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drawlody · 1 month

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My list of Adam ships♡ n my opinion bout them (also fics rec :D)

Adam x Luicfer (Adamsapple/Duitarduck) 10/10

Need i say more:)))??!?! started out as a "haha funny slip-up ship" to "hey they got really good angst potential". The friends/lovers to enemies to lovers is STRONG with this one n i am eating up everything i could found on ao3. Smth bout this macho-ass man finally getting to stay back n not take charge for once feel nice, also princess Adam supermacy wooooo. Whoever came up with the ship name i applaud u cause that's like a 3 layers name(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

It's not an Adamsapple fic without Adam having at least 1 mental breakdown n Lucifer have his guilt eating him alive:)))

Very fucked up torture but i swear it worth the pain:D The dove is so dead it start to rot so plz read the tags properly (plz check out the AngeliaDark other works too they got good shit)

This one have a splits so check out both the fics (beware the author have a skrewed sense of what is considered wholesome:))))

I didnt think a smut scene could be this sad

Adam x Lute (Guitarspear/Guardrock) 10/10

Litteraly my first Hazbin ship, assholes in love is an underrated dynamic we desperately need more off:))) That with a dash of evil dude x loyal subordinate (which i havent seen since the Deathglare days) n opposite attract (look they have one main thing in common is that their extreme bloodthirst, other than that she's stricter than ur mom n he's lazier than the Sloth ring itself but that the beauty of it no? He convince her to chill tf out n not to burst a blood vessel, she keep him on track n make sure Sera dont come on their asses)

They're just being silly enabling each other terrible behaviour n i love that for them (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) Litteral besties i tell ya

Heavy non-con shit involving Val but Lute will revenge our boi i promised u that

Cool idea n they r just made for each other damn

First hazbin fic i read which is a really cool smut:D

Adam x Micheal (we need a ship name people ) (update: it's Songbird/Guitarhero) 10/10

I like how we dont even got a proper comfirmation of Micheal design/personality yet the ship is here already ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ( im using the Nakariiale's design as a base here love their design)

Hit me with that rebound love x "u look like my ex so im using u as a replacement but ill fall for the real u eventually" x co-workers in heaven. I'm thinking smth along the line of "after Lucifer fucked off with Lilith, Micheal became Adam guardian angel n they just hang out" ya feel me here? (✿◕‿◕✿)

Shout out to Bloog_b for dragging me into this ship:DDD also im on the Adam x the archangels ship as a "gotcha" to Lucifer of sort. Like bitch u stole my wives imma steal your brotherS

Look it's Adamsapple endgame but trust me u will be feed well on this ( u know how good u gotta be for people to ditch the main ship?)

I'm giving yall 4 fics here cause i can only found 4 rn(._. )

this one is uhh non-con so beware

Micheal is indeed Adam guardian angel in this one:D

Adam x Eve (Flowertunes) 8/10

I dont care what yall said they love each other throughout Eden n Earth , might have a falling out in heaven but that doesnt change the fact that they were once IN LOVE. Honestly why cant we just have a couple that have the same bright-eyed innocence like one another.I refuse to believe Eve like willingly cheat on Adam with malicious intent n all, simply she was indeed ''tricked'' or just not fully understand the sistuation, n Adam love her way too much to think that she would do that to him like Lilith. Hell the dude was heartbroken after L left , starting the abandonment issues, so he would have cling to Eve, doing everything so that he aint alone again, even if that mean leaving Eden

Honestly it pisses me off that the Adam/Eve tag on ao3 most of the time is just 1 dialouge between them back when Eve bit the apple n thats it no elaboration on the couple whatsoever >:(((

Lots of switcharoos

sinner eve woooo

look its hard trynna find a fic focusing on them ok?

Adam x St. Peter (Guitargreeter (bet ya didnt see that coming:))) 7/10

Base on this fanfic alone Joe my dude u r on the path of becoming THE Adam crack-ship writer n i am here for this:)))) just so u wait this dude gonna whip out a AdamxNifty , AdamxHusk fic later on ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

From within the fic itself the ship its 2 bros in love with homophobia standing in the way >:( also when did we have a name?!?!?!?

I just like Adam x anyone in heaven alright:D like bro famous n he got that ancient rizz, u telling mr he cant bag a hottie or 2-100+ hmm?

Adam x Alastor (Angelicradio) 8/10

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT ABOUT THEM THAT I SHIP I JUST DO φ(゜▽゜*)♪ i blame YOU honestly rn this ship is either Adam found Al after the fight n they make a deal or they're in heaven n they chillin this ship is confusing:D

They're angels on heaven

Adam gone back into eden n do shit differently

This is both Adam/Eve n Adam/Alastor kinda

Adam x Alastor x Lucifer (Angelicradioapple/ Charlie's dads (only me call them that lol)) 9/10

''Hey Charlie u know how u r sad that your mother left? Wellllllll i got you 2 new dads suprise:DDDD''

Look 3 miserable men who hate each other + hell's greatest dad + my love for Dadam = Messy ass old men yaoi :DDDD n it work perfectly with Alastor Asexuality too!!! Like Adam n Lucifer could fuck each other brains out before Al joining in for the cuddles lol

Chaos ensue

Not exactly a love triangle but a love corner but hey we barely got food here :D

I cant believe how hot this shit is lol

Adam x Eve x Lilith x Lucifer (Eden poly/ applecore?) 8/10

They could have been all married to each other(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ But as much as i go "OooOooo Poly yay'' i just cant vibe with EvexLucifer, like the cheating vibes is wayyyyyyyyy too much i just cant man . I mean with the interpetation that Lucifer came to Eden to hang out with the humans they all know eachother, they're a throuple yes but BUT when Eve came into the picture it was only with Adam n him only so the other 2 is ehhhh. Im fine with EvexLilith cause im seeing it happening later, not hidden from Adam while LuciferxEve got that deception going on .So uhhh in this ship they're more like bestie than lovers to me¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also AdamxLilith is an underrated pairing like everytime i saw this applecore thing going on these 2 r at most tolerate each other like cmonnnnn we already twist this to hell n back, why cant we make it so their arguement was a petty non-malicious one n they still cares for each other hmm???

They're one happy family

IDK what to tell u bittersweet reunion n loving family is the only typa fic u get with this ship

Not that im complaining i need this wholesomeness

Adam x Mammon (Adammon/Madam/Greedyguitar/ 1st chirstmas.... hasnt had an offical name yet) 10/10

They r litteraly same person different font idk what to tell u. More insults thrown around than Guitarspear but they're pretty similar. Adam is just " sinners suck ass but this dude is the worst in the best way". Also they're both big bois (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ , they love towering over others

I'm sorry but there r barely BARELY

any fics of them :(

The art side is more plentiful tho :D

Adam x Angel Dust (Holydust/guitardust) 5/10

THEY ARE BESTIES YOUR HONOUR n that the exact reason why i cant see them be together as a couple 100%, like the shit-talking bff vibes r wayyyy too strong XD Angel finally got someone who have the same vulgar humour as him n if Adam got married in hell Angel would 100% be his best bitch of honour (≧∀≦)ゞq(≧▽≦q)

They're best friends who have casual no-string attached sex that is ACTUALLY no-string attached:)))

I came to ship them due to those "What if they're co-workers under Val' scenarios ive been seeing on Tumblr

I got like 1 fic on ao3 i mean if u r looking for just platonic friendship between them then rest asure most Adam's redemption fics have that

I got 1 fic on tumblr

Adam x Charlie (Charadam/Guitarprincess) 5/10

U know this ship give me a pretty bad first impression since a good chunk of the fics r either heavy non-con shit or lean wayyyyy to much into the daddy kink, ya know how Charlie got suppose daddy issues n all that jazz?:))) yeah that... that

But after seeing the art side of this ship im chillin with them now, since the art r pretty wholesome, usually having them decked out in punk-rock clothings hanging out. It's a big "Fuck you" to Lucifer n i live for these mf argueing ╰(*°▽°*)╯

So uhhh stay away from the fics if ya want an actual functional couple instead of wtv messed up shit we got there:))) But here's a fic anyway, the only one where it feel bearable n actual trynna go into said messed up relationship i already warn you

We got cracks like Guitarmaid (AdamxNifty), Valadam (AdamxVal) which i dont have enough materials to decied, Classicalrock (AdamxSera) sound interesting but also havent found anything , Guitarhalo (AdamxEmily) is an unexpected find, find i deem them to be more familial than romantic so we'll see if there's a fic good enough to convince me

Edit:i forgot to add Blitzo like Mammon already there why did i forgot

Adam x Blitzo (i dont think anyone even ship this but me:)) 7/10

I cant find a single fic where they has anything more than a 1 nightstand n 1 interaction where they hit it off , i live off imagination alone (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) but like fr fr they would match so well, like their bloodlust n general jerkiness would make them the 3rd asshole x asshole ship on this list :DDDD

Tho as much as i wanna see them go further i feel like an on-n-off relationship/friends with benefits fit em more ya know ( *^-^)ρ(*╯^╰) If ya have any fic but the 2 here that have them interact lemme know cause a bitch need food :)

This is a lot of tag(._. )

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the-darklings · 2 years

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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐈𝐗.]

summary: "I see him in everything."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 8.3k+

warnings: angsty (but we're getting there), Dream is still Dream (absent) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: prepare for immortal trouble and make it double heh.

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART NINE: YEAR 1021 I

“It would sure help if you stopped falling apart for a goddamn second. Dumb bricks.”

Merv sweeps the broom over the crushed stone, his effort all but wasted when seconds later, more dust rains from the crumbling ceiling.

You hear reprimand in Lucienne’s voice when she speaks from beside you, “Mervyn.”

A cavil sigh rumbles from the janitor’s chest. “Sorry, Loosh.”

The librarian sighs in defeated understanding, directing her attention back towards you. Seated on the damaged staircase leading to Dream’s throne, you flick another page absentmindedly. Lucienne stands before you, hands clasped behind her back while you converse. You’re the only three inhabitants remaining in the castle. Or what’s left of the once ornate marvel.

“London, then,” Lucienne voices pointedly.

You hum, flicking another page, sifting through the information printed. A new lead, but you’re keeping your expectations low. You’ve learned there are only so many disappointments and failures you can stomach. “Yup. It’s been twenty years. Should be interesting going back.”

Predictably, Lucienne’s concern rings loud and clear. “What if it’s no more than another false lead?”

Your mouth tightens.

“Then I find another.”

You hate giving them hope—hate it even more when you return each time, empty-handed and quelled.

Closing the manilla folder, you tuck it under your arm, standing to your feet. Dream’s coat drags across the stone until you hit bottom, straightening. The raised collar kisses over your cheek when Lucienne grasps your forearm, rooting you in place. Her hold is firm, but the gleam reflecting behind her circled glasses is concerned, probing.

“Wanderer. I worry for you.” Merv clears his throat loudly, steadfast in his sweeping, and Lucienne hastily adds, “We worry for you. You are not well. Whatever you are doing to contain the curse is…”

Necessary.

There is merit to their worry, you suppose. But have you ever truly been well? Has millennia done anything but prove how helpless your situation is? You’ve turned brittle inside. Neither whole nor shattered, but some perpetual dysfunction found in being both simultaneously. Millennia. It had crept up on you. Had it not been for humanity celebrating, had it not been for magick stifling the air, it might have slipped your notice altogether.

“I’m grateful for your concern,” you reply. Your hand ghosts over hers, calming, then you pull away. “But leave the semantics to me, Lucienne.”

“What happens if you succeed, kid?”

Both yours and Lucienne’s attention turns towards the janitor. Merv leans on his broom, frowning deeply. Despite having no discernible eyes for you to gaze into, only two carved cavities, you sense the weight behind his stare, the way his question cuts down to the bone.

“Your meaning?” Lucienne prompts.

Merv shoots her a knowing glance. “I mean, sure, this is all great. We’re looking for Boss and all, but…” He shrugs his shoulders awkwardly. “What happens when you find him? You’re still banished.”

The reminder scalds, slithering down your throat like liquid flame.

Lucienne laces her fingers in front of her. “You are assuming the worst about Lord Morpheus, Mervyn.”

As her words dash against the decaying stone, you all understand they’re futile and misplaced, given the context. You’ve seen Dream at his best and his worst. The latter too many times to hold any illusions about the notion of swift forgiveness.

“Eh, no offence, but for a good reason. Even if you have to agree.”

Merv’s purposeful words are met with telling silence from the librarian.

“I leave.”

Both their heads snap in your direction this time. Lucienne’s bewildered expression chips at your stony demeanour. It’s heartwarming to consider she finds the notion this inconceivable.

“You cannot.” Her shoes scuff on the throne room floor, kicking up dust. “After everything you've done for the Dreaming—”

“Merv is right,” you cut in calmly. There’s no vibrance in your voice anymore. You’re not sure when it faded, but it has, as have most things around you. “Morpheus is the King of Dreaming. While he lives, I’m trespassing. I always knew the dangers when I came back here, Lucienne. I don’t regret it.”

The grim air shrouding them makes you add a gentler, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. First, we need to find him.”

You place your palm briefly on Lucienne’s arm as you walk past her, nodding towards Merv.

Lucienne spins after you when you brush past. “You cannot do this forever, Wanderer. Eventually, something will give.”

Yes, that much is inevitable. But you don’t voice it. They’ve been through enough. Putting the weight of another looming loss on them is not something you wish to do.

