#and it can be sort of confusing to parse

[bigfatbreak]

Hello I love your art!!! I was reading through your changeling au and Felix mentions that fae are creatures of mirth. They literally need attention to survive. But what kind of attention? I guess I'm wondering because Adrien has been in the public eye for a while now, but has been personally neglected for even longer. What does that mean for him? Is he starving? Is he in danger of dying? Does he even know it? (I assume not given he doesn't even know he's Fae).

If he is starving / in danger of starving who is the first to realize this?

it depends on the mirth, on the attention, on what it is they seek. Without making things too complicated - I don't like to define everything into neat little boxes after all, there's fun in nuance - Felix is just explaining from his experience, the Fae he was with tended to be "entertained" by certain aspects of their playing, which was the mirth that kept them relevant. Relevancy more than anything is really what keeps their wheels greased.

In Adrien's case though, the reason he's cloying for so many names and to have so many thralls and attendants is because he SHOULD be a more social creature and has been kept woefully alone. He is kinda starving in the way a fae starves - he's relevant, but only in an image his father constructs OF him, which means it isn't REALLY him - and he has no one to play with. No friends, no lovers, and no rivals, makes a very sad fae

[rohirric-hunter]

It's so funny to me when I tell people, "You can't depend on an AI for that, it has to be done by a human," they're always like, "You're just afraid of technology." I'm not afraid of it. I understand it. And I know that an AI is never going to be able to comprehend things like context, which come naturally to a human and are essential to all kinds of information gathering and parsing.

Like yeah, there are uses for AI technology. The bread-sorting computer comes to mind. But that doesn't mean I want an AI to analyze the results of my google searches. Last night I googled, "Where to find iron ore minecraft," and Google's AI told me to dig 15 blocks down from anywhere and promised me that 100% I would find iron ore. Because the computer lacks the ability to look at phrases like "y level 15" and go, "huh, I wonder what that means, maybe I should look that up." It also lacks the ability to get the first apparent answer (y level 15) and then think that there might be more information (likelihood of spawning, size of spawns) and keep reading for that information. It doesn't know that's relevant information. And you can't teach these skills to a computer. People think that you can solve these problems by simply feeding more information into the computer but you can't. It just confuses it. And even if you could, what's the proposition? To fill a computer with the sum total of all human knowledge? I trust I don't have to say why that's a bad idea? The only thing you can do is manually block bad answers and replace them with good ones. By a human. Which means that all of those fixed answers... are not AI generated. :/

[h-sleepingirl]

Thoughts on "Hypnotic Agnosticism"

I'm in a weird place spiritually because I really want nothing more than transcendent, hard-to-explain experiences -- which I have HAD -- but saying I have confidence that they are "real" (or acting like that's part of my worldview) is like impossible.

Like I'm sitting here and idly thinking "I would guess generally being open to 'woo' can facilitate more intense hypnotic experiences." But I feel like I can't fully buy into magical thinking(?) (and I also include "science"/pseudoscience like NLP in that!).

For example at a hypnosis event, we introduced ourselves with something other people may not know about us; I said "I believe in xyz" where xyz is a certain mystical concept. But, DESPITE EXPERIENCES RATIFYING THAT BELIEF over the weekend, I find myself with a lot of doubt and skepticism.

It feels similar to how NLP is bs but useful when you work within its own model; it makes sense in its own context and you can get pretty far with it. My various spiritual beliefs are "real" in that way, but on a more zoomed-out scale, I really just don't know what is what.

I guess this is basically a kind of agnosticism which is fitting for me to not know things (being a bimbo) and also to sit balanced between multiple models (being sleepingirl). But it's confusing and also pretty tiring on some level!

I do think parsing this out makes me think about agnosticism as my ideal "model" for looking at hypnosis. A measured, skeptical acceptance of all models as useful, maybe. But also maybe even a healthy balance of both skepticism and reverence for hypnosis itself.

I've been doing hypnosis for 15 years now, which feels impossible. But I am also genuinely constantly surprised by it and I think part of that is because maybe I don't fully believe it's real! BUT/AND I desperately want and am open to its intense experiences.

Maybe this ties into curiosity/surprise as being some sort of necessary ingredient for intense experiences like this? I am not sure where I'm going with this but I'm thinking a lot about the spiritual overlap, anyways.

[grandlinedreams]

absolutely love your writing 😭 you write law so in character its so good. i want to see laws reaction to reader accidentally (or not) discovering his nerdy sora comics collection. ty 💛

Hi!! Thank-you so much, that's an honor 🥺 I'm a lil obsessed w him istg (more than a little but anyways) here you go, I hope you enjoy it!!

You're acting weird. To be fair though, in a crew as diverse as the Heart Pirates, "weird" is a subjective thing and depends on who Law is meaning.

You're acting weird for you. There's an odd jumpiness to you now, specifically whenever Law is involved ㅡ and he wonders if he's done something wrong.

Your relationship is still fairly new to you both, still trying to find the perfect balance between professionalism and something softer and more intimate.

Law mentally filters through your interactions (both as crewmates and not) and when he comes up with nothing, he decides to ask you.

"Have I done something to upset you? I'd like to know so I can fix it." He watches confusion flicker across your face, then guilt.

"No, you didn't do anything." You bite your lip, a habit he's been trying to break you of. Instinctively, he reaches to press his thumb against your bottom lip, tugging it free of the worried knead of your teeth. "Promise you won't be mad?"

Now it's Law's turn to be confused. "It depends on what you did," he answers honestly and immediately kicks himself for the way you shrink back. "As long as it has nothing to do with the integrity the Polar Tang and you haven't sold us out to the Marines, it can't be that bad."

That at least gets a ghost of a smile from you. "As if I'd ever do either of those," you tell him, a hint of pride in your voice. The Polar Tang is your home, and the Heart Pirates are your family.

"Continue," he prods gently, and the nervousness returns to your expression. He gives you a moment, watches as you steel yourself before you blurt in a tumbled rush of words,

"I maybe sort of accidentally found your Sora Warrior of the Sea comics."

It takes him a long moment to parse out what you've said, and you watch as his expression shifts to an unreadable one, brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," you say, feeling even worse than you have the last couple of days. "I didn't mean to, honest. Bepo needed a copy of a report from a few days ago and I thought I'd seen you put it in one of the drawers andㅡ" You halt, voice wavering. "I'm really sorry."

You mean it. He knows you do, knows you'd never breach his privacy without good reason ㅡ even as close as you are now, there are things he's not ready to talk about, or show.

In the grand scheme of things, the discovery of his carefully curated collection of beloved comics is not the end of the world. Hardly a punishable offense, even though you're clearly expecting him to be pissed.

"It's okay, [Name]." He watches as you visibly relax, though there's still a nervous edge to you. "I'm not upset, just...surprised."

"Understandable," you mumble. "For what it's worth, it's a nice collection. I wanted to get into it when I was younger, but I never got a chance to."

He perks up a little at that, latches onto the opportunity you've given him. "If you'd like," he says, "we can read them together. If you want, I mean."

Another little flake off that careful barrier he's built around himself, another soft spot exposed ㅡ trusting you not to abuse it. As if you ever would ㅡ his trust in you is one of your most teasured things.

"Law?" He looks at you, taking in that wonderful smile he'd do unspeakable things to protect. "I'd love that."

[astrxq]

heyy so i had this spiderman!ethan idea for daysss now, i absolutely love your writing, i don't know if i already sent this to you or not. if i did im sorry😭😭

reader and ethan having huge crushes on eachother

ethan is so oblivious and clueless, he believes a girl like her would never like him

reader tries really hard to get his attention and send him hints that she wants him but in vain. she ends up thinking he doesn't feel the same.

until spiderman comes to rescue her one day, they talk, and from this day spiderman takes the habit to give her a visit or two once in a week.

they begin to form a friendship of some sort, ethan behind his mask is so happy he can finally talk to her without getting nervous, he's confident with his suit on and flirts with her.

she is flattered but her mind keeps going back to ethan.

one day ethan as spiderman decides to make a move on her, she hesitates and ends up stopping him, confessing that her heart is already taken by the landry boy.

ethan still hidden behind his mask is shocked, confused but oh so happy to hear her say those words.

for a moment they stop talking, reader is worried thinking she hurt his feelings, but ethan is debating inside on whether he should take his mask off or not.

"fuck it", he takes it off revealing himself, she is completely astonished, but without a word he cups her face and gently kisses her.

a study date?

spiderman!ethan x fem!reader

words: 4.3k

notes: spiderman ethan is my favorite thing ever

Liking Ethan Landry was a nightmare. Every single interaction with the boy left you unsure of whether he liked you or not. His shy persona left you searching for answers, desperately seeking signs that might show the truth of his intentions.

The way he stumbled over his words, the fleeting glances he stole when he thought you weren't looking, and the gentle blush that painted his cheeks made you question if he liked you back, or if he was just very awkward. Probably the second one, right?

You found yourself analyzing every interaction, parsing every word and gesture for hidden meanings. You pondered the countless possibilities, teetering on the precipice of hoping that your feelings were reciprocated. But it all came back to him not feeling the same way.

Mindy's rant about the horror movie she had watched the night before shook you away from your thoughts, your eyes fleeting up to your friend as she moved her hands around in excitement while you all listened to her. From the corner of your eye, you could see Ethan's leg bouncing up and down right next to Chad.

"I mean, the jump scares were insane! I practically jumped out of my skin." You forced a smile, trying to feign interest in Mindy's movie review while your mind kept drifting back to Ethan. It seemed like an endless loop, your thoughts consumed by him. You wanted so desperately to know what was going on in his head, but his quiet nature only added to your confusion.

Tara bumped her elbow into yours, earning your attention. "You okay?" She raised her brows as she whispered to you, quietly enough for the others to still be focusing on Mindy's monologue.

You hummed, nodding your head at her with a forced smile. It's not like you hadn't tried to hint that you liked Ethan, but his responses were always confusing, leaving you in a constant state of uncertainty.

As the group chatted and laughed, you couldn't help but steal glances at Ethan. His eyes were fixed on Mindy, seemingly engrossed in her storytelling. The questions swirled in your mind. You must have looked at Ethan for too long because Tara let out a small, quiet chuckle.

