to bed now too?” Sentinel complained, covering just how worried he was that you were acting out of the ordinary.

When he got you home, Sentinel struggled to take care of you; he had very little knowledge on humans, except that they had corrosive spit, though most were apparently too civilised to use it. Your house was a hybrid of human-sized equipment and catwalks, and lounge space for several Cybertronians, yet having never been there before, Sentinel didn’t know the layout, nor did he understand what half your appliances did, or what certain rooms were for.

He did manage to find your bed and lift you up to it, but after that, he felt like he should be doing something more to help. You were recharging now, but you would probably need things when you woke up.

Stuck on what to do, Sentinel reluctantly knocked on your neighbour’s door.

“What do you want?” Sari asked obnoxiously, annoyed to have been interrupted in the middle of the day, right after she had returned from class.

“I- I-” Sentinel made an effort to swallow his pride, an act which took a good five minutes. “I need your help.”

It took Sari about 10 minutes to stop laughing, but she got very serious when Sentinel begrudgingly explained that you were injured and that he didn’t know how to help you. After seeing you in bed, sleeping off the pain medication that Ratchet had administered, Sari explained very carefully how long it would take for your leg to heal, and what Sentinel had to do in the few coming days to help you out, such as placing a water bottle by your bed, and making sure your crutches were in reach.

Sentinel listened to everything she said, ignoring the back-handed insults that came his way, then after Sari left, he settled into the bot-sized lounge, waiting for you to wake up. He put the TV on, watching a show from Earth you had left in the player, synching the volume to his audials, but keeping it low all the same in case he needed to hear you wake up.

Having watched several episodes of the comedy show you had, Sentinel had to admit, it was pretty funny… for something humans had made. The idea of Ghosts being so ridiculously stupid did amuse him.

You woke up quietly, sucking in pain through your teeth as the medication you had been given started to wear off. Admittedly, you were surprised to see Sentinel in your house, even though you vaguely remembered him promising that he would be there.

It was amusing to see him actually having fun for once. Usually, he was tense and angry around you; you hadn’t realised he could be happy without putting someone else down.

You tried to get up without disturbing him but the crutch clattered to the floor before you could grab it.

“(Y/N),” Sentinel stood up quickly. “How are you feeling? Do you need Ratchet again?”

“I’m-” You thought about saying you were fine, as was the expected social response. Instead, you decided to answer truthfully. “I’m tired, but my leg was bothering me a bit.”

“It’ll be fine,” You added hurriedly before he could rush off to get help you didn’t need, “It’s just sore.”

Sentinel nodded. “From what I understand, it will be painful for some time,” He didn’t mention that by that he also meant the memory of inadvertently hurting you.

You nodded with a tired smile, “Yeah… Could be worse though. Thank you, for getting me help.”

“Thank… Thank you for your loyalty.”

You nodded again, “Yeah uh… You- You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. I can take care of myself.”

Sentinel would have gladly left if he didn’t feel so responsible for you. “I need to stay for a while if you are comfortable with me being here.”

“Okay,” You agreed, reaching again for your crutches so you could go to the bathroom.

Sentinel hurried to pick them up for you. “Okay,” He agreed solemnly.

Sentinel was surprisingly attentive to you. Although you only needed him for a day or so, he insisted on staying the full week. After that, he brought work to you for a while, afraid that if you returned to the main work base, you’d somehow make your recovery take longer.

Yet, the reports that he brought you were easier than before, confirming your suspicions that he had initially made your job harder than it needed to be; the deadlines were also laxer, and he took the time to explain a few things to you.

He stopped complaining about you to bots at the bar, and now on the odd occasion you sneezed or cleared your throat, he didn’t flinch or make nasty comments. In short, he was getting used to you, and you realised that when he tried, he could be very nice.

The peace was short lived however when Bumblebee came over to visit for the fourth time since you’d been hurt.

“You should quit,” He told you, point-blank, having abandoned the video game the two of you had been playing.

“Excuse me?” You asked, wondering what had prompted his response this time.

“Quit! Go back to working for the correct Prime. Optimus would treat you better and he wouldn’t make you work when you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. A broken leg is not a sickness.”

“It’s an injury,” Bumblebee said accusingly, raising his voice.

“Bumblebee, this is for our races to work together. This is a good start.”

Bumblebee blushed. The way you spoke so passionately about your races working together made him think that you were talking about more than work… Maybe, you were talking about you and him. Together.

“Besides,” You added, “Working for Sentinel isn’t half-bad, you know. He’s- He’s been kind to me.”

Bumblebee froze at the look on your face. Pink-dusted cheeks, a soft smile that he had imagined would be reserved for him, the way your eyes glazed over almost dreamily when you spoke about Sentinel. No, no! This couldn’t be happening. You could not get feelings for that pompous, arrogant, pile of SLAG!

“How did you get hurt?” Bumblebee asked, dangerously quiet, though you missed the intention behind his tone.

He had asked you before, but you rattled off an excuse about being careless.

“I already told you,” You started, only to be cut off by a Bumblebee who was angrier than you’d ever seen him before.

“HOW DID YOU GET HURT?!”

“Bumblebee-”

“HOW?! IT WAS HIM WASN’T IT!”

“I-”

Bumblebee ran out of your house, transforming as soon as he was on the streets. He was determined to give Sentinel a piece of his mind.

It took a while for Bumblebee to find Sentinel, not knowing the places that the Prime frequented. Yet, he eventually found him leaving a store with a small box that fit under his arm.

Bumblebee rushed at Sentinel, throwing a punch against the larger bot’s jaw. Had he been prepared, Sentinel might have faired better, but as it was, he dropped the box he was carrying and stumbled backwards, against the alley wall.

Bumblebee tried to pin him but Sentinel pushed him back, grappling his arms.

“WHAT THE FRAG ARE YOU DOING?” Sentinel demanded as the two struggled, holding each other’s shoulder plates and trying to get the better of their opponent.

Bumblebee headbutted Sentinel in the chassis to little effect, “IT’S YOUR FAULT (Y/N) GOT HURT! ADMIT IT! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Bumblebee waited for the adamant denial Sentinel was known for. He pushed Sentinel back, readying his stingers, and only stopping when Sentinel answered.

“Yes.”

Bumblebee stopped in his tracks, mouth agape. Sentinel had never once taken responsibility for his actions.

“What?”

“It was my fault,” Sentinel admitted bitterly.

For the first time since finding him that night, Bumblebee really looked at Sentinel. “Why? Why now? After all this time, you finally admit to something…”

“It’s not natural…” Sentinel said more to himself than to Bumblebee. He was thinking about his feelings towards you, certain that it wasn’t right for a Cybertronian to feel anything romantic towards a human. He bent down to pick up the box which had spilled its contents onto the floor.

Bumblebee glanced down finding that it was all things for humans. Imported books from Earth, snacks you had been known to eat, herbal tea that Ratchet often recommended, and some pain medication.

Bumblebee picked up the tea, staring at it morosely before handing it to Sentinel who took it warily.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like that flavour,” He said quietly.

“I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bumblebee nodded. He didn’t apologise for his actions, though it was implied in his tone when he addressed Sentinel for the final time that night, “Take better care of them. They’re everything to me.”

Sentinel nodded, watching Bumblebee walk away afterwards. He stayed there a few minutes longer before heading over to your house to gift you the things he had bought.  

Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi

[austrianshitposting]

My top 10 favorite signs at Vienna Pride 2024

[ID: A woman holding a sign saying "Jesus' Playlist: Only Love songs. She is wearing a purple shirt saying "another Christian for LGBTQ* Equality ]

Cute! We love seeing supportive religious folks in this house!! 7/10 🌈

[ID: A blue flag saying "Fundis zur Hölle jagen", flying in front of the Austrian Opera]

Short, sweet, good punch, keeping Pride a demonstration. 7.5/10 🌈

[ID: A woman holding a cardboard sign saying "I got 99 Problems and white hetero normative Patriarchy is all of them"]

fun reference, gets points for being political 7,5/10 🌈

[ID: A yellow shipping container, on it is a sign saying "Intersex Solidarity", next to two ads for an photography exhibition. The Exhibition is called "Inside views", the ad is showing a human body dressed in a ripcage]

It is just so funny to me I can't even really tell why. But it just feels appropriate, next to the ad and also the color of the container is very fitting. 8/10 🌈

[ID: A group of russian-speaking people demonstrating at Vienna Pride. One sign says "Proud and Loud for the Opressed in Russia, another shows Vladimir Putin in front of rainbows and writing saying "Vladimir, it's Time"]

Honestly my heart goes out to all queer people living in countries where they are still treated horribly, much worse than Austria. Love ❤️ 8/10 🌈

[ID: Where usually the movie titles being show are displayed, the Burg Kino shows a message saying "Pride without Prejudice. Hello Viella Pride 2024.]

Just a fun and sweet way to show support in a way that does not reek too much of rainbow capitalism. nice! 8.5/10 🌈

[ID: A sign saying "A day w/o Lesbians is like a day w/o sunshine"]

Cute!!!! As a lesbian, I approve ☀️ 9/10 🌈

[ID: two men holding signs saying "Hurra! Die Hurn sind da!", "In Vielfalt vereint, in tratsch entzweit" and "support your local cum dump"]

charming. fun. would get your grandma to gasp, probably. 9/10 🌈

[ID: The Group "Volksoper Wien" holding signs saying "Mama, Papa, ich muss euch was sagen: Ich liebe Operette", "Volksoper Wien: Queer seit 1898" and "125 Jahre Volksoper: man ist nie zu alt, um sich zu outen!"]

Extremely funny. Love it. Love that such a old, prestigious institution is at pride. 10/10 🌈

[ID: A sign saying "Heten Wahnsinn stoppen"]

Short, sweet, extremely funny, great reference, i love it 1000/10 🌈

Bonus:

Ace Santa :)

[s12e28]

Chapter 387 is truly insane. Never had the novel touched on the topic of marriage prospects before then—kicking off with Bud thinking about the delays in Alver’s coronation and wedding, while looking at him and Cale talk (which in itself might as well be an alcale in the eyes of others fic)—to Alver himself pondering said topic mid-conversation with Cale.

His inner monologue reeks of until he met Cale. Seriously, read it for yourself. We see how he had no plans of getting married, had no plans of ever showing his true appearance, and had no fucks to give about it altogether—because nothing and no one had ever given him that hope of being loved as he is. (Until he met Cale.)

He began to be more self-conscious, but also more considerate towards the possibility of being his true self in public.

And gradually—it’s getting there. His circle, of whom he thought would be limited to the dark elves, actually expanded—letting in people who never questioned his being. People who aren’t blinded by prejudice. All this he would have never imagined, until he met Cale.

This migraine on legs who speedran being on top of his vidcom device’s priority contacts list. This absolute crazy bastard of a man who is as cunning as he is foolish of his own wellbeing. This high maintenance dongsaeng that he had never accounted for in his financial roadmap.

And yet, for all the “annoying” late night calls, unnanounced visits, and audacity induced headaches—it isn’t until he met Cale that he began to envision a future beyond his original goal. A grander and kinder Roan Kingdom (slash likely Empire) to every existence, including himself.

[stupidstrawberrystars]

a fic where the prank wasn’t stopped and snape gets bitten and he learns abt being a werewolf and becomes friends with remus and those two and lily become an unstoppable duo that reek havoc and remus defends snape against his old friends (and lily and james don’t get married) and they all help each other get over their prejudices

[five-rivers]

Stargazer, Moonweaver, Net

Hey, you. Yes, you. Have you ever wondered, hey, what would it look like if @five-rivers, @jackdaw-sprite, @seaglass-skies, @datawyrms, and @akela-nakamura all worked together on a fic for Phantasy Phest? No? Too specific? Well, if you had, it would look exactly like this fic here.

AO3 link

Tags: Lost Time, The portal accident, Phantasy Phest 2023, Alternate Universe - Modern Fantasy, Fairies, Blood Drinking, Moths, Clockwork has low opinions of the Fenton Parents, Transformation, Body Horror, Danny gets to say Fuck

Word Count: 11,197

Fic continues after cut.

.

"Ohno. Oh, no, no no nooooooo."

The stars were bright tonight.

Danny could even see them from where he was at the edge of a large clearing, where the trees stopped to wreathe the base of a hill.

Unusually, Danny didn't care.

"Nooooo," he said again under his breath.

Danny pushed at the net again. It reeked of garlic and sage the same way his parents’ nets always did, and the cord was rough and knobbly between his fingers. They must have woven this one with something extra.

He needed to get out. But with his flashlight fallen somewhere he could barely see the net or where it might end.

His flashlight. Where was his flashlight? Danny crouched, and began to grope at the ground around him. It couldn't have rolled too far, right?

The net folded up into his face, scratchy and unexpected. Danny flinched back but kept going, moving his hands in a circle. They met dead leaves and earth, and more than once he touched slimy and wet things he hoped were slugs.

He didn't find anything that felt like a flashlight.

"Heck," said Danny.

He sat down on the ground. The damp seeped into his pants but at this point that was a distant concern.

Maybe he could just find the edge of the net. It was a net. It had an edge. And his parents weren't always great at traps.

