I apologise, but I don't see how getting in writing (even in some sort of legal document) helps at all in regard to the morality of ghouling? All it could do, in my opinion, is serve as a cruel "gotcha" down the line. "Oh, now that you've changed in ways you couldn't ever truly comprehend before making the decision ‐ no matter how much it detail it was explained in - you've found there are aspects of the lived experience of being a ghoul that you don't enjoy? Well, look here! You signed your full consent, so shut up!" I know you've spoken out about not condoning ghouling, so this is more to the other anon than to you. If people are going to create ghouls I can't stop them, and I do appreciate the other anon giving informed consent their best shot, but I don't understand the point of having them sign something? 1/2 🌹
In addition? Informed consent is a nightmare because of the masquerade. You're going to explain the process in detail before you create your ghoul? Congratulations, now a mortal knows the ins and outs of one of our secret practices. What happens if you explain everything, and they take that information and say, "That all sounds horrifying, no thank you!" Now there's a non-ghouled mortal running around knowing things they shouldn't, in significant depth. Even if you don't kill them to preserve the masquerade, it's likely only a matter of time before someone else does. If the Prince of your city is worth her, salt they'll be dead by sunrise. Maybe the Camarilla presence is slack where you live, you've still created a problem, this person could go running to hunters and leak information that gets other ghouls and kindred murdered. Just something to consider, informed consent only goes so far when after you hear it it's "now go through with this or we have to kill you to keep our secrets." 2/2 🌹
I think that is more of an issue with the Masquerade being a double edged but necessary sword than with trying to ghoul someone as ethically as possible, but I agree with your points.
Getting someone's consent in writing theoretically would make sense in a world without need for Masquerade. It would really be like agreeing to something risky and life-changing but likely not deadly.
We cannot afford to be honest if we want to exist. We cannot jump over that.
So recently there was this overflow of ai slop on twitter, and one of the people involved started taking commissions for their “ai artwork” 10 dollars a piece. Which is obviously ridiculous. People started retweeting it showing how much better hand drawn art was with their own examples. Then some asshole made a python code to train the ai off of the retweet art just to spite the artists.
I of course saw an opportunity for comedy and made a bunch of funny little fucked up creatures, and then retweeted the original post with them to add a little poison to the water supply.
What if Tilly wasn’t the one to Amelie entrusted with Drew?
Following up the poll I had posted, I wanted to break down how I think this what if would go in each of it's possible situations.
I should note, as much as there is a possibility for others beyond Tilly, Bergan, Manfred and Vega to have been entrusted with a baby Drew, the named characters that could be are few and questionable if possible given the time line.
This post will contain and discuss spoilers for future books/seasons
As much as I would be interested to explore Drew being raised by Huth in Redmire or by Griffyn (or even Shah) on the run, these have a few too many asterisks attached for me to explore in this post.
For this hypothetical, I'm only exploring three possibilities. If Bergan raised Drew. If Manfred raised Drew. And if Vega raised Drew.
First, I want to set ground rules of how I'll treat the possibilities for each potential timeline. I want to be as logical as possible while
Unless there's ample reasoning to assume otherwise, events that transpire in the canon timeline (book or series) will happen. Ie Lucas (if born) being betrothed to Gretchen, Whitley becoming a scout of the green cloaks, Hector training to be a magister, etc.
If there are competing pieces of canon across Wereworld and Wolf King, I'll defer to Wereworld as canon.
If details from Wereworld and Wolf King don't contradict each other, then they are treated as canon to both.
I’ll only cover the ‘certainties’ of the what if. Feel free to explore and expand on any of these as you like.
In any situation that Leopold is killed, defeated or otherwise removed from the throne, word will find its way to Bast.
Whomever Amelie entrusts Drew to swears an oath to raise and protect him. They can't abandon him or sell him out (*cough* *cough* Vega), they have to raise him as their own.
Leopold finds out about Drew and sends Vanmorten to kill him on the Hunter's Moon. This feels like an event that will happen regardless of with Dad Drew has, setting off his journey but it will play out differently each time.
