To Fight With Fire

This was so well done.

I was just thinking about something that keeps returning in fandom...

People acting as if Scott somehow thinks in black and white, while Stiles to them thinks in shades of grey, which they translate to 'is willing to kill'. And it's just such absolute nonsense.

A big part of the issue here that I've noticed, is something fandom often loves to ignore. Namely that from s1 on, Scott was most often the one being attacked, the one forced to deal with life or death choices. While Stiles, still got to keep seeing death as something abstract, something that happened, but wasn't a decision that he personally had to make. Stiles wasn't forced to resist the urge to kill, he didn't have some force in his head try to make him kill people, and in the early seasons, he was a foil for Scott. Someone who didn't have to face the choice between life and death. For Stiles that responsibility did not come until s3b.

Scott didn't have that privilege. Even as early on as s1, when Peter tried to control him, he was forced to feel what it would be like to maul and possibly kill someone he cared about. It might have been just a dream, but all too soon he had to find out it was a dream based on reality. the reality where Peter tried to make him kill someone. And it took all of Scott's will power to resist doing so.

And then not long after, Peter forced Scott's darkest instincts to come up, making him actually want to kill his friends. A experience that clearly horrified Scott. Because he'd already had that feeling in the first two episodes of the show, where his instincts made him go after Stiles, his best friend.

So when Peter sent Derek after Jackson, for Scott, that wasn't some abstract notion, it was reality.

It wasn't just people trying to kill him, and the fear of that, but the fear that he himself might kill others. Which is why in s5 to him, the worst thing to happen to Liam would be for him to have to live with having killed Scott. Not for Scott's sake, but for Liam's...

For Scott, killing isn't some black and white bullshit, it's real, it's a way of ending any and all other possibilities for a person.

When Scott refuses to kill, it's not because he believes in black and white, or good and evil, it's because he doesn't.

Because he knows that just because someone is an asshole, or does bad things, that doesn't mean they're evil, that doesn't mean they deserve to die. Because he believes in shades of grey. because Killing and Death are not just funny abstract threats, or exaggerations, it's something real, and it's not a decision that should be taken lightly.

Stiles can argue for killing, since he's never expected to be the one to do the deed. He can ask Scott to "consider letting [Derek] die," or to "kill Jackson, problem solved," because he's not the one who has to bear the responsibility.

Now admittedly, it's not that Stiles had no idea of how dark things really were, not after the end of s1. he'd seen dead people, Lydia’s mauled body made it more than real. His willingness to consider killing was more from powerlessness…he didn’t see many options to stop the killers without killing them. After all, in S1 his first instinct was to have Derek arrested and it didn’t work, so he suggests murder and killing, but still never has to actually make the choice to commit the killing himself

Not until s3b, and even then Stiles choice was 'lock himself up' or let the Nogitsune kill. The same choice Scott already had to make in s1.

Fandom likes to pretend Stiles could easily kill the bad guys, when the reality of the show is that when Stiles did accidentally kill, in s5, it devastated him. Because just like Scott, he came to realize that killing is final, killing is destructive, and doing so should never be a first solution.

Both Scott and Stiles had to make these choices, both of them came to the same conclusion, and that's something fandom loves trying to ignore.

I NEED MORE WORD PORN !!!!

Okay normally I think the writers of opinion pieces for large newspapers should shut up but-

god, your worst warrior needs money

Everyone needs to read this at least once

Sun - Peter Pan/gn Reader

warnings // none. this is more or less a comfort read for anybody who needs it.

"Come away with me," he said. "Come away, and they'll never make us go anywhere or do anything ever again."

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It is very common knowledge that life isn't fair.

As a child, you understood that before a lot of your friends did. You were forced to grow up fast. You were always a little different, a little misplaced, and often alone. School was a place of stress and home wasn't as sweet as they made it look in the movies.

When you were a little kid, you'd escape into stories; Worlds of adventure and wonder where you could be whatever you wanted. You could save princesses and princes. You could sail a raft through storms using the stars. You could fly.

But stories don't protect you from the world. You had to let them go eventually. So life became studying and applications, part time jobs and debt, losing touch with your few friends and constantly grappling with the feeling that you'd lost *something* a long time ago.

It was a winter night and you sat in your car, far away from home. The stupid thing had broken down on you, and you'd just managed to pull to the side of the road in the middle of a town you didn't recognize. You shivered and climbed into the backseat, bundling up in your jacket and praying that you'd fall asleep before the chill began to ache your bones.

After a while, for seemingly no reason at all, you began to cry. Softly, with the tears being the only thing to warm your cheeks. It was just so dark, so freezingly uncomfortable, and you'd just realized that there was nothing in your life that you really wanted to return to.