Danny pulled the net hand over hand in one direction and stopped when he felt something thicker cross over an arm.

He groped at it. It felt like the edge. Or an edge. One side didn't have all the net stuff. With mounting relief he followed it with his fingers–and discovered that it was attached to an opening only about large enough to slip a hand through.

There wasn't a tie that he could feel.

He couldn't find any other holes in it.

The relief withered. He was caught, alone, in the dead of night, in one of his parents' stupid monster catching nets. Without a flashlight.

And his parents, at best, might find him in the morning.

"Heck," said Danny, again.

Then he remembered he was alone, deep in the woods in the middle of the night, and no one would hear him.

"Fuck."

If only, Danny thought a while later, he'd brought his pocket knife. Or literally any knife. Something sharp to cut through the ropes.

None of the rocks he could reach had worked, though that was probably a little because he still couldn't see much of anything. It was really hard to wear through rope when you were doing it with a rock, blind. And through a net.

He was cold. His butt was colder from sitting in the leaves earlier. He kind of wanted to do it again, as a measure of his suffering. He wanted to be home, dry, and warm even more.

Maybe he could just wait for morning. Maybe his parents would know the trap had gone off, and come to check it. Maybe they'd check it anyway. They were the town crackpots for a reason. They didn't just believe in fictional creatures, they did so enthusiastically and with the kind of prejudice that made them set net traps in the woods. For one of their own innocent children to get caught in when he was only trying to stargaze on a clear night before school started in a few weeks. See some constellations, spot a few meteors, maybe a handful of planets, that kind of thing.  

Never mind that he’d maybe snuck out. Because he knew they’d freak out about him going into the woods alone. Because they believed in faeries.

Gosh, he hoped this didn't get back to Dash.

At least the stars were bright tonight.

He sighed and looked up, eyes automatically picking out familiar constellations.  The Big Dipper was easiest, although finding the rest of Ursa Major was less familiar.  All seven stars of Ursa Minor were easily visible, which again highlighted how good the seeing was. Then there were the other circumpolars.  Draco, Cepheus, Cassiopeia…  He could see the V of Andromeda, where it blended with Pegasus, and he could almost convince himself that–

An owl - he thought it was an owl - hooted somewhere nearby.  He jumped, which had the side effect of reminding him that, yes, he was still in a net.  He rubbed his shoulders and neck where they’d been rammed into the net.  Straining against rope shouldn’t have felt like running into a wall, but he supposed he did have his weight on the bottom of it.  

But he soon had other things to worry about than his parents’ irrational net design.

(Seriously, why was there enough room to stand up in this net?  What were they even trying to catch?  At first, he’d thought he could just walk away, back to town, even inside the net, but it was tied to something.  Maybe one of the trees?)

Sounds started to rise up from all around the clearing.  First the high-pitched chirr of crickets, then croaking, buzzing, and chirping.  Small noises, from small things.  

But with those small noises, Danny started to notice rustling and creaking and–  Was that a dog howling or a wolf?  Were there even any wolves here?  He remembered a unit in science last year where the teacher talked about wolves going extinct in some states.

The stars were bright tonight.  The woods around him?  Not so much.  

“People spend nights outside all the time,” he said out loud.  The word probably would have been more impactful if they weren’t whispered.  “All the time.  People go camping and hiking and stuff for fun.”  Never mind that they were usually more prepared to do so than Danny currently was.  And that most of the time, they could decide to just leave and go home or get a hotel room if camping got to be too much for them.  He continued, more loudly, “I just have to wait for morning.  They’ll find me in the morning.  And– and if they don’t, I’ll be able to see.  I’ll be able to get myself out.  I’ll be fine.”

If nothing ate him first.  

No.  No.  That was–  What out here could even eat him, anyway?  Wolves, yeah, okay, but were there wolves?  Still unclear.  Bears?  If there weren’t wolves, he doubted there were bears.  He’d never heard of any bears out here, anyway.  What else could eat a human who wasn’t, well, already dead?  Cougars?  That one school, a couple districts over, had a cougar for a mascot, didn’t they?  That didn’t really mean anything, though.  What else, what else…  Feral pigs?  Those were supposed to be invasive around here, weren’t they?  Danny had kind of laughed at the idea of it in class, but, here, now, in the dark, was a different story.   

He was pretty sure anything else was too small.  So.  Three things out of how many animals?  Thousands?  Yeah.  Yeah, the odds of those three specific animals showing up to bother him were low.  Yes.  Nothing wrong with the math there.  No siree.  

(And the stuff his parents were worried about, the stuff they’d set this trap for, that stuff didn’t exist at all, so he didn’t have to worry about it.  There were no werewolves, no chimerae, no hobgoblins, and definitely no fairies.  Wasn’t even worth thinking about.)

A branch snapped.  Then another.

He’d thought the owl was close, but this sounded closer.  And those didn’t sound like small branches.  

A deer?  There definitely were deer here.  Sam talked about deer resistant and repellent garden plants, sometimes.  Deer could get big.  Like, reindeer were huge, right?

It was dark under the trees, but by starlight alone Danny could still perceive a shadow moving among other shadows.  Something tall.  Something not shaped anything like a deer.

The shadow came closer.  

Danny held his breath and shrunk down against the nearest tree.  He couldn’t fight a bear.  Not even when he wasn’t caught in a net.

"Hello."

"Hi," said Danny back, on autopilot.

Danny continued staring at the shadow for several more tense moments before it occurred to him that it had talked.

"Wait, you can talk?" Danny asked.

"It would appear so," said the shadow, and did not move.  Now that Danny was looking and thinking rather than just freaking out, the shadow looked, well, pretty humanoid.  Tall, sure, and wearing a long coat with a hood - or maybe a dress?  And that could be long hair.  Significantly less weird in the middle of the summer than a coat - but humanoid.  

Human, he should say.  Outside of, like, parrots, there weren’t a lot of other things that could talk.  No matter what his parents said.  

"Um. I'm a little stuck," said Danny.

"Really?" The shadow did not sound surprised.

"Can you, I don't know, cut the net loose? Please?"

The shadow hummed. "I think the more interesting question is why you're stuck in the first place.  One does not frequently encounter those such as yourself in the woods so late at night."

Oh, wow.  Danny could empathize with the curiosity.  He really could.  This was a weird situation to come across, and whoever this was, they must be just as confused as Danny.  But he also really didn’t want to explain anything about this to a stranger.  And he would really rather be out while talking to what was, yet again, a complete stranger.  

… Humans were pretty dangerous themselves, come to think of it.  

“Yeah, I guess not.”  He swallowed.  “Why are you out here, anyway?”  Maybe he was being rude, but the shadow had asked first.

The shadow shifted, looking up.  Starlight limned pale skin and a sharp, straight nose in shades of gray.  “The stars.  The sun is too bright during the day.  It is easier to see them at night.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  Maybe, hopefully, not a murderer, then.  Just another person out stargazing.  A weird person but…  Danny didn’t exactly have room to talk.  “Yeah.  Me, too.  Since the moon isn’t up and all.  I just, uh, ran into this.  Trap.  Thing.”  He tugged at the net.  “And now I can’t get out.”

The shadow’s head tipped back down.  “Can’t you?”

“I really can’t.  I can’t even figure out how it’s tied on.  Do you, like, have a flashlight or something?”

“I do not.”

“Not even, like, one on your phone?”

“No.”  The shadow leaned forward, and might have held out a hand, but if they did, they didn’t touch anything that Danny could feel.  “What a curious and terrible thing,” murmured the shadow.  “What cruelty and carelessness, to leave it to trap the unwary.”

Danny winced.  Yeah.  Yeah, okay, it kind of was, and it was probably a small miracle that no one else had ever gotten trapped in one of these things.  

That Danny knew of.  

He pushed the thought of his parents absent-mindedly forgetting to check one of these traps, or only checking them once a week, out of his mind.  His parents were crazy and kind of forgetful and… well, the point was, he would have heard if something had… happened.  

They wouldn’t do that, anyway.  

“Yeah.  But, um.  Even without the flashlight, please, help?  Just, maybe if you could untie me, or if you have…”  Did he really want this guy to have a knife?  Not really.  Still.  “Something to cut with, maybe?”

“I cannot cut the net in which you find yourself.”  The shadow shifted again.  “However, I will stay with you until you are free.”

“Maybe if you tried some of the knots, you could get me out, though,” pointed out Danny.  

“I have encountered ropes like this in the past.  They do not agree with my skin.”

“What, like, you're allergic?” asked Danny.  

“Something like that.”

Just his luck.  He was found, but the person to find him was… incredibly strange.  And not very useful.  And had possibly run into his parents’ nets before and had a reaction to them.  

“Okay.  But maybe you could call for help?  I mean, I know you said you don’t have a phone, but you could go get someone who can get me out?”

“Child,” said the shadow, with a touch of amusement, “there are things in these woods that would eat you whole.  I am equipped to deal with them.  You are not.  It would be irresponsible of me to leave you while they wander.”  They settled themselves nearby.  “Besides, I can see the stars here as well as I could elsewhere in these woods.”

“Eat me?” squeaked Danny.  He'd thought about bears earlier, but not, like, out loud.  Talking about them out loud was different. He cleared his throat. “You mean like bears?”

“In some respects,” said the shadow, still amused.

"Okay, um." Danny really did not like confirmation that there were bears around. He could have gone without knowing that. Except he probably should know. Considering he was in a net.

The net.

Which the stranger somehow thought he'd be able to escape on his own?

"Hey, um. I have been trying to get out for a while," said Danny. "It hasn't been working. You're sure you can't do anything to help?"

"There is more than one kind of trap here."

Danny blinked.

Crap.  That would be just like his parents, wouldn’t it?  They couldn’t leave it at just one stupid trap in a public space, they have more.  “Where?”

“You will not be able to see it from your perspective, but I have no doubt it would close were I to attempt to free you.”  

“Great,” said Danny.  He took in a shuddering breath.  “Great.  And you, what, think I’ll be able to avoid it on my own?  When I can’t even see it?  Or is this a ‘wait until morning’ thing?”

“You will, at least, be less liable to be eaten by wild animals at that point.  And more able to untie knots with the light of day.”

Okay, yeah.  Danny had been thinking both of those things as well, but with someone here, he’d hoped… 

He rubbed his eyes, tiredly, and, to his absolute horror, his stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry?” asked the shadow, as if Danny wasn’t already embarrassed enough.  

Danny mumbled something indistinct.  He had eaten.  Just…  The main course had…  Well, some things were better left unsaid.  The salad (courtesy of Jazz) had been okay, and so had the carrots.  He’d felt full right after dinner.  He had.  

But, yeah.  He was hungry.  Dinner had been hours and hours ago at this point. 

“I have food enough to share.”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “Okay?”

Something moved under his nose, and he flinched.  He hadn’t seen the shadow move.  

“Um, I’m not sure I can…”  He tried to wedge his fingers into one of the holes of the net.  He’d lost track of the opening.  

“They are small.  They will fit.  Hold out your hands.”

Danny, only a little skeptical, held out his hands. As promised, several round, slightly damp things, like largeish marbles, were dropped into them through the holes in the net.

“What are these?”

“Star jelly.”

“Like, from starfruit or something?” asked Danny, interested.  He squished one between his fingers.  It was springy, like a gummy.  But still.  Damp.

“Or something,” said the stranger.

“Why is it damp?”

“It hasn’t dried.”

Well. That was almost no information at all.

“But it’s edible?”

“I enjoy them regularly.”

Danny huffed slightly.  This guy was weird.  Again, that was the pot calling the kettle black, but Danny didn’t go around offering weird food to strangers.

No, he went around getting trapped in nets.

And he was hungry.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t eaten weirder things. His parents could be creative.

Maybe he wasn’t supposed to accept food from strangers, but…  This guy was his getting caught in a net buddy.  And he had to admit, he was pretty mad at his parents right now.  It’d serve them right, that Danny was eating someone else’s food.  

Did that make sense?  Maybe not.  But it wasn’t like any of the stuff Sam or Jazz did made any sense, either.

Plus, it had ‘star’ in the name.  He basically had to try out at least one.

He squished the smallest between his fingers one last time, then popped it in his mouth.  

He chewed.

There was no burst of flavor. It tasted… pretty bland, actually. All the way through. But the texture was okay.  Mostly.  It was at least better than what had happened to the chicken fated for dinner.

So.  Probably not poison.  

(Although why anyone would bother to poison him when he was quite literally trapped in a net was beyond him.)

“I also have a variety of mushrooms.”  

Who was this guy? The last hippie in Amity Park? A revolutionary war survivor?

“Do you have hardtack, too?” asked Danny, unable to help himself.

“I have biscuits.”

Oh thank goodness. Normal food.

“Can I have one?”

Something distinctly cracker-like was placed in his hand.

Danny didn’t even bother snarking, he just ate it. The texture was flaky, the flavor nutty and buttery and just salty enough to coat the whole of his tongue with flavor. He crunched into it again and the layers almost shattered between his teeth, then melted in his mouth like butter in a hot pan.

Danny swallowed. He’d never had a cracker that good.