“On the contrary, my friend.” As you head towards the exit, you shove your hand in your coat pocket, fingers seeking a pebble and a wooden figurine sleeping safely in the dark folds. “Forever is all I have left.”

The air crackles, and you’re gone.

Your coat weighs at least several pounds heavier from the rainwater saturating it. The dark material skims over the ground when you push into a busy pub, rowdy chatter and cheers filling the air. It’s humid tonight, and the air inside the bustling establishment is hot, with sour beer and stale sweat heavy in your nostrils.

Another dead end. There’s no point in denying a simple fact any more: the universe is conspiring against you. You've dug too deep, laid too much on the line for something not to work. No one has deigned to help you because it’s not meant to be.

Your brooding death glare makes a young man—likely barely above the legal drinking age—scramble from your path. Another joy of being you means you carry scarce few items on you. You're more likely to lose or misplace them, so what’s the point? But you’ve forgotten how arbitrary British weather can be. You’re soaked to the bone.

You wedge yourself in the seemingly sole unoccupied spot, miserable and aching with a familiar stinging failure. Just a moment. A second to warm up, to stave off returning to the Dreaming and seeing the subtle yet inescapable disappointment on Lucienne’s and Merv’s faces at the news.

Dropping your head backwards, you exhale a bone-deep sigh. It’s then you spot a man sitting on your left, a pen in hand, a scattering of papers littering his table as he stares at you. Hard. Squinting. Handsome, dark-haired, faint stubble littering his jaw and accenting his cleft chin.

Your nape tingles.

“Can I help you?” you ask bluntly.

Startled surprise alights the stranger’s dark eyes. “Sorry. God, that’s rude. I didn’t mean to stare.” He raises a hand in surrender, regret palpable as he drags stray strands of equally dark hair behind his ear. “Or make you uncomfortable. You just reminded me of someone I knew once. Sorry.”

Odd. Most have a hard time placing you. You either blend in until you’re wallpaper and the walls, trees and the ground or until they see nothing but you. Once upon a time, that used to be your cue to run.

“Must have been someone special,” you hedge casually, scrutinising the strange man just as closely.

The man ponders that for a moment. “He was a bit of an arsehole.”

Unfamiliar pressure pulls around your mouth, and you realise a small smile has formed a second later. Stranger still. You can't recall the last time you smiled. Or laughed. A faint snort leaves you. “Yeah, I had someone like that in my life once too. What happened to this arsehole?”

The stranger sits back, relaxing at your lack of ire to his prior ogling. He twists the pen between his fingers.

“Well, I don’t actually know. We have an agreement, you see. To meet up ever so often in the same place. Chat. Have a drink. We fought the last time we met. Then he stood me up. Guess I had it coming. I implied he was lonely, and he did not take well to it—”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Hob Gadling.”

The man stills for a blink and you miss it second. But it’s enough. You’ve learned to read people like books after a thousand years, and even someone like him—someone like you, old and cunning in his own way—is not foolproof. “Uh, sorry, no. Who's that?”

His short laugh is charming and rich, a warm hand stroking down your chilled, wet skin. Intended to sway you away from your inquiry. But these tricks are only good for deterring ordinary, unassuming individuals.

You’re no such thing.

You lean closer, and Hob tenses subtly, a survivor's shrewdness burning in his previously open, friendly gaze.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “We have a friend in common.”

He hears you even over the cheering crowd after a football team scores, everyone clustering around the TVs dotted around the packed pub. Hob’s mouth parts, then compress into a bloodless line. He edges closer too.

“You… are you like him?” he mouths.

Breaking the eye contact, you consider how to answer him best. “No.” Another slight smile curls your mouth. “I’m actually more like you.”

Hob’s eyes widen. “Me? So you’re…” he trails off, and you nod slowly. A wide grin splits his cheeks, stretching from one ear to another. “Well, that’s just brilliant.”

The sheer delight oozing from him catches you entirely off guard. As if you’re a present, a joy, and have been gifted solely to him. The warm curiosity he regards you with crumples something delicate inside your chest.

“We should talk,” he adds hastily, hushed.

Nodding, you sweep your attention over the crowd. “Not here. Too many ears.”

Another grin edges Hob’s face, cheekier this time. “I own this place. I live upstairs. C’mon.”

He hurriedly swipes up the papers dotted on his table, his excitement palpable.

“Weren’t you working on something?” you question with a raised brow.

He falters, clearing his throat. “This, oh, yeah. Just stuff. Marking.”

“You’re a teacher,” you conclude, rising to stand. “What do you teach?”

Hob stands to his feet after you, tucking the papers close to his chest, looking abashed. “History.”

A strange, unfamiliar weight forms in your chest, climbing up and up. Laughter permeates through the air—not ridiculing, but instead genuinely charmed by the simple irony.

“Hob Gadling, I think you and I will get on just fine.”

“So let me get this straight: his name is Dream of the Endless, he rules over dreams and nightmares of every living thing, is as old as the universe itself, and comes from a family of Endless, and he’s missing. Presumed kidnapped.”

With your legs outstretched before you, you cross them at the ankles, cradling your hot mug. “Just about.”

Hob wears an air of a man who just discovered how tiny his existence in this terrible universe is. You don’t hold it against him. Even you struggle with existential insignificance from time to time. In this, you’re comrades.

You’re tucked away in his tiny but homey kitchen. Hob’s entire flat is well-lived in, welcoming, and cosy. Compact, but each corner is cared for. Sparsely furnished in muted earthy tones and riddled with indicators of history Hob got to live through, not read about. Only essentials dot his apartment, and you love that about his home, about him. It’s modesty borne from a long life, a realisation of how little value there is in material wealth.

Hob hangs his head, dragging his hand through his hair. “I miss the days when I thought it was the Devil.”

Another fleeting smile touches your lips. “I bet.”

He eyes you closely. You blow innocently into your piping hot drink to clear steam tickling over your chin and mouth. In the far corner, your coat lays draped precariously over a tiny radiator, drying.

“And you were once mortal like me but were cursed to wander between dimensions for all eternity. And if you stay in one place for too long, bad things happen to you. Eternal bad luck.”

“In essence.”

Considering the information torrent you’ve unleashed on him, he’s delightfully quick on the processing. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised. He is over six hundred years old. But Hob’s exposure to the otherworldly is spotty at best. This would be overwhelming for anyone.

His face slacks suddenly. “Wait. Are you… no.”

You hover over your cup, confused by this sudden burst of confounded shock. “Hob, I don’t read minds.”

“Are you the Wanderer?”

Your moniker washes over you, folding its fingers around your heart, cradling it. Centuries—entire millennia—spent waiting to be recognised in some capacity. Finally. Every photo, drawing, and written account were eradicated, but not stories. Not memory. Not even the curse can erase what has no physical presence. Ideas, stories, dreams—they’re unkillable. Dream of the Endless taught you that.

No matter the circumstances, it robs you of speech for a moment whenever you hear your title now—rare as it is.

“You’ve heard of me.”

Hob’s beaming grin is lopsided, his stare wide and eager. “You’re… a fable. I mean, nans tell stories about you.” His voice pitches higher. “‘If you’re good and eat your veggies, Gary, then whenever you’re in trouble, a stranger wearing a dark coat dusted in stardust will turn up and help you.’ Ha! That’s you. Brilliant.”

Sipping your drink, you mumble, “I do what I can sometimes.”

Hob chews over his thoughts for a contemplative minute, his grin diminishing. “But why? After so long, after all humanity has done to you… why help?”

From anyone else, you would dislike the insistence to unearth a reason. To pry into wounds unhealed, waiting to be freshly torn apart. Dream’s absence, then, punctures you afresh, hot and agonising, not the dull throb it had numbed into.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Hob stares at you, silent and heartbreakingly human despite his six hundred years. In him, you see nothing but drive to understand; a hand outstretched in hopes he’s found someone to connect with after centuries.

“Once, I believed I could change destiny. Break it. If I had this curse, the least I could do is help others.” The liquid inside your cup sloshes from side to side in a slow pattern. Inhaling, you ponder how best to explain the struggle, a journey you had to go on to accept your own place in this universe. “So, once, I warned an entire village doom is oncoming. They listened. Evacuated. Elderly, children, wives and husbands and their animals. It was spring, so they couldn’t travel via river due to floods. The mountain pass was already treacherous, but another storm hit in the evening. Landslide. They all died. Had I not intervened, some of them might have lived. It took my friend and I three days to bury everyone. I wanted to do it properly. I owed them as much.”

You’re not sure if Hob is breathing. Muted, thumping sounds from the pub below fill the silence.

Swallowing down your pain at the recollection, you continue, “Those were the early day. After that, I learned how to pick my battles. That it’s better to save someone than no one. Sometimes it’s as simple as making sure someone makes it home safe. It's enough. It has to be.” You finally turn towards him, meeting his forlorn stare. “They wither and die, Hob—that’s punishment enough. I used to resent them, run from them. But not anymore.”

His adam’s apple bobs. “That’s awfully sad. To bear that weight.”

Shifting in your seat, you shake off the gloomy atmosphere, indulging in rare curiosity yourself. “Isn’t it the same for you?”

Hob blinks, clearing the shine reflecting in his eyes. “A little. But we don’t see the future.” His head snaps up. “You don’t, right? See the future?”

You shake your head with a faint smile, and his shoulders lump with relief. “Okay, yeah, well. For us, everything is happening too, just like everyone else, right? We only live long enough to call it history, not the present.”

Your nail scratches the rim of your cup. “You have a point there.”

A lull settles between you. You’ve grown to appreciate silence, too. Or rather, how rare it is to sit with someone and not feel compelled to saturate the air with words. How precious the ability to rest beside someone and simply breathe is.

Hob is the first to speak; his inquisitiveness never subdued for long. “You knew me when we met. How?”

“Dream.”

Confusion mars his face. “He made no mention of you.”

Despite his audible disappointment at this fact, your gaze drops to the table separating you. “No. I suppose he won’t have.”

A restless beat, then, “We have to find him.”

You lower the cup back onto the table. Slowly, your limbs disentangle from your comfortable, slumped position. Whatever Hob reads in your body language makes him sit up. Your elbows dig into the wooden structure beneath you, your spine straight and jaw set with unyielding firmness as you regard him.

“Why?” you demand.

Immediate response, no uncertainty: “Because he’s my friend, and he’s a bloody idiot.” Hob’s features soften. “But this world needs him.”

“I’ve been trying to find him for the last century. No luck. Every force in the universe has been opposing me and punishing me for trying.”

Hob’s earnest stare doesn’t waver at the tart insinuation. You lean across the creaky table in a small kitchen half a world away, where the world is only as big as your hands can stretch on either side of your body.

“Would you like to help me, Hob Gadling?”

Sheer relief lines Hob’s face. “God, yes.”

“And then there’s the hunger.”

A groan climbs up, vibrating in your throat. “I hate it. Nothing worse. You get so hungry you go quite numb. It’s bizarre. Then there’s the permanent headache.”

Hob looks hopeful. “Nosebleeds?”

“And the nosebleeds.”

Hob laughs at the indignant edge in your voice, taking a generous swing of his beer. You’ve spent the last two hours precisely like this. Camped in his kitchen, discussing finer points of immortality and all the nuisances that come with it. Swapping various stories over the centuries and savouring not having to hide for once.

“Say, what’s the worst way to go for you?” Hob questions, raising his beer bottle by the neck. “People used to be scared of decapitation, but… listen, not the worst. It’s quick. Anticipation is worse, I reckon. Drowning is nasty. Fought through it the first time. Learned it’s easier to just…”

He mimics gulping a breath and slumps his head to the side. “What about you?” He peers at you over the curved glass, sobering instantly at whatever he finds. “Sorry, that’s insensitive. I shouldn’t have.”

Your words come out alien, wooden around the edges, “Burning alive. With drowning, there’s control. Burning is just, well, you burn. It’s slow.”

Excruciating, unending when you’re in the moment. Phantom ash coats your tongue to this day.

Hob dips his head sympathetically. “Fire is nasty.”

“Experienced it?”

A subtle grimace. “Great Fire of London in ‘66.”

It's your turn to offer him a sympathetic nod. “I walked in the aftermath with a friend. I’m sorry.”

Whenever disaster struck, Death and Destruction were usually not far behind. Sometimes you can’t help but ponder if the fire was one of the last stones that pushed Destruction to his decision. His implications back then that humanity would create a horror unlike any other were lost on you until the atomic bomb was assembled centuries later. Then, at long last, it all made sense.

“What about sleep?” Hob steers the conversation away from unpleasant history, and you’re grateful. “I don’t die from it, obviously, but without sleep, things get all… bright, confusing, and very bloody loud.”

You sit back in your seat. “That’s because your mind becomes untethered, and you start drifting towards Madness. Delirium's domain. Dream’s younger sister. Be glad you’ve never fully entered. Most can only reach it through drug consumption. Mortal minds are not made for trespassing there.”

Hob’s mouth rests parted, digesting the information. He’s curious and sharp, and there’s a particular pleasure in expanding his worldview.

“Why didn’t he tell me about you?” His aggravated outburst is so sudden you instinctively tense before relaxing again. Hob weaves his fingers together, looking quite put out. “I would have sought you out. There’s so much I could have learned from you. So much we could have shared together. Maybe… all this won’t have been so lonely had I only known someone like me was out there.”

