#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 :)

[hyperfixingfr]

Father simps piss me off because you know they're the type of people to forgive a guy who has a history of abuse and cheating irl when the type of fictional men they lust for are built around the entire idea of being fascist and abusing children, not to mention clearly racist. There's so many adults in the show, and you go for the fascist dickhead, KNOWING he's a fascist dickhead (his entire character basis) and somehow not being turned off from that? Yeah, I'm staying far, far away from you. You REEK. The way a person consumes media says a lot about them as a person and if you go head over heels for the guy whom the show makes VERY CLEAR is a shitty person overall, has committed many unforgivable crimes (out of PREJUDICE mind you) and has some of the most conservative, bigoted mindsets I've seen a character hold in a kid's show, that tells me that you would forgive people who do not need to be forgiven. If THAT is your type... Damn, dude. Get some help.

[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

[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.

[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! 

-

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.

-

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.”

-

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.

-

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!

[kattythingz]

I know what I’m getting into by asking this for the ask game, but I gotta know: 03 Ed AND Broho Ed.

Chen you know the language of my HEART

(red for 03 and yellow for broho)

So 03 Ed's chart speaks for itself. No notes, perfect character. I love love LOVE his tragic development, I love that he's called out to fix his goddamn prejudices and I LOVE THAT HE DOES. I LOVE THAT HE GROWS TO UNDERSTAND SCAR'S MOTIVATIONS AND MR. MILITARY BOY DOESN'T PREACH TO THE BROWN MAN BUT MURDER IS WRONG!!

03 Ed is frequently schooled and he just keeps and keeps growing from it, and he never feels stagnant. I adore him to pieces.

Broho Ed is... less great to me.

He reeks of privileged White boy energy and I know the manga claims to tackle the nuances of war and racism—but it sure fucking flops at it. Ed's sheer audacity to tell Miles, AN ISHVALAN, that bombing one station was just as bad AS AN ENTIRE MASSACRE AGAINST HIS PEOPLE??? ED BEING FUCKING PRAISED FOR THE SOOOO COOL CLAP-BACK? I WOULD'VE SLAPPED ED FOR THAT SHIT NO JOKE.

If 03 Ed is challenged and grows from it, broho Ed's prejudices are PRAISED and never once corrected as a result. I'm also just not a fan of how he ends up... marrying, having kids, and settling down VERY young? Like yes yes Ed does deserve to settle down after what he's been through—but he LOST HIS ALCHEMY. It's incredibly idealistic to assume he'll adjust well to settling down so soon as a simple househusband? He has to be even a little depressed about the abrupt shift. And that's not even mentioning how he looks NOTHING like himself anymore. The new clothes I can excuse, 03 does the same, whatever. But WHY did he need to grow taller? In fact, why does the manga hate him being short so much? Why is it such a gag? Legit WHAT is wrong with Winry loving her short king as he is?

The constant jabs at Ed's height just start to feel so mean-spirited after the first few times, and I despise it. I swear he only got taller because Winry said she'd only marry someone taller than her so it was supposed to come full circle or sth. I dunno. Winry going from independent work in Rush Valley to naggy wife in the last few episodes didn't help my opinion of edwin and Ed in relation.

I UNDERSTAND that a character arc is supposed to change a character even in looks. No shit. But the changes broho Ed visually goes through in the end are so extreme. I don't look at that and think Edward Elric. I look at that and think Hohenheim 2.0.

It's not great. I can't even rewatch broho anymore for edling's sake :/

[madforhoran]

"You could start a cult"

Let me preface this by saying - I am really not a good writer and english is not my first language. I just wanted to get this little piece off my chest to spread some positivity with the spawn!Star ending amongst all the angst, etc.

It's dumb, cheesy, and maybe lame...😅

Word count: 5400

Mentions of: blood, cannibalism (not graphically described in detail)

Also posted on AO3

“You’re brooding, my love,” Astarion remarked, poking his finger into Leliana’s cheek. The creases in her face were only getting deeper than they already were at age thirty-five but she couldn’t help herself. She felt unworthy of the man laying next to her, not really knowing what he saw in her. He could’ve had everything and instead this was what he ended up with. A bland sub-par sorcerer and a life in the shadows as they hadn’t been successful thus far in finding a solution for day-walking. It’s been a month since they parted ways from everyone at the docks, studying dusty ancient tomes, asking powerful magic artisans for help. Some were willing to assist but for a hefty price which they couldn’t afford.