“Can I have another?” he asked. Then, as more fell into his hands, “Where did you even get these? They’re great.”

“I baked them myself.”

Well.  That explained why he didn’t have a phone.  He was a hippie of some variety.  Danny didn’t comment aloud, though, too busy plowing his way through another cracker. He spent a little while chewing in blissful silence before he could swallow.

“They’re great,” Danny repeated, and had another one. And another.

“Ah,” said the shadow, “I believe that was the first proper shooting star of the night.” 

“What?” said Danny, looking up from his impromptu meal.  He licked his fingers, then stretched out the net, the better to see through it.  “Really?  Where?”  

“From the neighborhood of Cassiopeia, crossing her and going north.”  A pointed finger stood out in silhouette against the slightly brighter sky, tracing an imaginary line.

Danny sighed.  “I can’t believe I missed it.”  The Perseid meteor shower was, after all, one of the main reasons he risked sneaking out.  

“Many meteor showers reach their peak shortly before dawn,” said the shadow.  “As we will be here for some time yet, I believe you will have the opportunity to see many more.”

“But the first one…” Danny said, trailing off.

“The first from our perspective.  This shower has been going on for some time.  For someone to our east, perhaps it is, instead, the last.”

Danny grumbled.  

First the net and now this…  

Something golden green streaked across the sky and he perked up.  That one had been nice.  A breath later, a smaller, shorter one flashed at the edge of his vision, a tiny needle of light.  

“See?  There will be more for you to wish on.”

“That’s really not why I wanted to see them,” said Danny, wrinkling his nose.  Wishing was, well.  It was the sort of thing little kids did.  It wasn’t scientific.  It was the kind of thing his parents strictly forbade.

“It isn’t?”

“I…they’re cool. And it’s nice. Or it would be, if it weren’t for this net.”

“What would it hurt to make a wish?”

Danny sighed.  It wasn’t like they were wrong.  This situation was stupid and illogical.  So.  

“I wish I could get out of this stupid net. Before my parents find out about any of this.”

The stranger hummed in interest. “They don’t know?”

“They sure know about the net,” griped Danny.  He didn’t take his eyes off the sky, but he did tug on the ropes to make his point.  The rope was homemade, twisted with nonstandard fibers along with more common silk and hemp, rubbed with garlic and sage.  It was distinctive.  It was familiar.  It was something he'd probably tripped on a dozen times when it was left half-finished on the living-room floor.  “But it's not like I told them I was sneaking out. Like, who's going to tell their parents they're breaking rules?”  

The shadow hummed again.  "That is true."

Danny was distracted from replying or continuing by a pale, oddly oblong blur to the north.  It stayed in place, even as colorful shooting stars passed it by.  

"Is that–?" gasped Danny.  He leaned forward against the tension in the ropes and a similar, less tangible ache in his chest, as if he could get closer to the sky.  

The oblong blur widened into several similar streaks, like thumbprints on glass.  Green, pink, and purple began to seep into them.  

"There must have been a solar storm I didn't know about," said Danny as meteors shot through the undulating curtain of the Aurora. Delight was dancing in his stomach and thrumming along his limbs at the sight. "We hardly ever get the Aurora this far south." 

"It is an auspicious night for stargazing, then," said the shadow, "and one I am indeed glad to share, despite the circumstances."  

The thing was, they were right.  Despite the net, stargazing with someone who liked it as much as he did was nice.  It was really nice, despite the net.  Nice enough to wish, quite sincerely, and on a meteor that fell across the sky in that very moment, that they could do it again.  It probably would have been nice even without the Perseids and the Aurora, but with them he was practically giddy.

Briefly, Danny imagined how this meeting might have gone sans net.  

Okay.  Honestly, Danny probably would have run for it.  Weird adult in the middle of the night, after all.  He had briefly wondered if the guy was an axe murderer. 

He rolled his shoulders.  His back was starting to get sore - probably a combination of the net and how long he'd been looking up, but he didn't want to take his eyes off the light show even for a second.  

"My name's Danny, by the way."  They were kind of sort of friends now.  Stargazing buddies.  Net buddies, even.  Danny couldn't refer to the as 'the shadow' or as 'the guy who sat with me all night the time I was trapped in one of my parents' nets' forever, and he doubted the shadow wanted to keep mentally referring to him as 'that weirdo kid who got stuck in a net' for eternity, either.  

"I am honored that you would trust me with your name," said the shadow, tone strangely formal. 

"Uh, you're welcome?" Danny said.

"I go by Clockwork."

Wow. This guy really was strange, huh?  Was that his legal name?  Just a nickname?  A screen name?  Had he changed his legal name to that?

"Nice to meet you, Clockwork," said Danny, for lack of a better response.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, as well."

Pleased to make your acquaintance. Well. Danny's parents were eccentric too (see also: net. see also also: believing said net was going to catch faeries and demons.) and he was now almost eighty percent sure this guy wasn't an axe murderer.

Danny shifted under the net. He could try and shake hands, but the excitement and delight hadn't faded much at all and it was hard to focus on formalities when so much of him was full of so much energy.

Wait.

That was weird, wasn't it? Danny frowned. Should he have taken random food from a stranger? Clockwork had mushrooms, too. Had the star jelly been not just edible but an edible?

Was he high right now?

"Clockwork," Danny began, and the Aurora bloomed across the sky. The moment filled with shared murmurs of admiration, and by the time it died the thought had passed.

Even if the energy hadn't.

He flexed his fingers.  Maybe he’d run through some kind of itchy plant?  That might explain the tingle on his skin.  

There was a hollow, almost melodic popping noise from the vicinity of the shadow.  The vicinity of Clockwork, he corrected himself.  

“You should try to stay hydrated,” said Clockwork.  

A scent both floral and salty wafted up to Danny’s nose.  The green glimmer of the Aurora reflected off the glassy lip of a bottle.  “Is– Is that alcohol?” asked Danny.  “Are you offering me alcohol?  Wine?”

“I am not,” said Clockwork.  “This is far more nourishing.”

“‘This’ being what, exactly?” asked Danny, still vaguely suspicious.  

“It is mostly sugar and water.  Fruit juice, salt, nectar, among other things. As you would call them, electrolytes. You have exerted yourself.  It has not been purposefully fermented.” 

This guy and his weird food. Still, that didn’t seem…bad, exactly. Danny was thirsty, and he liked gatorade, and that was kind of similar, right? And he was curious.

The crackers had been good.  And even the star jelly had been edible.

It took some experimentation to hold the bottle firmly through the net.  The body of it was too large to fit through any of the holes.  But the mouth and neck of the bottle could go through, and Clockwork seemed content to hold it until Danny figured it out.  

The liquid inside was thicker than he had expected.  Sweeter and saltier, too.  The flavor was… interesting.  A little sour, a little bitter, a little… savory?  It definitely tasted like flowers smelled.  Only, it also tasted like something else?  A lot of something elses.  

He pulled the bottle back and licked his lips thoughtfully.  He… didn’t hate it.  It sure wasn’t something he’d just drink on his own, though.  On the other hand, taking that sip had made him realize how thirsty he actually was.  Which was very thirsty.  He must have gotten more dried out than he’d thought, first walking here and then fighting the net for who knew how long.  

He took another sip, trying to focus on the flavors he hadn’t quite been able to name.

And another.

Something in him settled as he drank. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been. Was it nervousness? He’d thought it was excitement. Delight. Something positive.  But now it was settling into something softer. Calmer. And yet the sky was no less compelling.

Maybe it was a different sort of happiness, now that the unexpected relief and delight of a fellow stargazer out here had calmed his nerves. Maybe he hadn’t managed to calm down until now, and the drink was finally letting him?

Regardless, his limbs weren't so tense anymore, and breaths he hadn’t realized had become so short were drawing long and even now, and that was a relief.

He alternated sips with looking up at the stars.  The Aurora undulated slowly, and was periodically pierced by meteors.  The stars behind the curtains of light were harder to see, but he could still pick out his favorites coming and going, first hidden, then not.  The motion of the lights almost made them seem as if they were moving. It was hypnotizing. 

He tilted the bottle back once more, and made a disappointed sound deep in his throat when he realized it was empty.  Huh.  He must have liked it alright after all.  That wasn’t a small bottle.  In fact, it was bigger than he’d originally thought when Clockwork had first given it to him.  

… He hoped this didn’t make him have to pee.  He was in the woods, but standing next to, um.  Well.  An impromptu bathroom.  Until dawn, at least.  Would make the net thing much worse.

“Done already?” asked Clockwork.

“I guess I was thirstier than I thought.”

“You had been exerting yourself for some time.”  Clockwork plucked the bottle out of Danny’s hands.  “But I believe that you will soon see the fruits of your exertions.”

Danny sighed and leaned more deeply against the tree he was attached to.  Subtly, he rubbed his back against the bark.  The soreness was getting worse.  “Not unless you see a rescue party.”

Clockwork hummed. “I do not. But perhaps you will not need one. The weave of the net seems looser, now. Can your hands fit through?”

Danny tested it. His hand fit through one of the holes easily. And another. It was the same with the third he tried.

“What,” he said.

“It is progress, is it not?”

“I don’t know how,” Danny said. “It’s not like Mom and Dad don’t tie these things at every connection. I didn’t think they could slide.”

“And yet your hands can fit through.”

“Yeah. I just wish I knew how that happened.”

“Dawn will come,” said Clockwork. “You will be able to see it then. Perhaps you worked them loose with your straining.”

“I guess,” said Danny, still wondering.

“And with dawn, you will be free, one way or another. For now, shall we focus on this spectacular sky?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

He’d never seen a night sky like this before, after all. Even if he was stuck under a net, he had a …not a friend. But a fellow stargazer who was just as appreciative. And he was full, and no longer thirsty, and even the cold of the wet earth beneath him wasn’t as cutting with Clockwork’s company.

He settled in again to watch the lightshow, and worried at the cords of the net as he did. It wasn’t like he couldn’t do both, after all.

The stars flashed.  The sky spun.  Clockwork and Danny both exclaimed and pointed at particularly impressive meteors.  Clockwork noted the visible planets and occasionally pointed out asterisms Danny had never heard of before.  The Veil, the Key, the Mistletoe, the Dancing Maidens, the Hive, the Moth.  He half suspected Clockwork was just making them, and the stories that went with them, up to entertain Danny.  But, then, Danny was entertained.  He couldn’t complain.  Even when Clockwork tried to get away with calling Libra The Balance, Danny found his objections were more laughter than indignation.

The eastern horizon began to blush pale. Danny found himself almost disappointed at the sight, even if he’d be able to get out of the net soon. And really see Clockwork. After stargazing for hours together, it felt odd that he still didn’t know what the man looked like even though his voice was becoming as familiar as a friend’s.

He rubbed one of the net cords between his fingers.  Was it just him, or did it seem… scratchier?  Thicker?

He stroked the skin on his palms. Did he have rope burn, maybe? He had been pulling on the cords for hours.  And who knew what his parents had soaked the nets in after they’d been woven?  Danny sure tried not to.  

More importantly, before too much longer the sun would drown out the meteors and the Aurora both.  He wanted to press this sight into his mind to keep forever and ever.  And not just the sight, but the feeling of…  He couldn’t put a name to it, to what he felt, sitting here with Clockwork

It just felt important.

A meteor fell.  He wished it would last.  Another meteor, brighter.  He wished that even after Clockwork inevitably found out who Danny’s parents were and what they were like in person, he would still want to be ‘acquaintances.’  Friends.  Whatever.  He was weird enough.  Probably.  Like Sam and Tucker.  

He wished–

A huge fireball bloomed directly overhead, a celestial arrow angling down, north, wreathed in blinding green.  It took Danny’s breath away.  

He wished he could do this again. He wished he could cast off the shadow of his parents’ weird fae traps and property damage and hatred of creatures that didn’t even exist. He wished he could have the space and time to figure out who he was and who he could be, whether that was an astronaut, an astronomer, a screw up, whatever Jazz was trying to convince him to be that week, or, heck, even someone just as strange as his parents and Clockwork.  He wished he could be himself, could just shed the image of what they and almost everyone else seemed to see in him.  

Also, the net.  

Some of the net fell heavily around Danny’s shoulders, then slid off them.  He didn’t look down, still entranced by the after-image.  Then pain, white hot and as sharp as a knife, drove into his temples and back.  It took his breath away.

He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for air and squeezing his eyes so tightly that tears began to slip out.  What had happened?  What was wrong with him?  He hissed out a shaky breath that was dangerously close to a sob as the pain redoubled, strengthening and strengthening again until static pulsed in the dark of his shut eyes.

It felt as though his head were splitting open.

The pain lanced down his back and he revised the thought. It felt as though he were splitting open.

And then his face came apart.

And then there were only scattered fragments. Scratching.  Growing. Stretching. The feeling of fingers on earth. The feeling fingers of earth. Unfolding. Squeezing. Balance; a knife’s edge.

A great and overwhelming sense of space.

Like a leaf before a storm, Danny trembled.

Eventually, it ebbed.