A needle lodges in your throat, prickling you with emotion at his heartfelt words. In the back of your mind, you can visualise it crystal clear, all those adventures you could have shared. But unlike with all others who flowed in and out of your life, you won’t have to worry about Hob dying. He would always be there, another permanent.

“There’s Mad Hettie,” you supply weakly.

Hob’s regard has sharpened, probing. “You know what I mean,” he insists, leaning over. “And she’s younger than us. Why didn’t you seek me out?”

How can you articulate it? How do you explain human fault? Pettiness?

Swallowing thickly, you hang your head. One breath, two, then you meet his patient gaze, resolute. “Because I was jealous.”

Disbelief colours his features, but you rush ahead before he can interrupt, “I thought about it constantly. A life where I was not cursed. Where I simply got lucky with immortality the way you did. What I would have given for it. Dream was so invested in you and your journey. I was jealous because he and the Dreaming were all I had. I feared…”

“You didn’t want him to replace you.”

You nod at his soft deduction.

Hob leans across the table until you have no choice but to meet him halfway. “Dream won’t have kept you by his side for a thousand years if he didn’t want you around, don’t you think?”

His mild, comforting words compel sardonic amusement from you. “He didn’t. He banished me.”

Hob splutters, blanching. “He what?”

“A friend of a friend of a friend deals with the metaphysical. Well, he’s obsessed. More fitting term.” Hob hands you the card in his hand. “Anyway, he says this woman is the best necromancer in the country. Deals with any occult business for the right price. It’ll cost us a pretty penny, but she’s the place to start.”

Johanna Constantine.

Life has a fine sense of irony, indeed. You thought you laid this particular hurt to rest. Centuries had passed. Yet, Edward’s snarky grin springs back to mind instantly. His hand encompassing but firm around yours. Constantines. You failed them. You promised late Lady Johanna you would look out for her descendants, but after Edward, after Dream’s disappearance…

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Because I have,” you admit in a faint, defeated breath. “But this is a good idea. Let’s go.”

“Oi, Mickey, look at this.”

Two young men in black hoodies block your path. One wears a cap pulled low over his brow, while another glares you both down, hunched. Hob stops beside you, a quiet hiss escaping his mouth. He plasters an effortless, charming smile on his face. Modest and easy-going. He’s good. Even you would be put at ease by the placating sincerity in it.

“C'mon, lads, we don’t want any trouble. We’re just here to see Miss Constantine.”

The one without a cap drags his tongue over his front teeth. “Whatcha want with Jo?”

Hob doesn’t hesitate; smooth and calm. “Hire.”

“So, you’re rich-rich, eh?” The one with the cap steps up, crowding your space, glinting metal tucked in his hand, brandishing between you. “Hand over the wallet, and we won’t knife you. Or your lady friend.”

You tilt your head, hands in your pockets. “Put the knife away and go.”

The two young men burst out laughing, sharing an amused look.

“Did ya hear her?” The one with the cap bites out. “And I should listen, why? ‘Cause princess says so?”

Hob loosens anticipatory breath, tense at your side.

“Because you’re friends with Constantine.” They likely all grew up on the same estate, and now they’re playing at being her poor security. You can’t imagine any Constantine taking kindly to such a gesture. They’re universally too proud to accept help. But Constantines are also excellent at drawing trouble their way, so this arrangement must work on some level. “You’re looking out for her. I once had a friend who did the same for me.”

The wooden figurine in your pocket promptly becomes ten times heavier than moments earlier.

Mickey snorts, a deep, nasally sound. “Looking out for her? She’s a selfish shit.”

“Yet here you are.” A soft smile pulls at the seams of your mouth. “Which means you must know it’s real. All those nasty things in the dark she deals with. I’m one of them.”

Their shit-eating grins dim slightly. “You’re taking the piss. Enough with the jokes.”

The knife raises, glinting in the dim street light. So much for Hob’s suggestion you should take a shortcut.

“I walked this earth during an age humanity has all but forgotten.” The young man halts midstep at your calm words. “The only thing older than me around here is this city, which I’ve seen crumble and rebuild several dozen times. So put your knife away, and go.”

This time both men—boys, they’re barely adults—gape at you in tense silence. Hob is as still as stone beside you.

You venture a step closer, then another, until the blade's tip pokes into your stomach. “I would never harm Johanna. You have my word. But if you try to use that knife as I can tell you want to, I will grab you by the scruff and drop you in a pocket dimension so dark no one will hear your screams. Not even you.”

The hand holding the knife trembles. You draw back slowly, giving the young man a gracious smile, looking towards your companion. “Shall we, Hob?”

You walk past without another interruption.

“Uh, so. Good job.” Hob begins when you’re a reasonable distance from the duo, some tension vanishing from his taut body. “I didn’t have to punch anyone this time. It makes for a nice change.”

The wind flutters your coat around your legs. “Are you any good?”

His chest puffs up. “Excellent, I’ll have you know.”

It’s not until you cross the street and the address on the printed card stares back at you that Hob pauses. “Could you do it?”

Your stride doesn’t waver. “Do what?”

“Take people into different dimensions? Drop ‘em there.”

There’s a cautious note in his words, his unease tucked away but not altogether imperceptible to you.

His actual question rings loud and clear beneath the blase act. Have you done it in the past?

You grasp the metal handle, freezing to the touch, pulling the door open. “Never tried it.” You hesitate, shooting him a brief, humoured glance. “They didn’t know that, though.”

Tension melts from Hob with that light-hearted comment, and he smiles, stepping right after you.

“What do you want?”

Hob glances around the room as if confused by the frank question. “To hire you.”

Johanna Constantine inclines back in her chair, examining you both with a narrowed, cynical gaze. She’s a splitting image of her dead ancestor—a slim, short woman with dark brown hair and round eyes. As beautiful as Lady Johanna was. Your first glimpse of her had nearly frozen you in your tracks, and the reason for their similarities is abundantly clear.

Reincarnation.

It’s been a while since you’ve encountered it. Why Death grants it to specific individuals is beyond you, nor have you ever pried into the reasons behind it. Some mortals are simply meant to do more and have another life to lead.

“No shit. What for?” Her attention snaps to you, further narrowing, bristling when your stares clash. “Sorry, but why are you staring at me?”

There’s no reason to lie, so you don’t. “It’s been a while since I’ve met a Constantine.”

Johanna’s finely-shaped brows hitch up. “You’ve met a lot of us, have you?” she mutters snidely.

You’re unfazed by her tone. “Most.” You exhale deeply, surprised by how difficult this is. “You remind me of him.”

“Who?”

In your peripheral, you see Hob slant in your direction as well. In the dimly lit, cramped office space, there’s a sense the darkness will reflect whatever you divulge.

“Edward Constantine.”

Johanna’s proud cast cracks slightly. “That’s my… who are you?”

Regret. For having failed her up to this point. It’s clear Johanna is doing well for herself and is a powerful sorcerer the way all her ancestors were, but this is personal neglect. “You already know who I am. Was it the stories? Edward told me he would pass them onto his ancestors.”

The brunette's jaw flutters, her gaze glazed. “No. You’re fucking with me.”

You keep your expression open, your mouth resting in a gentle slant.

“Hello, Johanna. I’m the Wanderer.”

Harsh denial and irritation spark to life instantly. “You’re a story—a fairytale.”

“Aren’t we all?”

She scoffs, shaking her head, but her eyes won’t drift from you for a split second, pulling apart every detail.

“My mum used to tell me stories about you every night.” Some melancholic childhood nostalgia seizes her for scant few seconds, and then Johanna schools herself with a faint sneer. “She said I had to be good because one day, Wanderer will knock on our door and take me on an adventure. Some stories depict you as a woman, others as a man or everything in between. Others say you’re no human at all. But a God cursed to wear human skin and prowl forever in starlight.”

You hear the bitterness in her words; a childhood hope crushed when she was forced to grow up, her childhood hero absent. Hopes of grand adventures dashed. How long before you became no more than another figment lost with her girlhood? Once, you were a significant part of her family’s history.

“Some truth to it,” you say. “One has to get creative about disguises. Everything must serve you, or nothing will.”

In this dark, cramped office, it’s as if Johanna is not entirely sure what to make of you. If she can or should trust your presence here. “The benevolent stranger,” she muses. “Those stories used to make me laugh. A load of waffle.”

“You’re lying,” you say kindly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you sooner. But I’m here now, and we need your help.”

Johanna huffs, the fiercely unhappy sound reverberating. “Why should I? You’re nothing to me.”

Hob, who sat patiently beside you, interjects with a dry, “Because we’re paying you. A lot.”

Johanna pushes to her feet, her palms pressing into the table. “Maybe I don’t care to work for two mugs.”

“Hey! Rude,” Hob exclaims.

“Sit down, Johanna Constantine.”

Silence barbs the room at your quiet, point-blank words. Johanna straightens from her momentarily frozen position, her expression pinching with barely veiled chagrin.

“Is that meant to intimidate me?” she demands, crossing her arms.

“No,” you say plainly. You direct your gaze back towards the vacated chair. “I’m asking you to listen. Please sit.”

Johanna doesn’t. She stands rigid, arms crossed, strong and proud, proving a point. You let her. If anything, the unyielding, stubborn edge brings back fond memories. Perhaps that’s why you’ve taken such a shine to her bloodline—Constantines don’t bow; others bow to them.

Hob shifts, visibly uncomfortable in his seat, while the silence persists.

“Fine,” Johanna finally spits out, grinding her delicate jaw. Yanking back the chair, she drops onto it heavily. “What are you searching for?”

You don’t comment on your little standoff.

“Not a what, a who.” You pretend to miss the glimmer of intrigue now lurking in her regard. “He goes by many names, but in modern society, he would be known as the Sandman.”

Johanna snorts. “Sandman. Wait, are you being proper serious? Right.”

You don’t share in her amusement. “A hundred years ago, he disappeared from his realm and did not return.” Johanna’s snide smile falls away at the tangible heaviness tucked in your words. “Since then, your world has suffered the consequences of his absence. Encephalitis lethargica. Ring any bells? Persistent nightmares? Restless sleep? He’s alive, but he’s most likely been warded. Heavily. Unfortunately, I have no magical abilities myself. I can’t locate him.”

Johanna’s trimmed fingernails tap on the table, homour long since forgotten. “Why not ask a witch for help?”

A humourless smile graces your face. “I have. Several. It… didn’t work out.”

Too weak, traitors, or those who simply refused to help. No mortal witch is as powerful as the Three, and after they turned you away, you accepted that was a dead end.

“And you expect me to get involved despite what you just told me?” Johanna poses sarcastically.

“Yes,” you reply, unblinking. Her tapping ceases. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Clicking her tongue, the other woman purses her mouth, biting amusement coming back full force. “I thought you knew my lot. We’re all selfish and self-obsessed. Or so they say.”

“You are,” you agree without hesitation, and her brows rise scornfully. “But you also do the right thing when it matters most. Look, does anything spring to mind? Anything that might not have been in the papers. Anything your family might have observed? Written down? Just tell us this much, and we’ll leave.”

You’re not sure what passes between you. Eye to eye, you view each other with a stranger’s wariness, but underlying history neither can entirely ignore.

This time, when Johanna stands, she pins you down with a no-nonsense glare. “Stay here.”

She heads for the adjoined room, and a small smile tugs your lips upwards.

Hob puffs out a breath, hands on his thighs, mouthing so lightly his lips scarcely move. “Guess this means she’s helping us after all.”

“I’m only doing this so you two fuck off.”

“We gathered,” Hob mutters.

Johanna drops a thick volume onto the table, sending pencils and pens rattling in their plastic holders. Hob’s flat stare borders on comical, but your attention goes to the book. You’ve seen one of these in the past. Not faded with age as it is now—old Constantine family journals. You’re amazed to see this one intact.

Johanna flips through the pages with efficient ease, stopping halfway. The spine creaks when she spreads the book open fully, tapping on a faded newspaper clipping portraying an older man. Strong, once handsome square features, but cruel, empty eyes.

“Roderick Burgess. They called him the Demon King.” Johanna flips to the next page, and Hob moves the table lamp closer, shining it over yellowed parchment. “A hundred years ago, the old bastard had a sudden turn in fortune. Some began whispering that he was consorting with demons. But good ol’ Burgess himself boasted that he had the Devil locked up in his basement.”

Devil? Your brows knit, a tingle racing down your spine. Could it be?

“Bet that made him real popular with the locals,” Hob jokes from your right.

Johanna hesitates over turning the page. “He was rich, so no one cared.”

Your fingertips trace the flowing script discussing Burgess’ parties and his company. “Was his power true?” you question curiously.

“He supposedly had some skill.” Johanna flips several pages in succession, pointing at another faded photograph. “He was the one who founded the Order of Ancient Mysteries. And another interesting thing.”

She tugs free a cutout between pages at the back, unruffling it for a clear view. “Magdalenes Grimoire was reported stolen from the museum around the same time.”

“So he stole it,” Hob concludes, peering at you questioningly. “And used it to…what? Capture Dream?”

No, it’s not so simple. Capturing an Endless is comparable to capturing a hurricane using a butterfly net with holes. It’s the one aspect of this problem that’s never made sense. Who could capture an Endless, and what power did they employ for such a deed?