I'll also try to theorize what could change about Drew's character if he didn't grow up with the Ferrans.
Timeline 1: Manfred raised Drew (Stagdad!Drew)
Stagdad!Drew is probably the variant of Drew that is the most incognito amongst his new family. As he could arguably pass as one of Manfred's children or as Mikkel's son.
Growing up alongside Reinhardt, Milo and Mia, Drew likely would be trained as a knight. Being a much more refined fighter than he is in the main timeline. His personality would likely be similarly effected, more honor and duty-bound. Acts like a werelord noble, not a farm boy of the Cold Coast. More willing and prepared to take up his destiny of being King.
As pointed out by @jgvfhl, Drew growing up in Stormdale would likely be one of the safer options for him. Far away from Highcliff and, if push comes to shove, he could be sent to Omir for safety from the Lions.
Stormdale also has its close proximity to Tor Raptor, the Screaming Peak. The resting place of Wergar's sword, Moonbrand, and the way to call the return of the Hawklords. The only wrinkle in that being that only Griffyn knows Moonbrand is there, as he put it there before Leopold took his wings. And his opinion of the other allies of Wergar would make him not inclined to share that secret.
But in the Stagdad timeline, likely during the tour the Lions did of Griffyn and his wings through the Barebones, while at Stormdale Manfred would earn his trust back in revealing he's taking care of Drew.
So, when Drew comes of age (on the night of the Hunter's Moon), Manfred takes him to Tor Raptor in preparation for retaking the throne from Leopold.
Paralleling what happens to canon Drew in SotH, Stagdad!Drew and Manfred are attacked by Vanmorten. Who likely brought a few crowlords with him.
Though Drew is able to make it to the tombs to retrieve Moonbrand, Manfred wouldn’t. Vankaskan sticking him with a silvered dagger. But not before the Duke of Stormdale took the rat bastard with him.
I like to think the last thing Drew sees of Manfred is the only father looking proud one final time. And for Manfred, maybe he sees a shadow of his former friend in Drew.
With Moonbrand in hand and the Hawklords returning to the Barebones, there’s not much else for Drew to collect allies and storm Highcliff keep.
I needed to brush up my 3d modeling skills, so I used a couple techniques in Blender to come up with this nice decoration! It could have come out better, but it got me back on the horse in terms of modeling! Really happy to have this come out and be displayed on my shelves.
The little spheres here are items in the Game(Vail Vr) that you need to interact with in order to plant the bomb in a search and destroy-esque game mode! They have a gradient between light and dark blue in game, and I should have designed it with more alternating colors between light and dark blue, but I need to think a bit more on how to do that seamlessly with the techniques I'm using. So, for now, I just made the spheres wide alternating prints between the cyan and dark blue.
The Text itself was made in geometry nodes taking advantage of a displacement on the circuitry pattern, along with a cube boolean to seperate the colors from eachother for dual extruding.
Exploring the idea of the reader/Tav being sent by Raphael's daddy to spy and distract him from power grabbing INSTEAD of Haarlep. Throwing into the plot that the reader is still kidnapped by the Nautiloid and thus becomes a keystone in Raphael's crown heist.
I'm starting this off as a drabble, to set the scene and get a feel for the reception of such an idea before I fully commit.
I really want this to be a multiple part series, perhaps with a prologue of how the reader was sent by Mephistopheles to spy on Raphael instead of Haarlep (or whatever Haarlep's name was before HoH).
Raphael x reader (gn) | reader's race is up in the air, though probably from infernal persuasion, I like giving you guys the freedom to use your imagination as much as possible | rivals/enemies to assets with benefits
“’Go distract my son’ he said, ‘it’d be easy’, he said.” You growled in frustration as, for the umpteenth time that week, you cleaned up after Mephistopheles’ infuriating son. “I can hardly report back to the old chap while elbow deep in his son’s shitter.”
You felt the familiar warping press of the planes flexing, signaling Raphael’s arrival back home.