She hated herself for losing hope so quickly, becoming paranoid Astarion was going to resent her. 

She didn’t understand how their relationship came to be in the first place. He was funny, quick-witted, beautiful. She let herself be seduced by all the corny lines because she never experienced anything like that before. Such a man talking to her? Only in her wildest dreams. She took the opportunity despite her deep insecurities and unsurprisingly, being in his arms didn’t erase them. She kept thinking about her gangly limbs, folds, and other things she hated about herself. It was definitely a one-off, she thought as she woke up the next morning. However, it wasn’t. To her surprise, he asked her to join him in his tent later. If this was the way in which to keep him, she didn’t mind, at the same time she was still expecting that surely these escapades would soon end. 

On the way to Shadowlands they managed to save enslaved gnomes, which ultimately Astarion didn’t like because of his own prejudices, saying they had their free will to rebel. Unlike him under Cazador. So why should they receive help when they didn’t even ask? Leliana helped them anyway. 

Then they came across a very strange fish tribe who were most thankful for Leliana purifying the lake and adjacent area from parasitic mushrooms. The tribe was close to extinction otherwise as their young were dying from the effects of the mushroom poison. The fish kept bowing, mumbling something incongruent. Halsin was doing all the translating and assisting with the work but ultimately the fish tribe thanked her and gave her a piece of kelp. Halsin said it was a token of utmost gratitude. Astarion complained it reeked of fish rot and wanted her to burn it in the campfire once they were out of earshot. He was ridiculous, whiny, selfish, but she couldn’t help being absolutely enamoured by him. He made her laugh and curled around her like a cat at night.

When he told her how for him the sex was just to get her on his side for protection but he fell for her, opening up about his own issues with intimacy, it was a whirlwind of emotions, sadness for what he went through but mostly an immense relief, happiness like no other. She agreed to give him space, accepted they needn’t have to be intimate unless he wanted to. She wasn’t going to push him as for her sex was never important. With these revelations her wild magic was going crazy since then. Lae’zel gave her a proper tongue lashing after she almost turned her into a frog during the fight with the absolute cultists at Moonrise. 

“This elven dick is costing you braincells, Leliana! Tsk’va!” 

Shadowheart and Karlach were taking the piss out of her for it. Little did they know all Star and her were doing in his tent was kissing or reading books. It was fun times, despite all the elder brain craziness and impending doom happening around them. 

She wasn’t thinking how their lives were going to be afterwards, especially after confronting Cazador and stopping the diabolical ritual Astarion was tied to. Reliving those moments in her mind became an ongoing nightmare. The safety the power offered, ability to stay in the sun, to enjoy food. True freedom. More often then not she felt regret for pleading with him not to do it despite knowing there were seven thousand lives at stake who would’ve been sacrificed to the devil. 

“How do you not hate me?” she asked. “I’m useless. You wanted the best for us both and I ruined it.”

His brows furrowed. “Is this about the ritual?”

“Yeah.”   

“I really miss the stupid tadpole in moments like these,” he sighed and gripped her hand. His fingers trailed her knuckles eliciting tiny sparkles of static energy. It always amazed her how gentle he could be. “You stopped me from killing seven thousand innocent people. I did choose you over the power because you believed I don’t need it and you were right even though I occasionally give you shit for it,” he added with a smirk. “We’re getting by just fine, darling.”

“But…”

“Shush.”

“Astar-,” she gasped as his mouth covered hers in a deep kiss, his fangs slightly cutting the insides of her lip. “I love you, you absolutely impossible infuriating woman. Don’t you dare question me or yourself.” 

“It’s not only the day-walking but your feeding as well, I know my blood is too weak to sustain you. I hate that you have to go hunt.”

“Then I have to start feeding you better. No more of those scrawny chickens from the market. I spotted quite a juicy boar last night in the woods.” He bared his fangs, giving her the cheeky devilish grin she adored so much. There was something more he wanted to say as his eyes trailed down towards her lap. “You’ve given me plenty when you…well, can I say it out loud?”