He was clinging to the ground with all his might, which wasn’t much; the whatever-it-was had left him weak. His limbs felt like jelly and seemed half as cooperative. He was gasping for air, each breath harsh enough to sting his throat. There was a blanket over him and he had the halfway-delirious thought that if Clockwork had a blanket he’d have appreciated it sooner than this.

He couldn’t feel the net.

Had Clockwork gotten him out once it got light enough out? It seemed much brighter now, even if the thought of opening his eyes made Danny wince.

There was a painful, high-pitched chirr sound in the background.  It hurt Danny’s ears and made him wonder if there was an injured animal nearby.  

Something pressed down gently on the back of his neck, where the fuzzy, fluffy edge of the blanket rested.  It removed itself, then returned at the top of his head, whereupon it slid down to the top of his back.  

Oh.  Oh.  He was being petted.  Comforted.  That must be someone’s hand.  Clockwork’s?

It felt… unusually satisfying.  Especially when they fluffed the ruff of the blanket which Danny was strangely aware of.  

Very gradually, the tension in his body began to ease, and he was able to start cataloging the parts of his body that hurt, which was all of them.  But there were a few that hurt more.  His eyes.  His ears.  His temples and the sides of his head.  His entire back.  His shoulders, neck, ears, and large parts of his spine felt like every hair on them had been individually plucked out and then sandpapered.  Speaking of his spine, that felt as if it had been stretched, pulled to bits.  And his back still felt like it had been stabbed.  Multiple times.  Especially around his shoulder blades and at the base of his spine.  

Other than that, he was just sore, everywhere.  

The quality of the chirr sound he’d been hearing started to change, morphing into a sort of purr.  One that rose and fell in time with the hand petting Danny.  

Huh.  

His hand flexed on the ground.  Something was…  There was something very off here, beyond the pain, but that was getting better, and he was starting to feel almost… comfortable.

His weight shifted again, and the ground shifted under it.

It was warm.

It was…damp? Wet. There was something wet under his hands.  Carefully, worried that it would move again, Danny took one hand off the ground and brought it to his face to sniff.   

It smelled good. It smelled wonderful, salty and hearty and just a little bit like chicken soup.

He licked it.

“There we are,” said Clockwork, softly.  “Take as much as you need.”  

Danny needed a lot, right now. His throat was raw, and he was thirsty and suddenly starving, and beyond that the pain that was still leaving echoes through his body. This was warmth and comfort and he wanted both.

He lowered his head and began to lap directly from the source, and warmth and comfort steadily filled him like the morning sun.

He pulled back, not exactly satiated, but needing something else, something different, now.  He made a soft, pleading sound, more like a chirp or a keen than anything human.  He didn’t understand what was going on, but part of him trusted he would be cared for.  Loved.  He’d already been given so much he didn’t know he needed…

Another plea escaped his throat.  It blended with the softening chirr, fitting with it far better than Danny felt it should.  

Something soft and sweet-smelling tickled his cheeks, and Danny dove in, his tongue coming out to search for what he knew was there.

Sweet.

Sweet, but not in the way of candy or even sugar. This was softer, perfumed, more reminiscent of honey but lacking that sharp note.

He wanted more.

As he pushed his face deeper into the… container… something touched his…  Touched…  What?  It was touching his… not his head, but something over it, something attached, something he could feel, and now that he could feel it, was thinking about it, whatever it was, he could feel its movements, as even the sigh-soft breeze pushed it around. 

It– No, they were something fine.  Something soft and delicate.  Something light and flexible and oh so very sensitive.  

The hand, Clockwork’s hand, stroked down his back again, and Danny realized he could feel the fluff of the blanket the same way he’d been able to feel the things on his head. And it trailed past that, to his horribly sore back, and down, all the way down, past where his back should end.

Down, to where Danny could feel something laying across a foot. Down, to where he could feel a hard object under him.

Something twitched, and the thing across his foot fell away. The hard something vanished, too, replaced with the soft ground he found himself on.

Danny chirred, confused.

Oh.  He had been the one making that sound all along.  But.  That wasn’t a sound he could make.  It wasn’t.  

He had to see what was going on. 

Opening his eyes was, perhaps, the single hardest thing he had ever done.  It wasn’t that they were stuck closed or anything, they were just so heavy, and a large part of him just didn’t want to know, wanted to stay half asleep, wanted to keep being held and petted.

Red. A deep, rich red puddled around him on the strange, soft ground. And the ground was uneven, and covered with small ridges and creases where it didn’t vanish beneath the red. Which was welling up from the ground like a spring.

Danny was wrist-deep in it.

A short distance from his face lay the biggest flower Danny had ever seen.  It was bigger than his head, its pale petals stained liberally with the red.   Handprints.  The red stains were in the shape of handprints.  Danny’s handprints.  

The red looked– Well, it looked a lot like–  Like a scene from a horror movie–  But it was coming from the ground, it couldn’t be.  It couldn’t be blood.  

Danny had been drinking this.  What had he been thinking?

“Are you feeling better?” asked Clockwork.

Danny looked around for him.  Then, he looked up.  

The very first thing he noticed was that there were still stars in the sky.  It was still dark, the Aurora was still bright.  The meteors were still falling.

Why could he see?

Why could he see so much more?  He’d only ever seen the stars like this in long-exposure photographs.  The light pollution was way too strong this close to the city.  

There were other, closer things.  The leaves on the trees were green, but they weren’t just green.  Their veins seemed to glow with soft pinks and blues.  He could see insects and birds, too, all of them strangely bright to his eyes, like they had swallowed stars.  

Then, there was Clockwork.  It had to be Clockwork.  There wasn’t anything or anyone else it could be.

“I will interpret that as a yes,” said Clockwork, smiling down at him with love clear in all six eyes.

He had the nose Danny had seen before, yes, and long, silk-white hair, but everything else was so far beyond what Danny had imagined that it was hard to even comprehend.  

And yet it suited him perfectly.

His skin was blue, like summer twilight, warm and rich.

His face glowed in the same soft, steady way as the birds, and set in it, his eyes were a kindly red. There were four on his right side but his left had only two; a deep black scar tore its way down most of his face and left two empty sockets in its wake. It was interrupted only by his primary eye on that side, and Danny felt tender relief that the old wound hadn’t taken that one, too.

White filaments made up a thick ruff around the collar of his– No, that wasn't a cloak, those were wings.  Huge, dramatic, moth-like wings, layered over one another.  There had to be dozens of them, all the way down his back.  They were as dark and starry as the sky on the outside, but some were turned towards Danny to show the luminous, moon-pale undersides.

Below that–below that, Danny couldn’t see. The ground he was on was too high, and Clockwork too large. The ground–

He wasn’t on the ground.

Finally, like disjointed pieces of a puzzle, the details became whole. The uneven place where he lay, with its softness and whorls of ridges and creases. The warmth of it, and the placement.

The–the blood.

He was on Clockwork’s upturned hand.

Forget the rest of it.  When, and how, did Clockwork get so big?  

Danny chirred a question. Wordless, overwhelmed and wondering.

(And why was Clockwork bleeding?)

“You are safe, little one. My little one.”

Danny chirred again, a little cross. That didn’t answer anything.

Clockwork only smiled, and then there was a gentle rocking motion as they moved. Like clouds, the trees in the distance slid sideways with deceptive speed. 

Danny settled, feeling sleepy, slow, and stupid, but still safe.  Like he should be able to make this all make sense, like this should make sense, if he was just a little more awake and aware, but that it didn’t matter if he couldn’t, because he would be protected.

And then, Clockwork tilted, and his hand jostled, and though he didn’t become more visible, they were suddenly surrounded by great spikes of grass and flowers, stories tall. Some of them drooped, heavy with seeds or droplets of dew. They hung huge and heavy from the stalks, like fruit ripe to bursting.

Danny blinked. Frowned. Blinked again.

There was something, an idea, that made sense. But it hung just out of reach, blurry, and every time he reached for it, the thought passed through his mental fingers like the morning mist.

It was, it should have been, obvious.

Clockwork would know. Danny chirred his question again.

“It will come to you,” Clockwork said. ”Give it time.”

Clockwork cleaned him off gently with a huge, damp cloth, taking special care with his ruff, antennae, and wings. He mopped up the blood pooling beneath Danny as well, with a reassurance that Danny was welcome to more if he needed it. With another hand, he laid another huge flower down next to him. The stem where Clockwork had held it glowed briefly, before it faded into the relative dark of early morning, leaving the flower with the same odd coloration as the tree leaves earlier.

Dawn was still hours off. He wasn’t in the net.

Danny looked up.

He’d wondered what it would be like to stargaze with Clockwork without the net.  Apparently, the answer was wonderful.

The stars were still so beautiful. More beautiful, now. There was such an incredible array of color and brightness in the sky, like a living painting. There was scarcely any black left in it.

Danny blinked, slow.  He rubbed his face with his hands, lingering over his ears - which felt long and soft, like a cat’s or a rabbit’s, he must really be sleepy - and the long fluffy things that had sprouted from his head.  They twitched under his fingers.  

He looked up at Clockwork, still hoping for an answer and… Clockwork had things growing from his head, too, now that he looked.  He’d mistaken them for hair, before, but while Clockwork certainly had plenty of that, braided, beaded, and beribboned, that wasn’t all he had.  

They were antennae.  Four of them.  White, fluffy, and softly glowing.  They were much longer, compared to Clockwork’s body, than Danny’s were compared to his.  Danny raised his hands to feel his again.  He had two.  And, maybe, behind each, a ticklish little nub.

It felt…right, that they should both have antennae, though. Satisfying. Comforting, like a hug. Like the stroking had been, and the blood.

What else did Danny and Clockwork share, now?

Danny’s eyes trailed carefully over Clockwork’s face.

Danny was pretty sure he only had two eyes, but he touched his face again, just to make sure.  Then his ears…  Clockwork had big, long ears, too, the edges of them soft with white fur. Just like his ruff.  Danny’s ruff was black shot with silver and… it was growing from his skin.  It wasn’t part of a blanket, which meant…

He twisted his head to check.

There was no blanket.  Danny had wings.  They were wrinkled and slightly damp, but they were wings, just like Clockwork’s, although he didn’t have nearly as many.  Two sets, to Clockwork’s uncountably many.  

He also had a tail. And only two arms, to Clockwork’s four. Somehow, in the moment, this seemed less important than the wings.

His eyes kept returning to his wings.

The outsides looked just like the darker parts of the sky did now, streaked with meteor silver and edged with Auroral green.  The insides were the same vivid colors as the Aurora itself.  Pinks, purples, blues, and greens all dancing together.

They were beautiful.  He definitely, definitely should not have them.

He wanted them.

He shouldn’t want them.  

He did.  

He drew them close to his body and looked up.

There was a huff of fond laughter. “Remember to fan them out, my little fledgeling. We want them to dry well.”

Oh. Right. Danny unfolded his wings again, a little embarrassed he’d forgotten.  

And then he returned his attention to the stars. He was determined to enjoy this for however much longer this might last.  Maybe this would all make sense in the morning.  Maybe all of this would be taken away from him.  Either way, neither was true now.

Now, Danny was here with Clockwork, looking up.

Now, the sky was vast and beautiful.  

Later, his eyes started to feel heavy again.  He pulled the flower close, and began to absent-mindedly chew on the petals in an attempt to stay awake.  He didn’t want to miss anything else.

Despite his efforts, his eyes began to droop. His head kept falling into his neck fluff, and the flower tumbled from his hands.

Clockwork plucked it from where it fell, and replaced it with a blanket, just Danny’s size.

“Some inevitabilities we must fight,” said Clockwork, “but this isn’t one of them, my dear child.”

For another few moments, he kept his eyes stubbornly on the sky.  Another pair of meteors fell, and he wished, perhaps selfishly, that this could last forever.  

But, he admitted to himself with a sigh, he was very tired.  

Danny curled up in Clockwork’s hand, tucking his head under the wings he was careful to keep fanned, and his tail around his head.

“Rest, my little one,” said Clockwork’s voice, already distant. “We can talk more when you are rested.”

And Danny did.

Dawn.

The kiss of the sun on the horizon.  The beginning of a new day.  The banishment of all things of the night.  

Danny jackknifed straight up as if its fire had been poured directly into his veins, heart pounding.  He woke just in time to see his new wings, his beautiful, terrible, fully spread wings evaporate like the morning dew.  

The antennae, the tail, and the fur that had grown around his neck and shoulders and down his spine stayed.  

More concerningly from Danny’s perspective, his perspective didn’t change.  He stayed small, just the right size to fit snugly in the palm of Clockwork’s hand.  

Clockwork’s wings stayed.  So did his extra eyes, his antennae, his skin color, and everything.  

This wasn’t a dream.  

Or there really had been drugs in the food Clockwork gave him. 

Why, oh why, was that the best case scenario right now?  Why was the best possible answer to the question of what was happening that he was just really really high?  

Because if he was just drugged, that meant he was only normal human stupid.  People took stupid drugs accidentally and on purpose all the time.  But if it wasn’t drugs, if this was real… That meant he’d somehow wandered into a world where his parents were right, had always been right, and he was probably about to get eaten.  

“I would not, and will not, eat you,” said Clockwork.  “I never would.”