You heaved a sigh. “Great.”
“What a lovely sound to return to.” Raphael greeted, strolling into the boudoir, not deigning to look at you. “Ready to return to my father with your tail between your legs?”
“For the thousandth time, no.” You sat at his ornate desk and propped your chin upon your hand. “Though I am putting my foot down. Utilize the slaves you have to do your menial labor, I’m done.”
“You are one of my slaves, pet.” Raphael murmured, a hard edge to his voice.
“I serve your father, Raphael. Or should I double check with him really quick?”
Raphael rounded on you, eyes burning. You stood to meet his anger, your defiance flaring corporeal flames around your body.
“You serve me.” Raphael said each word with dangerous emphasis.
“I’m going on strike.” You seethed back.
He towered over you, your noses almost touching, the mutual enmity palpable in the hot air.
“You are yet protected by the archdevil, for now.” Raphael’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he regained composure. He didn’t step away. “That does not shield you from my wrath, little impling.”
That rankled. “What’re you going to do, fuck me sideways on the floor again?”
“Begone, nattering pest.” Raphael waved a hand in agitation and turned from you.
“I know about your plans for the crown, Raphael.”
That stopped him in his tracks.
You smiled slowly. “This is precisely the kind of thing that led to my being sent here.”
“Then it is evident you are failing at the job my father appointed you.” Raphael tsked and began his daily ritual of setting in order his contracts. The rustle of parchment mingling with the crackling fireplace as he feigned disinterest. “What do you plan on doing with this information?”
“I’m keeping it close to my chest, for now.” You cooed, stepping near him and sliding your hand along his tense back. “Just wanted to let you know, master. I am a player not a pawn.”
Raphael caught your hand and held it tightly, squeezing until your fingers hurt. “Naive creature. Then you are bound to lose.”
“Who said I’m playing against you?”
The question hung in the air. Raphael breathed in slowly, deeply, his hand relaxing ever so slightly around yours. You slipped your fingers from his grip and kissed his cheek coyly. “Just a thought.”
Then you deftly made your way from his boudoir before you devised other ways to tempt the Fates.
You had indeed been dealt an interesting hand, and were determined to explore your options to determine which path would be most self- beneficial.
A plan that might have come to fruition had the Nautiloid not thrown a wrench in it. Traversing the vast barren fields of Avernus near the House of Hope, you saw the Mindflayer ship blast into being. Too close to where you were. You felt the horrible ache of familiar helplessness as the monstrous ship bore down on you.
A flash of white, an excruciating pain, then all went dark.
Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!Reader (she/her)
Summary: after butting heads during an ill-fated interview for her debut album, Y/N and Campbell become professionally linked against their wills.
word count: 907
genre: enemies to lovers, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings
cw: nothing yet, will let you know if that changes!
Chapter 1
Next
-TMZ: Breaking News! Long lost pop princess F/N L/N has been spotted outside her apartment in New York for the first time in over a year. A comeback may be just around the corner, a source close to L/N reports. Posted: 4 min ago -
“Good god, just when I thought I was rid of the wretch” Campbell groaned. He tossed his phone on the desk and leaned back in his desk chair. Y/N… to say he hadn’t thought about her in a year would be a lie. He might have hated her music but god no one could keep up with his banter like she could. In the time it took most people to make out his accent she was already firing back some witty response.
Their first meeting had been years ago. Back when he was still a full-time intern and part-time radio host on the graveyard shift. Y/N was days away from releasing her debut album, both of them unknowingly teetering right on the edge of overnight stardom.
The station gave him an interview with the singer as a fluff piece and he was determined to make the best of it. At the time the rumor was she’d only secured the spot after catching the eye of some studio executive’s son. Y/N’s lead single was charting well but Campbell guessed she would likely be another one hit wonder, destined to fade into obscurity. He’d been given an advance copy of the album and nearly fell asleep listening to it. The production was predictable and flat, the lyrics were repetitive and meaningless, and the vocals were… well the vocals were quite good but he’d never admit that out loud.