She turned beet red, a wave of intense arousal coursing through her remembering the first time they made love when she was bleeding couple weeks ago, her blood all over his deft fingers, his tongue languidly licking and tasting the inside of her thighs. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, she should be disgusted with herself. She didn’t want him to ever feel like his vampirism is what attracted her to him. 

“Do not say it,” she hissed through gritted teeth and he chuckled, pushing her onto the bed, his erection firm against her groin. Every single cell in her body screamed as he kissed her. Another perfect distraction manoeuvre, another thing he was so annoyingly good at. 

“Looking forward to it next month,” he mumbled, pressing more kisses down her neck and collarbone. “Now allow me, I’m going to get that boar. Someone is hungry.” 

She watched him walk out, swallowing a huge lump in her throat. In spite of his assurances Leliana couldn’t get rid of the intrusive thoughts of regret and self-hatred.

* * *

When days started to become shorter, they packed their necessities and locked their little cottage on the outskirts of Rivington. Research bore no fruit and they didn’t want to waste more precious time sitting about or begging old crusty arcane arts specialists for a discount. They needed money, and Astarion’s hands were getting stir crazy as it’s been a while since he sank his teeth or dagger into a monster or a bad guy.

Monsters needed killing, bad guys needed punishing, might as well earn something from it. 

Unsurprisingly they found trouble in the very first village they walked into after leaving Rivington. Shabby crooked houses nested around a small tavern, the most luxurious building was most likely the mayor’s house on the top of a small hill.

The tavern was full but the mood oddly not as cheery as one would expect. Patrons were staring into their drinks, nobody laughed or spoke out loud. “I smell blood in the air, stale,” Astarion remarked quietly as they sat down in the corner on the tiny rickety chairs. “It’s foul.”

“Like Araj’s?” Leliana asked alarmingly. Astarion visibly shook. “Gods below, no, but gross nonetheless. I can smell it coming from that creepy man.” 

“The one at the bar talking to the young woman?” Astarion nodded. The young girl was barely an adult, visibly intoxicated. As the evening progressed she seemed less able to keep her head up. After a while the man dragged her out of the tavern like a puppet. Leliana thought that at least someone from the patrons would react but nobody did as if it was a normal occurrence. Astarion walked up the bar and quickly picked up the half-emptied glass the girl left behind. The liquid was spiked with some herb, Leliana wasn’t sure what kind. “I don’t like it. Let’s go after them,” she said.

Astarion’s dagger glinted in the palm of his hand. “Yes, let’s.”

They followed the pair under the invisibility spell. The man was heading towards the house on the hill and locked the door after he pulled the young woman inside. They waited a few moments to make sure the man didn’t know they were there. Locked doors of course were no trouble for Astarion. The only issue was he couldn’t get into the house uninvited. “Be careful, darling,” he told Leliana.

She refocused her invisibility spell and walked in. She searched through the bottom and upper floor, the rooms were empty. Where did that bastard go? She began looking for any hidden doors or contraptions and found a latch leading to the basement from the kitchen. Upon opening it, she was hit with the stench Astarion mentioned. She couldn’t smell it back in the tavern but now it attacked her like a punch in the face, the smell of blood and rotten meat. Instincts were telling her that the any wasted second could cost the young woman her life. 

When she stepped down to the basement, she spotted him leaning over the unconscious body. He was biting into the woman’s thigh as she laid in midst of bloodied body parts and what were most likely human bones. Leliana barely suppressed the reflex to vomit. She quickly immobilised the man with a spell and teleported both him and the woman outside where Astarion was eagerly waiting.

“The asshole was too preoccupied to even notice me. He tried to eat her. There’s a mount of rotting half eaten corpses in his basement,” Leliana said. “I have to patch her up, can you watch over him? And you know what, let’s make him squirm a little,” she added and ended the holding spell. 

“What the hells are you doing?!” The man exclaimed as Astarion grabbed him by the collar. “I’m the mayor, how dare you!” 

“I see we interrupted your little midnight snack, didn’t we?” Astarion asked, aiming his dagger at the mayor’s jugular. “How about I give you the taste of your own medicine?”

The man’s eyes darted towards Astarion’s exposed fangs, ready to strike.