“I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do!” hissed Danny, pulling on his hair. “You turned me into some kind of– of moth boy.”  

“You would have turned regardless, trapped so thoroughly and so long on a faerie door on a night like that. I simply made sure that it was kinder.”

“Kinder than what?”

“Any number of things. Any number of fates. They do not give much more mind to cruelty than your parents.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was their trap you fell into, dear one.  Without their actions, you could be human, still; safe and warm at home.  Though,” and here Clockwork smiled so gently that Danny couldn’t help but be comforted despite himself. “You are safe, and you are warm. And you could be home as well.”

Danny hunched his shoulders.  “What,” he squeaked, “is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that as you are, you would be in danger with those who made the net that trapped you. I mean that you would be welcome in my home, and cared for, and safe. You are not the first lost and lonely child I have found. Nor the first with parents who should have protected them, and did not.”

“You’ve kidnapped other kids?”

“I have adopted other children. Other children, who were not cared for as they should have been, not loved as they deserved. As you deserve.”

“My parents love me just fine,” Danny snapped.

“I see,” said Clockwork, and he seemed sad. “And your presence here in the night? Alone, without even a light to see by?”

“I snuck out. And I brought a flashlight with me.”

“Alone,” said Clockwork.

“I thought the woods were safe.”

“Why? Did your parents tell you they were?” asked Clockwork, eyes narrowed and nose flaring.

“No! No, they said they were full of monsters.”

“So they didn’t teach you we could be dangerous?”

“No, I–I didn’t believe them.”

“My child, humans can be dangerous. Even to other humans. Surely, you know–”

“I know that,” interrupted Danny. “I didn’t think you existed.”

Clockwork frowned. “Your parents set cruel traps for the unwary.”

“Because they are crazy. Were crazy?” Danny moaned, burying his head in his hands.  He resisted the urge to start preening his antennae and fluff. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“Their cruelty is the same,” said Clockwork, “Regardless of whether you believed the target existed. And they let you go hungry.”

“That wasn’t their fault.  They made dinner.  It just… didn’t work out.”

“Then whose fault was it?” asked Clockwork.  “Yours?  Your sister’s?  As parents, they should provide for you, not leave you to fend for yourself.”

“They didn’t leave us to fend for ourselves,” scoffed Danny, crossing his arms.  

“What do you call them leaving to go test what was left of that chicken?”

“That was– Okay, but what happened to the chicken was really weird–”

“It was not the first time, or the only time, that they abandoned you in favor of crafting their weapons and traps.”

Danny shook his head.  “They love us.  They love me.”

“Sometimes, that is not enough.”

“Sometimes it is.  Of course it is. They love me. They love me enough to–” Danny swallowed, fighting down grief and horror. “I’m not leaving them.  Or Jazz.”

Swallowing hadn’t helped. It had only shoved the churning knot of emotion down into his chest where it could reach awful vines around his heart and squeeze.

His hands were shaking.

God, what would Jazz do if he randomly disappeared?  They annoyed the heck out of each other, and Jazz definitely held some of the things she did for him over his head for guilt trips, but he didn’t doubt she loved him. He didn’t doubt she would be frantic if he vanished.

He chirred again, mournfully, and only looked up again at Clockwork’s light touch.

“If love is enough,” said Clockwork, softly, ”then shouldn’t it be enough that I love you?”

“I–I don’t know,” said Danny.

Because the thing was, he didn’t doubt that Clockwork loved him. Nor that Clockwork would nurture and protect him, as he already had. It was easy, terribly easy, to imagine snuggling under Clockwork’s wings or into his ruff and trusting that he would be safe.

Danny pinched his eyes shut. “I’m going back.”

“As you are?  Knowing how they would treat those they consider monsters?”

“Yes.  They’re my parents.  They love me.”

“Through this forest, and all of its dangers?”

“Yes.”

“Through all the hazards of that human city?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing I can do will dissuade you?”

“No.”  Although, Danny reflected, Clockwork could certainly stop him physically.  All he would have to do was hold him.  But Danny would fight him.  He’d fight, and he’d never stop fighting, and trying to get back home, no matter what.  No matter how much Clockwork seemed to care for him, or how gentle and kind he was.  

Clockwork sighed.  “Then I have no choice.  I will let you return.”

“You– You will?” asked Danny, suspiciously.  It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Yes.  But I would not have you killed out of hand, my child, as would certainly happen if you were to return as you are now.  First, let me show you how to change.”

“I don’t want to change anymore,” said Danny.  “I don’t.  I don’t.” The fear was a beating heart inside of him, the idea of more change, unknown and untraveled. 

“Perhaps I should say, change back.”

“I can be human again?” A needle of hope lanced through his chest. But would he ever see Clockwork again? 

“Not precisely,” said Clockwork, before Danny could dwell.  “No more than you are now.  But it was the doorway that changed you, and doorways are of the between rather than here or there.  Thus, you are of both sides of the door, not just one.  You are still half human.”

Danny sat down.  “I am?” he asked, voice wavering.  He wasn’t going to cry.  Not now.

“Yes,” said Clockwork.  “You are half human… and half faerie.  Half of their house, and half of mine, tied by blood, if not birth.”

Danny remembered.  He remembered drinking Clockwork’s blood (again, what had he been thinking?) and how good it had tasted.  

He hoped that wasn’t going to be, like, a recurring thing.  

“So, what do I do?” he asked.  

“First,” said Clockwork, “you ought to take off your clothing, so it doesn’t tear.”

“So it doesn’t…?”  Danny looked down at himself.  Maybe he should have realized earlier, but he wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d put on yesterday.  Which made sense.  At his current size, they would have been far too big.  Instead, he was wearing simple white layered robes that had openings in the back for his wings and tail.  

“I will have to get you something enchanted to change sizes, or to come when you transform, should you choose to remain and change often,” continued Clockwork.  “But I was able to make these on short notice, and they were suitable for the night.”

“You made these?” asked Danny, oddly touched.  He was supposed to be mad at Clockwork.  He was supposed to be afraid of him.  But both of those feelings just ran out of his hands like water out of a fist.  

“I did,” said Clockwork.  

“What happened to my clothes?”

Clockwork shifted one of his wings, showing what was beneath it.  Silver buckles and pocket watches shone brightly against dark silk and leather.  Other things, like bottles, herbs, and what looked like a small spyglass hung from belts or were secreted in pockets.  Danny’s ratty jeans and t-shirt stood out like a sore thumb.  

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Okay.  Um.”  His hands curled around the edge of the tunic-like top portion of the robes.  “Don’t look.”

Clockwork closed his eyes. 

“Now what?” asked Danny, who very much was not enjoying being naked in the open like this.  

“We are creatures of the night sky,” said Clockwork, eyes still shut.  “We are of the Stars and the Moon.”

“The moon is up during the day, too.  It’s up right now.”

“So it is,” agreed Clockwork.  “But so is the Sun that drowns out the Stars.”

“The sun is also a star.”

“So it is.  But it is not like other Stars.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It is not like other stars to us, or to humans.  It is the light by which so many see.  It is what divides day from night.  It is, you see, what has clipped your wings.” Danny shifted slightly, the missing weight of his wings both foreign and familiar. 

(There was so much to unpack.  He hadn’t any time.)

“Why is it different?”

“Its proximity, perhaps. We can discuss it at a later time, if you wish. I would enjoy such a conversation.”

Danny hadn’t really thought about there being a ‘later’ with Clockwork, but…  The thought of never seeing Clockwork again made his heart squeeze painfully, so he shoved it away.  

“In any case,” continued Clockwork, “for those like yourself to change, you reach for one or the other.  For the day or the night.  The light or the dark.  The Moon or the Sun.  However you would like to think about it.  You give precedence within yourself to one or the other.”

“Is it harder when they’re close to one another in the sky, like now?” Danny asked.

Clockwork smiled, though he kept his eyes shut. “As I do not transform that way, I do not know myself. My other children may have more comparable experiences, and we all are more comfortable under the phase we were born under.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be running into your children any time soon,” said Danny.  Seeing them would, after all, mean that Clockwork had succeeded in kidnapping Danny, too.  Even if it meant that he’d see Clockwork again…

“Even so.  You will be able to see for yourself before long.  Reach out, now.  Can you feel them?”

Clockwork had a lot of confidence in Danny being able to figure this out quickly, huh.  

(Despite still being mad at Clockwork - he was mad, he was - Danny didn’t want to disappoint him.)

Reach out… to something inside himself.  Which was also outside himself?  He wasn’t entirely clear on how literal the connection to the moon and sun was.  But…  Right.  Okay.  He could do this.  He didn’t want to be a little gremlin moth thing that Clockwork - or, heck, an average bird - could carry off at a moment’s notice.  

He closed his eyes.  

Day and night.  Light and Dark.  Moon and sun.  This was the kind of Yin and Yang stuff Sam sometimes got into.  Balance and changing balance.  

If he was reaching for the sun - for the Sun, the idea of the Sun - he should reach for heat, shouldn’t he?  Heat and life and truth.  

He could feel it, on his skin, warming him, cutting through the coolness of the morning.  He imagined that warmth sinking through him, filling him up.  

But there was warmth inside him, too.  It built in his chest and left his lungs with every breath. It churned in his heart and coursed through his veins like the blood that helped to carry it.  It was easy to take that, and imagine light to accompany it, centered at his heart.  To imagine it reaching out as the sunlight reached in.  He imagined it growing, brightening, pushing out against the inside of his skin, chasing away the dark, chasing away the moonlight and starlight and Aurora.  Gold, chasing out black and silver.

Except… not entirely.

The sun was also a star, and all moonlight had once been sunlight.  They mixed at the edges, blending comfortably, linked inexorably.  

(There was magic he would be able to touch through this link that few others could.  He understood this instinctively - but he was not yet ready for it, and the feeling was pushed away, put aside for a later, more appropriate day.)

This was the Sun, a tiny spark of it held within himself.  

(There was the Moon, dark but no less itself, no less present and pulling for its invisibility during the day.)

And… the balance shifted.  

He wouldn’t be able to explain what it felt like, to fall back into his skin.  Not now.  Not today.

Maybe not even if he lived a hundred years.

(Maybe he would, something whispered in his ear. Who knew how long moth-things lived?)

But he found himself at his proper human teenager size, cradled in Clockwork’s arms, no fluff or tail in sight.  

Still naked, though.  

He snatched his clothes from Clockwork, and, blushing furiously, ran behind a tree to change.  

It was strange, walking next to Clockwork.  The… Danny wasn’t actually sure what Clockwork was.  Mothman?  Moth monster?  Anyway, Clockwork was still way taller than him, and the way his ruff and wings made him seem bulkier made Danny feel a little bit better about initially mistaking him for a bear.  

The walk itself was still weird and awkward.  Danny kept drifting closer to Clockwork, and then when Clockwork’s wings ruffled out towards him, as if to part or turn back to let him shelter under them, he flinched away, walking as far apart as the trees would allow.  

Danny wondered if one of the things Clockwork had given him to eat had been some kind of… family love potion, and if it would ever wear off.  Despite no longer having any fur, his skin still itched for Clockwork to touch him, pet him, hold him.  

Although, for that to be perfect, he’d need to change back.  Shrink back down until Clockwork could hold him securely in one hand and pet him, head to tail, with the other.  

Which– No.  No.  He was never going to turn back into a moth.  He wasn’t going to think about it.  He wasn’t ever going to have antennae, or wings, or a tail ever again.  

… Clockwork had a tail.  A long one, longer than Danny’s had been, compared to his body.  It trailed on the ground like the train of a dress, and both the left and right side of it was completely lined with moth wings, as opposed to Danny’s where there were only wings next to the little bulb at the end.  Which Clockwork also had.  It flickered with light, like a lightning-bug’s tail.

Danny wondered if his tail would do that, too, under the right circumstances.  

Not that it mattered.  Again, weird fairy door magic or whatever, he was going to be human from now on.  Yep.  

(Wow, the more he thought that, the less convincing he got.  That was sad, actually.)

They reached the edge of the forest.  Amity Park seemed to sparkle in the light.  Too bright.  Too artificial.  Unreal, after the events of the night.

“Here is where we part, for now,” said Clockwork.  “If you need me, you will be able to find me.” Could he say anything that didn’t sound ominous and weighty?

“Right,” said Danny.  He hesitated, then, impulsively, hugged Clockwork.  He shouldn’t have.  Clockwork was exactly the kind of monster his parents had always warned him about, and was an admitted serial kidnapper who had spied on his family and turned him into a moth.  

But he couldn’t imagine leaving without hugging Clockwork.  Just once.  

Clockwork hugged him back, with all four arms and what had to be a dozen wings.  It was the best hug he’d ever had - even if it was also the most terrifying.  

Then, Clockwork leaned down so that his lips were next to Danny’s ear.  He whispered to him a simple handful of words.  Most of them were familiar.  His name.  His full name, the one on his birth certificate, the one his parents and sister used when they were really upset with him.  But… one of them he hadn’t heard before.  Not once.  Not ever.  

It was still his name.  

He knew this with the same surety as he knew the rest of his name.  He also knew it hadn’t been his name before last night.  