All Campbell needed was a good old publicity stunt and he was on his way to securing his own show. Determined to expose this clear industry plant, Campbell put Y/N in the hot seat and his tongue ran away with him. He endlessly grilled her about her new album and the flaws he found in her character because of it. Much to his surprise, she didn’t falter. She matched him for every hit, striking back quicker and harder each time. He found the exchange utterly thrilling. Scratching a particularly manic part of his brain, the part that loathed idleness and people who talked too slowly. So they verbally went for each other’s throats for the next half an hour. Exchanging cleverly harsh witticisms like a game of battleship. Which is to say by firing blindly and seeing what landed a blow then concentrating all your attention there. By the time the radio station techs told them time was up, a part of Campbell was bit sad to see her go. Never one to keep a thought to himself, stood up to tell her so. She, however, tossed her headset on the desk with a huff.
Y/N muttered a quick “Fucking finally” under her breath, before marching out of the studio without another word. It was in that moment that Campbell decided he had been absolutely right about Y/N. She was shallow and vain. A hollow figurehead for everything wrong with the music industry. She had no passion for the art, and it was insulting. The assumption that he would likely never see her again gave some comfort to his wounded ego.
But fate could never be so kind, he should have known that. Their careers and destinies were now undeniably linked. As the he stared up at the ceiling of his too small and too expensive New York apartment, the seemingly meaningless late night radio interview Campbell wanted to forget spread like wildfire. Those that despised Y/N’s music took Campbell’s word as gospel, bashing her music and praising his superior taste. Fans of Y/N rallied behind her and praised her composure. But the part of the interview neither side could get off their mind, was the heated chemistry between the pair.
Within 48 hours, both of their timelines were filled with half-baked think pieces and edits of themselves. It was all surreal really, watching strangers on the internet discuss you like you aren’t real.
Campbell’s stunt pulled in more attention for the station than they’d had since the dot com boom. Viewers fell in love with his unique voice and frantic energy, demanding Campbell get more airtime until the studio was forced to give him his own show. And the controversy surrounding Y/N’s debut caused it to rocket to the top the charts, trending in the top 10 for weeks.
But that was years ago. Almost seven now, to be exact. After that first interview, all anyone can wanted was a repeat performance. A chance to see the two quick-tongued hot heads in another cage match. That TMZ leak was a warning. Campbell laid in the dark and prayed that the call he knew was coming would miraculously never come. He fiddled with his New York Giants cap and wondered why he ever came to this town in the first place. Ah, yes, the unrelenting blind optimism that had gotten him so far.
As his phone lit up the black of his room, he knew it had failed him once again. Campbell almost let the damn thing go to voicemail. On the cracked screen of his old beat up phone was a call from a contact labelled: ITS THE DEVIL’S HENCHMAN DINNAE ANSWER IT.
So Campbell accepted the call.
“How would you like the exclusive interview for F/N L/N’s comeback album?”
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Next Chapter
a/n: ahh so this is first fanfic i’ve ever written. i have an idea of where i want this to go so if people are into it i’d be happy to keep updating it. this chapter was mainly to establish some background info. anyway thank you for reading!!! love you!
Warnings: Injury, blood, near-death experience, use of weapons
Summary: You are once again paired with the Maverick Jedi Knight on a planet facing a militant uprising. A brush with death brings some hidden feelings to light.
Word Count: 2k
--
"Fall Back!" Commander Karrus's voice carried across the battlefield as shots sparked off the concrete barrier you were crouched behind.
The militia might have been shit shots, but there were enough of them to outnumber your squad and keep you pinned down.
You glanced over at the Jedi next to you- the two of you had been paired together before, but never on a mission that had gone south this fast. He raised his green-bladed lightsaber and let out a shaking breath; under his arm, you could see a bloom of bright red staining his robes.
"Qui-Gon-" you ducked as a blaster shot rang off of the concrete and sent a spray of dust over your head, "You're hurt! We have to fall back."
