#REALM JUMPER FINALE

[crowvaarts]

REALM JUMPER SEASON 1 FINALE IS THIS SATURDAY!!!

It’s been 2.5 years in the making…. Are you ready for the thrilling conclusion to Season One of Realm Jumper? Tune in Saturday at 3pm EST on YouTube!

This project is so so so special to me and the entire team. The fact we are finally here is so amazing and I am so excited to share the story with you all!

[felassan]

The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard Deluxe edition (DA:TV artbook bonus stuff). [source, via]

"The deluxe edition features: - An elegant foil-stamped slipcase and cover - Gilded pages - A ribbon book marker - Two lithographic art prints housed in a sleek portfolio" [source]

It looks like the two lithographic prints are this mural (which is from the 2020 TGA teaser iirc) and this art of Solas with a wolf by Matt Rhodes (which is from the Gamescom 2020 video iirc). The packaging's color theme-ing is black and gold, reminding of this version (that pic is from 2021) of the game's branding/color theme-ing, and also of course bringing to mind the Golden/Black City. the Golden/Black City was featured on the vinyl cover arts.

The knife here on this cover looks like the 'blue lyrium' [?] dagger, but also simultaneously not like it.

This artbook cover one is more gnarled in appearance and the 'ring' of the handle isn't complete (the way the 'broken' handle could almost be an Evanuris headpiece-shape... if it was a bit more symmetrical, it would look like Elgar'nan's headpiece).

It has extra spiky bits protruding off it too and it looks like something is growing on it. Maybe this is what happens if/when the blue [lyrium?] dagger becomes red (Blighted)? because this gnarled kinda vibe reminds me a bit of Meredith's sword Certainty in DA2, and of that body horror way in which red lyrium growth looks on people. It also reminds me of the tendrils of Blight corruption on walls and the ground and stuff in DA:TV screenshots, and the gnarled red lyrium darkspawn we've seen (look at this darkspawn's back for example).

Or maybe there's simply more than one dagger? There's two rising Evil Gods.

in the background of that image is the now-familiar geometric patterning with the concentric rings around the outside that tend to represent the Veil, and also the multiple almooost-overlapping circles/spheres inside that is suggestive of an eclipse* (something which we can see in the DA:TV screenshot with the dragon, which keeps coming up, which speaks to a lot of the pertinent imagery/symbolism e.g. Elgar'nan overthrowing his father the Sun and darkening the sky, and something which to me makes sense in a Witcher-style Conjunction of the Spheres kinda vibe, multiple realms colliding, like, if you tear down the Veil, you're bringing two 'bodies' or realms together to 'overlap' once again - the Fade and the waking world). [*in the 'eclipse' link there it's just searching the word on my blog btw, since I've banged on and on about that lots before and I don't wanna repeat myself loads in this post hhh]. the placement of the dagger over that design and what it represents makes sense; as we saw in the gameplay reveal video, the dagger was part of Solas' ritual to tear down the Veil/move the Evanuris prison.

On this cover, we can see two eyeballs in two of the corners (the eyes remind me of the Inquisition hairy eyeball, the eye motifs cropping up around Lucanis, Pride, and the Fade peacock feather/eye motif [image from this post]). in the other two corners is a sword that reminds again of Certainty. Meredith brandishing the sword is part of this DA:TV mural in the bottom left, underneath Ghil. surely not a coincidence. :D maybe a Certainty-like sword is the final corrupted form of the dagger, or one of them? in TN, the red lyrium idol changed shape enough that a ritual-blade sprang from its base.

the background of this middle cover also contains triangles, reminding of ancient elven artifacts and ancient elven magic-tech (like with Bellara, the Veil Jumpers etc) and the recurring triangle symbols in DA art around Fade/Veil/magic-y stuff (example from the Tevinter Nights map below).

The cover on the right has more geometric patterns, circles, rings etc. (all these patterns remind of the art in the vinyl booklet btw). and, in the center, the eye again. 👁️

[naffeclipse]

Paper Burn

Animator!Reader x Ink Form!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

I'm not normal about @pure-plum requesting a little hurt/comfort moment from my BATDR DCA AU called The Jester and the Tagalong! I also have to thank Plum immensely for teaching me about animating and what a character like the reader in this instance would do with their work! It was a great help and made the fic so much better for it! Enjoy an inky world that you and the jester are determined to endure <3

Content Warning for self-neglect, pain, and angst.

———

Your inky hands twitch after you jot a number down in the corner of the animation page. A cramp shoots a spasm of pain through your drawing hand and you’re forced to lay down your pencil, then catch it again before it can roll off the uneven table—the muscles at the base of your thumb ache. Sucking a breath between your teeth, you slide the pencil into the front pocket of your jumper.

It’s not enough. The sprawling stack of thin paper lies empty and the few pages you dare to spare for a rushed storyboard are almost crumpled in your offhand. You force your fingers to unfurl and slowly, methodically, fold the storyboards into your front jumper pocket. At least you can take a moment to flip what you do have. Inwardly, you cringe at the inconsistencies you’re sure to find among the pages, spurred on by attacks and sudden escapes to another workstation.

This is the roughest you’ve ever done storyboards and animating with pencils. You have no x-sheet, no light disk, and no peg bar. Inking will be an entirely different hill to climb, but you’ve done it before. Ink the lines and paint the colors, and then you’ll need to find cels. This is stepping farther and farther out of your realm of skills, but the robotic jester promises you that you both will find a way.

Desperation and urgency drip into you until panic overflows into your veins. Just the same, weariness fills your bones after animating for the better half of a day—if such a place as this possesses hours and minutes. The sepia and shadowy colors of Fazbear Studios stain every wall and crevice. You’ve memorized the routes through the sprawling building, each department a massive expansion to work and craft a proper cartoon.