She leaned in closer, her voice still barely audible. "Sometimes guys are just clueless." You shrugged before uncomfortably shifting on the couch. "Maybe he just doesn't like me, I don't know," you started.

"It just feels like... sometimes, he does?" Tara nodded, understanding before setting her hand on yours, squeezing it just a bit. "I get it," she replied softly. "But trust me, guys can be really clueless sometimes. They might not even realize that their actions are sending mixed signals. And you have been giving hints."

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Yeah, maybe I'm just overanalyzing it. But this is driving me crazy." Mindy finished her rambling once Anika raised her hand to ask a question, changing the subject. Tara glanced at Mindy and Anika, then turned her attention back to you with a soft smile.

"Maybe be more direct with him? Ask him out?"

"I have! He just always invites Chad along." Tara raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Well, have you considered that maybe Ethan is just too nervous to go on a date with you alone?"

You groaned, frustration evident in your voice. "I don't know, Tara. It's like he's intentionally avoiding being alone with me. Every time I suggest something, he finds a way to include Chad or someone else in our plans. He's definitely not interested."

Tara tilted her head, contemplating your words. "Or maybe he's afraid of making things awkward between you two. Some guys just have a hard time expressing their feelings, especially when they really like someone."

You sighed, "Please don't feed into my delusions, Tara." She chuckled and squeezed your hand reassuringly. "I'm not trying to feed into your delusions, I promise. But maybe Ethan is just as confused as you are."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I doubt that. I've been very obvious about it." Tara smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Obvious, huh? Maybe he's just blind, then."

You glared at her playfully. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Alright, maybe you're the blind one." She motioned towards where he sat with her head with a smirk, making your eyes trail to where she was pointing, catching the boy staring. Ethan gulped a bit before looking away, down to his lap. "See?"

"Maybe he heard us talk about him," you panicked, looking at Tara for help, "or... he was just staring at you," she said, raising her eyebrows in amusement at your nervousness. "I don't know, Tara, I'm getting tired of wondering if he likes me or not all the time."

"Come on, don't give up. I'm sure he likes you." Tara's words offered a glimmer of hope amidst your frustration. You let out a sigh, contemplating her reassurance. "You really think so?"

She nodded, her eyes filled with sincerity. "Absolutely. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. There's something there, trust me."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest at Tara's words. Maybe there was a chance, after all. "But what do I do? I've tried dropping hints, and it hasn't really worked."

Tara leaned in closer, her voice laced with mischief. "Well, if subtle hints aren't getting through to him, then maybe it's time to be more direct. Take matters into your own hands."

Your eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty. "You mean… like, confessing my feelings to him?" She snorted, "Yeah, sure. You'd kill yourself before doing that. Just ask him out, make sure you make it very, veeery obvious that you want it to be just the two of you. No Chad."

You chuckled nervously at Tara's teasing remark. "Okay, fine. I'll ask him out and make it crystal clear that it's just the two of us. No Chad in sight. I can do that, right?"

Tara grinned mischievously. "Absolutely! You got this." As she spoke, Mindy and Anika had finished their conversation, and the group's attention had shifted to different conversations, Chad and Ethan deep into a talk about some video game they'd bought for their dorm. The girls' attention shifted back to you and Tara. Mindy, noticing the seriousness on your face, chimed in, "What's going on?"

"Y/N's gonna ask Ethan out," Tara whispered back, and Anika looked just as confused as Mindy. "Again?" they both said. "See?" you turned to Tara, an 'I told you so' look on your face.

Tara shrugged, a smirk still playing on her lips. "This time, she's gonna make it crystal clear. No room for misinterpretation."

Anika leaned closer, her eyes widening with excitement. "Oh my god, this is getting interesting! How are you gonna ask him?"

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix

 of nervousness and determination. "I have no idea. Maybe a study date?" Tara made a gagging sound, "Nerds."

"There's no way he will think that's a date. He's very stupid with girls, we've gone over this," Mindy added. "Make it obvious." She shifted so her hand was atop her girlfriend's, lacing their fingers together. "A study date is a good idea, I think," Anika added.

Mindy raised an eyebrow, a sly grin forming on her face. "And how exactly are you going to make it obvious so it doesn't look like a regular study session?"

You glanced at Tara, who couldn't hold back her laughter. "Oh, it's gonna be fun. Just... flirt a little, touch his arm, eye contact..."

Anika clapped her hands, unable to contain her excitement. "Yes! I can already imagine it. The two of you, it's like a romcom!" You blushed at the thought of turning your study date into a romantic movie-worthy moment.

"I don't know if I can pull that off," you admitted, feeling a surge of nerves build up inside of you. Anika nudged your shoulder with her hand, smiling at you. "Don't say that! You got this. And if he's as clueless as you think, maybe you'll have to go in for the kiss."

You covered your face with your hands, feeling it heating up. "Oh god. No, no, no."

"You don't wanna kiss him?" she asked, "Of course I do! Just- don't say that."

"Say what? That you wanna kiss the guy you have a crush on?" Mindy chimed in, holding back a laugh at your very obvious embarrassment. "Please stop it, I'll explode, I can feel it."

"That'd be fun to see," Chad said, having moved from his spot on the couch to standing behind you, his hands leaning on the back of the couch, Ethan next to him. "Why are you exploding?"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you tried to collect yourself. "Uh, no reason, Chad. Just… figurative exploding, you know?" You stammered, hoping to divert the conversation away from your crush on Ethan. But just as you seemed to focus on Chad, Ethan spoke. "What's wrong?"

You glanced at Tara, silently pleading for help. She chimed in, saving you from further embarrassment. "Oh, it's nothing, just some inside joke. Don't worry about it, Ethan."

Chad, ever the teasing friend, leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, are we missing any gossip? You know I love gossip, don't do this to me." He pretended to beg as he nudged Ethan playfully.

Ethan's cheeks turned a shade of pink as he shrugged, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looked away. "I… I don't know. They were talking about… exploding?"

"Y/N's just been struggling with a business assignment, that's it," Anika said, winking your way as she tried to ease in the study date idea. "Oh, I can help you with that if you want," Ethan said, his hand slightly fidgeting with one of the couch pillows nervously as Chad grinned from next to him.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of hope as Ethan offered to help you with your assignment. Maybe this was your chance to spend some quality time together and make your intentions clear. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

"That would be amazing, Ethan," you replied, a hint of excitement in your voice. "I could really use some help." You smiled, and Ethan lingered for a second before asking, "Uh, you could come by our dorm tomorrow? Chad needs my help with biology anyway."

You could scream, you could actually feel that fake explosion building up inside of you. Trying to hide your disappointment, you nodded eagerly. "Yeah, that sounds great! I could definitely use your help, and it'll be nice to hang out with you guys."

You swore you heard Mindy groan, and you felt her eyeroll from the back of your head. Ethan blushed, his eyes avoiding yours for a moment before he managed to speak up again. "Yeah, it'll be fun. We can order some pizza too," he suggested, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

You chuckled nervously, glancing at Tara for a supportive look. She gave you an encouraging nod, silently telling you to make your move during the study session. "Pizza sounds nice." You tried your best to make your voice sound cheerful, seeing the way Chad looked at Ethan before shaking his head a bit.

"I can just... ask someone from my class for help," Chad trailed off, "It will be more productive if we just do it all at once, right?" Ethan said, widening his eyes, as if trying to communicate with Chad, trying to tell him that he needed him there so he wouldn't freak out. But you felt your chest heave at the thought of Ethan wanting Chad to be there so badly.

Anika quickly changed the subject, talking about how her parents were going to be in town for the week. And you felt Chad give your shoulder a small reassuring tap before following behind Ethan to sit down on their old spot.

-

Chad kept tapping on the table with his pencil as you bounced your leg up and down, waiting for Ethan to appear. He'd agreed to meet up at seven; he had even texted you earlier to confirm the time. But now, it was almost thirty minutes past, and there was still no sign of Ethan.

You tried to hide your disappointment, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Chad noticed your unease and leaned in, whispering, "He's probably just caught up with something. Don't worry; he'll be here soon."

"Yeah, probably," you hummed, deciding to start the assignment on your own. A few minutes went by, and Ethan was still nowhere in sight. Chad, sensing your growing impatience, glanced at his phone and let out a small sigh.

"I'll shoot him a text, see what's taking him so long," he offered, his fingers quickly typing a message to Ethan. You appreciated his gesture and continued to fiddle with your pen, trying to focus on the assignment, but your mind kept wandering back to Ethan's absence.

After what felt like an eternity, Chad finally looked up from his phone with a perplexed expression. "He's not answering," he revealed, his brows furrowing. "That's weird. Ethan always has his phone glued to his hand."

"Maybe he just forgot," you murmured. "Are you any good at biology?" he asked, biting the inside of his cheek as he looked over his homework once again. "Because I'm not getting this." You shook your head but still reached for the paper in his hands, reading it over before pointing at one of the questions.

You smiled, grateful for the distraction and the opportunity to help Chad with the assignment. "Actually, I think I can help you with this one. It's a bit tricky, but let me break it down for you." You began explaining the concept, your focus shifting from Ethan's absence to the task at hand. Chad listened intently, nodding along as you explained.

An hour ticked by, and Ethan was still nowhere in sight. Your initial anticipation had turned into frustration and a tinge of hurt. You couldn't help but feel disappointed by his absence, wondering what could have possibly kept him from showing up.

"He does this sometimes," Chad explained, "he'll disappear for a few hours and come back late." You hummed once again, checking the time. "I think I'll get going." You stood up, gathering your things as Chad grabbed your papers. "Thanks for helping me, Y/N."

You sent a small smile his way before he offered to walk you to the door. "You like him a lot, huh?" he asked, teasing. You felt your cheeks burn, and you chuckled before pushing him gently. "Shut up." You turned to leave, a huge smile playing on your lips as you heard Chad laugh from behind you.

-

On the walk back to yours and Tara's dorm, you heard people yelling from afar. Curiosity piqued, you picked up your pace to check what was going on. From a distance, you could see a group of teenagers, all wearing masks that covered their faces, and a woman clutching her grocery bags with some items on the floor.