"No," the Jedi winced as he moved to peer over the barrier, "I can hold them off- you and the rest of the squad head for the transport."
"Are you out of your mind?" You rolled to the side and took a shot at a soldier who had made his way around your cover; he dropped to the dirt with a cry of pain and you turned your attention back to the Jedi, "I am not leaving you here!"
"You must," Qui-Gon clutched at his side; when he pulled away his hand was covered in blood, "If we lose the package, we have no hope for peace on this planet."
You cursed and popped up from behind your cover, sending blaster shots singing across the battlefield toward the quickly advancing militia.
"If you stay, I stay," you dropped back to the dirt behind the barrier and stared at the Jedi.
"Karrus-" you shouted into your radio over the sounds of blaster fire, "The Knight and I will hold them off as long as we can- get the package to the transport."
There was a long silence before the radio crackled to life and the Zabrak returned a solemn "copy".
Qui-Gon winced as he rolled from his back to brace himself on his knees- his lightsaber hummed as it laid in the dirt, the hilt still clutched firmly in his fist.
"What's the plan?" you peered over the top of the barrier and quickly ducked down once more when a flash of red nearly singed your hair off.
The Jedi traced crude shapes in the dirt with his finger- your position, the enemy, and the barriers were recognizable.
"The barriers make a bottleneck," he pointed at the small gap behind the two of you, "If we fall back, they have no choice but to funnel in and we can pick them off."
"Okay- on three-" you crouched at the ready and Qui-Gon grunted in pain as he did the same.
"One," your muscles tensed, "two," you felt as if your brain was a live wire, "THREE!"
The two of you dashed the short distance to the second set of barriers and dove into cover. The militia quickly swarmed to your previous location, shouting in their alien language and fanning suppressive fire over your cover.
Your translator picked up a few errant words-
"Suppress!"
"Explosives!"
"Strike!"
"Kark- it sounds like they have a damn explosive out there!" you glanced at Qui-Gon and he squeezed his eyes shut in defeat.
"Can you see anything?"
You leaned out between blaster shots and took stock of the enemy's positions- there were at least 20 of them. Your eyes widened as they fell on the seeker missile aimed directly at your cover.
"Seeker missile," you murmured and the Jedi sighed; you were surprised when he laid his hand over the top of yours.
"Our sacrifice won't be for nothing," Qui-Gon squeezed your hand gently, "There will be peace here- the Force wills it."
You smiled at the thought of Karrus and the others making it to the transport.
There was a sound like nothing you had ever heard that erupted in your ears, then your vision went dark and the world fell away around you.
Pain.
That was the first thing you became aware of, before you were even truly awake. You let out a whimper and blinked your eyes open, trying to rid them of the blur that clouded your vision.
Your surroundings slowly swam into focus- you were in a medical ward, sterile and bright, hooked up to a bacta infusion unit. Beside you, a medical droid whirred away quietly as it bandaged your arm.
Qui-Gon-
You tried to sit up and let out a yelp as pain seared across your chest and nearly knocked the wind from your lungs.
"Please. Do Not Attempt to Move." The medical droid chirped at you and you laid back down.
"Let the bacta do its work," Karrus was standing in the doorway, "You're lucky to be alive."
"How did I get here?"
"Vermillion Squad finally broke through the planetary shield and blasted those bastards from the sky. We landed shortly after and retrieved you and the Jedi from the rubble."
"Is he alive?" you blurted the words out and Karrus grinned.
"He is. He's worse off than you are though- he was awake when we got there, still holding onto you. Wouldn't let you go until we practically pried him off."
Your ears heated at the thought of Qui-Gon holding tightly to your unconscious body.
"Can I see him?"
Karrus moved to your bedside and examined your wounds, "Give it a few hours. He's in the isolation ward."
The hours felt like days as the bacta infusion slowly healed your singed and tattered flesh. How you had managed to survive was a mystery you didn't dare contemplate- you had already made your peace when the seeker missile hit.
"You are Now Permitted to Move." The medical droid chirped at you once more before returning to its charging dock.