“Lay your dog off me, woman, or else!” He screamed. Leliana shot a witch bolt right into his chest, a weaker one but painful nonetheless. She fucking hated anyone insulting Astarion like that. “He’s. Not. A dog!” She hissed.

Astarion smiled at her appreciatively with a hint of promise in his eyes. He liked when she was righteously aggressive. “I wouldn’t try to piss off a lady who can fry your balls off and feed them to the wolves. Or a man who can rip out your throat in an instant.”

The mayor’s yelling and snivelling woke the sleeping villagers and all came out of their houses, tavern patrons too. “Step aside, that’s my daughter!” A distraught female voice echoed in the middle of the village square. A woman in her fifties ran towards them and dropped to her knees, cradling the still unconscious daughter in her lap. 

“What in the hells is going on?” Someone from the gathered crowd inquired. “Your mayor here has an acquired taste for human meat, it seems. A mount of corpses, you said, love?”

Leliana nodded, tightening the witchbolt still connected to the man’s chest. “He must’ve drugged the girl and then took her to his house to eat her. Quite a few young women must’ve disappeared like this, I assume.” 

The woman whose daughter they saved spoke up. “Five in last couple of years, but he always blamed the disappearances on wild animals or bandits.”

Leliana shivered with disgust. “The house needs to be burned down, else you’re risking a plague.”

“But what are we going to do with him?” Asked the tavern’s barkeeper, pointing towards the mayor. Everyone was looking expectantly at her and Astarion who was sprung like a whip. “My partner will gladly get rid of him for you or we leave him at your mercy.”

“NO!!!” The man yelled once again, pissing his pants. Astarion scrunched up his nose but didn’t loosen his grip. “Oh, I’m rather enjoying this. Can I kill him now? Though watching the angry mob tear this piece of dirt to pieces would be equally as satisfying.”    

The man writhed in Astarion’s grip like a worm. “My fellow villagers, I implore you, don’t be foolish, can’t you see there’s a vampire standing among us? He’s the one who did it! I finally caught himandhiswitch! You’re going to believe two strangers and murderers instead of your mayor?!” 

Astarion let out a sarcastic high pitched laugh. “Ha! Nice try!” 

A wave of unease spread throughout the crowd. Leliana sensed the situation could turn dire unless the drugged girl was woken up as the only reliable witness. 

“He-he killed them and she with her witchcraft moved the bodies to my h-home!” He shrieked. 

“Oh, spare me your bullshit, mayor Randolf, it’s you who was at the bar with the girl,” said the burly barkeeper. The mayor gulped. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side, Horace?”  

“I thought you were just bedding them, not murdering them! I was so fucking stupid.” 

“This is amazing,” Astarion chuckled, pressing his dagger to the tender flesh of the man’s neck. “May I?” 

“Kill him,” said the hoarse quiet voice of the mother. Others agreed with the judgment. Astarion efficiently slit the man’s throat and it was over. The villagers inspected the basement, indeed finding their missing daughters, those whose faces were still recognisable. They set fire to the house afterwards and burned mayor’s body along with it.  

It was a grim spectacle, yet Leliana smiled, hugging Astarion around the waist. “So, how does it feel being a hero again?”

“Believe it or not, I kiiiind of missed it,” he admitted sheepishly. “How very pathetic of me, I know.”

“It suits you,” she replied, kissing the tip of his nose. They watched as the villagers slowly walked back into their homes, only the woman with her daughter and barkeeper were still hanging around. The young woman was coming back to her senses. “I’d like to thank both of you,” said the mother, “if there’s anything we can do for you, get you something to eat or money for the road, just ask.”

“I can give you a room for free, and food on the house,” offered the barkeeper gesturing towards the tavern. “I trust your partner won’t hurt us? I mean no offence, of course.”

Leliana nodded but remained quiet allowing Astarion to speak for himself. Stigma around vampire spawn was still prevalent, however at least the man didn’t imply Astarion belonged to her or was less than her. “No harm to innocents.” 

They stayed in the tavern till the next evening. The barkeep prepared a bloodied steak for Astarion and had the villagers spare some coin. Despite everything, Leliana allowed herself to feel a bit more optimistic about their future if only for a short moment. 