In front of her stood a guy dressed in spandex. You carefully took some steps closer, quickly recognizing the masked hero from the news you'd seen many times. They called him "Spider-Man," and you'd heard Chad geek out about him too many times.

You couldn't resist getting closer, wanting to catch a better glimpse of Spider-Man. You moved closer when the group of teens scattered around, leaving the hero with the woman. Once you were close enough, you picked up some of the food containers that had been dropped to the floor. "Thanks, honey," the lady said.

Spider-Man looked up, his big white bug eyes fixating on yours. He cleared his throat and messily handed the woman her groceries before fully standing up. "Thank you," he said, his voice clearly deeper as he tried to make it unrecognizable to you.

You couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as you stood face to face with Spider-Man, the legendary hero you had heard so much about. His presence was both thrilling and intimidating, and you couldn't believe that you were actually interacting with him.

"You're welcome," you managed to say, a mix of awe and disbelief in your voice. "It's amazing to see you in action, Spider-Man."

Spider-Man chuckled behind his mask, a sound that was both lighthearted and reassuring. "Well, it's all in a day's work. Just doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duty," he replied, Ethan's voice still poorly disguised by the mask and his attempt to deepen it.

Soon enough, all the containers were back in the woman's bags, and some of the streetlights had turned off due to the lateness of the hour. You started to make your way back home, holding onto your bag that hung on your shoulder, still thinking about Ethan.

You almost jumped when the hero dropped to the floor in front of you, his bug eyes widening a bit. "Would you like me to walk you back?" you blinked, momentarily taken aback by the offer.

"Oh, um, that's really nice of you, but it's not necessary," you replied, a hint of uncertainty in your voice. Spider-Man tilted his head, his masked face unreadable. "Are you sure? It's late, and you never know what might be lurking around."

You glanced around the dimly lit street, feeling a chill run down your spine. The idea of walking home alone suddenly seemed less appealing. "Well, if you insist," you said, mustering a smile. "I would appreciate the company."

As you walked side by side, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. You stole glances at Spider-Man, trying to catch a glimpse of the person behind the mask, but his identity remained a mystery.

"So," Spider-Man began, breaking the silence, "how did you end up at that scene earlier? It's not often I see civilians lending a hand."

You chuckled, feeling a flush of embarrassment. "I just left my friend's dorm a few minutes ago; I was just walking by." He hummed and seemed to think for a second, a small "shit" leaving his lips once he realized he'd practically stood you up.

"This late?" he tried to seem nonchalant. "Well, it's a funny story," you said, trying to brush off the situation. "I was actually supposed to meet someone there, but he never showed up."

"I'm sorry that happened. He must be an idiot."

"He isn't. He's very sweet," you said, chuckling a bit at the thought of Ethan, "it's just... I thought he liked me, I don't know." Spider-Man nodded, his mask concealing any hint of surprise. "I think he's an idiot if he doesn't." He adjusted his web shooters, feeling guilty for hurting your feelings.

You glanced at Spider-Man, who had unknowingly taken the place of Ethan in your evening plans. His words brought a small smile to your face, appreciating the support from a stranger. "That's really kind of you to say."

Spider-Man scratched the back of his head through his mask, a gesture that seemed strangely familiar. "Well, sometimes guys can be clueless."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of validation and disappointment. "Yeah, you're right. It's just… confusing. Sometimes it feels like he does like me, and then..." you trailed off, "God, I don't even know why I'm telling you this, sorry."

Ethan chuckled softly, the sound muffled by his mask. "No need to apologize. Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger about these things. I guess that's the advantage of the mask," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

You couldn't help but smile, "Yeah, I guess. It's just frustrating, you know? Mixed signals and all that." He nodded again, slightly frowning under his mask.

As the two of you walked, the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease a bit. You felt comfortable with Spider-Man, as weird as it sounded, even if his true identity remained a mystery.

You approached your dorm building, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that your time with Spider-Man was coming to an end. He reminded you of Ethan; their mannerisms were very similar. But the thought of them being the same person didn't come to mind as you talked.

"Well, this is me," you said, gesturing toward the building. "Thank you so much for walking me back. It was really nice talking to you, Spider-Man."

Spider-Man nodded, "The pleasure was all mine, Y/N. Stay safe." He made a salute sign with his fingers, letting out an awkward laugh as he embarrassedly walked away.

-

Ethan sighed once again, adjusting his mask as he stood in front of your dorm's door. He was nervous that you'd hate him for showing up at your door dressed as Spider-Man and about to reveal his biggest secret to you. He had been standing there for about five minutes, overthinking it.

When he knocked, though, Tara opened the door with a confused look on her face. "What the..."

"Is Y/N here?" he asked, trying his best to deepen his voice. Tara's eyes widened as she took in the sight of the masked hero standing at the door. She glanced back at you and called out your name. "Y/N, Spider-Man is here to see you."

You looked up from your laptop, confusion evident on your face. Putting it away, you walked towards the door, your gaze shifting from Tara to Spider-Man. As you approached, you noticed nervousness in the masked hero's posture. "What are you doing here?" you said, your voice laced with surprise.

Tara moved out of the way, staring attentively at the stranger at the door. Ethan grew more nervous under her gaze. He turned to face her and then back to you. "Uh... I was hoping we could talk? Alone?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, and Tara walked out of the dorm, her eyes still wide. "Chad is gonna freak out," she mouthed to you before closing the door, leaving you and Ethan alone in the dorm room.

"What's going on?" you asked, confusion evident on your face. "That guy... you like him, right?"

His question made you stop and think, not really understanding. "Uh, yes. Sorry, why are you here exactly?" Ethan took a deep breath, the nerves apparent in his voice as he began to speak. "I... I wanted to apologize for not showing up last week. It was completely my fault, and I understand if you're upset with me. I can't make any excuses for my behavior."

"What?"

Only then did Ethan realize he messed up the order of the plan he'd practiced hidden in his dorm's bathroom. He was supposed to take the mask off first. "Oh, uhm," he reached for the hem of his mask, struggling.

With a slightly awkward tug, Ethan managed to remove the mask, revealing his familiar face. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he looked at you, his eyes filled with both apprehension and hope. You stood there, stunned, as you processed the revelation. The pieces started falling into place, connecting the dots between Ethan's absence, Chad's mention of him disappearing, and the familiar mannerisms you noticed while walking with Spider-Man.

"You're Spider-Man," you stated, trying to process it. "I'm so sorry I stood you up. I lost track of time. And—" you cut him off, waving your hand up to shut him up. "I'm sorry, you're Spider-Man?"

"Yes? Yes," he said, stumbling over his words at your slight rejection of his apology. "But... I wanted to hang out with you, I just... forgot. I'm sorry." You were baffled at how quickly he'd moved on from the fact that he was the masked hero of New York.

He sighed, "I really like you." He nodded to himself, slightly smiling at the fact that he'd finally gotten the courage to confess. You stayed silent, overwhelmed by the amount of confessions Ethan had just dropped on you.

"I... I need to sit down."

He raised his eyebrows, pulling out one of the chairs at the lunch table for you to sit on, then another one for him. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "The guy I've been crushing on turns out to be a superhero. It's like something out of a movie."

Ethan's smile grew wider, relief washing over his features. "I understand if you're upset." You took a deep breath, letting the initial disappointment fade away. "I was."

"I won't tell anybody," you promised, reaching for his hand on his knee, your legs bumping into each other's.

His hand nervously reached out from under yours, gently cupping your cheek. His touch was warm and tender, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You could feel the electricity in the air, the undeniable connection between the two of you.

The kiss was hesitant at first, as if both of you were exploring unfamiliar territory. But as the seconds passed, it deepened, growing more passionate and fervent. Ethan's hand on your cheek caressed your skin, his touch sending sparks through your entire body. Your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, holding onto him as if afraid to let go.

Tara's knocking on the door made you pull back, her voice loud through the door. "Can I come in? I think they're throwing a party across the hall, and I don't wanna be here right now." You jumped to stand up.

Ethan widened his eyes, pulling his curly head inside of the mask again before standing up to hug you and quickly pulling at your window, waving at you right as you nervously opened the door for Tara.

[ghost-bxrd]

About the 'monster dragon' Red Hood bonding with Jason...

Extra plot twist.

RH is influencing Jason's revenge rampage, especially against Timmy and his baby dragon.

But not because it is evil or even malicious.

The thing is, dragons bond with their Riders. And learn to see the world through their eyes. Especially if they bonded straight from hatching.

Red Hood, who has belonged to the Mad Rider - let's make him Joker equivalent, shall we? - since his birth has only his perspective to figure out the world.

Yes, he has bonded with Jason, but with a young and traumatized Rider bonding an old and experienced dragon, the bond has the dragon's perspective leaching on to the Rider than the other way round.

RH, with a sociopath's perspective on the world, sees Tim as the usurper.

While Jason would have understood his family trying to move on, the Mad Rider would have seen anyone not submerging their lives in grief for his death as an unforgivable betrayal. He would have wanted the world to burn with him.

And the Mad Rider's perspective is what RH has, and feeds into Jason's mind.

So from RH's perspective, Tim and the Bats - along with all the subjects who did mourn for their prince, but moved on in the couple of years he has been gone - are traitors.

A danger to his beloved Rider. They must be eliminated.

It would be so hard for Jason to parse through what are his and what are Red’s emotions! They’d be caught in a feedback loop of fear and rage, with Red feeling vindicated by Jason’s fear and in the resolve to protect him, and with Jason confused but also thankful for the seething rage because that feeling is better than the world shattering hopelessness from before.