You sat up gingerly and swung your feet down to the floor; you padded slowly to the door to the isolation unit on the far side of the room. The mechanical door opened with a whirring sound as you approached and you stepped into the dim light with catlike silence.
The Jedi was lying in the only bed in the room- his eyes were closed and two bacta infusion pumps were hooked to his body. You approached the bed slowly, fearing just how bad his injuries might be.
"You don't have to slink like that."
Qui-Gon's voice nearly sent you through the roof and you let out a curse under your breath. When you glanced up, he was watching you with a rather playful smile.
"I was trying not to wake you."
"I wasn't sleeping. I was meditating." Qui-Gon said simply.
"Sleeping, meditating, whatever-" you paused to catch your breath, "I'm...sorry. I was just worried."
The Jedi looked amused at your words, but said nothing further. You fidgeted absentmindedly with the hem of the hospital gown that was draped over your shoulders.
Something nagged at the back of your mind- a thought that threatened to burst from your mouth at any given moment.
"You want to know why your injuries are less severe than mine."
You blinked in surprise at the Jedi's words, it was as if he had pulled them directly from your mind.
"I suppose I do," you folded your arms as you spoke, "I was closest to the entry point- the seeker missile would have hit just feet from me. I should be dead."
Qui-Gon chuckled and finally tuned his grey-green eyes to yours-
"Jedi are taught to use the force as a barrier- seasoned masters can even shield entire starships. I, however, was already injured and severely drained of my energy."
"So you...shielded me?"
The Jedi smiled, "I did. The blast still rendered you unconscious, but alive."
"Why?"
"I didn't want you to die," Qui-Gon stated it like he was discussing the weather.
"Seems like it might have been more than that-" you moved closer to the bed, "Karrus told me that you were holding me when they found us."
There was a very pregnant pause while the Jedi studied your face as if he was weighing his options. Internally, you weighed your own- you had worked with Qui-Gon at least a dozen times and had his back at least double that. You'd kill for him, hell, just yesterday you were prepared to die with him.
But it wasn't just a partnership of necessity or military order- though perhaps it had started as such. Now, however, you asked to be paired with him; you flipped through files until you found duo missions that allowed you to be close to him whenever possible. To say you enjoyed his company would be the understatement of the century.
You would be a fool to deny your feelings for the Jedi.
But you also knew of the Jedi Code- they were forbidden to have attachments, platonic or romantic. Qui-Gon was practically the definition of unattainable.
The Jedi cleared his throat and jolted you out of your internal deliberations- he was staring at you, his expression unreadable.
"You want to know why I shielded you?"
"Yes," you almost whispered it.
"We have worked together for almost a full solar cycle now," his eyes never left you as he spoke, "Despite my...training, I have grown fond of you."
"Fond?" you bit back a laugh at the expression, "Really?"
Qui-Gon chuckled, "What would you prefer I say? Yesterday, we were prepared to lay down our lives for each other, as I have been willing to do nearly since the day we first worked together."
"Really?"
"Does that surprise you?" the Jedi raised an eyebrow.
"No- I just always assumed...the code..." you trailed off as the words escaped you.
"Not all Jedi adhere to such a strict interpretation of the code," Qui-Gon paused as the bacta infusion pump beeped and a nurse droid whirred over to his bedside to disconnect it.
"In fact, I refused a seat on the council because I do not agree with such puritanical beliefs."
You stared at Qui-Gon in disbelief and he smiled softly, his gunmetal eyes boring placidly into yours.
Fond. You rolled the word around in your head- what did he mean by that?
"I am in no condition to show you what I mean," the Jedi shifted slightly in the hospital bed, "but soon I will be."
Could Jedis read minds? You felt your stomach do a somersault at the prospect. Oh, the things you had imagined involving Qui-Gon; your face heated and you quickly tamped the thoughts down as deeply as you could.
"I am told that I will be fit for duty within the week," the Jedi glanced down at his injured chest, "When that time comes, where can I find you?"
You considered your options for a moment before answering-