There’s another part of this world you and the robotic jester avoid as much as possible. The Mega Pizzaplex. A living realm for the inky form of cartoon characters to stalk through, beings which you vaguely recall, mostly in keynote frames and final animation sequences.

No place is safe. Only safer. 

A heavy pounding steadily expands behind your eyes as taut muscles in your neck protest the improper angle at which you work. Moon had found an animator’s desk for you to work at, but the inky monsters that sprawl over every inch of this world with gaping, multiple mouths sliding around their glutinous forms, and violet, piercing eyes with vague shadows of bunny ears destroyed it.

This table shoved into a far, forgotten corner of the studio with cobwebs and spilled ink is as precious as each animation paper you’ve collected in runs for supplies. You need it. You need it as much as you and him need your happy ending.

Exhaustion creeps up your back. You close your eyes, rubbing along your temple once to coax away the pain. You cannot stop. There is no luxury for a break. You aren’t certain when more dark, tacky creatures will spill into your hiding hole and sweep away all your hard work in one breath. Worse yet, you must be vigilant for Vanny and Inktrap. 

The former is a dark disciple of the rabbit demon, and she works tirelessly to hunt you and the robotic jester down with the intent to offer sacrifices to Inktrap. The dreaded being also prowls the halls in search of you and your companion. 

Nothing terrifies you more than hiding, caught tight in Sun’s arms as he presses you deeper against the shadows of a wall, shielding your body with his as you both hold your breath. The trembling presence of Inktrap stalking near. You fear if he can’t hear your breath, he will sense the drum-like beat of your heart. 

But he has yet to catch you and the jester. Both of you will get out of here. The cycle will end.

There will be a happy ending for you both.

Don’t stop, you tell yourself. Keep going. Staring down at the current page, there are three figures scribbled in pencil. Two men and what you think—hope is you. The two men are vague recollections from your dreams, possibly memories. One wears a flat cap hat and the other has wild, unruly hair. You press your tongue to the inside of your teeth, overwhelmed by the many more frames you must capture of their figures. It has to be right. You straddle the line between quality and speed, and you just might fail both.

You want to remember more. Vague visions touch you as if you walked through strings of spider webs, invisible, but there, ghosting over your skin. You can feel it, but you can’t find it.

Tears threatening to push past your eyelashes. No. You swallow down the tightening in your throat and slide your pencil out of your pocket.

The first few lines are smooth, practiced, and settled into your muscle memory, but then the cramp returns with a vengeance. You bite your bottom lip and keep drawing. Another line. Pain spasming through muscle, turning to wobbling waves. Your hand closes in the ache. The pencil almost falls from your fingers.

A creak of hinges announces the door opening to your hideyhole. Your head snaps to the entrance. A tall shadow falls inside. Your hands immediately fly to the stack of animating paper, prepared to stuff them into your jumper and then free the gent pipe from where it hooks onto your waist, but the shadow becomes a sharp-tooth grin. Half dripping in black and stained in sepia, Sun strides into the room. He swiftly swings the door shut without taking his glowing yellow eyes off of you.

“There you are, calico," he says as if he didn’t leave you with strict instructions to remain here until he returns. The sound of his voice calms your nerves. His cords are familiar and strong. He possesses such life and heart to his tenor, and you’ve found he can only manage a stage whisper when he desires to be quiet while speaking. You like that. You like a lot about him.

Sun. One half of the robotic jester who stays by your side, surviving with you.

“Hi, Sunny.” You slowly sink back onto the stool which is a touch too high to sit properly with the table you’re bent over. Setting the stack of animating paper back down, you regard him with a smile that takes far too much energy to summon than you like. “Did you find anything?”

He strides inside, moving one crook of his arm and shifting whatever was stuck underneath his armpit into his two clawed hands. The ink of his mouth is dark and lined with sharp incisors curved into a constant grin. Half of his face drips dark ink. His long, lithe body reaches you in moments.

“Yes, and you won’t believe what I have for you,” he grins, bolstered, even in the depths of this sepia-colored purgatory. “I present dinner!”

Your mouth gapes open at the box, realizing the markings upon it are designated for such an entree. When he lifts the lid, you never thought the constant yellow-ting and black colors would ever look appetizing on food, but the full diameter of the pizza, uncrushed and toppings spared of smearing, triggers salivation to flood your mouth.

“Oh my goodness.” You want to touch it, to hold a slice in your hand, but a cramp returns, and your fingers cringe. Sun’s eyes dart sharply to the motion. Quickly, you lower your hand, “Can you feed me while I work? I don’t want to get grease on the papers.”

Sun’s eyes shift, narrowing before he closes the pizza box and carefully sets it on the table, away from your supplies.

“I have a better idea,” he says cheerfully. He takes your wrist and slips his other arm around you, sliding you gently off of the stool and onto your feet.

“Sun, I can eat and work,” you protest. Vague recollections float in the back of your mind through a fog of memories of late hours and coffee cups. Crunch time. “What are you doing?”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He eases you further away from the table. The room is long and narrow, but there’s enough light from overhead to cast your shadow alongside Sun’s. “You’ve been working really hard and we admire your dedication to the perfect sequence, but you need a break.”

“No, there’s no time.” You try to tug on your wrist but he doesn’t budge. 

You watch as Sun takes you by the hand. Gently, he spreads open your fingers as you try to hide the slight ache in the movement. He sets his yellow digit into your palm and begins massaging the pinched muscle. Your eyelids flutter underneath the sweet, almost painful relief from the cramp.

“We will make time,” he declares robustly. His gaze falls over you, softly glowing. “You’re going to save us. The least I’m going to do is take care of you before you run yourself into the ground.”

His fingers begin working over the rest of your drawing hand. His metallic fingertips knead gently into your inky skin, caressing softly over your joints and along the bones of your wrist. The ache calms under the gentle workings of the jester.