It was his name… because it was Clockwork’s.  It was a family name, belonging to him as indelibly and as truly as the name ‘Fenton,’ one that bound him not only to Clockwork, but to the rest of Clockwork’s kin.  

It did more than that, too.  When Clockwork spoke his name, his true, full name, it was as if every molecule in his body had been magnetized and his name was a magnet.  He was held still by it, at perfect attention.  Whatever Clockwork wanted to say, whatever he wanted to do, Danny had no choice but compliance.  

Not that, in the moment, he wanted another choice.  

“Follow your conscience, my dear, sweet child,” said Clockwork.  “I want that for you, always.  But when you do, please…  Have a care for yourself, too.  Do not needlessly throw yourself into deadly danger.”

Danny, pinned to Clockwork’s chest, nodded.  

Clockwork, with palpable reluctance, released him, hands tracing along his cheeks before falling away.  “Be safe, Danny.”

Danny nodded again, and stepped backwards, out of the trees and into the sunlight.  He didn’t know why he felt so sad, all of a sudden.  He was going home.  He’d avoided being permanently kidnapped or eaten.  He was fine.  

He turned away.  

He was going home. 

Stay tuned for the sequel. :)

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #6674:

when people who hate a piece of media actively participate in the fandom just to hate on everything and show how "woke" they are and you know what while ive seen this in other fandoms this is a genshin submission. because im ACTIVELY tired of these mother fuckers commenting about any thing new thats happening just to spread their toxicity about the game. i dont care if your upset the new character is pale you need to stop trying to force asians to represent you. the fact that the first thought you have when you see any pale character is that "they would be better black" says a whole fucking lot about YOUR internalized racism and prejudice towards not only white people but any one thats pale and that includes asians and middle easterners who are infact poc. you need to reflect on that because with that mindset you are no better than a pale person thinking characters or people would be better white. i dont care if you think the inazuma story is boring and sucks, or that you cant comprehend that Ei was actually handles really well and you cant understand someone battling depression and just because she a fucking archon doesnt mean she cant fuck up. the ABLEISM this reeks and your lack of empathy is astounding. sit down. i dont care if you think the characters are too sexualized. this is especially worse if you only think or go after a specific nation for being sexualized. even if you did care even though mihoyo (a chinese company) sexualized its own culture it still doesnt fucking matter because its not REAL. i could understand if it was a historical film and it was changed like that but this is a fantasy world and ALL the clothes are modified/different and sexualized. sick of this argument GO OUTSIDE AND USE YOUR TIME AND ENERGY TO TALK ABOUT REAL PROBLEMS ALL YOU DO IS COMPLAIN ABOUT A GAME THAT WILL NEVER LISTEN TO YOU AND WILL COTINUE TO EXIST AS I IS NO MATTER WHAT YOU SAY WHEN YOU COULD BE SHOWING SUPPORT FOR REAL PEOPLE EXPIRENCEING REAL LIFE THREATENING PROBLEMS BUT NO! YOUR QUITE WHEN ITS A REAL FUCKING PERSON

OR YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO ATTACK A REAL PERSON YOU CLAIM TO DEFEND LIKE DORIS FUCKING VOICE ACTOR WHO IS A PERSON OF COLOR AND HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CREATION OF THE FUCKING CHARACTER shut up and sit down you literal children. you arent "woke". you do more harm to this fucking community than good and its a fucking shame genshin got so big and attracted all you privileged babies who have never experienced a real problem once in your lives and that goes to any poc complaining about a fucking fantasy game that has no effect on your lives

sincerely a very tired black woman who has experienced far fucking worse than a character being pale or wearing modified clothing, a character with depression doing morally questionable acts upon her people. please learn what a real problem is.

[jesters-stuffs]

I doubt anyone will see this but like I just want to scream into the void for a moment.

I've seen so many people complaining about how making g3 Frankie non-binary was a "bad move" and how they should've just left them the way they were and made a new character to be non-binary. I apologize if I sound rude but as a non-binary person myself, that argument just sounds kind of foolish? Like, that's what being trans *is*. You were *this* in the beginning, everyone knew and liked you as *this*, but now you know that you're actually *that* and so you let everyone know that you're *that*. While a lot of people support your change, there will always be people that insist that you were better as *this* and that that's how they will always see you. In Frankie's case, they were originally a girl and used she/her pronouns throughout g1 and g2, but are now non-binary and use they/them in g3, and people complain that they were better off as a girl and that they shouldn't have been changed. Idk, just sort of reeks with transphobia to me, whether intentional or not :/

And for people saying they should've made a different character non-binary, people don't need a *reason* to be non-binary, that includes characters.

I'm not saying you can't complain about g3, just like anything it has its flaws, but be constructive, prejudice isn't an argument.

Anyways fuck transphobes, Frankie is my little guy and I love them, have a lovely day to anyone who reads this

[yato-dharmastato-jayah]

Hindutva literally means being Hindu or Hindu-ness.

How tf is that a negative thing?

We Hindus are proud of our heritage, culture, religious history and scholarly achievements.

How is that an evil thing?

We are decolonising and reclaiming the religious sites which were stolen from us. We are rebuilding those sites with our own money and celebrating their restoration.

How is that hurting anyone? How is that wrong?

Hindus have always believed in the sentiment of live and let live, of living together as one family (Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam). We have welcomed into our fold many different communities and peoples, like the Parsis (Zoroastrians) when they were persecuted and forced to leave their homeland Persia, the Jews (Bene Israelis, Baghdadis, Cochin Jews, Bnei Menashe, Bene Ephraims, etc.), the Tibetans when they were persecuted and their homeland stolen by China, even the Christians and Muslims from different parts of the world when they came to trade here. We have cohabited peacefully with people of other faiths, like Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains, who are so close to us that we intermarry frequently and don't even consider it an interfaith relationship.

Hindus, for the most part, are inherently welcoming people, open and accepting of others as long as they don't try to stifle us or impose their religious beliefs on us. We believe in being nonviolent as long as we aren't pushed into a corner, as long as we're given space to practice our religion, as long as we're not forced to bend so much that we break.

If the Hindus are attacked, if attempts are made to erase or subjugate our religion, then obviously we'll respond in kind. It's the simple concept of self defence.

In the end, I shouldn't even need to state this overtly, but obviously there are bad apples in every cart, and people from every community commit wrongs. But it doesn't define a community. We condemn such wrong acts and will continue to do so. But calling all Hindus or Hindutva itself evil because of a few bad apples is not only illogical, it reeks of prejudice and preconceived hatred. That's when it becomes Hinduphobia.

[mywitchyblog]

@shiftmaxxer

masterlist

In response to your post:

Thank you for your thoughtful contribution. It’s refreshing to engage in a counter-argument and have meaningful discussions that don’t devolve into insults or death threats. This kind of respectful dialogue is what allows for growth and understanding, even when we don’t see eye to eye.

Part 1: Clarifying Intent and Addressing Misrepresentation

First and foremost, it seems there may have been some misunderstandings regarding the purpose of my original post and the intentions behind it. I understand that you’re critiquing my previous rant, which I admit was written in a heated moment. In hindsight, I recognize that I should have taken the time to calm down before writing, as it might have conveyed my thoughts more clearly and without the emotional charge.

You mentioned, and I quote: "Calling other people of color 'pathetic' for what I believe to be perfectly understandable reactions to race-changing is reductive." I want to clarify that this was not my intention at all. The individuals I labeled as "pathetic" were those who, unlike you, resort to insults and threats, using logical fallacies as their only arguments—arguments that aren’t even valid to begin with.

The only other instance where I used the word "pathetic" in that post was in reference to certain white individuals who oppose race-changing without providing proper arguments. Here’s the passage in question: "As a person of color, this issue is especially relevant to me, yet the opposition I see frequently comes from individuals who don’t share my lived experiences—often white people who have no stake in the matter, telling me what I should or shouldn’t do. They’ll throw around terms like 'DNI,' 'I don't wanna argue with you,' 'if you support race-changing, block me,' or brand me as a bad person without engaging in any meaningful dialogue. It proves that they are cowards, pathetic, and that their claims hold no weight and reek of insecurity."

This quote is crucial because it explains why I referred to these individuals as insecure and pathetic: they immediately resort to name-calling without providing proper explanations. The "bad person" I referenced is someone who attacks me with labels like "racist" or even "pedophile"—terms that have nothing to do with the actual debate at hand. This is an example of a Strawman Fallacy because it misrepresents my argument by suggesting I called all POC "pathetic," which wasn’t the case. My criticism was aimed specifically at those who rely on insults and threats rather than valid arguments.

Part 2: Addressing Claims of Hostility and Spite

You also pointed out that I "completely dismiss any opposing arguments, calling it 'close-minded.'" Yes, I agree—logical fallacies and insults are indeed close-minded arguments. The only counter-argument I had is the one I mentioned earlier; feel free to check it out. So yes, I called it close-minded because that’s exactly what it is. Furthermore, accusing me of writing with ChatGPT is an Ad Hominem Fallacy, which targets my character rather than engaging with the substance of my arguments.

Regarding your statement: "You've stated yourself that you argue in a way to 'spite' people who oppose your opinion." Let me clarify—spite plays a dual role in my approach. On one hand, I genuinely want to uplift and educate people, sharing knowledge and perspectives that can help others grow and expand their understanding. On the other hand, there’s a part of me that’s driven by a desire to challenge and provoke—to make people think harder and question the status quo. Sometimes, that means making people uncomfortable or challenging their deeply held beliefs, especially when those beliefs are rooted in ignorance or prejudice. It’s about making them confront their biases to the point where their limited thinking is forced to evolve—or at the very least, be exposed.

And yes, I will not budge on the point that ad hominem attacks, threats, and insults are not acceptable forms of argumentation. They don’t contribute to meaningful discourse, and they certainly don’t challenge or strengthen any position.

You mentioned that my tone "is hostile and full of what I see as 'conversation enders' (you argue in a way that shuts down discourse rather than encourages it)." I apologize if my tone came across that way; it was not intended to be hostile. In the future, I’ll make an effort to use better disclaimers and perhaps even include tone tags to ensure that my intent is clear. My aim was never to shut down conversation but to challenge the status quo and encourage intelligent debate, free of ad hominem attacks—much like the approach you’ve taken in your response.

Part 3: Hypocrisy and Nuance in Race-Changing Discussions

You also raised the point that I’m "hypocritical for disregarding the value of people's hurt and frustrations and calling it a desire to be 'empathetic.'" This is not the case. In my essay, I acknowledged that there’s a fine line between empathy and the potential for fetishization, romanticization, and even racism if not handled carefully. For example, I specifically stated that "race-changing in reality shifting can serve as a unique and valuable tool for promoting intercultural understanding, challenging racial prejudices, and fostering a more empathetic and inclusive society" when done thoughtfully and ethically (Essay, Part I). If I were truly disregarding these concerns, I wouldn’t have included the parts of my essay where I emphasized the importance of treading lightly and being considerate.

Initially, I planned to argue that race-changing was entirely okay and not disrespectful at all. However, as I continued writing, I recognized the need to include those critical nuances—because nothing in this world is black and white. Consequently, I changed the direction of my essay to reflect this, and I quote myself: "By maintaining this careful balance, race-changing in reality shifting can serve as a unique and valuable tool for promoting intercultural understanding, challenging racial prejudices, and fostering a more empathetic and inclusive society. As with any powerful tool, its value lies not in the practice itself, but in how we choose to use it."

Originally, I might have said something like "Race-changing is okay and a good thing," but instead, I concluded, "Race-changing can be a good thing, but we need to be careful not to be disrespectful, as we have a duty and responsibility."

Part 4: Loaded Questions and Hasty Generalizations

You asked: "You would rather shift to be another race to 'understand' a race than engage with their media, their lived, documented experiences, or talk to others about their experiences? Are others' experiences meaningless to you unless you physically ARE them? If you lack that amount of empathy that you have to become another race, I don't think empathy was ever in the cards for you." I’m not sure if you’re addressing me directly here, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.

As for me, I never stated or implied that in my previous posts. Moreover, asserting that race-changers shift to another race because the experiences of POC are meaningless to them, ergo they never had any empathy to begin with, is a Hasty Generalization Fallacy. Additionally, the framing of the question is a Loaded Question Fallacy because it presumes a lot about my intentions without evidence, and frames the question in a way that makes any answer seem incriminating. It's an unfair setup.

In my essay, I made it clear that "shifting allows for experiencing life through different perspectives which can be enlightening as fuck" (Essay, Part I). The goal is not to dismiss or undermine anyone’s experiences but to gain a deeper understanding through direct experience in another reality, which is a legitimate and complex method of exploring identity and empathy.

Part 5: The Complexity of Reality Shifting and Allegory in Fiction

You also wrote: "For people from the racial identities being appropriated, witnessing individuals casually adopt and discard their race can be distressing. It can feel as though their experiences and struggles are being reduced to mere fantasy elements rather than being respected and understood. This disregard can contribute to feelings of marginalization and invalidate the real-life challenges faced by those of different races."