* * *  

Their lives became a series of attending various festivals and performing odd jobs. Setting rat nests on fire, hunting down thieves, saving lost kids from a hungry wolf pack or rescuing a rich banker from the Upper City from becoming dinner for a couple of ogres.

“We should’ve let them bake him and ransack his property,” Astarion remarked, rolling his eyes. Leliana shot him a look. “What? We need the money, darling!” 

“He did pay us, love,” she said. 

Astarion scoffed. “Way too little considering I have to still dig crusty ogre mucus from underneath my nails. It’s not coming off!”

“Aw, you poor thing, I’ll clean them for you,” Leliana said mockingly, suppressing a giggle. “No, you don’t have to,” he pouted. 

“I clearly do because you’ll be whining about it till my head explodes.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “I can’t afford to look unpresentable next to you.”

“Here I thought you were the eye-candy in this relationship,” she smiled. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Well, of course I am, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the most beautiful person in all Faerun…and you look cute when you’re blushing.”  

* * *

It started following year, the dizzy spells, fatigue, losing balance. Easy to shake off, ignore, and hide from Astarion at first. At least Leliana thought.

They were passing a mining town when massive explosion shook the ground. Couple of people managed to not get crushed by the rubble and ran screaming for help. She knew Astarion wouldn’t be happy if they got involved but she had to. Her spellwork had gotten better over months of regular use, ironically a complete opposite situation to her physical state.

“I must do it,” she said, clasping his hand. “I know,” he replied begrudgingly. “For once I wish you were a little more selfish.”

“Then I wouldn’t be the infuriatingly nice naive fool you fell in love with.”

“Point taken. Let’s go before I tie you down and drag you away,” he groaned. “But if I break a nail, it’s your fault.”

The entrance to the mine was completely blocked, with some citizens trying to dig the rocks away. Someone suggested to use dynamite but it would cause more damage and quite possibly kill any miners underneath on the other side. 

“Love, I will have to cast telekinesis, then I need you to—“

“Just don’t drop it on my head, darling.”

Telekinesis wasn’t her strong suit but she managed to move the outer layer of rocks. Couple miners were stuck under the rubble which Astarion lifted for them to get away to safety. However the rocks were never ending, the mine completely caved in. She was getting tired. 

Astarion glanced at her, worried. “We cannot save everyone, I don’t want to you to hurt yourself.”

“Lady, please, there’s still three of our friends missing! They can’t be further in, only couple more meters, please!” Begged one of the miners. Astarion’s glare was murderous. 

The dizziness hit her unexpectedly and she lost control over the spell. A large boulder wavered in the air as she crumbled to her knees. She couldn’t see nor hear. Only felt a touch of Astarion’s arms around her. 

She regained consciousness but felt this time the dizzy spell was longer and more intense than before. Astarion was nervously pacing around a room. The window shutters were closed, something to eat and drink was left on the table. There was a knock on the door and a woman in an apron handed Astarion a bar of soap and clean sheets.      

“Star-,” she croaked, her throat dry like a sandpaper. She could barely lift her arms or feel her legs. He was at her side immediately. “I knew I should’ve not let you do it, gods!” 

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

He scoffed. “You’re not fine. You think I haven’t noticed?! We’re going to back home and I’ll start making the perfumes.” 

She kept her mouth shut. A fucking failure, that’s what she was. Wouldn’t he be happier with a less self-sacrificing idiot? Most likely. 

* * *

The dizziness episodes were happening more and more frequently, and lasted longer. Leliana could barely stand straight. No amounts of healing Shadowheart casted on her made it go away. Gale was useless too. Astarion unwillingly contacted Halsin. The buff druid’s knowledge was the last resort. He split his lip biting into it so hard trying to suppress the urge to tear out his throat, he had to leave the bedroom for a while to calm down. He couldn’t stand Halsin touching her. Even though she shut down his advances Astarion knew Halsin was still in love with her.

“Physically there’s nothing wrong. No poison, fever, no illness,” Halsin said, his usual calm tone was laced with frustration. “So we aren’t going to do anything? Just sit around like idiots?!” Astarion snarled. Nobody answered. He hated feeling so helpless, it was almost as if he was again in that tomb Cazador locked him in. Out of solidarity, Halsin, Gale, and Shadowheart stayed and took turns in attending to her while Astarion was working or hunting. He was only feeding himself to stay upright, not really having any appetite. 