Though you long to stay very still and soak it in, you can’t.

“Sunny,” you protest softly. “Please. Let me do this.”

“After some rest,” he says gently but firmly. He boops your nose and then twirls his finger. “Turn around for me, calico. There, that’s it.”

He guides you by the shoulders, softly turning you in place. You do so reluctantly, and with your back to the jester, your eyes fall upon the pages and pages of animation you must fulfill. You must make it perfect. You must make it soon. Your breath picks up in the slightest, anxious, before Sun’s large hands fall upon your shoulders. 

The tension in your neck compounds until the pads of his thumbs, careful with his claws, begin digging into the taut cords of muscle bunching along the top of your spine. A soft groan leaves your lips against your will. 

“Sounds like I found a tender spot,” Sun chuckles softly, but there’s an edge of concern cutting underneath his tone. “We should have made you stop a few hours ago.”

“I’m fine,” you swear but it comes out tired. You would have lost so much time and there’s no telling when another wave of monsters will slip under the door and attack with yellow fangs and inky claws. Even now, you worry about precious seconds. You can lose all your progress in the blink of an eye. Sun and Moon would have to wait even longer for their happy ending. 

But Sun continues unraveling your soreness with rhythmic presses and releases, up and down your neck and over your shoulders. Gently, he turns you back to face him. Your heart beats heavy within you as he takes your hand.

“Sweetheart, if you burn yourself out, you won’t be able to animate, and you won’t be able to make our happy ending.” He lifts one hand to cup your chin. Lifting your head slightly to study you, his glowing eyes miss nothing. He brushes a thumb along the bottom of your lip. You want to sink deeper into his palm until you no longer hold yourself up, but you have to resist. You have to keep going.

“Now, how about some pizza?” He asks in a way that’s not asking as he guides you to the floor. “Come sit on my lap.”

There’s little arguing when he’s made up his mind. You want to fight but the thought of working up all your energy to take on an uphill battle when you’re hungry and exhausted and even the pounding behind your eyes is begging for relief is too much. It’s as if the entire world is against you.

No, not Sun. Never him and Moon. They are always with you.

“You can feed me while I work,” you give but it comes out weakly as Sun’s long arm slides the box off of the table. Settling you into the comfortable fabric of his striped pants, he balances you on his legs and the pizza in the other hand.

“How about I feed you and let you rest?” His voice calmly darkness into something rumbling and sinister. The yellow glow within his gaze vanishes for a brief moment. 

“Sun,” you say softly, but watch him go.

Your heart used to clench at such a sight. A constant fear of being left here alone in the never-ending cycle has never quite fled from the depths of your core, but you’ve learned to wait as Sun’s face begins to bubble with thick inky blots. His entire face darkens like a new lunar cycle until out of the melting dark ink manifests a crescent moon face. His pants shift from stripes to stars, and his claws slip lower, wrapping around your hip to hook you in place. A nightcap sits on his head. The end of it drips with ink.

“Hi, Moon,” you say softly.

A low rasp, sinister and dramatically enchanted as if to be upon a stage, drops from the new jester. “Eat. Before the pizza gets cold.”

His voice might scare children, or maybe just enhance how villainous he could be, but to you, his voice is comforting. You feel safe.

“It’s already cold,” you point out. There is hardly any temperature in the food here. Everything edible has sat and turned stale long before either you or the jester can scoop them up for a meager meal later. You’d rather not think about the number of lukewarm Fizzy Fazs you’ve drunk.

Even the prize of a full, un-squished pizza is still little. All the more reason to escape the cycle.

You wonder if Sun and Moon like hot pizza.

Moon uses his thumb to flip open the box and reveal the greasy sliced food. Even at room temperature, the pizza makes your mouth water.

“It’s good for you,” he grumbles gently like you’re a naughty child. His grip on your hip holds tight as he sets the pizza down and tears off a slice. The cheese thickly tears and you spy glistening, wet sauce underneath. A treasure, truly, no matter how old.

Your heart, however, squeezes tight. Emotion cakes your throat and you try to find the right words.

“Moon,” you say, “Let me up. I need to keep animating.”

“No.” He holds up the slice. His head, sharp teeth grinning, dripping ink down faces you. “You will only work yourself to the bone, doll. Eat.”

You push his arm away but you feel the tension underneath his metallic limb, how he only falls back because he lets you push him, not because you truly have the strength to stop him. His eyes narrow further. You hold his gaze, bottom lip trembling.

“You and Sun protect me while I work. You get hurt. You risk your own lives. This is too important,” you whisper. You clench him tighter in your grasp. “I can’t stop until it’s done.”

Moon slowly lowers the pizza back into the box. His hand, slick with ink, cups your chin. You find your hands falling onto him, holding on as if you might fall. The pressure behind your eyes becomes explosive. The few wet drops upon your eyelashes turn everything blurry save for the piercing glow of his yellow eyes.

“Listen to me.” His voice lowers, intimate and sharp, all at once. “It is not more important than you. You are ours. You are what gets us through this. We won’t let you burn yourself out because you want to keep us safe.”

There’s something there, on the tip of Moon’s tongue. You wait for more but instead, he leans back slightly, as if he already said too much.

“We will take care of you,” he says instead.

“But,” your voice cracks, “but it’s not fair.”

“None of this is,” Moon’s voice softens. His thumb softly slips along your cheek and swipes away an inky tear. Even your weeping is stained by this world. “Please. Eat then rest, doll.”

Another protest is on your lips, but the sob filling your throat cuts it off. Moon caresses your cheek. Weakness overtakes you, the threat of becoming extinguished before you can finish all the pages. Before you can animate yours and his happy ending. 