I completely agree with you that this can be distressing, and I cannot invalidate your feelings—you are entitled to them. However, I must disagree with the notion that race-changing "invalidates the real-life challenges" faced by those of different races, simply because in the context of reality shifting, the line between "real" and "fake" life blurs. If you meant "OR," then I retract my disagreement.

However, to suggest that some race-changers do this with the intention of causing this effect on POC is reductive. As a POC myself, if someone were to tell me they shifted to a reality where they are the same race as I am and then shared their experiences of discrimination, I would feel a sense of joy that they finally understand my pain—rather than dismissing it in this reality with statements like "Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating," or "It’s not so bad after all." Like, why don’t you walk in my shoes before saying that? Oh wait, they did, and now they get it.

You stated: "Being black and being a 'werewolf' aren't comparable in any version of reality. To trivialize a lived experience of an inconceivable number of people (because remember, this is the multiverse) is extremely bold." I have never trivialized or reduced the pain of other POC or marginalized communities. I merely pointed out that they share some similarities in that they are perceived as monstrous, discriminated against, and persecuted. The difference, of course, is that one is considered fictional in this reality, and the other is not.

It is you who is being bold by claiming they have nothing in common. Consider that some writers create fictional races as allegories for what marginalized communities face in our world. A prime example is the Na’vi from Avatar. James Cameron, the director of Avatar, explicitly stated: "Avatar very pointedly made reference to the colonial period in the Americas, with all its conflict and bloodshed between the military aggressors from Europe and the indigenous peoples. Europe equals Earth. The Native Americans are the Na'vi. It's not meant to be subtle."

In this context, someone shifting to be a Na’vi could be seen as analogous to race-changing to be a Native American, only with a superficial, fantastical layer added on top—a "pink bow" if you will. While the Na’vi might be fictional, their creation is deeply rooted in the real experiences and histories of Native Americans, particularly their suffering at the hands of colonial forces. The narratives of exploitation, resistance, and survival embodied by the Na’vi are direct reflections of those faced by Indigenous peoples.

Thus, shifting to become a Na’vi in a desired reality is not just adopting a fictional identity but engaging with the complex and painful history that the Na’vi represent. Whether or not the person shifting acknowledges this connection, the allegory remains. The act of shifting to a race that is explicitly crafted as a stand-in for a real marginalized group comes with inherent implications, making it far more than a mere fantasy element.

Therefore, equating the Na'vi with werewolves, and dismissing the deeper connections between these fictional and real marginalized groups, misses the point entirely. The comparison trivializes the intent behind these allegories, reducing complex social and historical narratives to mere fantasy. It's not bold to recognize these connections—it's simply understanding the truth of how fiction often reflects reality.

Part 6: Logical Fallacies and the Nature of Empathy

Regarding your statement: "Discrediting one's lived experiences (ergo, attacking their credibility) is not just questioning the validity of their personal story; it's denying the nuanced realities that intertwine us as people. If you can do that so easily, how can you become better and more understanding from rcta alone?" If I were discrediting my fellow POC’s experiences, I wouldn’t have brought a nuanced perspective to the subject. I acknowledged that it’s a topic that requires careful handling and that it’s not black and white, even though I tried to simplify it but couldn’t.

However, your assertion that "It won’t fix or better your empathy because you already lack it from the way you react to those who don’t agree with the practice" is an Ad Hominem Fallacy. You’re attacking my character without providing evidence to support your claim that I lack empathy.

In my essay, I discussed how "morals and ethics are not universal constants but are shaped by cultural, temporal, and situational factors" (Essay, Part I). This underscores the importance of understanding that empathy and moral considerations can vary greatly depending on the context and the reality in which they are applied.

Part 7: Nuanced Perspectives and False Dichotomy

Finally, I want to emphasize that it’s okay to feel offended by those who race-change. I won’t dictate your feelings—you are entitled to them. But you also need to acknowledge that not everything is black and white; not everyone who engages in race-changing does so to invalidate or trivialize the lives and experiences of other people of color.

You said: "But refusing to be accountable for the real reasons you race change (and why at least 50% of us shift) is disingenuous." If I were truly being disingenuous, as you claim, why would I have written in my essay that the issue is nuanced? By acknowledging the fact that we must tread lightly and be careful, I’ve already implicitly stated that those people exist. If I didn’t acknowledge that fact, I wouldn’t have discussed it at all.

You also mentioned: "There is no morality play. People don’t shift races to 'grow' or just because they're 'curious'. You make such an (understandably) loaded and controversial topic more innocent and sweet than it is." Let me stop you right there. I do not make a controversial topic more innocent and sweet than it is—I made it more nuanced.

Stating that race-changing is inherently bad is a False Dichotomy Fallacy; it reduces the topic to two simplistic notions when there are other perspectives. I acknowledge that some POC may be offended by it. But they must also acknowledge that not everyone who engages in race-changing does so to trivialize their experiences—quite the opposite.

How many POC (myself included) have been so sick and tired of having people dismiss our pain, wanting them to understand instead of diminishing it? I can’t recall the number of times I wanted those people to walk a mile in my shoes just to see what it feels like. And with shifting, they can.

Part 8: Conclusion and Invitation for Further Discussion

You concluded with: "It makes you someone who can't and won't make room for those who feel invalidated by those who race-change frivolously." So, what do you propose we should do? I specifically said in my post that we shouldn’t be frivolous about it—that we have a responsibility and a duty when engaging in such practices. And yes, I admit that saying "DNI," or "block me if you support race-changing," may have been too much, but when those same people are the ones who insult and threaten me, I cannot be blamed for making such assumptions about them.

To conclude, I really enjoyed your respectful perspective on the subject. However, stating that people who race-change immediately do it for disrespectful reasons is simply wrong. You should understand that nothing in Reality Shifting is purely good or bad, black or white; it is a spectrum of gray.

I’m also quite curious to hear your stance on bi/multiracial shifters who choose to change or "suppress" one of their races.

Ergo i have to refute those arguments, it was delightful to debate with you.

I wish you good luck and success in your shifting journey

Kind regards,

Luno

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

What is your opinion on Toji? Both as a character and as a (deadbeat) dad?

As a character he's masterfully written, and him being a deadbeat dad is an absolutely vital part of that.

Toji and Gojo exist fundamentally as mirrors of one another. Equal and opposite images. Infinite cursed energy and absolute zero. Both were born as the most powerful members of their clan alive, but Gojo was lauded for his gifts, whereas Toji was rejected.

Even the way the universe itself treats them (and the way they treat it in turn) are inverses of one another. According to Gege, Gojo is naturally good at everything he tries, and so he doesn't try most things. In converse, Toji is a natural failure who can't stop trying. He's a gambler who loses all of his money but is still parked at the tracks, placing bets that never win. As foils they work so so well.

Taken alone, Toji himself is fascinating because of how much he's aching with failure and lost potential. It reeks of a true tragedy--and, like most tragedies, a good deal of it was of his own making even if circumstance can't be denied. He's Hamlet: introduced to his own downfall by events outside of himself but fuck if he didn't help it on plenty on his own.

Toji is a character who was cast as cursed from birth. He was born extraordinarily powerful in a clan that refused to see it and actively vilified him for his abilities. And as the audience, we can see the sheer affront of that, because we can see him for how he truly is. He's very, very plainly one of the most powerful characters in the franchise. Gojo himself initially loses to him, and if Toji had listened to his instincts that day and left the second he saw Gojo returned? He'd probably have remained undefeated against him. He'd have survived to cause problems in canon even farther down the line.

And it's especially interesting in the fact that Toji is a character who can do something that no other character in the series can do: he can destroy fate.

Toji himself is a functional loophole in canon. From a meta perspective, Gojo functions as this archetype of the Unbeatable, but Toji is the exception. When it comes to the Star Plasma Vessel, fate should have ensured that the merger happened anyway, but Toji, again, catalyzed the exception. Gojo and Toji colliding is the unstoppable force meeting the unmovable object, and the sheer waste that the Zenin out of hand rejected someone that could rival Gojo Satoru stings at the audience with a particular sort of irony. They really did throw away with both hands the person that could have made them rival Gojo, and they did it because of their own prejudices and egos. Toji's story really is one of a tragedy, but the execution of him really does function uniquely in the genre.

And to speak briefly on tragedy--if we're talking about the classical conception of tragedy, it's defined by a reversal of fortune. It's good fortune to bad. Peripeteia. That's legitimately what makes a narrative a tragedy--the audience watches as the character's fortune reverses over the span of the narrative.

In the term of the broader narrative, Toji himself acts as peripeteia personified. He is what reverses Gojo's fortune. Gojo was his downfall, but at the same time, he was still Gojo's.

Gojo starts his interaction with Toji in a state of good fortune. He is already One of The Strongest. And, more importantly, he isn't the strongest alone--which is something he spends the rest of the narrative trying to reclaim. Every single time he teaches, he's trying to encourage the students to become his equal, with Yuuji, Megumi, and Yuuta being the most notable exceptions of this. Yes, he's doing it for their own wellbeing, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still trying to cultivate a status quo that he had and lost with Geto Suguru for other people. And he says this explicitly: he does not want them to be alone. It's the loss of Geto that truly defines Gojo's tragic arc, and it was Toji himself that caused Geto's loss.

He made Gojo The Strongest when he pushed him to the point of unlocking reversed curse energy. But, more importantly, he sent Geto on his descent into madness. Even calling himself a monkey was what fed into Geto's ideals--if it weren't for Toji, it wouldn't have happened.

The other thing that defines a tragedy is that tragic heroes are meant to be sent on their downfall because of some kind of fatal flaw. Hamartia. Outside circumstances set the ball in motion, but it's the character's own flaw that truly dooms them. A very famous example of this is Hamlet, who was set on his path to destruction by his father's ghost and his uncle's deceit, but what's widely considered to be the source of his change in fortune is his decision to not kill his uncle as he prays. Hamlet is a famously clever character, and this works against him as he decides to play god and try to not only revenge his father, but ensure his uncle's eternal damnation. It's only then that he begins to make the mistakes that ultimately doom him. If he had killed him in the moment and left his uncle's soul to God's own deliberations, then he would have likely survived the play just fine. He damns himself just as much as circumstances did.

If we accept the premise that Gojo's story is one of tragedy, then we have to ask what his fatal flaw is. And I'd argue that it's his own isolation.

Gojo is strongest on his own, but every thing he's ever lost can be linked back to the isolation that comes with that. Most notably, again, being Geto Suguru, and the fact that Kenjaku was able to use Geto's body as the way of sealing him. Gojo's own untouchability is what leads him on the path to his own destruction, and it's something that Toji specifically takes advantage of in the course of their fight, and it's something that he exacerbates when he inadvertently leads to Gojo's permanent loss of Geto. Toji really is the one to best expose Gojo's fatal flaw and take advantage of it.

But the interesting thing about Toji is that he really begs the question as to whether his own journey is that of a tragedy or a comedy.

Okay, so not to open this huge can of worms with classical infighting, but all of the definitions that we get regarding what makes a tragedy comes from Aristotle's Poetics, and the second book of it where he defines comedy is lost to history. We've been fighting about what exactly he meant to say ever since. The book's gone. People say we have ideas about what's in it but the book's fucking gone. It's gone.

Anyway Aristotle's fucking dead and it's my turn to wear the philosopher hat, and I'm saying that it's also a reversal of fortunes from bad to good. If there's any classics scholars reading this please keep walking i can't go back to this war.

There's a really good argument that Toji is a tragedy. Fuck, he has a fatal flaw flying so blatantly that he says it out loud in his death scene--his own pride. His inability to admit to his own failure or potential for it. He wants to win, even when he knows he can't. It's what leads him to fight Gojo a second time. It's what leads him to place bet after bet when he never, ever wins.

But there's one glaring issue: if tragedy is a reversal of fortunes from good to bad, did toji ever have good fortune to begin with?

If it just starts as bad and stays as bad, it's not a tragedy by definition. It feels tragic to the audience, but it's not a tragedy in narrative form. So what is Toji's good fortune in this narrative?

I'd argue it's actually Megumi. And we are left to decide whether or not he lost or gained his good fortune in his last moments of his life.

I've talked about Megumi's function in the narrative with the concept of fortune in other posts, but fuck if I know where they are. Megumi himself, as a character, is not fortunate. He's actually sort of fucked. He's doomed by the narrative from the start, but he does seem to be a sort of fortune for other people.

It's literally in his name. Blessing, but not blessed. A blessing is something that's bestowed on other people; blessed speaks to your own state of fortune. All of Megumi's seeming fortune only exists for the sake of other people, with the most notable example being his Ten Shadows Technique.

Megumi as Gojo's foil is another conversation entirely that I won't go into, but it's interesting how Gojo's relationship with his technique is indisputably one of being blessed, and Megumi is stuck as a blessing. Again, it’s almost explicitly said—Gojo states “I alone am the honored one” when describing his own relationship with his technique. But the Ten Shadows Technique is what consistently dooms Megumi in his own narrative, and it’s usually because of other people.

He was trapped into life as a jujutsu sorcerer because of it, and his relationship with it is interesting because he does not understand its true value but everyone else does. The higher ups. The Zenin. Sukuna. Megumi has no space within the narrative to breathe and grow naturally because other people have taken his existence as a boon to them and use that to his direct detriment. He’s a blessing. He isn’t blessed. He is good fortune for others and it robs him of his own.