Deliberative sound hums from Johanna. “If the cookbook has spells strong enough in it, maybe. Here in the darkness.”

You flinch. Your palm clumsily hits the table, body shuddering. Hob’s arm shots out, steadying you by the forearm.

“Are you alright?”

Sucking in a breath, you blink rapidly, rubbing your chest with a frown. To your left, a rain-dotted window reveals a vacant street shrouded in darkness, nothing else.

You thought—

No.

You’re just being stupid. There is no way you just felt—

“Yeah, sorry,” you mumble, physically shucking off your frazzled thoughts. “What happened to Roderick?”

Johanna hops her attention from you to Hob, then back to you. “He died. What else? His son, Alex, inherited everything.”

Curling your fingers, you straighten your shoulders. Your hands slip into your pockets, locking around a wooden figurine and—

The pebble rubs into your palm, over and over. Is it warmer? It’s been icy to the touch for centuries but now—

Realising both Hob and Johanna are watching you patiently, you drop the pebble, clearing your throat deliberately.

“We need to find him. Can you get us an address?” you ask.

She’s sceptical, but the thrill, the desire to spit in danger’s face, propels her forward. “And your plan is to, what?”

You share a glance with Hob. Innocently, you say, “We’re going to survey this Devil Alex Burgess supposedly has locked in his basement.”

Johanna perks up with open interest for the first time since you arrived. “Survey, eh? Sounds like fun.”

On your lengthy trek back to Hob’s flat, he asks, “Have you ever…?”

A gnawing pain ricochets through your chest. “Yeah.”

Hob appears crushed at your strangled admission, his voice gentle and kind, “Okay.”

“How does it work?”

“Hm?”

Hob hands you a wet plate, and you dry it mindlessly, so lost in your thoughts that his question doesn’t register at first. He invited you to stay for dinner, and perhaps it’s how simple and comfortable it is with him, but you chose to stay. Selfishly so, perhaps.

Muted kitchen light washes over Hob’s profile, his hands stuck in the soapy sink water. He picks up another plate.

“You told me you jump through dimensions.”

You suppose it’s not something one hears every day. Drying the last plate, you place it on the counter, striding towards the fridge wedged in the corner. Skewered on top is a fresh crop of homework in desperate need of marking. You rifle through the pile to find spare paper. Hob doesn’t impede you, and you wonder if that means something, too, that you’ve only known each other several days, but he permits you this familiarity.

You wriggle your fingers in his direction. “Pass me that pencil.”

Hob dries his hands, doing so without a word. You head towards the table where your drinks still stand, half unfinished. “Okay, so. Imagine this piece of paper is our world.”

You hold a blank paper in your outstretched palm.

Hob stares. “It’s flat?”

“No,” you retort, pinching your nose to hide your crooked grin. “Dimensions are… difficult to explain. You have to experience it. It’s honestly more like a rubber band ball. I just pull on each individual band to jump places.”

You pick up a second sheet, holding it over the first, resuming your explanation, “Imagine this sheet is another dimension. They overlap. Everything, everywhere, is constantly overlapping. Sudden death? It happens because humans end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dimensional overlaps walked in on at the wrong time can kill you instantly.”

Hob picks up his bear, listening attentively. “Is that why you feel so heavy in certain places? Like you shouldn’t be there.”

You nod approvingly. “Exactly.” Pinching the pencil, you hold the two sheets together, thrusting the pencil clean through the middle. The page rips, the pencil lodged in the middle. You tap on the protruding tip. “So, this is me.”

Hob looks positively horrified. “That looks… painful.”

“It is. Human bodies aren’t made for it. That’s the point. It’s gotten better. I learned a lot. Time patterns mostly.”

Hob follows your fingers while you scribble random combinations. Numbers that make sense to anyone but you. “There are ways to… suppress it. I did a lot of testing. How long can I keep the curse at bay? How long can I linger in a single stay? How long do I go away before I can come back to reset the curse? If physical or emotional stimuli influence it. The waking world, or the human world to you, is the worst affected because I was once human. Beings from other realms are not so easily impacted.”

Intrigue lines his face, attempting to discern what you’ve written on the ripped paper. “How come?”

“Because the curse is human in origin,” you tell him bluntly. You weren’t sure at first because it seemed like magic too powerful for any sorcerer or witch to accomplish casually. “There are beings out there far older than humanity. With the other Endless, for example, it tends to be mostly bad luck contained to me. Periodically it leads to almost death, but their power is far greater than the curse, so it doesn’t affect them the same way it would a mortal. Essentially, with humanity, the curse spreads outwards. With the Endless, it draws inwards, to me.”

Hob mulls over those words silently, tugging on his earlobe while he does so. He does that often. A habit you’ve come to associate with him since your first conversation. Subconscious but endearing. Does he do it while he teaches too?

“But not… the Dreaming,” Hob says in deep thought. “Why is that an exception?”

“I have theories,” you admit, tapping the pencil rhythmically. “But only one can confirm them. And he’s about as likely to give me answers as I’m likely to run down the Tower Bridge naked.”

Hob chortles, nearly choking on his beer. “You bloody well could and then just pop out for a hundred years.” He hesitates. “No family then? No… lover?”

You doodle—a breathtaking island where people once wandered in their dreams. “If I had a family, I don’t remember them. As for lovers...”

A slight catch in your voice doesn’t escape his heed.

“Him?” Hob prompts quietly, knowingly.

No reply, yet you both share in a compassionate moment of mute understanding.

“How about you?” you wonder.

At long last, a chip in Hob’s amiable armour appears. “Had a wife and a son. They both died.” He swallows down his pain, and you know all too well what that’s like. “Occasional lover now and again, nothing permanent, though.”

“I’m sorry, Hob.”

He shrugs, but traces of hurt remain. “It was a long time ago.”

“You’re brave,” you tell him, lowering the pencil. “I’ve seen what grief can do to people.”

“I do it for them,” he says suddenly, breathing out deeply. You can’t help but mutely ponder if this is the first time he’s admitted it to anyone, even himself. “To have a gift like this and waste it? Nah. Only a mug would. Gotta experience it all. Live for them.”

Dream’s fascination with Hob finally makes sense. You should have known he would be special, but to experience it for yourself is different. “Still want to live then?”

To your unspoken surprise, Hob doesn't rush to respond. He instead deliberates for a while.

“I’ve seen terrible things, done terrible things I’m ashamed of to this day. Always will be. I’ve loved and lost. A lot. But I’ve found new reasons to go on through it all.” A toothy, happy smile splits his face. “It’s gorgeous out there, isn’t it? I’m in love with all of it—good and bad. What?”

“Nothing,” you say softly, watching him fondly. “It’s late. I should head back.”

Hob hurries to his feet when you rise, tucking your coat closer around your body. “There’s a spare room here,” he suggests hurriedly. “You can stay. You’re always most welcome to stay.”

You instinctively seek your tokens. Smooth, loved wood and a warm pebble. “Thank you, Hob. It means a great deal to me. But it’s better if I go. I’ll need to return often for the search, so better reduce the strain with as many gaps as possible.”

You pivot on your heels, heading towards the door. Hob pursues you several paces behind.

“But I’m like you,” he argues. “Maybe it doesn’t influence me the same way.”

His words die off when you level him with a heavy, pained look.

Too many times. You’ve risked and hoped and believed too many times. You like him, and it would break you immediately if you had to lose someone else right now. You’re hanging on by sheer will alone. Cut off. No Dream, no Corinthian, no Endless. You’ve never felt more alone. If it weren’t for Lucienne and Merv, you might have gone insane, lost yourself completely. Just this once, you want to have something happy to look towards.

“I’ll be back in two days,” you say reassuringly.

You turn the handle, but Hob speaks before you can leave. “I used to think I’m the loneliest man in the world. But then you came along.” In the small hall, you survey each other with equal fascination. “How do you bear it?”

Your head slants backwards, viewing lines in his ceiling.

“Because of people like you,” you tell him frankly. “You inspire me. Remind me why I’m here. Why I help. You asked me earlier if I miss Dream. I do. But I see him in everything. In everyone. Hopes and dreams that make humanity so beautiful. Your love for life is a gift, Hob. Never lose it.”

His head hangs low, raw emotion crumpling his features as he nods shakily. You head outside without further ado, strolling down the stairs. You’re not surprised to hear a second set of footsteps join you moments later.

“I gave it some thought,” Hob calls out behind you. “About why Dream didn’t tell me about you.”

Because I’m nothing to him. Because he only ever put up with me. You’re a wonder, Hob Gadling, and I’m a curse meant to plague this Earth.

“It’s just the way he is.”

Your footsteps echo, beating on the creaking wood underfoot.

“Nah. You got it all wrong,” Hob retorts in a singsong voice. Pushing the door outside, you enter the cool night together, drizzle still present from the earlier deluge. “You assume he didn’t tell me because he doesn’t care about you. But the way I see it, it’s the exact opposite.”

His words force you to a halt, but your back stays turned to him. A rumbling chuckle fills the air, as if this sudden epiphany is giving Hob some private happiness. “After everything you told me about your curse, I think you’re the one he cares about the most. Maybe not telling me was him being a little selfish. Just this once, he didn’t want to share you with the universe.”

What can you possibly say in reply? So terribly you wish it were true. What would it be like to know it’s not apathy to your mere existence but deep, slightly selfish care, an unwillingness to be parted from you driving Dream? To be instead cherished and preferred. Wanted.

Wanderer, you are henceforth banished from the Dreaming. Take your secrets and your curse, and begone.

Your fists clench so painfully that your shoulders curve inwards. “You’re gonna like this part,” you tell him, your words shaky as you peer at the man lingering in the doorway.

Hob’s brows draw inwards. “What?”

Forcing a smile, you shove your hands into your pockets and snap away with a crack.

Sun hasn’t shone in the Dreaming in over a hundred years.

You miss it.

The bridge is precarious to thread on, so you attempt to land in or near the castle nowadays. You’ve honed your skill further in the last century, inch by agonising inch. The curse trashes inside your chest, settling as your physical body follows, adjusting to a new realm.

The Gatekeepers do not move at your approach. They’re now no more than stone, chipping apart like everything else.

Your lonely trek up the staircase is silent, the castle entrance looming. For a realm once so bursting with sound and life, there’s now only absence. The first time you noticed that overbearing emptiness, something in you shattered to pieces. But as you head deeper inside, a distant echo of Lucienne’s voice reaches your ears. Folding your coat closer around yourself, you formulate your words inside your head.

“Lucienne,” you start, attempting to inject lightness into your voice. “This lead is different. I can feel—”

You stumble to a stop, a partially granulated pillar revealing a lithe, dark figure perched on the staircase. Lucienne’s head swivels in your direction as the figure on the stairs stretches to his full height at your entry.

Blood pounds so deafeningly inside your head that you don’t hear your strangled breaths. Heat licks all over, pounding through your veins. It’s some sick joke, some awful sick joke—

He can’t be here. Over a hundred and seventy years you hadn’t seen Dream of the Endless. Last time you stood just like this, and he had told you to leave, go, and not come back until—

There are no words for the look he bestows you with. For it’s not a look any mortal could ever give. It’s so devastatingly endless, gentle and brutal all at once that it strips your heart to ribbons. It’s as if he takes apart atoms making up your body and lovingly slots them back together, fusing them anew. He views you through dimensions, planes, and every measure and grain of time. He sees in you the beginning and end of all things. In one pulsing look, you live and die and are reborn again a billion times.

Dream’s stare flicks down your body, the coat—

His coat.

Something hot pulses through the air, tingling your chilled, clammy skin.

His hand stretches towards you. “Wanderer.”

You rip yourself away from the Dreaming in a single breath.

an: I know a few might be a lil disappointed at the lack of Dream (and Corinthian) in this chapter, but Sandman is a story about stories, and I suppose this is my personal tribute to Neil's wonderful work. A chapter about stories and the power of storytelling. How much it can inspire and connect people. Trust me, though, the next chapter will be 👀 Hope you enjoyed it!!!

and sorry for the mistakes. It's almost 3am here, and I wrote 5k of this in one sitting + editing. with English not being my native language, I always find editing to be a pain. love you!!!

#the sandman #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #sandman fic #sandman x reader #netflix sandman #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman x you #dream of the endless x reader #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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famouscyclenerd · 3 months

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My fake interview with an imaginary e/riel

A huge reason as to why I doubt the possibility of e/riel, is because they don't really seem to have a clear indication as to what will happen in their book and the rest of the series, beyond the romance aspect. They really haven't gotten that far with their planning... ;)

So I decided to put what I've gathered from some of their logic in interview format.

*Keep in mind, this is just for shits and giggles. I'm not saying that this is completely accurate*

How will the romance go?

"Elain and Lucien will talk, they both realize that they don't want each other and they reject the bond. Elain and Azriel are together and in love, they will have a forbidden romance. Elain will become a spy and she is friends with Nuala and Cerridwen. Elain uses truth-teller to server the bond with Lucien. Elain and Azriel are likely true mates"

So Elain and Lucien will reject the mating bond, but she and Azriel are also mates?

"Yes."

How will they have a forbidden love story?

"Because Rhys said no"

But Rhys is not the enemy, I'm sure he would want them to be happy, as would Feyre, right?

"They will serve forbidden love and hide it from their family"

That sounds like incest, honestly.

"😲"

What of Mor?

"...."