You’re so scared and exhausted. It spills out of you in dark streaks that stain your sepia-colored cheeks until Moon wipes them away. He starts humming, softly, sweetly, and you lay your head on his shoulder. He pulls you closer until he cradles you in his arms. A hundred things long to fly from your lips. A promise that you’ll do it. You won’t let yourself fail, and the desire for reassurance. That it is okay to rest, just for a moment.

“It’s okay, doll.” Moon murmurs as you weep into his ruffled collar. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Oh, Moon,” you wail, and it sounds so pathetic. You are wasting time. Yet, you have no strength to pry yourself from his embrace—as if he would let you.

“Shush,” he murmurs and kisses your jet-dark, shiny hair. “Calm down. Breathe. When you’re ready, the pizza will be here.”

You hiccup once. You nod, still hiding against him like a child. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Will you sing me to sleep?” you ask, soft and breathy.

He pauses once. The tapered yet careful points of his claw stroke down your hair, and he breathes a heavy breath. You think he finds it hard to tell you no, at least when it concerns matters such as these.

“I’ll sing,” he decides, “After you eat.”

You nearly wince, but it’s only fair. Slowly, you straighten, still sitting in his lap. Pushing your hair away from your eyes, you nod. Moon gently catches the remaining tears staining your cheeks. A murmur falls from his constant smile that he doesn’t like to see you sad. You tell him the same. 

With a gentle hum, he picks up the pizza slice he left and holds it up to your mouth. You let him feed you, taking a bite and chewing slowly. Moon turns the slice to his sharp-tooth mouth and bites off a chunk. In his harmonic quiet, the two of you slowly eat through the pizza, your energy returning and your mind softening with the comfort of a full belly. 

It’s the best pizza you’ve had in the cycle.

His fingertips slowly work against your hip, rubbing the bone softly through your jumper. Before you can consider asking him to let you return to work, your eyelids grow heavy. Moon’s voice lifts to a gentle bass.

He sings you to sleep.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Do you have any shorter sickfic recommendations? Preferably Hurt!Crowley (especially chronic pain-centered) and Caretaker!Aziraphale. One-shots are preferred but really anything under/around 10k.

And in that realm, can I recommend "side effects" by darcylindbergh? One of my long-time favorites with chronic pain Crowley. ❤️‍🩹

Thank you!

Hi! We have #sick fic, #crowley has chronic pain, and #hurt crowley tags with loads of fics on, so check those out. Here are some <10k to add to all of those collections...

Ceaseless Roving by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

After a long stretch of overworking, Crowley finally collapses. Can Aziraphale nurse him back to health?

Lay Your Head Upon Me So That I May Take Away Your Pain by CaelumCalamitas (T)

After months of not speaking to each other, Crowley shows up at the bookshop sick and in need of help from his angel.

Slow Burn by Bazzpop (G)

After waking up from a nap in the bookshop, Crowley finds that he doesn’t exactly feel well. He doesn’t think much of it at first, choosing to ignore his worsening symptoms and take Aziraphale out for lunch as a means of distraction. But when things go downhill from there, at least Aziraphale’s there to help him feel better.

(Not) Fine by flowing_river (T)

After catching a cold, Crowley goes deep in denial about being sick. But he can only ignore his symptoms and hide his cold from Aziraphale for so long...

Scarred Skin and Scared Souls by LvndrLemonade (G)

Crowley doesn't like to acknowledge his wings, though he doesn't really have a choice. Ethereal injuries don't ever stop hurting, and to be burnt by hellfire is to feel it like the very same agonizing moment it first burnt you for the rest of your miserable existence. Crowley had stopped giving too much thought to it, but when he and Aziraphale switch bodies after Armageddon't, Aziraphale realizes just how much pain Crowley is constantly in.

there's love in all your senses by perilit (T)

“You - you’re -” Aziraphale flounders. He thinks of all the times Crowley’s canceled on him or made excuses throughout the millennia. How many times had he suffered like this, alone? “Angel,” Crowley says, gently. “You’re vibrating.” ”You’re in pain!” Crowley’s chronic pain is exacerbated by the cold weather. Aziraphale refuses to let there be secrets between them anymore. That turns out to be a good thing when a flare-up takes a turn for the worse.

And the one you mentioned...

side effects by darcylindbergh (E)

You don’t have to do this, you know, Crowley said, somewhere around Aziraphale’s stomach. His hand was rough around the hem of Aziraphale’s jumper, tugging a little, like he was trying to convince himself to let go. I’m fine on my own. I know. Aziraphale touched carefully—he was learning how to touch, like this—searching out the place right above Crowley’s left eyebrow where the migraine lived, pressing on it. You don’t have to be, though. You can just consider me a side effect.

- Mod D

[here1snyan]

Here's my take on a human(ish) Bill Cipher! I wanted to keep him more abstract, very shaped and *weird* just how he likes it

I'll write a few extra bits of info down below 👁️

I wanted to keep this version of his design linked to the Nightmare Realm rift, so that when I eventually make drawings of him in the Theraprism, I'm taking all those away! His X eye will go solid black, and he won't have "glitches" in his hair

I think it'll also be pretty funny, when I get around to Theraprism stuff, to give him a regular ass jumper to wear, so now his arms dont look cool and float-y anymore since they're covered

Speaking of "hair", I'm keeping it ambiguous as to wether or not his head is one solid piece. I like how it looks! Makes him look like a mural which is neat

His right hand is fucked up from the deals he makes, of course. My sister actually gave me a great idea that it could be charred black from the flames, so I remixed that idea into the final version!