And he was Toji’s Blessing first.

In order to really, properly analyze whether Toji’s narrative is a tragedy or comedy or neither, we have to analyze his relationship with his own fatherhood. It’s time for a massive departure into that.

The thing is that toji sort of fucking sucked at being a dad. He was a deadbeat. I’ve seen a lot in fandom that tries to construe his actions as a father in a more favorable light, but I think doing so robs him of his narrative depth.

Specifically, I’m talking about his decision to sell Megumi to the Zenin.

And like. I’ve personally seen a lot of posts that sort of justify it as Toji doing what was best for Megumi, that his family would take care of him better than they did Toji because he had cursed energy, but that's sort of patently untrue? Like, parents who are worried about their kid's wellbeing and are trying to get them guardians with better means don't put off the actual transfer of guardianship because they're still negotiating the purchase price. They don't sell them to a family they know is abusive to begin with. He already knew Megumi had cursed energy. They were just waiting on his technique to appear, specially so that they could settle on the final price, and in that time, Megumi was left with Tsumiki to fend for themselves. If he really thought that the Zenin were going to take care of him, he should have tried to get them to take custody sooner.

Moreover, there's just a lot of steps you can take before selling your kid to your abusive family when it comes to their wellbeing. Namely, actually stepping up to the plate and raising them yourself.

"They'll treat him better because he has curse energy" was Toji's justification for selling Megumi, and it's one he plainly didn't believe himself in the long run, because in the end he risked it all on this sixteen year old gayboy who just killed him rather than actually trust his family to take care of his son. Up to the point of his death, Toji just wasn't a good dad.

He was never around. He left a four year old in charge of a three year old and left them both unattended. He gambled away their money at the tracks instead of, you know, feeding them. The money that he did leave them for food was canonically a part of the down payment for selling Megumi. He was so absentee that he straight up forgot what Megumi's name was.

But, undeniably, it's Megumi who he thought of as he died. It's Megumi he tried to take care of.

Remember that tragedy is classically defined as good fortune to bad, but Toji didn't have any good fortune to start with. Like, he wasn't even living a particularly good life. He was an eternally broke absentee dad with a gambling addiction and an insecurity complex so big he needed to kill those teenage homosexuals over it. I'm pretty sure he only owned one pair of pants.

But if we accept Megumi, the son he once loved so much that he named him blessing, as his one good fortune, then he didn't have him either at the start of action. He had abandoned his only good fortune and left him, ultimately, at the mercy of his family.

And that's what changes on his death bed. Toji finally becomes the type of dad that takes care of his son.

If Toji hadn't died, there wouldn't have been the catalysis for change. He probably would have gone through with the sale. I'd like to think that he'd live to regret it, that he'd go back and save Megumi, but it's really up in the air as to whether or not he ever would. But undeniably, when he tells Gojo about Megumi as a last ditch effort to save him from his family, that's the first moment we really see in canon where Toji doesn't have any ulterior motive when it comes to Megumi. He doesn't get any benefit out of it anymore. His kid is going to be sold off to the Zenin in a few years time. Do with that what Gojo will.

This is even more interesting when it comes to the only moment in canon where Megumi and Toji interact: in Shibuya, where Toji is resurrected and fights Megumi.

To my understanding, Toji was compelled to fight whatever was most powerful in his immediate proximity, which made him go after Megumi. The second he realizes that it's his son he's fighting, he stops the fight, asks for his name, and kills himself to stop the resurrection spell, with his last words being that he's glad Megumi's Fushiguro instead of Zenin. He didn't even hesitate. He didn't take care of his son in life, but he died for him without even needing to think about it.

Saving Megumi from his family (albeit, partially because he was the one who endangered him to begin with) was the only really good thing Toji did with his life that we know of, and he dies glad. He dies knowing that Megumi was raised as Fushiguro instead of Zenin.

So. Was Toji's journey one of bad fortune to good? Or good fortune to bad? Or just... bad fortune to still bad fortune? It can be argued for any of them, but it's really undeniable that Toji's failures and successes as a father are integral to his character's complexity.

He was a shit dad. But he died for his son. And I think you lose a huge amount of his character if you deny either of those.

[duckprintspress]

“A Truth Universally Acknowledged”: Teaser Post the First

Happy Sunday everyone! The crowdfunding campaign for our next anthology, A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice,” is off to an awesome start. Four days in, we’re nearly 70% funded already! This campaign only runs through December 5th, so we’ve got a ways to go and not much time to get there, so do be on the lookout and if you want to back, don’t miss your chance.

We have a LOT of contributors to this anthology, and not a lot of days of campaign, so I’ll be packing a lot of teasers into each post over the next week and a half. Today, I’m sharing crops by two artists and excerpts from three stories! 

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Story Teaser: A. D. Williams

Title: Silk Gloves and Second Chances

Excerpt:

Caroline had never thought of herself as anything less than sincere. Had she danced around the truth at times? Of course. A lady was not to give away her true feelings unless it benefitted her. She had learned early on to smile and titter, elegant fingers lifted to her lips. To turn her head as she dabbed a handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, wisps of carefully curled hair doing their utmost to hide the lack of moisture. As long as one had developed the skill, it was not difficult to shift a gentleman’s opinion.

She had thought, for a time, that all women were like her if they held sufficient wit. That they all played the same game together, keeping a careful eye on their cards and hiding the winning hand against their breast.

Until Miss Bennet.

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Art Teaser: Max Jason Peterson

Title: Dueling Darcy

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Story Teaser: E. V. Dean

Title: Along the Way

Excerpt:

I thought the envelope would be thicker. More money than I’ve ever seen, yet thinner than my thumb. Beige. Unimpressive.

It’ll take me forever to pay it off. Hell, the way the prices are going, gouged by war and greed, I’ll have to sell my kidney to settle it.

I need that envelope so I can leave his suffocating flat. I had expected Daniel’s home to reek with old money and new tech, but was met with a shrine to adventure in places I couldn’t afford to even dream of: regional art, foreign instruments, travel photos. The couple eating diamond-shaped fruit straight from a strange tree in the photograph behind Daniel seem to laugh at me.

Daniel puts the envelope down with a thump and covers it with his clean, pampered nails. “What do you need it for, Martha?”

I don’t like his tone or his question. He agreed to give me the money when I begged for it; now he might take it away if he doesn’t like my answer. Like it’s even his damn business.

Yet as long as the money is in his hands, I have to play by his rules.

“My sister’s missing.”

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Art Teaser: Jagoda Zirebiec

Title: Moonlight

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Story Teaser: Genevieve Maxwell

Title: Must Be in Want of a Wife

Excerpt:

Thoughts of Maria Lucas persisted long after the guests had left for their own dwellings and estates. Surprise suffused Georgiana as she caught a glimpse of her moony expression in the reflective surface of a decorative wall panel. That was an expression she hadn’t seen on her face in years—not since she’d almost made the biggest mistake of her life. The initial surprise soon dissipated, and Georgiana couldn’t help but realize she was excited—not frightened—by the prospect of her crush. There was nothing artful about Maria Lucas, so she felt safe from repeating the mistakes of her past. In fact, Georgiana was looking forward to spending her weeks in Hartfordship with a lovely, unexpected friend.

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Be on the look out! There’ll be more teasers out every day now through the second-to-last day of the campaign (skipping Thursday, sorry). We hope you love them!

Interested in what we’ve shared? Check out our Kickstarter campaign today!

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

Ngl if the sigewinne story was more 'Neuvillette instructed the melusines that it's alright gifting people in need gifts despite past prejudice' i would be fine with it. But the fact they wrote it in a way that implies that he instructed them specifically to care for Wriothesley makes me uhhhhhhh

Sir you are aware this child is an orphan and the best you can do is tell the melusines to feed him? What about other orphans? You have the guards at your command to help people??

I'm alot more fine with the 'Neuvillette cant do anything about the shit law despite being iudex' thing, like I'm okayish chalking it up to he's not human, it wasn't his job / wasn't told to fix the law and shit he is a judge first and foremost. But this story is NOT helping because it implies he HAS the capacity to comprehend SOMETHING is wrong and has the will to fix it and just... does nothing???

Sir this is not helping the collusion allegations

Idk man i'm a wriolette apologist i'm so alright with waving off the shallow plot beats to cater to the shippers thing but they had to make it super obvious huh head in hands

Yippey (running around in circles I love yapping and getting big asks).

Personally with shipping and media enjoyment, I'm very much the guy who is like "these are my OCs now" and I will enjoy things regardless of how I feel about the canon materials. I don't care about 'canon proof' for ships and for most scenarios, I don't think canon should be used to dissuade a person from shipping either. Obviously there's gonna be things that makes me think you're weird, but things like self-insert/canonxoc is cool and that will Never have any basis in canon material anyway. So like. Take the limiters off and reach for the sky.

As for the Neuvillette-and-melusines thing, yeah. I think it's weird that they made it specifically about Wriothesley. In general, how they portrayed Wriothesley always irks me, because they make his entire characterisation around how he 'overcame' his past because he's just a special guy who, instead of complaining about the shit hands he's dealt, accepted his sentence gracefully and pulled himself up by his bootstraps and got to where he is because he's strong and crafty. Wriothesley doesn't actually value these traits (he thinks of himself as just some guy), but everyone around him considers him 'special' because he's able to network and rally people and make a name for himself in Meropide.

That would have made for a more interesting narrative if they actually did something with it and really show some actual conflict between his view of himself and how the public sees him, but now, as it read to me, it just reeks of individual exceptionalism. He's successful because he has that capitalist mindset in him lol. Wriothesley becomes Fontaine's idealised "rags to riches" story. Then, not only is he extraordinary, he also is 'humble' about it. "You don't know you're beautiful/That's what makes you beautiful" moment lmao.

With Neuvillette, had they actually shown that he's ill-equipped to do his job as someone who struggles to relate to his subjects, I would have been like, yippee! Cool! Like I have reworked his story and characterisation to work in my mind to an embarrassing extent, and I whole-heartedly think it can be done with the premise they have set up for him. He could be complacent because he's never actually been allowed to step into the backstreets, because from the moment he stepped foot in Fontaine he's been treated as the upperclass, even when the Melusines were going through their fantasy racism shit. He's never had to fear for his life, or wonder when his next meal is. He gets water imported from all across the world, when people in the Fleuve Cendre/Meropide/Poisson probably struggles to get good plumbing and clean water.

And Focalors kept him there. He's very intentionally isolated so he can serve in her grand plan. It could also be an empathy issue, right, he can see people starve and think, cognitively, that it's just how the world is. That's just how humans are. You can really lean onto the Otherness of Neuvillette and portray him even as a overwhelmingly large, eldritch cryptid, who's trying to keep an ant colony alive simply because he likes ants. But he doesn't understand them, and because of that, he lets them die purely by accident most of the time. And he feels bad for it!

But I think the problem with it is that Genshin can't......... commit, and they can't stay consistent. They can't say he's powerless because Focalors is pulling the strings, or because of his own ineptitude, because they want Focalors to be sympathetic, and they want to say Neuvillette is cool and powerful. Like he has canonically enforced judicial changes. He essentially set up anti-discrimination laws for the Melusines. He's fully capable to. But now, because MHY forgot about that, now it seems like he only makes changes when it affects him and those he cares about, and not the hundreds and thousands of children who died due to poverty and incarceration in his time as Iudex. Then the whole thing with how he's able to pull strings to Get the Traveller into prison, but you tell me he can't... I dunno, fudge the verdict a little every once in a while? When he has to sentence a child to prison???

And obviously, these inconsistencies aren't intentional, because if you try to rationalise them, Neuvillette would end up looking like a weirdo bigot who only cares about one specific species and took a specific liking to one minor for no discernible reason. And he's not meant to be seen as that. The Melusines lore was meant to show that he cares about them. The Wriothesley lore is also meant to show that he cares about this poor starving kid. MHY just forgor there's many other starving kids in Fontaine.

His whole character hinges on the fact that underneath his cold impartiality is a guy who has a bleeding heart, who literally cries all the damn time. That's his Core Concept. MHY just sucked at writing it because........ writing teams aren't talking to each other.

Like, once people realised a lot of characterisation debates in genshin fandom can be answered with "MHY is just shit at their job", half of the complaints would be redirected to the fucking company instead of the characters/shippers lmao. Like, Lanoire. Wriothesley would have never allowed her to keep living like that. Now if you try to rationalise that whole quest, you have to think "maybe Wriothesley doesn't care all that much" or "maybe he doesn't know Meropide as well as he does," both of which contradicts canon facts about him. Because he has eyes everywhere (and even if he doesn't, his guards would 100% just tell him instead of just trying to sneak the kid out, because they canonically get Rewarded for shit like that). And he, canonically, cares about people's quality of life and safety in Meropide. He'd hate to have something like this fall under his nose.

So yeah yippee. I mean, I will keep drawing art and writing wrlt, obviously. I don't gotta explain that to anyone else. I think I know better than MHY /lh