That's exactly what Az said as well, haha! What about Graysen?

"She is already over him as she is in love with Azriel"

Sure. And Gwyn?

"It doesn't matter, she is just a side character in Nesta's story"

Could Emerie and Mor get a book/novella?

"Absolutely!"

But not Az and Gwyn?

"No, it doesn't make sense. And Sarah says her books are about women"

Is Gwyn not a woman?

"😠"

But we saw more of her in SF than Elain, right?

"Doesn't matter. Did you not read how determined Az was to save Elain in acowar. He didn't hesitate🥰"

He saved Gwyn too, and *reads from book* "slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn't hesitate"

"😡"

Sorry... What about Koschei?

"Oh yeah! Um.. Elain and Az will defeat him! That was hinted at in SF!"

Okay, what about Lucien, Jurian and Vassa? Aren't they tied to it?

"They'll be there too. Lucien and Vassa will fall in love"

Right! But what about Jurian?

"Lord of flame and firebird makes sense to me¯\_(ツ)_/¯"

Lucien is the son of Helion, though. I always considered Eris to fit lord of flame more, don't you?

"No. Lucien and Vassa are lord of flame and firebird while e/riel are death and his lovely fawn, kinda like Hades and Persephone"

Isn't that Feyre and Rhysand?

"... death and light, I mean"

But that's Lidia and Ruhn, right?

"Whatever"

Fair enough! Could you share your thoughts as to why Gwyn was in Az' bonus chapter?

"To indicate that she is evil or to hint at powers she's not yet aware she has."

Why though? If her arc is seemingly over and she's just there to be Nesta's friend?

"¯\_(ツ)_/¯"

Nice! *checks notes* What about the illyrian conflict?

"What conflict?"

... *checks notes again* Is there nothing more to do with these characters other than to defeat Koschei?

"And the power of choice! Elain is the girl who never got to choose and Azriel is the boy who never got chosen! Love will trump even a mating bond!"

But Az and Elain are actually mates, correct?

"...Depends on who you ask"

So Elain choosing Lucien is not a choice?

"No. It is a wrong choice"

But it is a choice?

"... No. And they aren't interested in each other"

How come?

"Lucien doesn't even try to get to know her, and Elain loses her boldness around him!"

He does bring her gifts though..

"So what!?! She didn't like the gloves!"

Not the pearl earrings either?

"She'll likely never use them"

Just like she won't wear the necklace from Az either?

"😤"

Sorry, sorry... But he also looks at her with longing, correct?

"That is just because of the bond!"

So they are mates?

"Maybe, maybe not"

You said Elain could become a spy. How do you think that will tie in with the plot?

"I'm not sure, that is Sarah's job after all"

So what will happen in acotar 5 & 6?

"Acotar 5 is Elain's arc where she finally gets a choice as she never has been able to voice her opinion. Acotar6 is about Lucien and Vassa defeating Koschei and falling in love"

With Elain and Azriel?

"Right! The article soft-launched e/riel for us :D"

What about when sjm talked about Elain and Lucien as a couple?

"Irrelevant because of the times article >:("

Lovely! Can't wait!

#acotar #anti e/riel #pro elucien #elucien #pro gwynriel #gwynriel #this is just a joke

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fernlessbastard · 1 month

Note

Opinions on transfem/Trans woman c!Wilbur? If you havent already, since its a slightly popular Hc w c!W

honestly I'm mostly indifferent ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

it's not for me, but like I've got no particularly strong feelings either way. I can absolutely see a lot of reasons for that reading - it all does fit, so it's not a matter of there being no justification, but more so just personally I just don't hold that headcanon

the thing with either of them being trans is that like, I am for some reason oddly attached to Quackity being specifically and strictly a man who's into men, or at the very least masc individuals - maybe it's cause I just started off with that "hc" (I mean it is kinda pretty heavily canon - I don't recall him ever flirting with a woman). Wil being mtf would obviously make all of that very complicated - each time I start to think about it I can't help but think if 1. is there any way for Q to still be into Wil without that invalidating Wil's gender identity 2. is there any way for Q - a gay man - to have feelings for a woman that doesn't invalidate his sexual identity Like, exceptions happen, but mm idk It's obvioulsy completely different if you hc Q as pan/bi/homoflexible/whatever else, but yeah personally I'm just really attached to the idea of Q being strictly homosexual

When it comes to the nonbinary umbrella it's kinda similar (with both being amab) - with Wil it works i'd say, there isn't as much of a conflict with Quackity's sexuality, but again, I'm mostly indifferent and you do you; with Q it just kinda doesn't quite fit for me - idk he just has relatively binary man vibes imo

in regards to other combinations of one/both of them being trans: > Wil's ftm - yeah sure I'm down with that, good for him, I don't actively hc that but like yeah no conflict there, plus I guess it'd explain how he had Fundy - though fantasy mpreg makes it so much funnier > Q's mtf - idk i just don't feel it in the slightest. He doesn't really give me any of those vibes. Especially considering things like the fact that he's short, has longer hair, is/used to be a sex worker (with presumably male clients), is heavily (and at the very least primarily, if not exclusively) into men, canonically has a big ass, etc, so it just really doesn't sit right with me to then have him be mtf - I just want some more representation of those characteristics in men, y'know? > Q's ftm - ok so, it fits. And I really really hate that it fits. It would make so much sense but holy fuck guys I cannot handle that ok - I'm ftm, and if he's cis then I can like at least partially remove myself from all of that... but if he's ftm then holy fucking shit everything just hits so much harder like guys I'm not strong enough to handle the pain of seeing this much of myself in him ok I will simply collapse, like him being seen as an object and sexualised and put down and belittled and pressured to be all submissive and shit just hits so completely different if you see it through the lenses of him being ftm and let me fucking tell you I am NOT ready for the breakdown thinking about it and how similar and in some cases identical to my own experiences it all is would cause m > ANYWAY with them both being trans it's just a combination of my previous thoughts ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

hope that answers your question UwU anyway ha ha bye--/lh

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leemillion · 9 months

Text

Theory Time!

Alright so I have an abundance of theories for The World of Mr Plant so I’m just gonna spill them all here. Maybe I’ll even update it as more theories arise, who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

~Mr. Plant always loved Argos~

Now call me crazy but I think Mr. Plant always had a thing for Argos. He just didn’t fully realize/come to terms with it until the valentines episode. And even then he struggled to express emotions at first, but he’s been getting better at that.

Now adding on we all know Mr. Plant won’t hesitate to kill any minor inconvenience that comes his way. And Argos supposedly annoyed him to hell and back. So why didn’t he kill Argos? Sure he thought about it, but he never actually went through with it. It makes no sense to kill a random stranger just for a job but then leave someone you supposedly hate alive, but that’s just me:

Maybe he mistook his feelings for Argos as anger or tried to deny it by rationalizing it in some weird way. I mean it doesn’t seem like he has any relationship experience. Maybe this is his first time feeling these things and that’s why he was so hesitant and confused.

~Why Mr. Plant joined the scouts~

Now I find this one pretty wholesome. Mr. Plant doesn’t like kids at all so Argos being apart of the scouts was something he actively discouraged. Yet by the end of the episode he chose to join them 😌

Now I have 2 reasons for this. It could either be one of them or a mixture of both of them.

Reason #1 - After the incident with the “human” he thought “oh shit I get to kill people and murder people holy shit-“ and decided hey it can’t be that bad

Reason #2 - After the incident with the “human” he realized Argos and the scouts might need someone to protect them so he decided to join to keep them safe.

I think I like the second reason it’s so fucking wholesome. Argos and Mr. Plant have 3 unofficially adopted children now 😌

(One more thing that’s not important to the theory but I didn’t know where else to put it: On the phone Mr. Plant immediately ran over the second Argos mentioned he was “right across the way” Do you think Mr. Plant knew about the creep that lived there??? That he knew about him kidnapping and doing who knows what with kids?? And once he heard Argos was over there he was like “oh fuck no not my Argos 🔪” That’s so cute wtf 😭)

~Mr. Plant’s other half~

So we all know Mr. Plant is half banana leaf. But what about the rest of him? I’ve seen many theories of him being part walker plant, imitation plant, and even human. And I think imitation plant might make the most sense (I still like to think a small part of him is a walker though)

I mean in Gardening with Argos, Argos refers to some of his plants as his “favorite flower.” We all know Mr. Plant is obviously his favorite 🙄

Unless… Mr. Plant isn’t considered a flower at all?

Now this could be a stretch. Maybe there’s 2 types of plants. Those that are considered people and those that are considered just plants. But who knows.

~The mushrooms found Argos creepy~

This might not be so much of a theory as it is an observation.

At first when I watched this episode I thought “tf they mean creepy? He’s like the most normal guy here” And then I realized Argos looks the most normal to the viewers but not the other characters.

Every other character either has an object head, an animal head, a plant head, a body part head, and of course the “humans” with their uncanny ass proportions. Argos isn’t the most human looking thing in their world. In fact there isn’t anyone else in the void who looks like him.

Maybe that’s why he’s always seen as “weird” or “creepy.” Plus we never know much about his family. Just his great great grandfather banana leaf. Maybe his family is some rare species.

Holy shit what if they’re hunted for sport and that’s what those “accidental deaths” were??? Maybe not. Maybe I’m going insane.

~It’s been a long long time~

So I found this comment on a TikTok video:

I did the math and they’re correct. And if Argos is around the same age as Ashur is (23) then he’s been in this specific void since he was about 5 years old. He’s been marking up the days since he was old enough to write.

Meanwhile Mr. Plant moved in almost 2 years ago.

Argos was part of the welcoming committee then right?? I like to think he fell in love the minute he saw Mr. Plant 😌

So what’s next for them? Who knows but I’m rooting for lore in the next episode. Andddd I think that’s about it for theories for now, or at least until I suddenly come up with another. See you all next time :D

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sammythelibrarian · 5 months

Text

Just some spoilery and messy thoughts on the boy and the heron

One thing I love about The Boy and the Heron is that Mahito is never mean or rude to Natsuko? He's cold, yes. A bit standoffish, sure. Visibly trying to cope with horrific circumstances, absolutely.

But he never calls her out on her "new mother" comment, he never makes faces behind her back, he's not trying to drive a wedge between her and his father.

And it wouldn't have been awful if he had. A lot of his actions are driven by the norms of the time period (his father and Natsuko are smart for marrying, for keeping everything within the family, for not introducing Mahito to a stranger) and the expected showings of respect to ones own family and yadaydaya, but a grieving kid acting out still would have been fine to a modern audience. But he didn't take his feelings out on her. He didn't particularly care for his aunt/step-mom but he didn't (visibly) blame her even when he struggled.

And when she (seemed like) she needed help, he went to help her anyway. And I think that's just nice to see for once.

I'm not a big fan of BuT FaMiLY as a concept (in fact, I heavily recommend pruning the family tree whenever you feel like it!) but I am a big fan of trying your hardest not to take out your valid but complicated feelings on those around you.

Also a big fan of having a look at a situation and decide you will help this person out, even if you don't like them. Not being liked by me is not a crime, so time to go adventuring.

And to me, while the scene in the birthing chamber has some layers I haven't quite figured out yet, Mahito's acceptance of her there comes from the fact that he's had time to breathe. It's not as sudden as it seems.

Away from Tokyo, from his new home, from his father, from his new mother, from everything, his focus is forced to shift. Suddenly he's attacked by birds! On a boat! Gutting fish? His mini-mom's there now, surely this won't affect the way he grieves at all.

Anyway, I think that after all of that it's easier for him to out Natsuko into perspective. All she (has shown she) wants to do is care for her sister's son, her own future kid, her husband and her home. She's been nothing but nice to him and shouldn't that merit something in return?

Not in the "forced by society" way, but in the self-reflection sort of way. Mahito owes it to her and himself to give her a chance to take on this new role in his life. His mother's not coming back either way, but here is her sister willing to love him like her anyway. (and hate him but like I said, layers I'm still struggling to make semi-coherent to myself. I have some ideas)

Here's a story of a boy who's gone through some unimaginable trauma leaving relative safety behind to go rescue his new step-mother that he doesn't even like, only to eventually realize that they'd both be better off emotionally if she's given a chance to be there for him.

She's the first to protect him from the Heron, too, I just realized. He gets the idea of using a bow from her. She's already passing things on to him even before they become mother and son.

Anyway this got way longer than I thought it'd be (I was just going to note down some random ideas) and I'm not sure how much sense it makes but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I've seen a lot of people talking about the themes of this movie, but not many seem to be touching on the relationship between these two (except for talk of the birthing room scene).

One final thought: obviously he has some Issues with fire after the opening of the movie, but by the end it's become Himi's visual (the fire is his mom). Just like how he struggles with Natsuko, but in the end she's become his mom too. Cheesy phrasing? Maybe

#this movie had to simmer for a few days but suddenly it hit like a brick #the boy and the heron #how do you live?#miyazaki youve done it again

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kyotosummer · 12 days

Text

A Different Perspective - Stella, Stolas, and Octavia

This is a really weird moment of the trailer, to me. I spent a lot of time thinking how Octavia could still think Stolas doesn't love her.? It doesn't make sense - we've seen time and again that Stolas gives her attention, so why does she still doubt this?

So I thought and thought and thought... and then I started thinking about another question - WHY is this line in the trailer? I mean, this whole trailer's about how much Blitz hates himself and their complicated relationship - so why is Octavia butting into the middle of this with her whining about not being loved enough??