[thenightfolknetwork]

I wish I knew why so many sapios and even many of our ilk are so insistent that the world make sense to their requirements of "sense" (of what little of that they actually possess) rather than the only sense that the world has is none at all! I only wish to help guide travelers along the paths they should take, and help them understand that they are as mad as everyone else, that the rules they and others set are as confusing and contradictory as I am. But I just can't seem to stop people from losing their heads! I would blame the queen, but I'm starting to realize I may be the connecting string in this little jumper. I can warn about the dangers of the queen and her guards, but when you don't know where you want to go, you don't know where you will end up! I'm not sure if it's my smile or the fact I'm not all quite here myself, but I am worried that I am sending these poor folks to a different doom than I intended! Please help, kindly and mad Presenter, and do send my regards to your friend who is both more than a friend and isn't. And let her know she's more than welcome to stop by for tea next time she is in my lack of neck of the woods.

I worry you may be taking on responsibilities that are not necessarily yours, reader. You cannot hold yourself responsible for the actions of others, even if those actions are rather drastic.

You have been doing your best to warn visitors to your realm about the dangers they may face. You are communicating as clearly as you are able – even if “as far as you are able” is not quite far enough.

Regular readers – and listeners – will know that I am a great proponent of embracing change, both within ourselves and in the world around us. If you wish to change this situation, I see no reason why you couldn't. You will have to put in a great deal of time and energy, but with some hard work you might well be able to improve your communication skills and express yourself more clearly.

But frankly, reader, I don't see any particular desire in your letter to make those changes. You identify other people's inability to embrace their own insanity and abandon “sense” as the reason you are unable to communicate with them.

To be clear, I'm not shaming you for that. As I said, I hardly think it's your fault how this queen of yours behaves, and I believe you are doing the best you can within the limitations of your current abilities. But you do nobody any good by beating yourself up about this situation without taking any action to rectify it.

You need to make a decision. Are you willing to do the hard work of meeting your audience where they are, twisting your understanding to their limited ideas of what makes sense? Or are you going to let your queen's actions speak for her, and her alone? The choice is yours.

Finally, I have passed on your regards to my… companion. She sends her best wishes, and says she intends to stop in for tea at her earliest convenience.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[queerofthedagger]

Here to take you up on your ficlet offer (pls send me a prompt if you like we can have a tiny fic exchange 💜) with this prompt from the "types of kiss" list:

One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

For Dream/Hob or Arthur/Merlin, whatever speaks more to you. My ao3 is softestpunk 💜

Thank youu, I hope you'll like it! 💙 This is a bit later than it was meant to be, so happy belated Christmas? 😄<3

build your heart a home

Hob trips on the last step up to his flat. Dream reaches for him before he has made a conscious decision to do so.

It earns him a smile, which almost makes the failure to anticipate his own actions worth it. Almost.

“Still can’t believe you actually agreed to spend Christmas with me,” Hob mumbles as he tries to unlock his front door.

His words are slightly unsteady. Not slurred yet—he isn’t drunk in the unfocused, frenetic way that Dream is familiar with from the dreams that drift into his youngest sister’s realm—but he is tipsy. Tongue loose and hands a little lazy. Dream rather likes him like this, the thread of carefully concealed caution that Hob tends to display at all other times unspooled and tangling.

Dream swallows the repeated insistence that the concept of Christmas means little to him. When Hob finally pushes the door open, he says instead, “It was important to you.”

The hallway, when he follows inside, is dim; the only light comes from the yellowish gloom of the streetlamps outside, and the electric candles on Hob’s Christmas tree in the next room.

It feels awfully close to home, in the way that throughout the last year, Dream has spent a number of evenings here that he has lost count of long ago. In the way that he can hear Hob’s fond demand to leave his shoes in the hallway, and how he has a side on the sofa, now. How the tree—rich green and still smelling of pine—may be more dream object than real, because Dream had drawn the line at carrying a tree. Up the stairs.

Hob had laughed at him, and then his eyes had gone soft when Dream arrived with this one. Dream had rather liked that too. He rather likes all of it an awful lot.  

When he looks at Hob, he finds him already watching, dark eyes fixed on Dream as if there is nothing he would rather look at.

“It was; you made a difficult night not only bearable but warm,” Hob says, voice soft.

Dream cannot remember ever having been called warm, and it unsettles something within his chest that seems impossible to thrust back into containment.

“I am glad,” he says. His fingers itch to reach out; he allows them to brush the sleeve of Hob’s jumper.

Between them, the air seems to shift, and Dream is not sure he could look away from Hob even if he wanted to.

The odds that, after months of this, Hob can read it all on his face are infinite. And yet.

As if to prove that point, Hob steps closer, certain despite his unsteady feet, and curls his fingers around Dream’s hipbones. There is a dare pressed into the slope of his mouth that Dream desperately wants to answer.

He fists his hands into the soft, well-worn fabric of Hob’s jumper and tugs.

Hob goes willingly; of course, he does. Dream cannot bring himself to feel anything but terrified awe at it.

“Stop thinking so much,” Hob murmurs, vowels tripping and swallowed, and then he presses his open mouth to Dream’s as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Perhaps it is; Dream’s pointless heart is thrashing inside his chest, and he sways on his feet. Thinks that if he is made to give this up, he might as well take the world down with him because what is the point of it if Hob’s lips are not pressed to his? If Hob’s tongue does not meet his, clever and certain, as Dream can feel barrier after barrier inside of him crumble?

Dream has been here before, though. He forces himself to pull back, to frame Hob’s face between his hands and look at him.

Hob does not seem willing to wait, pushing forward again, his mouth finding Dream’s, and it would be so, so easy to let himself drown in it. It would be so, so easy to believe that perhaps this time, it will be different.

When he pulls away from Hob a second time, Hob lets him.

The hallway is still dim and quiet around them. The tree still twinkles in the living room, and the world has not yet begun to collapse around them.

That is… promising.

“Are you sure that you want this?” Dream asks, and he does not rush the words, but it is the closest that he will get.

Hob laughs, a low, incredulous sound. It curls fondly around Dream’s bones as Hob simply kisses him again—with more force this time, teeth sinking into flesh and nails finding skin.

“If you leave again,” Hob breathes, eyes closed, “I will find you, no matter where you are. I am not letting you go again.”