Leliana was slowly becoming bedridden, not responding to his voice, not even seeing him. Hundred lashes from Cazador hurt less than watching her wither in front of him. “Do not do this to me,” he whispered, kissing her temple. Her skin was cold to the touch. “Don’t you dare.”

He slept glued to her side to make sure he could feel her barely perceptible breath. It was getting shallower each coming day until it stopped and he couldn’t hear her heartbeat either. He jumped out of bed, frantic, hurrying Halsin and Shadowheart out of their temporary bedrolls.    

“She’s dead, druid, fucking do something! Shadowheart?!”

Gale was oddly calm, as if waiting for something to happen but unsure what it was. “She isn’t dead, Astarion, and you saw Shadowheart’s healing spells didn’t have any effect before.”

“Then why isn’t she breathing, why isn’t she responding?”

“I think she’s transforming. It’s almost complete,” said Gale. Fuckin cryptic wizard. Astarion was close to smacking the hell out of him.

“What? Speak to the point! What’s going on?”

“I can sense the energy. Very similar to what Mystra radiates. It’s not exactly weave, it’s something different.”

“Gods above, you mean she’s—“

Leliana could hear them but couldn’t react just yet. Astarion was gripping her hand so strongly she was worried he was going to snap her bones. The energy flowed all around her, flowing into the touch as well. She slowly opened her eyes, met his intense beautiful gaze. He looked wrecked like she’d never seen him before. “What’s h-happening,” she croaked weakly. 

Gale appeared above her, looking more interested or fascinated rather than worried. “Seems like you’re becoming a goddess. Or at least, a demi-goddess.” He stated matter-of-factly as if she just changed her clothes. Astarion stared in utter disbelief.

“I thought I lost you…I really thought I fucking lost you.”

“The fish people aren’t a myth after all,” snickered Shadowheart. 

Gale snorted, dumbfounded. “Fish people? Those who we met in the Underdark?”

“Haven’t you heard of the power of worship of fish people? They can grant people godly powers if they believe in the purity of their heart.”

“Of course I’ve heard about it, thought it’s lunacy, and it’s been ages since we were down there.”

“You can’t expect to become a god in five minutes, Gale.” Shadowheart patted Leliana’s shoulder and turned to leave. “Let’s go, I’m sure the two love birds want their privacy now.” The door closed behind their friends but neither Leliana or Astarion paid attention to their surroundings. The smell of his perfume engulfed her as his lips gently touched hers. Tentatively at first. She embraced him, pulling him closer, hungry all of a sudden. She felt so alive, full of energy, on top of the world…and so sickeningly in love with this man. Didn’t take him long to make her climax and dominate her senses. She was gasping his name out loud, digging her nails into his scarred back. It was more intense somehow, a deeper connection, like her brainwaves were on overdrive joining with his. 

Astarion let out a guttural moan as he spread her legs wider, entering her again and again. “I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice raspy, “my…goddess.” 

She fell asleep at dawn but it was more like a trance. She didn’t need to sleep anymore. Was it really the fish people’s doing? She remembered the kelp, remembered them bowing. If they had knees it would probably look like kneeling. She had no idea though what it meant other than simple gratitude. Her skin was smoother to the touch, hair silkier, eyesight sharper. Astarion stirred next to her, a soft lazy smile spreading across his lips. “Morning. How are you feeling?”

“I can’t describe it. Strange, great, different but still the same,” she said, studying her hands and body. The energy field was all around her, like a silver shimmer. She sensed the same energy around Astarion, on the places where she touched him. His mouth, arms, torso, and groin especially…mainly the groin, looked like they’d been painted with pearlescent sheen. She might’ve been a goddess now but it was him who looked divine. “I covered you with…something,” she said, feeling her cheeks going red. He chuckled. “A godly gunk? Hmm, I rather like that.”

“Open the window,” she suggested, suddenly thinking that maybe the magical residue, or whatever is was, could do what she hoped it could do? What if her biggest wish became a reality? No more doubts and regrets? 

“Hold out your arm to the sun.” 