More under the cut - I implore you to read before commenting on the above.

.............. wow, did I just get really annoyed about a TEENAGER whose upset because she doesnt feel like her dad's giving her attention? Wh- what the hell? Why is this show making me feel that way?

And why am I not this annoyed by Loona?? Arent they supposed to be similar characters? She also has a million more issues going on than Octavia. It's rather obvious, with all the time and attention the show gives her....

.....actually, the show gives Loona a lot of attention. We see her at her job with her dad, her backstory and how much Blitz attached to her.

I mean, we all saw how Loona was when she was locked up in that Hell Hound Pound. Thank goodness Blitz is around to hype her up and.... give her.... the attention...... she needs.......

huh.

Come to think of it.... huh.

The only time I remember Stolas giving Octavia attention was when he took her to Lulu Land.... as a distraction from his wife.

and even then.... he didnt listen to her wishes about not wanting to go - he just dragged her along......

...and he brought Blitz to flirt with. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, Stolas really only paid attention to Octavia when she ran away and started crying.

Oh, but then there was the lovely moment about the fireworks! Which... started because Stolas was busy with his divorce and forgot about the once-in-a-1000 year event with his daughter.

And while Blitz's job is an odd one, he's teaching his craft to Loona. She is incredibly capable at her job and can do it solo. She's also the one Blitz trusts most with the Grimoire.

When Stolas found Octavia in the fireworks episode, he lectures her about using the book when he hasn't taught her spells yet. SHE'S IN HER LATE TEENS???? HIS STUDIES STARTED WHEN HE WAS A CHILD????

......Holy shit, actually.

Finally, in regards to Stella - yes, she's a bitch who finds pleasure in tormenting Stolas....

and yet.... she goes out with Octavia on the weekends. It seems to be implied this was a weekly thing, even prior to the divorce.

And, like, outside of Stolas's perspective and her hiring a man to murder her husband.... do we... do we know her?

I mean, sure, this was both our and Stolas' first impression of her as a child:

But there could easily be way more context to this than what the audience knows. We only see this picture and then Stella as an adult. She also didn't seem particularly hateful with Stolas during scenes when Octavia was a child - she just, at most, steals the blankets and grumbles the same as she does about who has to get up.

Just as Stolas had to grow up knowing he's going to marry a wild woman he didnt want, Stella had to grow up knowing she was going to marry a man who didnt want her.

She might have tried. We haven't seen a lot of her outside of her fights with Stolas, and I do wonder if part of her resentment is that she did actually try, and Stolas just.... never responded to her outside of obligation.

Either way, after going through these thoughts.... I've come to realize - Octavia may not understand everything, but she may actually have a point. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#helluva boss #stolas #stolas goetia #stella goetia #Octavia Goetia #helluva boss stella #helluva boss Octavia #helluva boss stolas

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ftmtftm · 6 months

Note

something i wanted to ask, genuinely, is if you think the labels transmisogyny/misandry and the way theyre used can really be helpful

i personally think they can be but with how so many ppl try to frame it as "exclusive" forms of oppression just doesnt help at all. yes, transmisogyny does mainly happen to trans women/fems, but a lot of ppl refuse to believe it could also happen to trans men/mascs. and i believe it can go the same way with transmisandry as ive seen multiple ppl describe wut it is and see how it could be applied to trans women/fems. and that doesnt even acknowledge intersex ppl, whether theyre trans or not. i feel like labeling it in specific ways to say "this is an intersection of oppression" without going "this is an exclusive experience" is beneficial to all sides, but ppl try to gatekeep with labels like "tma" and "tme" and so on. its like saying a gay guy cant call themself a dyke bc "youre not a lesbian and therefore u cant reclaim that slur" even if theyve been called a dyke before. it really just feels like the labels of transmisogyny and transmisandry is used as a way to fuel the fires of oppression olympics by saying that "if ur a trans man u experience less oppression than a trans woman." and it seems to be mainly fueled by the idea of "woman (oppressed) + trans (oppressed) = really oppressed" whereas "man (not oppressed) + trans (oppressed) = not as oppressed" when its nothing like that.

its also incredibly hard to find Any information about transmisandry. i always see "trans men just have it/pass easier" and even other transphobic statements of how going on T makes trans men more aggressive and assertive. i feel like tumblr has been the only place ive seen any genuine discussion about transmisandry and even then its not great or very informative.

i believe that both transmisandry and transmisogyny should be acknowledged as real forms of oppression rather than being used as a way to oppress ppl further.

i dont wish to cause an argument as these r just my thoughts and i genuinely want to hear yours on it too

So the TL;DR my opinion sort of boils down to "Yes, I think they can be incredibly useful terms when used with intention and clarity of purpose" but there's a lot of nuance to that opinion. Basically though - I mostly agree with you on a conceptual level anon. I just wanted to write an essay.

(and also I don't fully address some things in this ask because frankly I'm burnt out and don't want to talk about them at the moment and I made this blog to talk about my special interests anyway. Sue me ‪¯\_(ツ)_/¯‬)

Something I've been noticing in my reading of Intersectional/trans-inclusive Feminist literature, combined with my engagement with trans activism, over the last few years is: We're all very, very afraid of talking about sexism right now and it absolutely makes sense why.

It makes sense because the conversation has been ground to dirt by TERFs constantly yelling about "sex-based oppression" as a means to be transmisogynist and degrade the womanhood of trans women. However the response to this has been deeply flawed in my opinion.

Instead of actually addressing sexism as it's own distinct form of oppression under an Intersectional lense, we've simply made a hard left into only discussing gender informed oppression and only legitimizing gender informed oppression in the form of misogyny. It's a very uninformed response in my opinion actually - but that also makes sense because it's currently very hard to be informed on general feminist theory and politics at the moment because Radical Feminism is a fucking plague.

In reality though, sexism and misogyny are two different forms of oppression that often overlap because gender and sex are different classes of identity that often overlap.

This degradation of language - both from TERFs conflating sex and gender and from Intersectionals/progressives separating the two so hard they don't even acknowledge sex - is what I think is part of the cause of this problem that is leaving trans men / trans mascs with a massive hole in our ability to discuss our experiences. And not just trans men either!!! It's also nonbinary and intersex people as well who are harmed by this void.

So that begs the question: How do we actually talk about sexism in an Intersectional Feminist, trans inclusive, capacity that combats Radical Feminist rhetoric on sexism?

And the answer? Is carefully, consciously, and in a manner that is aware of several different experiences within the nebulous concept of female identity.

I will actually be using the word "female" as a term a decent amount throughout this post. For the sake of this discussion I am defining "female" as anyone anyone who presently identifies as female due to their assigned sex as well as anyone who is socially treated/viewed as female due to their gender, legal, and/or medical statuses. In this post "female" is an umbrella term that includes cis women, trans men, trans women, nonbinary people, and intersex people who feel that definition applies to them in relation to their sex.

Because the fact of the matter is that Patriarchy and our society at large hate women and they hate people who are assigned female and they hate people who are female and those are distinct categories of people with a lot of overlap and a lot of differences.

Female identity is like venn diagram of sex informed experiences that cis women, trans women, trans men, nonbinary people, and intersex people all have a place in for various different reasons. It's a diverse category of experiences and this should be a touchstone for solidarity, not division in my opinion. The experiences and needs of one group don't inherently negate the experiences and needs of another similar group, even if they conflict, you know?

It's a concept I've actually adopted from disability activists, who often talk about the ways in which disability activism often has to address conflicting needs because sometimes some disabled people's needs are in direct conflict with each other!! Conflicting needs are not something unique to disability activism though.

Most groups and classes people have conflicting needs within themselves and I think there's a lot to be learned in gendered activism from disability activists in this regard. I think often in activist discussions a lot of people stop when situations stop impacting them directly instead of trying to find commonality and empathy with similar experiences. It's easy to have knee jerk reactions, it's harder to pause and contemplate.

So, let's actually contemplate transmisogyny and transandrophobia/transmisandry as terms for a moment.

Transmisogyny was coined as a term by Julia Serano in 2007 in her book The Whipping Girl and I do think it's incredibly useful for describing the ways in which transphobia (the broader oppression of trans individuals) intersects with misogyny (the broader oppression of women) in specific ways wrapped up into a specific term.

I've engaged in a lot of criticism of The Whipping Girl because, well, I think for just about every excellent idea Serano posits about the trans feminine experience she undercuts it with White Feminist rhetoric and simple "cis men and women are opposites therefore trans men and women are opposites" type rhetoric that harms her arguments more than helps them. HOWEVER! Serano herself even articulates that misogyny and transphobia may intersect in ways that impact nonbinary and trans masculine individuals differently from trans feminine individuals, and that additional language may be required to fill that gap in The Whipping Girl!!

So now there's a bit of a linguistically philosophical discussion to be had here on the function of language and what language we can actually use to fill the hole trans men experience with our language - which is also where we dive back into talking about concepts like conflicting needs and sexism.

When creating terminology (or jargon), one must take into account several things like clarity and context, which is why personally - I do not like the term "transmisandry" at all. I use it as a tag because I know some people prefer it as a term and I'd like my posts to reach that audience as well. Generally speaking though - I think any inclusion of "misandry" as a term will always be a nonstarter in most discussions on gender. It's much too loaded of a word because of it's association with the misogynistic actions of MRAs among several other semantic reasons.

An argument could, I think, be made for a term like "transsexism" which would describe the intersection of transphobia (the broader oppression of trans individuals) and sexism (the broader oppression of female individuals) but I think that is still too broad if we want to talk about trans masculine experiences specifically. (Though I do still think it may have contextual use as a term quite frankly - that's just beyond the scope of this post).

So? Then we come to transandrophobia and a conversation on misogynistic, sexist responses to masculinity in people society forcibly identified as "female women" under patriarchy.

I want to state that off the bat that I take a lot of issue with the way people dismiss trans men's experiences as just "general transphobia" or "default transphobia" because... Why are you automatically treating a man's experiences as the universal default? Especially when there are things based on the intersection of his manhood and marginalization that he experiences that women of the same marginalization don't?

I have this issue with most other conversations about the intersection of marginalized identity and manhood honestly. It actually really reeks of unconscious misogynist bias to me. But I digress, that's not the subject of this post.

I think a lot about Brandon Teena and the motivations for his murder. I think a lot about Lou Sullivan's diary entries about his loneliness and isolation with regard to being around trans women and lesbians - as well as his history fighting for his right to medical transition. I think about P. Carl's musings about the ways in which his entire community abandoned him once he came out as a trans man as opposed to a lesbian woman. I think about Irreversible Damage by Abigal Shrier and the way she manipulated - if I'm remembering correctly - YouTuber, Chase Ross into misleading interviews that skewed his words and stories to attempt to "prove" her points about how "our girls" are being manipulated into transgenderism via social contagion spread through platforms like YouTube.

I think about the ways in which trans mascs - particularly those on HRT - actively avoid medical care because of the deeply gendered nature of gynecological care and also because we are treated like medical freaks and abominations when we do try to seek that care. I think about the ways our bodies are inherently, deeply impacted by the overturning of Roe V. Wade and how our decisions to not carry children via abortion or hysterectomy - or our desire to carry children - are met with the phenomenon of medical misogyny like any other woman or female individual but in a way that also explicitly intersects with our transness.

I think about the ways in which Patriarchal society sees my "female" body in direct opposition to my identity as a "man" and how that is something that needs to be "corrected" back into "female womanhood" via rape and assault. I think about my own corrective assault a lot. I think about how the 2015 National Trans Survey actually found higher self reported instances with sexual assault in trans men than in trans women. I think about how I personally see that as a touchstone of solidarity with my lesbian siblings and especially with my other butch siblings who also have their expressions of masculinity treated as deviancy that deserves corrective action.

I apologize for diverting into less of an academic musing into prose and also for diverging from the subject of this ask directly into a much larger essay - but I am simply so tired of trying to say that I and other trans masculine people are people worthy of having our own language for our own experiences instead of just being dismissed as a privileged class - quite literally on the basis of our own oppression.

Especially when people use the words of someone like Julia Serano to say we don't deserve that language when she herself posited that maybe we should have it. Especially when Kimberlé Crenshaw - the woman who created the theory of Intersectionality that Serano is attempting to engage with in The Whipping Girl - has stated that one of the goals of Intersectionality is to create language for and give voice to marginalized identities that otherwise are not given language and voice.

So - What do you call it when trans masculine people are explicitly targeted on the basis of their trans masculinity? What do you call that intersection of sexism, misogyny, and transphobia that misgenders and attacks trans masculinity explicitly? Because that isn't "general transphobia" - that is transphobia motivated by a Patriarchal desire for control over the broader "female identity" that society is seeing as "too masculine".

It's trans-andro-phobia. Transphobia targeted at a particular group of trans individuals on the basis of their masculinity in a way that intersects with a sexist, misogynist, Patriarchal desire to control perceived/forced female identity and the subsequent interpersonal and social ramifications that come alongside that systemic abuse.

Focus, intention, and clarity of purpose.

---

I do want to add that there is absolutely something to be said about the fact that these conversations are all extremely White at the moment.

Radical Feminism is a deeply White (and White Supremacist) movement. Conversations on Trans Feminist theory in general are still deeply White as well. Julia Serano is very much a White Trans Feminist, and as such most responses to her work by other White trans people tend to be, well, very White.