The affection spills into Dream’s mouth so sweetly, there is nothing he can do but draw Hob impossibly closer and pour it down his throat.

Breaking the kiss again is inconceivable, so Dream does not. The words, when he thinks them, sink their way right into the marrow of Hob’s bones.

“I will not take my leave of you again,” he says, biting the vow of it into Hob’s tender mouth. “You will have no need to search for me.”

The sound Hob makes in response is beyond pleased; Dream rather plans to build himself a home out of that, too.

[agatharkn3ss]

Locking my finale predictions

Here we are, one last time.

GENERAL BINGO MANIFESTATIONS:

it will be epic

the episodes better be 1h each

I will probably start ugly crying early on

Agathario kiss

Agatha will talk to a goat

Someone will say something in Spanish

Jen will be the first one to loose her cool

Billy will have another "bratty teenager" moment

We will see more references from Billy's bedroom

Agatha will cackle

Jen will say something snarky but brilliant

We'll have another version of the ballad (maybe not in a song form though)

THE PLOT KEY POINTS PREDICTIONS: My overall theory about the plot is laid out in this post here, if you fancy a longer read. The main points:

Back to my original theory that the Witches Road has always been a con created by Agatha herself. She and Rio have always been the Death Wish on the road that killed the witches

Agatha met Lorna Wu and wanted to con her into the Witches Road, but saw little Alice and spared her. Lorna was so taken by the myth that she wrote her own song.

In turn, Lorna's song was the one who influenced Billy and his wish to walk the Road. It is what ultimately pushed him to think of the Witches Road and he wished it into existence.

Billy's jumper pattern changes the second they enter the Road - some of the runes turn upside down.

The Road events actually take place under Westview at first, but after first trial Billy says "I wish we could go home", and so they actually make their way back to Agatha's house. The last trial is in the basement

Mrs Hart lives because after the trial Billy actually sends her back to Westview (and also she expressed the with before "I hope this is the end") - when he said that Sharon was dead, his sweater actually looked momentarily "the correct way up", the same pattern he had in Westview. Also, Agatha knew Sharon wasn't dead/real because why would they have to even dig her a grave when they could've just let the ground "swallow her" like it tried in previous episode? Sharon's dead body must have been an illusion

The tunnels have only been opened by their summoning spell in ep.4, and it's a realm between life and death - they have a Path Behind, the Road and the Path Ahead - Jen will use the Path Ahead to get out as she knew about the tunnels before

Billy will simply be able to wish his way out of the Road spell

Agatha's locket protects her from Death but also prevents her from telling anyone about Death or even say her name. That's why she had to con Rio into telling the coven her intentions in the sound booth.

in the Earth trials they will be in a morgue but to pass they will need to find the answers where the truth is buried - i.e. inside each others minds. So Jen will have to realise she is not bound any more. Billy will realise/admit he is the one behind the road and he will accept that he is both Billy and William. Agatha will have to give up her locket so she can reveal her truth about Death and The Witches Road con

As Billy and Jen get out of the Road, Agatha will face Rio

Agatha will die by syphoning Rio's powers. But in the end it will be Rio who dies and becomes one with Agatha, so that she is never alone again. Rio says in ep.1 that she can make Agatha wish she was dead - maybe Agatha makes that wish, or maybe Rio wanted to die all along because she hates her "job" and is lonely without Agatha

Alice will take over as Death, guarding the doors between life and death - she will be back to her role as a security guard - talk about typecasting!

There is some timey-wimey time loop/illusion going on and Billy could be trying to repair the past events, reliving the trials over and over - e.g. by putting a pentacle sigil on the basement door and by using new spell to release Agatha (the spell was left to him by Lilia), but it's Agatha who always messes something up

So Agnes O'Connor in ep.1 is actually investigating Agatha's death and trying to remember what happened on the Witches Road - the mention of ravine/creek is a nod to Rio, who at this point is actually already dead/inside Agatha. Agatha is the only one that can "solve the case"

Rio's first appearance is actually in ep.7, because Lilia finally accepts Death's presence. Then she instructs Rio to go and warn Agatha in Westview about Salem Seven coming in ep.1

At the end we will all cry and be mentally broken because it won't be clear if Agnes O'Connor actually solves her case or not.

I honestly tried to make it a short post, but it never works!!!!!

[utilitycaster]

*kate bush voice* be guarding up that veil with some problems

After the remaining companion quests and conversation, ranging from epic (Harding embracing her anger in the heart of a titan) to sweet and funny (assisting Davrin in feeding halla for his adoptive uncle while Assan adorably helps and learning about baby Davrin - btw this scene hits WILDLY for me as Rook is a human dating Bellara and is trying so hard to be respectful of Dalish customs and Davrin is like they're mid but also I'm the most intense man in Thedas and take all obligation deathly seriously so get those fucking berries) to "kill a fucking dragon, and then also serve as the buffer for your friend coming out to their mom awkward dinner simulator, and frankly the dragon is more pleasant." Anyway things got wild out in Arlathan because I did a brief sidequest and then was like hmmm I should help the Veil Jumpers out, after all, and I must say the plot there FUCKS. Like, you find the hook (I took Bellara and Neve for obvious Arlathan Dalish + Venatori reasons) and IMMEDIATELY it's like "the Venatori will sacrifice the Dalish" but also four companion quests open up but I was like I HAVE TO HELP THE DALISH AND ARLATHAN THAT'S BELLARA'S PEOPLE so I went STRAIGHT into Blood of Arlathan.

Blood of Arlathan is REALLY good for the following reasons:

You have to take Neve, which you should have anyway, and I took Bellara again, and while I'm a fighter not a mage I have some VICIOUS ranged and AOE shit and my stuff is in the spirit realm so it was really like BY OUR POWERS (ice/fade/death) COMBINED. Again, I remain on story mode for combat because I only am just now kinda getting the hang of it beyond keysmashing, but I have some DEVASTATING necrotic attacks and also if I successfully block with my shield i send back more death energy. It's deeply sexy of me, frankly.