He looked at her quizzically but did as she said. The windows shutters almost didn’t budge from rare use. He quickly stepped away from the window, leaving only his forearm out to face the sun rays. She stood up from the bed, observing and waiting for any reaction. Nothing was happening. Astarion’s eyes widened and it was one of the extremely rare moments he was speechless. He stepped into the light fully, the sun bouncing off of the silvery particles. The only patch of skin that began to burn after a long while was his elbow.

“Missed the spot, my sweet,” he pointed out and she leaned in and kissed it. They made love all day, with every window shutter wide open from that moment on. 

* * * 

There was a knock on their door a week later. Astarion grumbled in protest, pinning Leliana to the bed as she attempted to get up. “Mhmm.“ He nuzzled her neck, playfully biting her shoulder. “Ignore that.”

“It may be important.”

“More important than this?” He asked opening her mouth with his and hooking his leg under hers. Gods, he was perfect.

However, the knocking was incessant so unwillingly he got up and opened the door. There was a mass of people standing and looking rather admiringly. She recognised so many faces of those they helped.

“H-hello,” she waved, not really knowing what to say. “How did you find us?”

“None of us have any idea. We just knew where to go,” spoke the older woman at the front of the group, the one whose daughter they saved.  

“All of you at once?” She asked in disbelief. They nodded in unison. “What are you here for?”

“To celebrate you.”

“But why?” 

Astarion looked positively delighted. “Don’t ask why, darling. It’s a party! We accept!”

It felt more like a religious gathering than a party but there was food and children running around playing tag. Whatever the hells it was, Astarion was having a blast going around lecturing everyone how to properly pray. They were indeed praying. To her. 

One of the women remarked with a smile, “My dear, your partner is very nice albeit a bit intense!”

Leliana chuckled. “Please ignore him.”

She stepped away from the little group gathered around her and walked towards Astarion. “Star, my love, please go gather the kids and show them some tricks. Just don’t do any knife throwing on live targets!”

“Darling, I would never,” he smirked.

The religious non-party party lasted till nightfall, the people recited the last prayer and promised to come back regularly on that day every year. 

“This was…strange,” Leliana said. “I don’t understand it.” 

Astarion seemed to understand it perfectly. “We have a cult, love.”

“Sounds oddly familiar.”

“It does indeed, you’re a way prettier cult leader though.”

* * *

The wedding ceremony was happening under the basking sun in the middle of summer. Astarion picked the spot - near the hill where they first met, right next to the crashed nautiloid ship. Shadowheart and Gale were there already, taking care of the sitting arrangements for the guests. It was quite the spectacle. Gnolls, humans, tiefling children and Halsin, Rolan and his siblings, Omeluum, Dame Aylin and Isobel. Around a hundred of spawn from the Underdark came as well, those who were able to control themselves. They were shadowed by the nautiloid wreckage and Gale’s darkness spell.

Fish people were floating in the water, maybe not entirely understanding what’s this all about. Nobody even knew how they got there but Leliana suspected the kelp had everything to do with it. Suddenly the sky parted and a massive red dragon flew in with Leliana’s favourite alien friend on top of it. 

“Lae!” 

“I see you’ve been busy,” Lae’zel remarked with a smile and hugged her. “Can’t believe you’re really marrying that fool.”     

Leliana glanced upon Astarion talking to Gale, not believing it either. The freedom looked good on him. All these people were here for him as well, not just because of her.

“Now you’re not the only one who bedded a goddess, wizard. And I am marrying her,” she heard him say. Gale rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “This is not a contest, Astarion.”

“I’m almost sad that it isn’t. I’d have won.” 

“Gods…do you have your vows ready?” 

He turned back, his eyes meeting hers. “Of course I do.” He’d been practicing for days, stopped each time Leliana came near. 

Shadowheart walked up to them holding an attendance sheet. “We’re still waiting for Karlach and Wyll, then we can begin.”

“There they are!” Exclaimed Mol, one of the tiefling kids they helped at the Grove. The barbarian and warlock jumped out of the Avernus portal, hellish flames encircling them. Karlach was beaming.

“Well, fuck me, soldier. We almost didn’t make it, this hellion was causing trouble.” She nuzzled a little horned baby in her arms. Wyll looked over the moon content. Both of them had more scars than they had before but radiated happiness. “More trouble than a bunch of cambions,” added Wyll, caressing the baby’s head. The hells were in for a treat.