What were you missing? You weren't a child anymore, so why did you still feel this way? Why couldn't you just be normal, like every other functioning human being on the planet? Why did you feel so heavy?

Suddenly, something else was warming your cheek- a soft hand caressing your face and wiping a tear away.

You jolted, automatically jumping to the other side of the back seat. You stared at the window, which you didn't remember rolling down. Outside of the car was the face of a boy.

It was hard to make out his features for two reasons. One, it was dark.

Two, he was hanging upside down.

But hanging from what? The top of your car?

Either way, his bright eyes peered at you with an unruly head of hair hanging from his head. You were too startled (and cold) to speak.

"Hello, angel," he said softly. His voice was... warm, and somehow inherently playful.

You stared at him in confusion. "...what?"

"You're an angel," he said sincerely, cocking his head to the side. "Aren't you?"

".....what?" You leaned forward a little, trying to get a better view of him. "Why are you... How are you...?"

As if suspended in tue air, his head turned upright like a dial and you had to guess that the rest of his body was turning with it. "You're cold," he observed simply. He flashed an inherently boyish smile. "Sillly one. You're not wearing any furs. If you stay like that, you're just asking to get sick."

You blinked at him before sniffling. You looked out of the windows and saw that there were no nearby houses with the lights on, nor any cars stopped nearby. He must have just wandered up to you from the road. Maybe he was hitchhiking, or homeless. Either way, he seemed harmless enough, and it was absolutely freezing outside. "I'm sorry," you said gently, "you must be cold, too. Do you want to sit in here until morning?"

The boy looked at you curiously before nodding. You opened the door and he poked his head in suspiciously. He looked around as if he'd never been inside a car before. He crawled carefully inside and sat next to you, shutting the door behind him.

You could see him much better, now. He seemed the same age as you, probably in his late teens. His clothes were... strange. You were slightly more convinced that he was homeless, now. The dirt smudged on his skin attested to that.

"I can turn the heater on," you offered, "but only for a while."

He turned to look at you. "Why were you crying?" He asked, ignoring your words. "I didn't know angels cried."

Despite yourself, you gave a small smile. "I'm not an angel," you said, feeling silly.

He quirked his brow and smiled as if he didn't believe you. "Yes, you are. I've heard stories about them. They're strong and beautiful, like mermaids with wings. And they sing, too! You sing. I've heard you."

You blinked at him, before realizing that you'd been trying to hum yourself to sleep while you'd been crying. He must have heard you through the window.

He might have been crazy, but something about him charmed you. As the two of you spoke, you exanged stories about home. You told him about the stress, about making other people happy and struggling all the time. He would interject only to ask questions- more than once inquiring if any of this made you happy. More than once, you found yourself being depressingly honest.

He told you stories about his home. You didn't believe it for a second, but he seemed to believe it, so you didn't protest. He came up with adventures about pirates and mermaids, about living on a magic island where the winter never came and all the things that had ruined this world never made it to the shores of Neverland.

You couldn't help but listen to him eagerly, like a child absorbing stories they knew could not be real but loved anyway.

It was evident that he loved talking to you. He became animated, miming things out with his hands and reenacting swordfights the best he could in the cramped space of the car. When you laughed, he glowed.

He talked about the boys that he lived with- either friends or maybe siblings of his. He spoke about one of them, who had told him about angels in the first place.

"He told me that angels lose their wings sometimes," he continued. His bright eyes scanned you with interest. "I think you lost yours. Unless you're hiding them beneath your coat, but I don't think they'd fit under there- unless you have little wings like a fairy. But you're too big-"

Suddenly, a firefly zipped in through the window. It flew over the boy's head and began flying around the inside of the car. It even flew into your face, and you gave a little yelp.

The boy chuckled and picked the bug out of the air, holding it in his palm. "I told you to let me talk to them. You don't make good first impressions."

The bug chimed back at him, talking like the sound of a bell.

"No, that's not what I- Well, yes, Tink, but- Okay, okay! You can have one look, but then you've got to let us be. You promised."

The firefly fluttered out of his hand and once again passed by your face. It settled down on your knee. You had half a mind to swat it away, but as you stared at it, you began to see a strange shape in the glow.

Your eyes widened and you gasped. It was a little... person. A fairy. She perched atop your knee and looked up at you, studying you appraisingly. She turned to look at the boy and spoke with her chiming voice in way you could not understand.

"I'm Peter."

You turned to look at the boy and he grinned at you. "Peter Pan. Her name's Tinkerbell, but she also answers to 'royal inconvenience'."

The fairy shook her hand at him and seemed to be scolding him. A sense of wonder filled you and you laughed at the sheer strangeness of the situation. "Oh, hello, Tinkerbell." You looked at her with your eyes shimmering and looked back to Peter. "She's very pretty."