More importantly plotwise the infiltration is fun as shit, I love seeing Neve intimidate people and then Bellara breaking Elger'nan's control, and it manages to feel urgent and scary without having the overwhelming dread and Zombie Rush of The Cauldron.

Some of the puzzles annoy me. The maze is actually fine because Solas kicks in JUST when you're about to get upset in real life which is some good QA if I do say so but it is always annoying when you're like THE DALISH ARE TRAPPED! LET ME FIND A FUCKING HIDDEN POWER CRYSTAL. It wasn't even HARD it's just the principle of the thing. The Venatori crystals, also fine, though it's always hard to force myself to focus on protection crystals/blight boils mid-combat even though it's ultimately the point and my companions can't die in standard fights.

Obviously, the Solas of it all rules; it's kind of overwhelming having him and Elger'nan fighting in your mind as you fight for the final door...which it should be, that's what Rook's doing! Good synchronicity.

Lucanis being unable to unlock the gate is hilarious. I wonder what happens if you take him instead of Bellara as your second team member. This is either why Neve hasn't spoken to him since the gooseberry pie (*Neve voice* he's a sap who can't open a door.) or, alternatively, this is BECAUSE Neve hasn't spoken to him since the gooseberry pie (*Lucanis voice* was it too sweet? too tart? Is she not interested? Mierda. meanwhile Taash, Davrin, Emmrich, and Harding like FOCUS UP BITCH.) Literally though I've popped into the lighthouse for my usual eavesdropping and there's been some great ones (Emmrich and Bellara discussing how one might cite Solas's Regrets, Taash and Lucanis being like talking about your feelings is stupid, Neve moving from Bellara could you fucking stop being a silly child about serials to Bellara, you are a lovely person, but also stop being a silly child about serials, some wild stories about Manfred running around in a bedsheet, the reveal that Taash does dishes and chops fruit in the kitchen) but they haven't been seen together. Neve on the MAKER I'm taking you to the Dellamorte mansion because...

UNHINGED pack of sidequests I'll be doing this afternoon after work. It ranges from Bellara talking to her brother, a thing that has been eating her up inside since their first encounter; and Lucanis going to the Dellamorte estate to save his grandmother and deal with Illario (I told him to save Caterina, we're going the forgiveness route); and Neve being like oh it's just a little personal errand in Dock Town :) even though LAST TIME she was like oh we'll grab dinner and then she was like well Hal is off tonight so guess we'll die skip rocks and have a break in the case so I ASSUME it's her slowly opening up more (I sound irritated. I am not. I'm thrilled.) and Davrin is like hey girl wanna Assan and chill (I assume it is indeed just that.). I also have a shitload of location quests and I have been informed by an informant that if I talk to Solas it opens up like 20 more quests SO time to leave Mr. I Don't Know I'm Bald on read again even though he did save me in Arlathan.

This might be a post to make separately but I must admit it took a bit to like, settle into RP-ing (you're telling me I have to RP in an RPG) especially one where the vibe of the choices is stated for me, which I admit does make me more interested in a second runthrough at some point in the future. There's definitely some early game stuff I'd like to run through again as less of an idiot with games and also while not actively nauseated. (Thanks again people who told me to use the middle of the screen accessibility dot and increase the FOV; I think some of it was gaining sea legs generally but those were immediately a huge help in doing so) but now it really is like oh yeah I have really intense feelings about what they're doing in Arlathan specifically, let's play that out.

haven't been to the wetlands in a while and that might be why I'm in such a great mood.

[bubblytarts]

I can finally release my pieces for ep 9 of Realm Jumper!!! I had a super fun time drawing the silly fish and designing the student!

Reminder that Realm Jumper is back on a regular release schedule! Episode Ten releases this Saturday - May 18th! Join us on YouTube - Link to the channel is pinned!

[anatthema-art]

I can FINALLY share my piece for @bubblytarts show Realm Jumper Episode 9!!! This is one of my fav pieces I've done for the whole show so far, gotta love some cityscapes and bisexual lighting! I HIGHLY recommend checking out the episode! It's got some real good feels in it this time!

[crowvaarts]

My pieces for episode 9 of Realm Jumper!

I really love all the work that I do for this show and I am so glad to finally be back from hiatus!

Watch Episode 9 The Long Road Home Here!

The casting call for season two is still open! We have over 100 submissions already and we really cannot thank you enough!

[maelstroms-blog]

Another dabble.this time I subject Dream to PTSD nightmares.

Enjoy

Tw. Ptsd nightmares, panic attacks

Hob had gotten used to sleeping alone. The one constant in his long life was the prospect of a cold bed. After Eleanor passed, he just couldn't bear the thought of sharing his bed with another. Whether it was in a wooden cot, a pile of hay, or especially in a ditch, he would be alone.

Hob made peace with it.

Until, Dream returned.

37 years late, the word friend offered readily from his lips. And that friendship blossomed into something more. It only took a month [and 4 bottles of wine] before feelings were admitted.

Dream, in his usual stilted way, looking like an abandoned soggy kitten. Hob's answer came in the form of a hug, strong enough to sweep Dream of the Endless off his feet. 

He didnt know he could blush like that.

And with that, Hob relearned the joys of sleeping with someone else. Not just the carnal side, but the tender side. To turn over and have someone there beside him, to hold, to hug, to whisper sweet nothings into his partner's ear. And the sight of Dream, swaddled in his old jumper, curled up next to him, he would treasure for the rest of his immortal life. Especially when he stretched out, arching his back before snuggling back in.

King of all cats indeed.