“Alright, let’s do this everyone!” Gale cleared his throat. “We’ve gathered here to connect this unlikely pair in marriage. Two people I’ve come to know under perilous circumstances whom I’m lucky to call friends. Difficult times either shatter the bonds between people or make them closer to one another. We’ve been through a lot together and I’m glad to say the latter is true for our little merry band, especially these two standing in front of me. Go ahead, Astarion.”

Leliana looked up at him and he once again had that tender disbelieving expression he had when he told her he loved her as they sat next to his grave. He pulled out the paper with his vow and threw it into the water. “I had this entire elaborate speech prepared but it would be much better to just say it how I feel it without rehearsals. Everything I’ve told you back at the cemetery still holds true only thousand times stronger. Most people here know I’m a bit of a walking…uh, problem. You could’ve blasted my head off right upon that hill behind the nautiloid where I almost knifed you, you could’ve staked me, betrayed me to Gur. I would’ve been dead million times if not for you. Actually, if you followed my every stupid suggestion, we’d all be dead or mindflayer thralls. You showed me kindness in equal measure to everyone else around and I know I was a bit of a bitter prick about it. I don’t understand how I’ve earned your love despite all that and probably never will. Now thanks to you I can stand here not burning to cinders. You’ve given me everything and more than I could ever have imagined. I don’t want this to end. I want you, as my forever and always.”

[spidrbite]

How do I free my morhger from thsi cage of vampirism PLSEASE I am desperate i do not want2 be eaten help hlep help whatif we have BLOOD PUDDING for dinner>????? i fear it is too late. We had BEEF WELLINGTON 2nigth lots of beef = LOTS OF MEAT do you not see the pattereen???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? I am going insane locked in my room I told my mother and father i would not be coming down until i knew for sure i was not in danger and they called me FOOLISH....father will be first....help how...how...they come ever closer as I write this they are KNOCKING KNOCKKING

I see your situation seems very dire and I hope I am not responding too late. But, I can assure you, I am definitely the right person to be asking. You see my mother is a former goth who was obsessed with vampires and vampirism back in the 90s, and she has passed her knowledge down onto me, her currently goth son.

My solutions depends on how drastic of measures you’d like to take, I’d recommend starting with the lowest levels and gradually making your way up to higher levels of drasticity if the lower-level solutions do not work, but you must give them time to work before increasing.

1. You could try expressing interest in converting to Christianity and adorning real silver cross pendants and maybe even get your hands on some holy water or a bible, and maybe even attend church every so often, whether or not you believe in God, this is solely to ward off the vampire from harming you.

2. You could start eating more foods that contain garlic, garlic has a powerful odour and will linger, especially to the sensitive nose of a vampire, leading them to avoid areas and people that reek of it. You should try eating garlicky foods in areas you want to remain safe, like your room.

3. Try going out in the sun more as the vampire cannot chase you into the sunlight, and try letting more sun into your room as well. This method should be paired with another as it leaves you vulnerable during the night.

4. Try microdosing your mother with garlic, the flavour and scent of garlic, while powerful can be masked with even more powerful tastes and scents to a vampire, like fresh blood (which you can buy from local butchers) and other meat products. Garlic is a powerful natural antibiotic, which is why it hurts vampires (vampirism is caused by infected blood, the antibiotic nature of garlic attacks the disease), so microdosing your mother with garlic and gradually increasing the dosage can help to fight the infection without causing overly-horrible side effects. If you are unable to access fresh blood and meat to mask the taste and smell, or she catches onto this, you can try using antibiotics of a decent (but not overly powerful) strength and hiding those in her food, though they will be harder to access than garlic.

5. The classic wooden stake to the heart (this will kill the vampire)

6. If the wooden stake does not work, it means the vampire has grown too powerful. You can weaken their power by exposing them to UV radiation, but be careful because UV radiation causes cancer in humans, the vampire will also resent you and hunt you with extreme prejudice due to the previous attempt on its life, so you also need to be careful of that.

*Note, the mirror method no longer works, it only used to work in the olden times due to the fact that mirrors used to be lined with silver, which is no longer common practice.