The fairy seemed pleased at that. She flew up to your cheek, patted it kindly, as then began to explore the rest of your car. She seemed to enjoy looking through the miscellaneous trinkets in your glove box.

"That's a fairy," you whispered, watching her excitedly. "A real one. Oh my god."

But Peter only watched you. Something twinkled in his eyes, something knowing that seemed beyond his years and seperate from his boyishness.

"Angels don't belong with other people," he said. "They belong in the sky. In a good place, with other angels like them."

You weren't sure what to say, so he kept going. "I have a shadow. He's a quick, mischievous thing, but he completes me, I guess. You, however."

He scooted forward, ignoring any common semblance of personal space between strangers. His eyes scanned you curiously. "You look like you are a shadow. Like the bright part of you has been put away into another room. Maybe it's gone back up to the sky, or maybe you lost it when you lost your wings."

You still weren't sure what to say. Without any warning, you felt the tears want to well up, again. He saw it, and frowned with sympathy. He reached a hand out and caressed your face, the same way he had before. You closed your eyes and melted into the warmth. "Don't cry. It's okay. Please, don't cry."

You sniffled and hid your face in your hands. You heard him shuffle around in the crambed back seat, before he pulled you into his arms and held you to him. He was so warm, like the sun sat inside of him. He put one hand on your head and tucked you beneath his chin.

"It's too cold for an angel, here," he said. "Let me take you somewhere warm."

You chuckled gently. " 'm not an angel."

"A fairy, then. You're a little fairy who can't fly. They won't let you fly, here. They can't teach you how."

He pushed away to look at you. "But I can," he said proudly. "I can show you."

Tinkerbell's voice chimed, and you both watched as she zipped around the car before zooming out of the window. She did circles around you, shining like a shooting star through the windows. It was beautiful.

Then, she aimed up towards the sky and never came back down

"Where is she going?" You whispered.

"Home," laughed Peter. He opened the door and crawled out excitedly. He took your hand and pulled you with him. "If we go now, we can get there before morning. I can show you the stars, and we can help hunt for breakfast, as maybe even ruin Hook's beauty sleep-"

But he tugged at your hand and staggered. He looked back at you. You weren't moving. You were still in the car.

You looked at him with a strange feeling brewing inside. Not a good one. A fearful, doubt filled one.

He knew that look and smiled at you, shaking his head. "You just have to believe silly one," he said. "You just have to think happy thoughts and trust me. The rest is easy."

But you still did not budge.

He sighed and let your hand go. "Alright. But don't act all suprused."

And without warning, he rocketed from the ground.

You watched in pure awe as he flew through the street, looping around lamp poles and wire towers. He giggled as he went, and brought the biting wind with him.

It was exhilarating.

He dropped to the ground before you. He kneeled down and held your hands in his.

"You," he said, still panting from his laughter, "are a lost one. I just know it. I can feel it. You'd be perfect with us. We'd have fun every day and every night. There's still time to escape," he whispered. "There's still time. We can be free."

He stood up, keeping your hands in his. He walked backwards, and you left the safety of the car, walking with him, mesmerized.

"Second star to the right and straight on till morning. You cant miss it. We'll outrun the dawn, if we go fast enough."

He squeezed your hands and the biting cold wind whipped at your side. You ignored it completely.

"Come away with me," he said. "Come away, and they'll never make us go anywhere or do anything ever again."

His feet began to lift from the ground. His eyes glimmered like stars. His hand was warm in your's.

"Come with me, angel. Come back to the sky."

You looked up at him, and it felt like staring into space itself. Like staring into the sun.

"I know you can still fly," he promised. "I'll let you in on a secret. You don't need wings."

And without any effort at all, your feet lifted.

𓅨 How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You Masterlist

How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: After saving a strange man from a fishbowl cage, you earn yourself a favor. When you cash in said favor, you don’t realize that you and the man aren’t on the same page on what you need from him.

Overall Warnings: Misunderstanding, Hilariousness, Morpheus Not Realizing You Don’t Actually Need Him to Marry You.

To Note: Morpheus x Afab!Reader

(Current) Total Word Count: ~10.3k

𓅨 Chapter One

𓅨 Chapter Two

𓅨 Chapter Three

𓅨 Chapter Four

𓅨 Chapter Five

𓅨 Chapter Six

Date Published: 12/4/24

Date Completed: NOT YET COMPLETED

Last Edit: 1/27/25

Morpheus/Dream Masterlist

the way i’d genuinely be logan’s dog. he could put a collar on me and pet my head and scratch behind my ears and i’d always kneel/lay/sit at his feet. i’d make a terrible guard dog but he doesn’t need one of those anyway. i’d just be a ‘sit there and look pretty’ show dog for his enjoyment

Joan of arc vibe