They both have good intentions, but the actions become warped by their horrible past experiences. And until Jason can sort through this mess of feelings enough to reign in his dragon… well, there’s probably a lot of stuff happening. 👁️

[bit-odd-innit]

I made a joke tag on this post about how Nancy is genre-aware and can feel the arbitrary love triangle closing in around her but then I thought about it for a millisecond too long and— Nancy can’t shake it: The muggy, suffocating pressure prickling along her skin and cottoning up her lungs. At first it’s easy to ignore. She’s been shaking off the relentless crush of pressure in one form or another for years. They are bigger things to focus on, bigger mysteries to solve. So when she catches Dustin watching her and Steve with what she can only describe as wist she’s confused, but she lets it slide. She thinks, not without guilt, they really only spend this kind of time together when the world is ending. Maybe he’s nostalgic. It’s sweet, in a twisted, broken sort of way. She resolves to make more of an effort when this is all over, but right now everyone needs to focus on what’s important— But then she’s walking through the woods and Robin is talking about rekindling old flames that should have never been snuffed out and it jars her into a stutter step. Because what? Where did that come from? Robin wasn’t there when there was a flame, paltry and dim though it was. Steve’s always been kinder to her than she deserved, so maybe his version of events gave Robin a false sense of their compatibility. Even so, why? And why bring it up now? She can’t parse it now, so she latches to the one thing that makes hope spark in her chest: Robin calls her a friend. Robin considers her a friend. And it’s been so long since someone has earnestly, sincerely called her a friend, she basks in the warmth of it and almost lets herself forget how strange— And then Steve is smiling at her so sweetly and his eyes are shining so brightly and he’s telling her about his dream, about six kids and a Winnebago and she knows she’s meant to be charmed by it all but instead she feels like she standing at the gallows with a noose flush to her throat. When they get a brief moment of calm, she takes Eddie aside. 

“Did you tell Steve we should get back together?” He grins, lopsided and smug. “No need to thank me, when it comes to matters of the heart I am but a humble messenger—” “Why?” “Why what?”  “Why do you think Steve and I should get back together?” Eddie blinks, his smile sliding off his face, and there’s a dull flicker of confusion in his big bright eyes, as if he just found himself caught somewhere he was not meant to be. But then it vanishes and he’s back to one, beaming and bombastic as he answers, “Isn’t it obvious?” “Explain it to me.” “I—” His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his gazes bounces across her features, scanning for the answer he thinks she wants. “Its...That’s what’s supposed to happen.”   “Eddie.” She doesn’t break eye contact, keeps her voice steady, encloses her hands around his trembling fingers.  “Dig deep. Why did you tell Steve we should get back together?” The color drains from his face, his eyebrows bowing in fear. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know why I said that. I think...” His mouth falls open, working soundlessly, and he huffs out a shaky breath. “I think I wanted to say something else? But I don’t remember...I don’t remember what I, and then that came out instead, and I don’t know why I said it I don’t know why I said it Wheeler what the fuck?” “I know.”

“I’m wanted for murder I don’t care about your relationship woes! I didn’t even know you guys dated until after you broke up, and that was what? Two years ago?” “Almost three,” she says quietly.  “Wheeler what the fuck?! Is this...?” He drops his chin to his chest and waggles his hands in a faint circle. Because they are still connected, Nancy’s hands go along for the ride. “Is this him?” “No.” A righteous fury licks its way up from her belly, fanning out across her circulatory system. The muscles in her neck strain as she clenches her jaw. “No, this is something else.”

“What’re we gonna do?” “We’re going to fix it.” “How?” “I’m rewriting our plan,” she replies. And when she sets her shoulders and straightens her spine she feels the pressure that means to crush her push in.  And she pushes back.  “I’m rewriting all of it.”

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Are we human, still? (have we become something more?)

This is how it feels to take a fall - series masterlist here

pairing: takami keigo x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.3k

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: allusions to death in that it's abt being a pro hero and not being able to save everybody, how are you supposed to save other people when you can't even save yourself

a/n: you all have to suffer more hawks from me forever and ever I'm so sorry it never goes away

"You can't save everyone," Keigo's voice feels louder than it should, pushing past the rushing of blood in your ears as you stand and stare at the scene in front of you.

"Fuck you," is all you respond with. It was supposed to be harsh, but there's a tired breathiness to your voice that you can't shake. He doesn't hold it against you.

"Dove? Hey - look at me. It wasn't your fault," Keigo says firmly, tearing one of his gloves off to gently cup your face in his hand, trying to ground you and get you to listen.

The lights of the police cars bathe his face in blue, then red, then blue again, and the sirens wail loudly enough that they almost drown out the voice of a woman crying - a woman who just lost someone she loved because you couldn't get to them in time.

"The press is waiting for me," you say in lieu of addressing anything real. Keiog's eyes flit over your face wildly.

"I'll make a statement for you."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"It is today." He doesn't give you much time to argue it, leaving you in the hands of the paramedics who need to check you over while he makes his way over to the swarming press. He's worried about you - desperately so. He's never seen you like this - not in the short time that you've been together and certainly not before that, when the two of you were merely rivals, competitors on a public stage.

There's a thrumming under Keigo's skin, a burning sort of itch that ignites him as he waves down the swarm of press, angling it all away from you. It's this need he has to take care of you, to use his hands for something good. He wonders, in a sort of panic, if this is what love feels like. Fortunately, he doesn't really have the time to think about it. 

By the time he gets back to you, you're sitting in the back of the ambulance, a never-ending back and forth of the paramedic laying a shock blanket over your shoulders and you shrugging it off playing before his eyes. An assistant from your agency is talking to you, frowning and shifting on her feet as she types away on her tablet and you stare vaguely past her.

"Hey, you," Keigo says gently when he gets to you. He almost feels bad about pushing past your assistant, about moving in front of her so that he can lean down to look at you - but the way you look at him, through him, changes his mind. "You all cleared?"

"They couldn't find anything wrong with me," is how you answer, and Keigo finds himself relieved to know you so well, to be able to parse the jumble of words that have your assistant humming in confusion and tapping her nails against her tablet. 

They couldn't find anything wrong with me, and Keigo can almost hear the part that you didn't say. The problem is just me. There's nothing to explain it, nothing to justify it. It's just me.

"It wasn't your fault," he says again, like it'll make some kind of difference. Somewhere in the background, a police officer pushes the crowd back and your hands twitch in your lap. "You did everything you could."

"I don't think that matters," you shake your head, moving it like it'll rattle out the memories of today. "It wasn't enough."

"It has to be," Keigo says, and he surprises himself with the earnest tilt to his voice. It has to be, because it's all we're capable of. Because I can't lose you to this the way that I've lost myself.  

"And what happens when it's not?" You fire back, and Keigo would be relieved at the light that's starting to come back to your eyes if the question didn't catch him so off guard, if he had some kind of answer to give you - to give himself.

"That's…" he starts, and when he catches his reflection in the ambulance window, he has to stop himself from flinching. "That's something that we have to figure out, I guess," he finishes haltingly. Something in you softens, brings you back to where you should be as you watch his wild eyes flit around, the way his wings twitch nervously against his back as he shifts and stands taller. 

He's never dealt with this, you remind yourself. It's not that he's never been here, been the one to fail, but he's never really dealt with it before. Maybe you can't expect him to be able to deal with it for you when you can't.

"It's ok, Hawks," you say gently, and a pointed look at the assistant still hovering has her stepping back, clearing her throat and announcing that she has to make a call before she disappears around the side of the ambulance. You reach forward, letting your fingers brush against Keigo's clenched fist while he stares at you.

How am I supposed to look at you, he thinks. How am I supposed to be anything to you when I can't even be anything for myself? Your hand brushes against his and he wills his fist to unfurl, lets you tug off his glove so that you can intertwine your fingers with his and feel skin on skin. 

It's almost like I'm human, his brain supplies weakly. It's almost like I'm something real and worth touching.

"Love -" he starts, his voice lurching as he looks at you. You, sitting in the back of an ambulance with a blanket draped over your shoulders, another fight that you couldn't win today, and he's panicking and spiralling and pulling away. The police lights flash around you, blue and then red and then blue again - but Keigo's frame blocks the light from you, lets you look up at him in the unwavering white light of the back of the ambulance. He wonders, in a panicked sort of way, what else he's sheltered you from. As you pull his arm forward to plant a delicate kiss to the inside of his wrist, he wonders if this shield of his is really such a good thing.

What sort of light am I keeping from you, he thinks. What sort of love am I hiding in the dark?

"Keigo," the name is whispered so softly against the soft skin of his inner wrist - so quietly that he can feel your lips moving more than he can hear it. Any other time, he'd be tempted to chide you for using his name where others could hear. Now, though, it feels like too much of a blessing to be known for him to want to complain.

He says your name in return and a police siren wails loudly. He almost feels like he's human. You almost look like you are, too.

"I think it's time to go home," you say gently, and the weariness in your voice has him wiggling his wrist out of your grip to step closer to you and hold your face in his palms, eyeing the fatigue in your eyes and the slump of your shoulders. 

Home, he thinks, hears the word with a rattling sort of clarity as you reach up to cup your hands over his where they hold your face. There is somewhere to call home for us, after all.

Maybe you need to be reminded of it, too. Maybe that's where that layer of desperation in your voice comes from. Keigo tugs you up, pulling the blanket off your shoulders and tucking you under his wing, instead, and you find yourself a bit closer to home already.