I myself am even contributing to the prevalence of Whiteness in the conversation because even though I am Ashkenazi I am also still White. I might be informed by and am actively using concepts formed by Black Women and Ethnic Minority Women as the basis of my own theories, but that doesn't erase the context of my own race in this conversation either.

I really do not want that to be lost upon people, especially other White people. A racialized context matters in this conversation because Race and Gender really cannot be fully separated from each other in conversations about power and systemic oppression.

Bonus TL;DR - Read The Will to Change and Feminism is for Everybody by bell hooks. Read Audre Lorde. Read Kimberlé Crenshaw. Read Leslie Feinberg and Judith Butler. Read María Lugones. Learn the concepts they are presenting and then also learn how to apply those concepts in a consciousness and self aware manner.

#this isn't perfectly everything i wanted to articulate but i'm tired of this sitting in my drafts #especially when i'm getting really burnt out on offering this kind of essay for free with my main responses to them being sui bait anons #or parasocial bullshit #transmisandry #anti transmasculinity #transandrophobia #transmisogyny #intersectional feminism #feminism #anon #long post /#asks

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lover-of-mine · 8 months

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Hi, hi, hello, I am here once again to sound absolutely insane while arguing something buddie, this time from Buck's side because I haven't done one on him in a while. I think this is a Buck needs to choose defense, but who knows really ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Okay, I've talked about this before, but Oliver is a really big guy, he's taller than the rest of the cast so we don't see Buck looking up a whole lot. In conversations where Buck would be in a more vulnerable position, they put all of the involved sitting down so they are on the same eye level, when he tells Abby about the catfish guy, when he talks to Maddie after the bombing, when he talks to Maddie after Red dies, when he finds out about Daniel, when he talks to Maddie after the thing with Jonah, when he talks to Bobby after the lightning.

Or they're both standing up, when he talks to Bobby before he quits before the tsunami, when he talks to Bobby after the lawsuit, when he tells Bobby he is one of the most important people in his life, when he tells Eddie about the fight with his parents, when he talks to Bobby after the crane, when he’s helping Eddie fix the walls (as I was typing this I noticed the trend of having him sitting down with Maddie and standing up with Bobby, which makes sense considering how much shorter than Oliver Jennifer is and how Oliver and Peter are just a few inches apart).

Or they have Buck being the only one standing up, or just at a higher level, so that he has the high ground in sense, when he tells the 118 about the thing with Daniel, when he yells at his parents, when he talks to Maddie after he messes up with Red, when he breaks up with Taylor, but it is a trend to not have him look up at people. (All of these have more examples, I just didn't feel like screenshotting every major Buck scene lol)

People he does look up to in vulnerable moments, moments actually end up leading to a fight? Ali and Taylor. He looks up at Ali when she's talking about not understanding what the job means and when he tells Taylor he kissed someone else. So he looks up at his love interests. Before a fight, but still looking up. Ali is the most intense example I could find in my quick skimming of the scenes I could think of, but since Taylor is standing up and he's sitting down, it counts.

This does nothing for my point but I do want to point it out. He looks up at Eddie before the confrontation at the gym lol. Sure that ends with Buck towering over Eddie, but it starts with him looking up at him and fits the trend (or actually starts it? Considering this happens before Ali or Taylor lol).

I could be wrong here, maybe there are other moments where he's looking up and I just can't think of them right now, but Eddie is pretty much the only person he consistently looks up to, when he clears with Bobby for Chris to stay at the station (not about him but he's looking up), the Hildy incident (this one is just funny but it happens), when he tells Eddie it would’ve been better if he had been shot, after Chim leaves to look for Maddie, after he dies. And it's interesting to have those last two scenes because he's going to Eddie for advice and they decided to literally have him look up at Eddie.

Conversations with Eddie fit all types of categories when it comes to the two of them because they are best friends, just focus on these ones tho (you can read this for thoughts on framing in multiple scenes tho)

"But Anna you've said this before in at least 3 different posts already" I know, I know, and I have a point, I promise.

I like taking season 6 knowledge and recontextualizing the previous seasons. What does Buck want in season 6? Answers. From the dude at the happiness convention to “I’m the guy with the answers, I kinda like that”. But it’s not crazy to say that Buck has been looking for whatever this answer is his whole life, but the main thing is that Buck keeps looking for answers outside of what he already has, the choice he makes is to look for something else to make things make sense and for someone else to tell him so he can pretend he's not responsible for the consequences. There’s a whole other discussion here and I was talking about this yesterday, but Buck doesn’t really make choices in his life (bisexual king 🫶), he fell into firefighting, he tripped into every relationship he had, he didn’t pick his apartment, he still hasn’t picked a couch.

Okay, but why does that relate to the whole looking-up thing? I don’t know if this makes sense, but I think in a way he expects Eddie to have the answers in a way that’s a bit, not excessive, but like, bordering on too much? Like, for example, the way he takes what Eddie tells him before the tsunami and runs with it, the whole just move on thing that he is still doing (I’m kinda fascinated about the way that the end of the cemetery conversation gives the same message that Eddie tried to push onto him there and we all know how that ended for Eddie), the whole “somehow we manage to just suck it up, why can’t you?” and “a lot of I’s in there” and “you’re making it about you? again?” that does make Buck act as if having feelings about traumatic events means he’s making it about himself, makes him selfish, that makes him act as if he needs just to push through. He keeps following Eddie’s lead at all times. And I think that is something that needs to be addressed in some way before they can have a relationship. I do think post-lawsuit Eddie is trying, post-therapy Eddie is trying even harder to not lead them wrong or dismiss Buck’s feelings, and if Eddie asked Buck out, chances are he would say yes, but it would leave the question of whether he’s just following Eddie’s lead. Because Buck keeps tripping into relationships. We don't see him ask anyone out, we don't see Buck make the decision. The only way to fight this is to have Buck be the one to march to Eddie and go “I want this, do you want me?” and hope he’s doing the right thing while knowing he is the one who went for it.

And like, I don’t really think Eddie would ask Buck, not for lack of wanting, but because he runs from fights he’s not sure he can win, dude retreats back to safety like no one else, and taking a leap with Buck is not safe. But, hey, we’re supposed to believe Buck is the one who keeps running into unsafe situations, so sure, have Buck do it.

And I think the cemetery can be used as a start for that, because Buck keeps trying to get Eddie to tell him what to do, he keeps looking at Eddie and waiting for him to just give him the answers, but Eddie already retreated from the fight, he’s all “whatever you say, bud” so Buck thinks he’s doing something Eddie agrees on, but what Eddie wants is the opposite, the shift in the way Eddie is handling that conversation is really obvious and to have Buck go against it could be used in an interesting way.

And the cemetery scene itself opposes the whole looking-up thing because Eddie refuses to keep looking at Buck while Buck keeps poking him to get him to look. Buck is all “*tugging on his sleeve* tell me I'm right tell me I'm right tell me I’m right” and Eddie is all “you’re right buddy *narrators voice* he doesn’t think he’s right at all”.

And Eddie is locked out of making changes in the relationship in a sense, because Buck basically told him “this woman is the one” so why would he risk the friendship when Buck has made it clear what he wants? In Eddie's head, it's a fight that's already lost, so why would he jeopardize the part of the relationship he does have for something he thinks is hopeless?

But Buck doesn’t have that, I think right now, the power is in Buck’s hands, Buck needs to realize he has it and Buck needs to make the choice to use it.

Mr. Human Calculator I Have The Answers Now needs to accept that life has a level of unpredictability and go for it anyway. Start fighting the current he put himself in and getting the things he does wants not the things he thinks he should want.

Random rant about the cemetery if you feel like reading my thoughts on that.

Random post about Buck, water, and the way he just goes with it forever and ever.

Shorter post about why Buck needs to choose.

My tag for metas if you liked my brand of crazy. 🫶🫶🫶

#this looks longer than it is #its all the screeshots sokaoskaoskas #i have no hinges left oasokasokaosk #yes i know i sound crazy its fine tho #911 #buddie #otp: you don't need to pretend with me #911 meta #buddie thoughts #buddie meta

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texture32 · 1 month

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Some things, insight.. full of love… it seems.. but what is true of what is happening. To some joy is a pity.. almost lost in the dust of the ashes, burned cashes and stashes for the sake of what we feel is a better future.. the past is always new.. remember that.

Love found again, is like brand new.. swaying the mind in to the beuatiful blue is nothing new.. but that magic can break hearts.. like lost joy. Real joy

That is what some search. I researched as a past time. Some would pay a dime for that, in other places and other times.

And like lemons, same with limes. I dont spit bars, i make lines. For myself.. sad as it seems, blue was always a hint of the dream.. in all senses..

Romanticism is often plagued by the word love. But like a virus.. if true, only corrupts the bad in us… So keeping the dark hidden and what not, i feel i have a step towards true thought.

Purified, process or not, direct indirect, both, indirect direction and vice versa.. my boredum may be a sign to myself that i should do something. I dont know what ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ weakness like luck? Hard to care.. when all is confusion to one. Understanding what pain is.. something ive pondered if i should have knowledge of. Something ive.. thought to sought from time.

Path of pain.. suffering understanding how not to blame…

Stay ignorant. Or not. Enlightenment has a dark or.. soft spot. But like a compass without gauss to gauge and navigate the seas, lost adrift, maybe to find a new breeze. A new scent from shrubs and foliage and trees. Blue fruit.. blue weeds..

They say the Dao flows to the lowest place.. im quite simple.. but i know that means searching low is where you find peace. Be that it, i search deep. Desires euphoria is not what i thought it was. Glad to know. Never knew magic existed. Now i must play the true fool, and be caring of the seeds i sow.. and when they grow.. not take them for granted. Thats human to understand.. but what would an inscect think of such a thing.

Humanity brings forth good things. Maybe i should stay in the know. But keep my darkness for those who need it most. Doping the brain with drugs.. id rather not, however im stuck in this rut. Humanity brings good things. Nature and its creator mapped out something… im just a screw lose. Its somewhere out there stranded. I can hold myself together. But i actually feel unhinged, windows got no outside pane, no ledge.

Of itself.. can you go below the Dao.. maybe the blueprint of life is being rebuilt to something high.

Natural true joy and bliss, no needs to be met.. thats the paradise i imagine in my head. But never a memory to forget.. only grateful we met the goals end and start. Maybe build higher things, dream new dreams. Find a higher place in harmonious strings…. Ionic bonds and spag being old things, i cherish the old teachings, taking them literally.

Intelligence… ive always loved.. but my heart is upside down. And the higher parts not so well. Confusion alone isnt so swell. So i keep to myself. Compassion turning on itself.. purify the truth within..

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striveattemptfail · 9 months

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unless specified, all images are from rho #56

babs' bridesmaids + dick's groomsmen:

cassandra cain (batgirl) + duke thomas (signal)

dinah lance (black canary) + damian wayne (robin)

stephanie brown (spoiler) + tim drake (red robin)

helena bertinelli (huntress) + jason todd (red hood)

i've left steph and dinah currently as is bc we see dinah later performing

and she's the one with curlier hair/not matching steph's hairstyle with bangs

due to the height, i've labelled cass and helena with duke and jason respectively since cass is much shorter than jason and closer to duke's height, so her being taller than jason's shoulders (even with heels) doesn't make sense. i admit that i could very much be wrong though because of the next observation—

—which is the placement (and therefore the roles) each bridesmaid and groomsman plays

alfred officiating makes sense

even if it wasn't super fanon-y, dick and babs aren't shown to be incredibly religious and alfred probably got ordained god knows when ago bc he's immortal lmao

jason being closest to the centre likely means he's dick's best man

which makes sense, at least in this universe. not only did he tell jay he was gonna propose, but jason admits that dick and babs they support him when he doesn't deserve it

rho #38

so not only is he close with dick, but babs cares about him too, which likely means that she wouldn't mind that jason was the best man at their wedding

what interests me most is helena being closest to the centre, and thus potentially being babs' maid of honour

(or, if i'm wrong, then it's cass being the maid of honour)

i've personally always seen dinah being the closest to babs between the birds of prey, and both cass and steph as equal between the batgirls

so it's an interesting choice to have helena or cass as maid of honour in either case

of course if i'm completely off-base with my guesses then none of this matters at all lol. and maybe their positions don't matter either and nico lined them up that way arbitrarily

it's just something interesting to think about is all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#red hood: outlaws #red hood outlaws #rho #.jesus christ i am not tagging all these people #nightwing #dick grayson #red hood #jason todd #oracle #dc oracle #batgirl #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #jercy liveblogs things

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nautilusopus · 2 months

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Do you have any advice for anyone trying to get into writing?

Not really a motivation thing or anything, just for improvement. Your writing has captivated me, and I felt like it's better to get advice from an author that is reachable than reading a ton of articles online regurgitating the same steps.

Aw, thank you, I'm honoured!

Apologies if this is kind of a mess, I mostly went through stuff I come back to a lot that helps me. Also tumblr seems to have removed the ability to do indented bullets. Fucking great.