[wordsinhaled]

thinking about hell as being, inherently, a place that makes one both vulnerable, and enables them to be more vulnerable, either for the better or to their detriment...

in hell simon is able to express to edwin his deepest feelings, his admiration of and attraction to edwin, his misgivings, embarrassment, shame, and self-loathing about his identity, which he couldn't access on earth and masked with bullying while he and edwin were alive. edwin expresses back the confused nascent feelings he'd had for simon back then and hadn't been able to parse or express properly while alive

while he's in hell edwin is stripped down to his undergarments, and immediately manifests back his multiple layers of clothes once he's back on the earthly plane. and ultimately he makes his confession to charles there, too

edwin and charles are able to speak to each other in hell more candidly than they usually do on earth. there's the thoroughness with which charles takes the time to respond to edwin's confession - reflecting the true depth of thought he always puts into all his interactions with edwin, under the surface (taking careful note of his body language and what it means, for example, as in the moment when he pointed out that edwin only clenches his fists when he's really tense). but this time he is able to express his care out loud, in words. note how edwin tells charles readily to his face that he is the best person he knows, while charles is able to tell the night nurse (without charles present) that edwin is the best person he knows and argues for him not deserving hell - all this without edwin present

and even in hell (where it's easier to be vulnerable!) the roots of trauma run so deep that charles struggles with the concept of deserving a deeper than surface-level sort of love from the best person he knows, an in-love sort of love, and his own capacity to reciprocate it without mucking it up or continuing the cycle of abuse. he tries to deflect the depth of edwin's love and doubts his own capacity to return it: "great. love you too - can we go?"

love you too is easy, it's the kind of thing you say to your mate on the way out the door or to your auntie on the phone, it doesn't have to mean much; charles has plenty of love for anyone and everyone he meets, including edwin. especially edwin. and there's the thinking it's some sort of an orpheus-and-eurydice thing even without knowing the tragic ending - that edwin's love could be a trap, a ploy, not real, designed to turn him around and keep him stuck in hell, is easier to grapple with than the idea that he is purely and unselfishly loved. edwin loves him without the expectation of return; wants him to know simply because he thinks charles rowland should know how much he is loved. and charles balks at first at reckoning with that! but being in hell, he's able to work past that to express to edwin how much he truly means to him.

contrast this with the moment when edwin tries to bring up his confession, back on earth, trying to suss out if it made things awkward between them, now - and all he can get out of charles is a clipped, short, "it didn't."

but you would certainly think so given how far apart they're sitting, on the rooftop, nearly on opposite sides of it, and facing opposite directions, when so often they are next to one another, looking at one another, aligned. being in hell allowed them to be physically closer in proximity, to touch each other in more intimate ways more readily - i'm thinking about how gently charles takes edwin's hand down from covering his mouth, and continues to hold it. on earth it takes charles thinking they're seconds away from losing each other properly, that they are at last going to actually and definitively be wiped out of existence and denied an eternity together, to reach out and take edwin's hand seconds before the forest elemental swallows them up.

edwin was already ready to engage in this vulnerability before he ever got dragged down to hell a second time. he planned a confession to charles on earth, regardless of and without assumptions on the outcome, never even knowing it might be one of his last chances to do it. he dressed notably nice for it and everything, breaking his own norm because he committed to making it special.

edwin doesn't belong in hell - his soul, his existence, breaks the system and creates glitches and defies the night nurse's logic about the afterlife. hell can't hold him because he has already embraced vulnerability in ways many or most of the other characters are still working towards (possibly he has done this work twice over, if we hold that he had to do some level of self-acceptance to be able to find his way out of hell the first time).

i'm wondering if edwin and despair are "friends now" because edwin has overcome so much of his existential despair. i think the reason she says she will call on him if she ever needs him hinges on this - the hope of escaping despair is, in fact, essential to the feeling of despair, because in recognizing the absence of hope that things will get better, one starts to feel despair, right? and in order to recognize despair one must know what despair is not. and so she needs edwin because he can represent the opposite of her to others; he has been touched by her and steeped in her power and overcome it

i think the show does an absolutely fantastic job of delving into the concept from sandman i've always thought was so fascinating, the concept of hell not being a place you go, but something you carry with you. that it is actually something deeply internal and through that internal work it can be overcome

anyway i don't even know where i'm going with this at this point but i hope what i've said makes sense. tl;dr like... hell as the plane of vulnerability??? intimacy??? authenticity??? edwin payne i admire you, and charles rowland i love you and you deserve love, and despair you are my queen i'm so glad they did you justice

[st-danger]

Hello hello!

Penny for your thoughts on predator Aeon?

Ohhhhh here have some headcanons!

Aeon is very much a playful sort of ghoul. Likes to tease. Likes to have fun.

Likes to hunt.

Aether doesn't enjoy being chased. Mountain would rather do the chasing. Rain gets nervous, always, makes too many mistakes trying to get away and hide, so it's not as much of a challenge as Aeon would like.

Dew's a slippery one. Fast, incredibly graceful. Whereas Rain is almost guaranteed to trip on a tree branch or some detritus in the forest, Dew doesn't have that issue. What he does have, however, is a shocking lack of awareness when it comes to the feeling of quintessence; you'd think that for as often as he and Aether use that for the most unwholesome of purposes, he'd be a little more attuned to the feeling of magick prickling his skin. Aeon chalks it up to the way the adrenaline from being chased takes centre stage.

Regardless of why he's caught of guard by it every time, he is, and Aeon finds few things more delicious than getting into Dew's head. Rearranging what he sees. What he feels. Just enough warping of reality to confuse. Easy enough to make the forest seem darker. Easy enough to make it sound like there are footsteps from many directions. So easy to make him feel a phantom breath on the back of his neck to make him whip around to face nothing at all. Dew considers it cheating, always gets the most enticing drip of panic from his cursing when he realizes he's being toyed with.

All that adrenaline and will to fight and it never gets him anywhere for long. Sometimes he finishes the hunt quickly, other times he waits until Dew is panting and utterly exhausted, holds the back of his neck and fucks him into the forest floor with little ceremony. Shoves his face into Dew's armpit and smells him when he's sweaty.

Swiss is the other favourite.

Swiss feels the quintessence, and given that he's got a bit of his own threaded through him, it's easier for him to recognize and parse through what's real and what's simply being suggested. He's not immune, but it evens the playing field more.

To Aeon's delight, Swiss is a fighter. Aeon has to work hard to keep up with him, and work even harder to take him down. It's less playing with his victim and more of an actual struggle. Swiss is a lot stronger than he is, and there are only so many shadows for Aeon to hide in before he has to step out of them to finish the job.

The best thing he can do is draw it out.

Create a sense of dread. Wait. Get close enough to him, and give him an out because the sight of Swiss running from him, trying to escape him, gets him blindingly hard. Swiss is good about smelling like fear, too. It might be a game, but he can't stop the natural reaction being hunted elicits. Dew smells of panic, Swiss smells like fear. Aeon could asphyxiate himself on both.

Swiss fights. Aeon laughs and claws and shoves and bites, and Swiss will grab his hair. Slap him if he can.

The thing about hunting Swiss that Aeon likes best is that he doesn't always win.

It's a toss up if Swiss throws him down hard, pins him under thick thighs and wraps a hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes grow big, make him struggle. Grinding down onto him, making sure Aeon can feel how hard he is. Demands Aeon open his mouth and show him that little pink tongue so he can spit on it and laugh at him with his legs kick uselessly under him. Tells him in a low, dangerous voice, better luck next time, kiddo.

[scoops-aboy86]

💕🪱Wiggly Wednesday🪱💕

Thanks for tagging me, @hotluncheddie and @steviewashere!

And, getting in at less than an hour before midnight on Wednesday… Here’s what I was just idly thinking about, because it’s dumb slapstick and it makes me laugh. 

Steve almost had his fingernails removed by a Russian doctor, right? I’ve seen some fics take that and extrapolate it into a medical phobia. And I guess there would be similar smells, antiseptic… blood, sometimes. But what if what freaks Steve out is the combination of medical setting *and* accents. He doesn’t have the same ear for languages as Robin does, and sometimes if he can’t understand what someone is saying his anxiety brain jumps straight to “Oh shit, the Russians are back!”

(Think the face he made when Robin spoke Pig Latin, only much less fun.)

So Steve has finally submitted to having his own bat bites looked at. He’s all bandaged up and heading back to Eddie’s room as quickly as he can. When he gets there, he sees an unfamiliar old man bending over Eddie and saying something that Steve can’t easily parse. Now, maybe it’s because Wayne doesn’t have an Indiana accent, maybe it’s because Steve’s hearing is a little wonky after all he’s been through, maybe it’s some combination of all of the above. But it flips that panic switch, and Steve is *not* going to let the guy he resuscitated and hauled out of hell die, so he goes into attack mode. 

Which is to say, he lets out a wild cry and charges with intent to tackle. 

Dustin is also present, and recognizes this strategy from last summer under Starcourt. But that’s not a Russian, that’s Eddie’s Uncle Wayne. So Dustin leaps up and tackles Steve before he can make contact. Maybe Robin walks in, sees Steve and Dustin squabbling on the floor, and leaps into the fray to back up her platonic soulmate. There’s a lot of hair pulling on everyone’s part. Wayne just sort of watches, not as phased as he could be since he’s used to Eddie’s impulsive antics.

And it’s in the midst of this tableau, in which most of the participants are confused, that Eddie himself wakes up. Call it “Speak of the Devil.”

… That’s it, that’s all I got, I’m too tired to decide how Eddie reacts. I’m falling asleep face first into my phone, please tag yourselves from me if you wanna. ❤️ 😴 

[lailoken]

Hello Lailoken! how can someone who's 'new to all this' tell if the entities they’re contacting in visions, dreams or any other 'otherworldly journey' are, indeed, fae to be trusted, or if it's just 'tricksters' and they’re being intentionally misled, or meant for harm? Are there any signs? what's your experience with discerning spirits' intentions? (divination aside, I feel any divination done by myself to try to unravel this would be 'tainted' or come untrue, but do correct me if I'm wrong! I also don’t want to depend on other people’s skills on divination to be able to do this safely...)

This is honestly a rather dense subject, but I will do my best to respond to some points you brought up here.

Firstly, here are some tips to keep in mind when attempting this kind of work:

— Learn to identify when and how you are experiencing legitimate numinous communications to begin with. Once you feel confident that you're dealing with real contact, then you can begin to work on parsing out what feels hinky and what feels trustworthy. Working on meditation, dream recall, divination, and other such techniques can do a lot to help you strengthen these skills.

— Use/develop wards that can be put in place when attempting to interact with spirits. Someone could write a whole monograph just on warding techniques, but suffice it to say that you're going to want to be proficient in warding before attempting to work with most spirits. At the least, I think it's important to have wards in place against physical harm, psychological contamination, and deception, as these are the main things one generally has to worry about if interacting with a dangerous spirit. Learning to employ these wards when divining is also an important part of how you learn to trust more in divination for looking into this sort of matter.

— Keep close track of your interactions and suspected interactions with spirits. Doing this helps to give a more "fleshed out" sense of the Wight in question, by allowing you to look over the record of their behavior. This also helps with identifying any possible lies or inconsistencies put forward by the spirit.

— Set clear boundaries with any spirits, and be wary of wights who disregard or consistently push those boundaries. Sometimes, spirits can help push us to grow and evolve, even if it's not always comfortable. But just like mundane relationships, numinous relationships that demonstrate a consistent pattern of forceful and/or manipulative behavior are troubling.

There are also certain red flags I think are worth watching out for when attempting to work with spirits:

— Have caution if a spirit always seems to say exactly what you want to hear. Having a good relationship with your Spirit Kith is a wonderful thing, but I tend to be untrusting of a spirit who consistently reflects back exactly what I'm hoping to see—particularly if said spirit is always clamoring for my attentions.

— Beware of consistently confusing or contradictory communications. Spirits can be coy or even downright confusing, but that isn't a red flag in and of itself. After all, numinous wights experience the world very differently from us, and their attempts to communicate can become "jumbled" when passing through the lens of our conscious understanding. Whats more, they sometimes speak in riddles for their own reasons. But if a spirit tells outright lies, or if they seem to pull you every which way based on cold whims, that's something worth being concerned over.

— Be on guard if a spirit starts out by acting very gentle and affable with you, but becomes progressively controlling and aggressive over time. Abusive humans have a tendency to show their true colors gradually as a way to draw in and then trap potential victims, and this same tactic is often seen with spirits as well.

— Suspicion is in order if you tend to become fatigued, dizzy, and/or confused when/after interacting with a spirit. To be fair, these experiences can be a normal part of spirit work, in general, for many people—especially if you're new to it. But if it's pervasive or extreme, or if you start to also experience pain, then it's usually worth being wary. The same goes for other troubling physical symptomology, but these are the most common symptoms I've come across.

— Something isn't right if bad things frequently happen in relation to the spirit. If you've been having terrible nightmares ever since the spirit came into your life, that's concerning. If you or your loved ones always seem to become sick or injured when you do something to displease the spirit, then that's worrisome. If you've been experiencing continual hardships or traumas since the arrival of a spirit, that's alarming. Especially when these things somehow funnel back into you giving the spirit more attention and energy (asking them for solace and protection, for instance.)

[thelampisaflashlight]

Mission Imp-Possible

[Although we're still three hours shy of the poll's conclusion, I couldn't resist writing this any longer, so, here it is. Swiss babysits some of the imps for an afternoon, it goes about as well as can be expected.] Below the cut.

Swiss would like to know whose idea this was so he can personally thank them, with his fists perhaps, for the headache of a task he's about to waste his day away with.

He has to watch the imps.

Not all of them, just the smaller ones; Cirrus, Dew, Rain, and Sunshine.

But that was still half the pack of the chaotic little runts, and Swiss can already feel the tension building behind his eyes the moment he opens his door and sees the pet carrier sitting there waiting for him.

Crouching down to look inside, Swiss locks eyes with the smallest of the lot; Dew.

Yes, Dew had named his imp after himself, the others had, too, to be fair, but Dew's imp had a special nickname to differentiate him from the ghoul himself.

Dewdles.

Fucking.

Dewdles.

In appearance, he's sort of like a cross between a hairless cat and a rabbit, with little mismatched horns and glowing spots where his magic emanates from his body.

Much like his master, Dewdles is a hybrid, though it was hard to say what his secondary element is, because it's certainly not fire.

He's water and... something else.

Quintessence, maybe, but no one is really sure.

He's a bit like a male calico in that sense.

Rare.

Dewdles is the least of Swiss' concern out of the lot though.

Unlike Dewdrop himself, Dewdles is well behaved, but he needs a lot of attention or he'll become all wet eyed and lethargic...

It's a little heartbreaking to see, and Swiss would rather not, so Dewdles is probably going to spend most of his visit on his lap or close by.

Out of the four of them, he's most concerned with Rain's imp.

Drizzle.

Somehow that name is worse than Dewdles, but Swiss can't quite parse why.

Drizzle is... in a word?

Slippery.

He's pure water, meaning his body has the consistency of one of those water tube toys; All flop and wiggle, and, if Swiss didn't no better, no bones whatsoever.

Drizzle is wrapped around Dewdles protectively, although if you ask Swiss, it looks more like he's about to suffocate the little guy and eat him as a snake might.

"He would never." Rain had assured him one evening when he'd seen Drizzle pick Dewdles up off the couch with his mouth and carried him off to snuggle in an overturned cardboard box in the corner, "...At least I hope not."

Rain was quick to clarify that he was joking, but it had taken a great deal of self restraint to keep himself from getting up rescuing the little imp.

A confused chirp from inside the carrier draws Swiss' attention to Sunflower, Sunshine's imp, who was just as small as Dewdles, if not a bit smaller -her large batlike wings and ears gave her a bit more mass- but it was hard to tell unless they were side by side.

Sunflower is a menace, too, largely because she can fly.

Yeah, apparently some imps can do that, though Sunflower seems more inclined to cling and climb, preferring to make others carry her than having to exert energy flying from place to place.

Still, he's a bit worried about her getting on top of or behind something and getting stuck should she decide to do so.

She probably won't.

He hopes.

And lastly, the small wisp of cloud in the very back of the carrier, glaring at him like an angry little lamb, is... Cirrus Jr.

Swiss can mock the others' naming skills all he wants, but, really?

Cirrus Jr.?

He knows better than to laugh about it to Cirrus' face though.

Cirrus Jr. is, quite possibly, the angriest little imp Swiss has yet to encounter.

She's a bit like one of those puffy lap dogs.

Pomeranians.

She bites like one at least.

Swiss assesses the little collective in front of him and then, sighing, takes the carrier inside his room, carefully shutting the door and latching it... because, yeah, the little assholes can work doorknobs.

There's not much imps can't do if they put their walnut sized brains to it, but, much like cats, they don't really have the ability to think things through beyond having the thought, "I've done the thing, now what?"

If they did, Swiss thinks the church would be sending them on the first bus back to Hell, but they don't, and, frankly, that much is apparent based on the little outfit Dewdles has on when he pulls him from the carrier.

Swiss has to pause looking at the pink, rhinestone embroidered shirt and attached tulle skirt, turning Dewdles' entire body in his hand to read the writing on the back.

"Grandpa's Princess." Swiss reads aloud, flipping Dewdles around to meet his gaze.

"Copia bought this for you, didn't he?"

Dewdles croaks at him, giving him a wide-eyed stare, his little two toed paws swimming uselessly in the air.

It's cute.

Swiss sets him down on the ground, watching him waddle along, unsteady on land in spite of being amphibious.

Drizzle lets himself out of the carrier once he sees Dewdles roaming around freely, sidling up beside the smaller imp, bumping against him gently.

Around his long, long neck is a little bow that matches the tulle on Dewdles' skirt.

Swiss hums and shrugs at the pair and turns back to see Sunflower crawling along the floor, looking around warily before slinking over to climb his knee.

"What are you doing?" he asks, feeling her little claws dig into his jeans as she pulls herself up onto his thigh.

She squeaks at him.

Carefully, Swiss extends his hand to her, letting her climb on before resting her on his shoulder.

Probably the only high place he trusts her to be while under his supervision.

Unlike Dewdles and Drizzle, she doesn't have any sort of accessories, probably because they would impede her ability to fly in one way or another, but as far as Swiss is concerned, she's adorable enough without them.

Truthfully, Swiss finds all of the imps impossibly cute... he just.

He just has trouble being around them.

He's not sure why really.

He's not allergic, and he's not afraid of the per se.

He just...

There's some mental hang up that makes it hard for him to understand them.

Even though they can make little noises and communicate quite well, they're very difficult creatures to read, especially for Swiss, and he isn't sure why.

He's been around other animals, other people, but imps?

Imps are weird.

Or maybe he's weird?

It doesn't really matter, it just means Swiss has to pour more energy into figuring out what they want, and sometimes he doesn't have it.

Today, though, he's fine.

He thinks so at least.

Although as he stares down Cirrus Jr., who has yet to leave the carrier, he can't help but feel a little out of his element, and as a multi-ghoul that's certainly an accomplishment in and of itself.

But he decides that, if he has to, or rather, because he wants to, that he's going to get the fluffy ball of rage to like him, even just a little bit.

Glancing over at Dewdles and Drizzle wobbling and sniffing around his room in tandem, and checking on Sunflower where she rests on his shoulder -receiving a mirthful squeak when he pokes the top of her head- Swiss offers his free hand to Cirrus Jr.

She sniffs once.

Twice.

And promptly trots over to the door.

Ouch.

He'd kind of expected that outcome, he's just glad her decision didn't involve sinking her teeth into his hand.

Again.

For the millionth time.

Swiss sighs and shifts to a proper sitting position on the floor, sliding the carrier over to retrieve a bag from the back.

It's a little baggy of treats and other things the imps might want, like toys or...

"Is that another dress?" Swiss pulls out another little costume from the bag; An imp version of their current uniform, complete with little booties.

It's too big to be for Dewdles though, and Swiss has never seen Drizzle wear anything apart from the occasional collar, so whose...

Cirrus Jr.

Swiss looks between the imp and the aloof cloud sat staring at his door.

There's even a little cape.

Yeah, no, this is going on that imp right now.

"Little demon~" Swiss singsongs, tapping his nails on the ground to draw Cirrus Jr.'s attention.

She glares at him.

"Wanna play dress up? Huh?"

There's a flicker of... something... in the imp's eyes.

Swiss thinks for a moment.

"Wanna look like your mama? Huh? Do ya?"

Cirrus Jr. tilts her head and whines.

Her little tail moving ever so slightly.

"Who wants to look like a badass~?"

Tiny hooves click on the ground enthusiastically and come to paw at his shins.

"...Holy shit."

The ordeal of getting a tiny, tiny wisp of cloud into a full on costume takes Swiss a full ten minutes, if only because the outfit is, like anything commissioned by the church these days... incredibly layered and detailed.

"They sprung for real buckles and zippers and not just velcro, huh?" Swiss muses once he finishes tying the laces on Cirrus Jr.'s boots.

"I take anything I ever said about Dewdles being spoiled. You. You are spoiled." he says, scratching behind Cirrus Jr.'s ears, making her wiggle about and roll, "Yes you are, yes you are..."

"Mrrp."

Swiss shivers when he feels a wet, slimy mitt touch his pant leg.