In General:

When I'm first starting out writing a story I'm excited about, I usually don't do things in order -- I'll instead pick one scene I can see extremely clearly and am super excited about, one of the things that made me want to write the story to begin with, and then build the entire outline out from there to set it up (what needs to happen to set the scene up exactly how I want it to be? How do I justify that stuff? What would happen afterwards that would add to the scene even more in retrospect?) This not only helps keep the energy going for parts of the story that might not necessarily be fun to plan, but will inherently cause you to start building a story that is either circumstantially or thematically building to something. It can be something as small as a single conversation but it should be the bit that you personally want to see realised most strongly.

On that note, people like when they can see foreshadowing! That's what it's there for! This has been said by other people plenty, but I'll restate it here: the audience potentially being able to piece together your twist after a while is not a failure in writing, it means you put information into a story that allowed them to engage with it and conveyed something that made sense.

I personally sometimes (but not always mostly due to laziness and because I do try to approach shit chronologically so I don't have to double back and do massive rewrites, also due to laziness) like to write big keynote moments of character arcs in full in advance once I have the whole plot more or less laid out. That way, I know what's coming emotionally speaking and can have characters start clearly building up to things, do stuff like plant specific phrases that come back in big ways or are recontextualised later on, and it makes the story feel more cohesive as a whole and helps the scene hit a whole lot harder when you do get to it. Like I said though I'm lazy and I also don't like creating more work for myself if I don't have to, and if by chance the story doesn't shake out the way I thought it would by the time I get to that moment then god is it a pain to rewrite that sort of thing.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Mostly I find it helps keep me focused on where it's going. It's a late stage thing though, I don't start doing this until I'm sure I know how the story will be laid out more or less chapter by chapter, which brings me to:

GO BACK AND CHECK IF YOU HAVE A MIDDLE OF YOUR STORY. ARE YOU SURE? GO BACK AND CHECK AGAIN. This is like the number one pitfall I see basically everywhere across any genre, both with fanfiction and professionally (and in movies always winds up manifesting in reviews as "the movie gets kind of aimless after a while/the third act kinda starts out of nowhere after a really slow part). People have an idea for a strong beginning, the rising action and the big dramatic moment when the stakes are raised, maybe a quiet moment in the middle reflecting on all the tension of the plot and how it's reflecting on the characters, a thing that sets off the end, probably an idea how it ends and how things resolve, et cetera -- and they will forget that at no point did they actually create any connective tissue between their plot development points. Travel! Character beats! The actual events in between big beat A and big beat B, no matter how barebones! Go back and check if you've made any!

As someone that writes a lot of heavily character-driven stuff I'm very biased here, but: in my opinion, if you have good, solid characters, they can carry even the most barebones dogshit story because they are the lenses that the audience is experiencing the world from and through, and whose actions are potentially shaping the course of the story, and of course who the reader is getting attached to. Conversely, even the richest, most lavishly detailed world and story is going to land with a thud if your characters aren't any good and don't have any more to them than making various political developments happen, because at that point you don't have a story with different elements interacting with each other to create events and tension, you have a lore wiki, which is not the same thing as a story. Maybe you could use that for a tabletop RPG, but people aren't necessarily gonna want to read it.

RELATED: JRRT was a linguist and historian first and a writer second. Lore is great and all and can help your world feel like it's a living breathing place, but think about if it's a good detail to include onscreen or not, or if it's just there to "flesh out the world". Stop to consider if this actually has a demonstrable effect on the things happening in front of the reader or not, and if anyone would notice if it were removed outright. Can some things be assumed? What might need to be explained?

Keep an eye on narrative voice versus character voice! If I stripped the dialogue tags from your story, could you still tell who was talking? Does everyone just talk like the narration? Like each other? Like you? Everyone is gonna sound like you at least a tiny bit because you're the one writing it, but at least try to keep an eye on how much you're doing that. It can be pretty boring to just listen to one guy talk the entire time across multiple mouths haha don't look at how long this post is getting shhhhhh

Any story (but especially horror, and especially especially cosmic horror), lives and dies by its suspension of disbelief. The rules don't need to be realistic because it is all made up, and they can be any rules you want, and if you establish them clearly then the audience will buy in as best they can because they want to engage with your story on its own terms (or they SHOULD grumble grumble but that's another discussion and not really something the author can control), but then once you've made them you need to stick to them, or when you do break them it should wind up meaning something.

Suspension of disbelief in horror or fantasy can be trickier, especially when it's something weird and the rules aren't even mechanically sound in their own setting. In that case, the important thing to preserve is emotional stakes the audience can buy into, about how this situation might feel to be in, or if there are any things in real life it might feel similar to. This one's more intuitive than you'd think. Sure, you might not know that the veil of reality is flimsy and all it would take to destroy it all is to get noticed by something much vaster than you could ever imagine; but you probably DO know what it's like to be one missed rent payment from losing everything and realising your safety was really all that never sound. I don't even flinch if someone's head explodes into gore in a movie, but I'll always wince and look away if someone has their fingers crushed or their eye pierced, because even though the violence is lesser I can imagine that happening to me and I don't like it one bit!

Horror can potentially struggle with this pretty badly. Unless you're writing a slasher where the point is to watch some dumb teens bite it, your movie won't actually be scary unless the audience can in some way feel endangered, and they won't be able to do that if what is going on is too disconnected from anything a human could experience. Writers tend to get fixated on making a Really Gross Scary Thing(TM) or Biggest Evilest Threat Evar(TM) and assuming their job is done.

There's no one right or wrong way to do something, but be aware that sometimes things tend to come up in stories a lot for a reason. The tools you have are just tools. Complaining a story has tropes in it is like complaining a tree is made of wood.

That said, if you're thinking of your story entirely in terms of which tropes you want to use, it may be time to take a step back and think about what you actually want to accomplish rather than mushing the same paste into the same holes for the 800th time (more on that later).

Dialogue. If it's something you struggle with, remember that chances are you're a person that knows how to talk, and so you inherently know how to create dialogue. The biggest pitfall I see is people overthinking it trying to "Write Dialogue in this Story" rather than just typing an idea the way they know inherently that it would be typed. If you wanna try and capture a much different voice, spend time listening to people -- and I mean really listening. People double back, correct themselves, trail off, change their train of thoughts in the middle, do more or less of these things when they're in a certain emotional state depending on their personality.

Frankly I'd spend time listening to real people anyway. Spend too much time online and characters wind up sounding like Twitter threads, or worst case scenario you wind up with perfectly articulated ideas and Therapy Speak. A character might not have the vocabulary you, someone who has been online for eighty to ninety years (est) would to convey specific ideas, and not everyone is perfectly self-aware about what they're saying. Someone's probably more likely to say "fuck you I had a bad day" than they are to go "gosh i dislike how much your own success reminds me of how my own mother held me to impossibly high standards so i have very high rejection sensitivity which is why i'm lashing out". Or, again, if someone does talk like that make it mean something. It could be a good example of someone either being insincere and going through keywords to shut someone up, or someone that's very socially awkward giving a rehearsed speech, and those are all potentially interesting ways to then take a story.

(Sidenote because I see this come up sometimes: Hate to single out a single genre here, but anime and by extent video games but mostly anime is a bad place to learn to write dialogue from -- if you're listening to a dub, they had to translate stuff from Japanese and then make it fit lip flaps on a screen, and if you're watching subs, not only were the subs translated but anime trends heavily towards melodrama and Japanese people typically do not speak that way.)

You gotta know the rules before you can break 'em! Read books. Actual books I mean, not just fanfic. Broaden your horizons. When you start breaking rules it will be because it's what you want to do.

Personal nitpicks, some fandom specific and some not. I'm aware some of these are basic but also you never know who might need to hear this stuff so:

Hentai is not a good place to learn about writing actual sex. It's a great place to learn about sex that is following pure porn rules, in which case go nuts and godspeed soldier, but unless you want your scene to come off as either unintentionally rapey or full of nonsensical leaps of moon logic when you're trying to write an otherwise somewhat grounded setting, you should probably read actual books meant for actual adults about fucking, or pull from your own experiences if you're able.

* This isn't advice but I want it known at this point I've seen at least three fanfics clearly written by a middle schooler that's never fucked before and honest-to-god genuinely seems to think some degree of omegaverse is how actual sex works. So that'll be interesting to encounter going forward. If you aren't committing to porn rules (there's that "the rules can be anything you want so long as they're internally consistent" bit again!) do research is my point.

If you started your character creation with their outfit and can tell me their star sign, bust measurements, the four shirts plus jacket plus socks plus shoes they're wearing, the kind of weapon they can summon, eye colour, hair colour, skin colour, height and weight, their agility score versus their magic score, and their favourite ice cream flavour, and yet you have one paragraph about "personality", your focus might not be in the right place and you are making an MMO character. That's fine for something you're going to be staring at the back of for 200 hours but maybe not for someone you're going to need to live inside the head of. Start with personality, and you can tailor all that fun back cover dossier stuff around who that person is and how it would inform the way they dress.

Bad child dialogue is my biggest pet peeve personally and I will immediately put a book down when I encounter it lol. A bigger portion of people are around children than you think and will notice if you've never interacted with a kid before. Children are not cavemen and do not talk like them. The gaps in their vocabulary tend to come from them having a limited amount of it and adapting new phrases into the few existing frameworks they have. This carries over to their psychology, by the way.

Specific to cosmic horror: you can't just make a Gross Thing, your horrors need actual motivations. Nobody cares how big of a squid you can invent, and going "uhhh it's so scary I don't have to bother can't describe it" can only work so many times and is not an excuse to at least not try to describe something. How it makes the characters feel, what the experience is like, whatever. Now, you don't ever have to tell the readers directly what the motivations of your old gods are, but you the writer should come up with some to shape their behaviour so the readers can see the inscrutable ghosts of clear patterned actions that almost make sense yet remain just outside human comprehension oooooooooo. Also readers can generally tell when that's missing and all you have is Large Squid Scary doing random gross shit so it's not an excuse to skimp.

Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. We have pronouns. We have context clues. We have sentence structures that convey what is going on to the reader. We have nouns. If you are going to constantly refer to your character as The Brunette it better be hugely massively goddamn significant that her hair is brown or it's gonna become clear real fast that you just ran out of ways to phrase things and it's gonna take people right out of the story. If the only way you can think of to describe your character in an intense emotional scene is "uhhh this is the one with the brown hair remember I hope you didn't forget" then that's code fucking red. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets. Stop using hair epithets.

And the two biggest bit of advice I can come up with for people trying to improve their craft that I give out every time:

1 Have a point. Have a clearly identified reason in your mind about what you want to accomplish with this story. This will help you get your thoughts in order when you are stuck, it will help you outline the story if you're not sure where you want it to go next, it will help other people troubleshoot with you if you aren't sure how to start solving a problem, it will help you make decisions about what and what not to include to help it feel complete, and it will help motivate you when you start to lose track of why you even started this project. Saying "well it's a Vampire AU and I want to do Hurt/Comfort with an ambiguous ending and a BAMF!Scrongus with Soft!Cromgle" doesn't tell me a damn thing, either as a reader OR as someone potentially trying to help you whip the thing into shape. That's a bit like asking, "How do I write a Cute yet Cool character?" like bitch I don't know it's your story there are a million ways to write this stuff and yes that is a real question I got asked once.

Instead, have an actual, identifiable goal that is personal to you, what you want to write, and what you have to say. That can be anything from "I have a lot of strong opinions about why gender is, across the breadth of experiences possible with human consciousness, a zero sum game that must be internally and deliberately engaged with before one is then able to determine their own relationship to it" to "oh man i love the idea of Mark from Accounts Receivable one day going apeshit and beating Jake from Auditing half to death with an office chair and the fallout that would generate and maybe also someone FINALLY FINALLY asks him for the first time 'hey dude are you okay do you wanna talk'" to "god it'd be so hot if this guy were bent over a pool table drooling onto the velvet and i am going to do everything in my power to facilitate that somehow". Either way, clear mission statement and goal that isn't just telling me what tags you're slapping on the finished product! If you have that kind of clarity of vision it will come across in your piece and resonate with people because it's a complete thought that the work is able to deliberately showcase, instead of just churning out Content™ that fits certain templates that are popular, even if you like said templates. What do you have to say? Why did this idea stick in your brain so hard you had to write it down and tell the world about it? What parts of it especially did you want to convey so badly? Show us!

2 Writing is vulnerability by proxy. Until we get the technology for brain uploading, you are only going to ever be you in your own head with your own thoughts, experiences, biases, and worldviews. If you think you can write something without exposing a lot of really revealing shit about yourself to an audience that notices it, perish that thought now. Quentin Tarantino and HP Lovecraft weren't slick about it and you won't be either. This is neither a bad thing or a good thing, it just is, and whether it affects the work for better or for worse is honestly dependent upon how you engage with that fact. I will say trying to back away from it generally leads to problems (unexamined prejudices showing up in stories, worldviews that it turns out most people don't share going stated simply as fact rather than being supported by the writing around it). It can also lead to a stronger story, though, if you're willing to engage with it. Engaging honestly with what scares you and why, what you find comforting, uplifting, upsetting, et cetera. All of these require vulnerability, and allowing other people to see that, and it's going to happen with your without your consent because you're the one writing the thing, so you may as well make peace with it and lean in. "But what if it's cringe" too late baby most things are cringe and that shouldn't be your focus. You are fighting a losing battle. We are all cringe. But we are free.

Hope this helps. I just know I've left half a sentence fragment in here that I said I'd come back to and then forgot oh god

#asks #Anonymous #spitegarbage

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