Drizzle has, apparently, grown bored of following Dewdles around and has decided a nap is in order.

The only problem is, Swiss doesn't want a soggy, mucus covered imp in his lap right now.

"No."

If they were outside or in the pool, maybe, but the idea of his lounge pants getting crusted in snot in the process?

Not ideal.

"Noo..."

He doesn't get much of a choice in the matter when Drizzle opens his mouth, yawning widely to expose his practically toothless maw, and all but slides onto him.

"...Okay."

Swiss looks to see where Dewdles has gone without his buddy, and finds him...

Scaling the side of his bookshelf?!

"Dewdles, please-"

"Whrrr..."

"Please, bud."

"Mrrp, mrrr..."

Swiss tries to rise up from his place on the floor, but when he does...

"Mrrp!" Drizzle digs his claws into Swiss's thighs, hanging off of him and hissing irritably as his bed is taken away from him.

"Drizzle!"

"SQUEEEEE-"

All movement in the room stops as Sunflower cries.

Shrill and loud.

Directly into Swiss' ear.

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay.

Yeah, this is too much for Swiss to handle.

Why did the others think he could handle this??

He can't handle it.

He really can't.

He needs help.

Help.

"Stop."

Out from under the bed, shaking off a disturbing cloud of dust, comes Swiss' own imp.

Seldom seen or heard by anyone, even Swiss.

It doesn't have a name, Swiss hadn't wanted to name it to begin with, because it's...

"Behave."

It's weirdly intelligent, alright?

Swiss knows imps are good at mimicking sounds they hear.

But his imp is... it's weird.

It's like Mountain's imp.

Cursed in some way.

But different from the rest.

Even Mounty's imp has the excuse of belonging to, well, Mounty, to explain its odd behavior.

But his imp?

That thing scares him.

And the fact that it was sleeping under his bed this whole time?

It's no wonder he has so much trouble sleeping alone in his room at night.

His imp is shaped like a dog, but wrong.

Like someone tried to draw the animal from memory and made it flesh, with horns atop its narrow head and spines along its tail...

"Behave." it repeats, not to the imps but to...

Him?

Swiss points at himself and the imp just nods before slipping backwards under the bed, black eyes never leaving him.

"Sleeping."

Right.

Gathering up the imps back into the carrier, Swiss slowly flees the room, apologizing for waking the... the whatever the fuck is living under his bed, and heads down the hallway.

He sets up in the common room instead.

"...Right, so that was fucking terrifying." he says after letting the imps back out again, holding Dewdles and Cirrus' Jr. on his chest like a lifeline for his sanity.

Drizzle has curled up on the chair across from the couch, the one Rain likes, and is asleep.

And Sunflower is...

Hanging from the ceiling fan upsidedown.

Fantastic.

It's not on at least.

"Why are you torturing me?" Swiss whines, getting a mix of squeaks and chirps in response.

"You're all stressing me out."

"Mrrp."

"Squeak."

"Chirp."

"Snore."

Swiss lifts his head.

"Drizzle did you just say 'snore' instead of actually snoring?"

Drizzle chuffs at him lightly, sticking out his long, blue, froglike tongue at him.

"...If I didn't know Rain would be mad at me for losing you, I would throw you in the lake so fast-"

Drizzle raises his ears at that.

"I'm NOT throwing you in the lake."

Ears down.

"Mrrp."

Dewdles frees himself from Swiss' grip and drops down onto the floor, trotting over to the chair.

"Meep?"

Drizzle snakes his head down and grabs Dewdles off the floor, nestling him beside him.

They stare at Swiss disapprovingly together.

Swiss could be mad.

But then again, they are still dressed up like little matching nerds, so he just sticks his tongue out at Drizzle and turns his attention to Cirrus Jr., who has taken to sleepily purring at full volume against him.

Swiss yawns.

"The others better get back soon."

It doesn't take long for Swiss to drift off, feeling Cirrus Jr. go deadweight on top of him provides just the right amount of pressure for his body to relax, and the even breathing of Dewdles and Drizzle sleeping provides a nice bit of ambient white noise...

Sunflower chatters at him lightly from her perch, wrapping her wings around herself, taking the others cue and closing her eyes as well...

"Swiss?"

A hand jostles him awake.

He's not sure how long it's been, but when he goes to open his eyes he...

He can't see shit.

He brings a hand to his face and startles when he feels something soft and squishy resting there.

"Meep."

Ah.

Dewdles.

The imp flops off of his face when he rises, rubbing his eyes.

Rain is standing over him, Drizzle already having wrapped himself around his shoulders, "The imps wear you out?"

Swiss shakes his hand, stretching and yawning.

"Not at all, man..."

He looks around.

Cirrus Jr. is still asleep between his feet, and Sunflower is...

He feels something move on top of his head, in his hair.

"Can you...?"

He gestures to where Sunflower has tangled her feet into his curls.

"Mn." Rain carefully untangles the imp from Swiss' hair, letting her dangle from his index finger, "Were they all good? Five imps is a lot to take care of at one time..."

"Yeah, yeah, five is-" Swiss pauses, "I was only watching four imps."

"Oh, uh..."

"What?"

"Your imp...?" Rain gestures over the back of the couch.

Swiss peeks over the edge.

Laying firmly against the back of the couch, in an awkward sploot is his imp.

His imp followed him out to the common room.

Seriosuly?

"Fuck."

"Swiss Miss doesn't usually leave your room, I'm surprised."

Swiss looks at Rain.

"Swiss... Swiss Miss?"

"Oh, we also call him Marshmallow sometimes, or Chunky Butt, because he begs for food like crazy in the morning..." Rain hums, "You didn't know that?"

"I didn't know it even had a name."

Rain blinks at him.

"Don't judge me, I don't like imps!"

Rain gestures at the pile of imps surrounding him.

"They like me, not the other way around!"

Dewdles pats his face with his tiny paw.

Placating.

"...You don't count. You're practically a rat."

"Mrrp."

"Rats are cool."

"Mrr, mrr..."

Rain snorts, "Says the man talking to one like that."

Swiss flushes, embarrassed.

"Shut."

[onaperduamedee]

Let me get this straight, Aes Sedai:

- are outlawed in a couple of nations;

- are hunted by militias that are disliked but still tolerated by the general population;

- cannot attack or conquer on account of the three oaths;

- are enslaved on another continent;

- can be cut out of relations with a nation without repercussions from other nations.

Can someone please explain how and why they are perceived as holding any sort of structural power because I am struggling to parse this one out?

I am not discounting their rigid and obsolete hierarchy, their unwillingness to reform, their wariness toward out-groups or their political manipulation (that said, I don't think it's that much worse than other nations) - these are all elements that make them an interesting and realistic community -, but I am frankly confused about the way some talk about Aes Sedai as if they are the equivalent of billionaires and oligarchs.

To rephrase it, this isn't a question about whether or not Aes Sedai as a group are good or bad - Moiraine covered that in TEotW -, but whether they hold structural power to the extent characters (and fans) think they do. I think a lot of their rules exist to maintain the illusion they do, but in practice they don't and that illusion is the only thing keeping people from treating them like parias.

[blackjackkent]

The refugees inside the estate, now the uncontested owners of the late Arfur Gregorio's property, are deeply relieved that he's gone.

"Thank the gods, I was sure we were about to be evicted." "I don't think the children could cope with being homeless again." "We're lucky there's still decent folk about."

Rakha has some doubts that she qualifies as "decent folk". The man - Ben - tries to thank her, but she just nods awkwardly and walks away, unsure how to answer.

The refugees don't stop her from taking a look around the house, so she takes her companions to investigate. Arfur mentioned he had some sort of valuable "components" somewhere in the place, which seems worth looking into since he's no longer in a position to use them.

Upstairs yields very little, except a few sets of fancier camp clothes and a journal of Arfur's, full of fourth-rate erotica which Wyll (apparently something of a connaisseur) thumbs through and declares "tripe".

Downstairs, though, is another story:

Arfur's basement, accessed via a hidden trapdoor in his workshop (where he apparently made toys), is intensely trapped. Rakha misses most of them on a cursory glance - but Minthara is much more quick-eyed.

The traps are not terribly hard to disarm but no one in the group is a real master at sleight of hand. So, consequently, this is not a smooth process and probably scares the shit out of the poor beleaguered refugees occupying the upper floor.

The fireworks after the explosion are a nice touch. XD

Eventually, though, they manage to disarm the majority of the threats and make it to the far side of the basement, where they find some very interesting dirt on the late toy merchant.

"Gifts for refugees only. Please distribute," reads a note on a desk next to a large - trapped, of course - chest nearby. It takes some doing, but Rakha manages to work the thing open revealing a stack of gold and a rough-scribbled note:

"Put 'it' in the teddy bears?" Rakha repeats allowed, her brows furrowing with confusion.

Wyll, though, looks suddenly very grim. "Felogyr's," he says, "is a fireworks shop. They mean blasting powder."

"In a toy donation," Rakha says, parsing through this. "For refugees."

Jaheira, behind her, makes a noise low in her throat not so different from the growl of the tiger she can become. Her expression has gone very hard all of a sudden. "For refugee children," she murmurs tightly. "I begin to think you were wiser than we knew, to kill him."

[cacowhistle]

everything, everything

fandom: hermitcraft/life series smps relationships: grian/scar wc: 2255

written for @salemoleander for the @mcytblrholidayexchange!!

read it on ao3 or below the cut!

Season Nine is ending. It’s a little sad, Scar will admit. He’s grown so used to these surroundings, and the memories within them. He’s familiar—intimate, even—with the way the hills roll and the buildings and monuments rise above the horizon. And right now, familiarity is important. At least, it is for him.

Secret Life ended with a bang, and Scar woke up with his heart pounding and the feeling of blood beneath his fingernails. He woke up safe and secure in bed, like nothing had ever happened. The only sign of it was a few new scars to his name, and the memories burned into the back of his mind. The memories that he had lost, for a while there, before his victory. He threw himself into work, for about a week, but time is running thin and he doesn’t have the time or materials to dedicate to another project, and there’s only so many hermits around, and—

Well, one thing at a time. Scar breathes in deep, grip tightening on his cane. He just needs… something. A distraction, for now.

He’s sorting out the whole death game thing at his own pace. Pearl had messaged him a day after they’d all gotten back to offer him a shoulder to lean on. It sort of stung a bit that Grian didn’t extend a hand, too.

Scar had taken Pearl up on that offer, though. They’d talked. He had a little bit better of an understanding than he’d had before. But now…

Scar shivers, an involuntary thing. Ugh. Distraction. He pulls up his comm with one smooth motion, eyes narrowing as he checks to see who’s online. Quite a few names come up—the last week of the server is upon them, after all—but his attention is caught by one in particular. One he, of course, was going to be drawn to. Grian is online, and Scar knows he doesn’t have many last-minute projects to be working on. Maybe he can wrangle the pesky thing into helping him with something small. It would be nice to at least ease back into talking about regular things again.

Though Grian would loathe to admit it, Scar is certain that he’s missed hanging out. And… well, of course Scar has missed him. They’re still friends. (Maybe more than that.) Mysterious entities beyond his understanding aside, Scar still cares about Grian. Even when Grian… creates a death game to appease some—not godlike, he’s not a god, Pearl had been very adamant about that, but… some kind of. Need, almost? He needs to stop thinking about it, before he gets too confused again. It was hard enough to parse the first time Pearl explained it all to him. Maybe he’ll ask Grian to explain it again, from his own point of view. Not now, of course, it’s far too soon for that, but… maybe once they’ve settled into the next season. For now, Scar flicks open his elytra, typing away on his comm.

> GoodTimeWithScar: Hey G where are you?

> Grian: base

> Grian: whats up

Shoot. He could’ve checked there without asking in chat. Now Grian will be expecting him. What if he’d wanted to prank him? Stupid. Scar checks his inventory for any goat horns, or anything else he can use. He’s got one, but he doesn’t know what sound it’ll make. A few eggs sit beside it. He’s… not sure where those came from. Maybe he can throw them at Grian from above?

Well, now he’s just stalling. Scar throws himself into the air, letting his cane drop into his inventory. The elytra do most of the work for him, carrying him along through the sky. He’s gotten much better at controlling them, though, and the skill shines through as he does a few loops around Scarland, just for himself. He has plans, however, and so he soars over the exit, pitching upwards and landing on one of the boulders that make up Grian’s base. The bird is somewhere around here, Scar thinks as he braces himself against the stone. He just has to find him.

It’s not that hard, all things considered. His feathers stand out, bright and colorful, against the earthy tones of his base.

Scar grins, snatching up an egg from his inventory, holding the goat horn with his other hand. He pushes off from the rock, gliding down toward Grian, who keeps looking down at his comm, none-the-wiser.

It is so, so easy to crack the egg and drop it on Grian’s head. At the same time, Scar blows into the horn, and the sound echoes, reverberates in his bones. Even from here, Scar can see Grian’s feathers all stand on end, and then his shoulders hike up to his ears as the raw egg lands in his hair. He yells—wordless and disgusted, shivering and shaking the egg out of his hair, feathers ruffling with displeasure as Scar cackles, quickening his descent.

“Scar!” Grian shouts up at him, scowling good-naturedly. “What is wrong with you?”

“It wasn’t me!” Scar lands in the grass a few feet away, pulling his cane out of his inventory to balance himself. “It was Poultry Man. You know how his tricks are.”

Grian wipes some more egg off of his shoulder, grimacing as he does so. “You know full well it was not.”

Scar shrugs. “I guess it’ll just be a mystery, then.”

“Right.” Grian flicks the last of the egg from his fingers. “Was that all you wanted to do, then?”

Well, shoot. He didn’t think this far ahead. Scar reaches for any idea, any project he needs help with—and comes up fairly empty. “Uh,” he says, floundering, “well, no, you see, I wanted to—or, well, I thought maybe you could—we could—”

Grian raises his eyebrows, looking more than a little confused.

“—hang out, or something,” Scar finishes lamely.

“Or something,” Grian repeats, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course!” Scar smiles. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

They both know the answer to that. Scar looks at Grian, all wide-eyed and nervous, and Grian just stares back, eyes flat. Scar fidgets with his cane, finally averting his eyes.

“If this is about the games,” Grian starts, voice gone somber, “I—I understand if you have some words for me. If you’re upset with me.”

Scar looks up, startled. “Why would I be upset with you, G?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Grian echoes, eyes wide. “Scar, I made you and our friends fight to the death for weeks. I’ve done it multiple times. And you—you know all that, now. You remember it all.”

He glances away, tucking his hands into his pockets. His wings fidget against his back. “You remember the win, and the losses, too.”

The sun blazes down and Scar sees sand and red behind his eyes when he closes them. It had hurt, to leave Grian on his own—to give his life and let him win, to abandon any chance of a happy, red life together, just the two of them—domestic and devoted in the desert. He does remember, now, nights shared in the same bed, feathers between his fingers and warmth against his back. It had hurt more when Grian had left him. He hadn’t known why it hurt, at the time, when Last Life began and any hope of companionship died that first night. And then Double Life—

Scar’s grip tightens on his cane. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out tenser than he’d have liked. “Yeah, I remember. But G—”

“You’re upset,” Grian says, miserably, “it’s okay, Scar. I deserve it.”

“I’m a little upset,” Scar admits, “but I missed you, Grian. I’m not mad at you.”

They stand there for a few moments, quiet settling over them like a heavy, tense shroud. Scar shifts his weight from foot to foot, before clearing his throat. “I’m not, really. I just—I want to understand why.”

Why Grian had done any of it. The games, the desert—why he had stayed by Scar’s side even after he died the first time, when he didn’t have to at all. Why he’d refused to do so afterwards, why he left him in the cold on the mountain by his lonesome. Why he’d been so angry about being tied to him, why he’d fled and made new friends and a new home in the arms of other men—

Okay, he’s a little mad. Maybe. “Why’d you leave?”

Grian seems to freeze, wings stilling against his back. He looks up at Scar with wide eyes. “What?”

“Why,” Scar repeats, slowly, “did you leave, G? I would’ve stayed by you.”

“Well, I’m not you,” Grian retorts, pulling away. “And if you were really in my position I think you would’ve understood why. Just because you finally won doesn’t mean you get it, Scar.”

“Okay, so explain it to me.” Scar spreads his hands out, palms up, fingers outstretched. “What don’t I get? It feels a little bit like I’m being stabbed in the back, here, G. We had something in that desert, and you know it. So why did you abandon it that fast?”

“Because I didn’t want to have to kill you again!”

It comes out sharp and biting, like talons piercing flesh. Scar flinches back from the outburst, Grian’s wings splaying wide, feathers all puffed up. He stares up at Scar, looking more earnest and angry and heartbroken than Scar’s ever seen him. He steps forward, jabbing a finger into Scar’s chest.

“You try being in that position,” he bites out, “having to kill the man you love, and then just act like it never happened. Would you want to just do that all over again? Do all that grief again? I didn’t want to watch you die again, Scar. But yeah, sorry that you missed me, even though we saw each other all the time.”

“Just like you saw Joel and Tim all the time,” Scar mutters.

Grian’s feathers ruffle. “Excuse me?”

He waves a hand. “No, it’s fine. Go on.”

“We aren’t even together, Scar,” Grian says, eyes narrowing. “You cannot hold them against me when we aren’t even in a relationship.”

To be fair, he’s not wrong. Scar isn’t even really upset about that, truth be told. It just—well, he’s just feeling petty, he supposes. He shrugs, leaning in a bit. Grian leans back.

“Well,” Scar says, “do you want to be?”

He says it slow and sly, in that way that makes Grian shiver. He’ll admit: he sort of likes this. Even when they’re arguing, he can still find a way to make Grian speechless, and it seems he’s just hit the bullseye. Grian flounders, mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a moment, before he finally squawks out a response.

“You are ridiculous,” he gasps.

Scar grins, cocking an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a no?”

Grian splutters again, before throwing his hands up. “Yes, I want to be with you, Scar. What is wrong with you?”

He pulls Grian into a hug. Grian tenses, just for a moment, before relaxing into it with a sigh. Scar threads fingers between feathers, resting his chin on top of Grian’s head, staring beyond him at grass and moss and stone. He just holds him, for a minute, closing his eyes.

“I’m not upset,” he says, quietly, “about the death games. I know there’s something more complicated going on, and I don’t really understand it, but there’s a reason you do it. And I trust you, G. And sometimes, it’s actually kinda fun.”

Grian sighs into his shirt, leaning his cheek against Scar’s chest. “But,” Scar continues, “I am upset that you didn’t talk to me. That you didn’t try to keep us going. I—I think I get why you didn’t want to, but now…”

“We both remember,” Grian finishes, quiet. “So it’s less stakes when we get into a game.”

“You can team up with whoever,” Scar says. “I don’t really care about that. It’s good to hang out with other people. I just—want to know, I guess, that under all of that, there’s still us.”

“There’s always gonna be us.” Grian pulls back, looking up at Scar. “I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. I just—I get scared, Scar, that I’m going to bring you down, or…”

“We kill each other all the time on Hermitcraft.” Scar shrugs. “Sometimes you just have to kill your friends dramatically.”

“I suppose it’s less harrowing when you know you’re just going to wake up on-server again,” Grian muses. Scar grins, letting his arms rest on Grian’s shoulders.

“Exactly,” he says.

“And you want this,” Grian says, running a hand along Scar’s arm. “Like, you really, truly want this. You want…” he swallows, not looking Scar in the eye.

“Whatever you want to give me,” Scar murmurs, low and sultry in Grian’s ear.

He snorts, swatting at Scar’s chest. “Stop that. I’m trying to be serious.”

“That was serious,” he protests.

Grian just giggles, leaning against him again. Scar looks down at him, running fingers through his hair. Grian gazes back at him with wide eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts, shifting in Scar’s arms.

Scar grins. “God,” he says, “please. I was waiting for you to ask.”

(It’s everything he was hoping it would be and more. When he wakes up the next morning, there’s feathers in his face and warmth pressed against his chest. It’s everything, everything, everything.

And it only gets better from there.)