And Hob, a man to act first, ask questions later, reached out and tucked a strand of black hair behind his ear.

Dream, as if sensing his touch, hummed in his sleep, and leaned into the touch.

Hob's heart fluttered. He couldn't resist placing a light kiss on his cheek. Undeterred by the cold, marble-like skin.

It wasn't unpleasant. It was like the chill that came with sticking your foot out from under the bedcovers.

Fitting, really.

Dream hummed and curled in further to Hob's side, seeking out his warmth. Hob pulled the covers up further, until only his pretty little face poked out.

Soon, his own eyelids grew heavy, the Dreaming pulling him away, though he tried to fight it, wanting nothing more than to keep staring at Dream's face. Th e pull proved too strong.

In his sleep Dream's lips twitched.

[Stubborn as a cat]

He finally closed his eyes, wondering where he would meet Dream tonight.

He never did.

Hob barely closed his eyes before something roused him again. He wasn't sure what it was at first, the hot puff of air on his neck, the rustling of sheets, no, it was the other sound, a sound that sent a spike of fear into his heart.

A whimper.

He turned and saw Dream, still asleep, but having some sort of fit. Dream lay beside him, still bundled up, writhing, as if in pain. Trapped by the sheets, his movements hindered, and in the moonlight shining in from the window, tears glittered on his pale white skin.

Hob knew instantly what was wrong. A nightmare. Dream continued to writhe, eyes still shut, nowhere near as serene as before. His pink lips parted, and a single sound escaped, one that an awake Dream would never utter.

A sob.

'Dream?'

Hob risked everything by reaching out, trying to find his shoulder. Dream didn't answer, twisting away from his touch. Under the thick cocoon of blankets, Dream's chest heaved, followed by another strangled sound.

Like he was struggling to breathe.

Hob frantically pulled away the blankets, it didn't help. In fact, it seemed to make it worse. When the cold air hit, he cried out again, curling into a tight, little ball, his thin frame shaking.

'Dream?' Hob tried again, 'Dream love, wake up.'

Dream just shuddered, his lips moving breathlessly, and yet, Hob could make out one word.

'Please...'

It was nothing like the deep baritone he knew and loved, not the voice that lulled sleepers into his realm each night. This voice was brittle, sharp, scraping its way out of Dream's throat. Cold hands surged forward, grabbing onto Hob's shirt, clenched hard enough to make the joints crack.

'Dream please!'

Hob sat up, desperately but gently, trying to rouse his lover.

After what seemed like an age, Dream's eyes shot open. Hob managed to catch a glimpse of a distant pair of stars before he shot up. He gasped, clutching his chest, still struggling for air he didn't need yet somehow couldn't get enough of. With his free hand, he reached out, blindly searching for something.

Logically, it would have been his bag of sand.

Hob didn't like to use logic.

On instinct, he reached for Dream, sliding slender fingers into his own hand.

Dream didn't notice, didn't even look at him. He just stared, stared at something Hob couldn't see. His mind somewhere Hob couldn't reach.

But maybe his words could.

'Dream, love, you're OK, you're safe,'

Dream gasped,

'You're here with me, Hob Gadling. We're in bed, it's a Monday night, we drank some wine and then you stole my socks. You know, my favourite pair? The one with ducks?'

Dream just gasped, but his breathing was slowing. Hob brushed his thumb against his knuckles, waiting for him to return. Again.

The stars blinked, once, twice, then faded away completely. Replaced with shiny blue eyes, shiner than usual.

With a motion that looked painful, he turned to look at Hob. Rigid and awkward, like a wooden puppet.

'Hob?' His voice, still thready, cracked. As if he couldn't believe Hob was beside him. Gently, Hob raised Dream's hand and invited him to touch his face,

'I'm here.'

Ice cold fingers graced his skin, soft as a whisper.

Before Hob could open his mouth again, Dream's eyes, still glistening, finally succumbed. He frantically knuckled his eyes but it was too late, the dam broke.

The tears came thick and fast, his shoulders shaking from the force.

Hob didn't bother asking what was wrong, he didn't try to say anything, no words would help.

Instead, he wordlessly opened his arms, waiting for Dream to notice the gesture. It took a minute, his vision blurry, then he looked at Hob. His brow furrowed, the blank look on his face spoke volumes, and further broke Hob's heart.

Then, slowly, surely, like a cliff weathered by a storm, Dream edged closer, shooting Hob quick glances, still unsure of what was real and what wasn't. Dream eventually closed the distance, laying his head against Hob's shoulder, he waited a beat, then wrapped his arms around him.

It was like hugging a tree. He could feel every bone and joint on Dream's slender frame. He felt his hands, faintly rising and bunching in Hob's shirt once again, seeking out whatever comfort he could get. Hob was more than happy to oblige.

He waited, silent, even as the tears returned, muffled now by Hob's chest. He ran his hand up and down Dream's back, softly, held him close and gently swayed.

It was a familiar gesture Hob realised. When he held Eleanor after her own nightmares, with Robyn after the passing of his mother, and when there was no one left to hold, he held himself, hugging his body tight, watching his son be lowered into the grave. Even when his own vision blurred, and sobs wracked his body like the cruel wind of winter, he kept his arms around him.

A poor excuse for another's embrace.

Hob wouldn't allow that to happen now.

As Dream's tears slowed, Hob didn't loosen his grip, he held on, pressing his lips to soft hair.

Finally, Dream pulled away, wiping his cheeks one last time and resting his elbows on his knees. He wouldn't meet Hob's eyes, that was fine, Hob could wait.

Dream blinked, then, with a sniff befitting a king, he cleared his throat.

'Apologies...' he spoke in his usual somber manner,

'I-I did not mean for that...to happen,'

Hob raised an eyebrow, of course.

'Dream, it's OK,'

'It is not!'

Hob blinked at the sudden change, Dream's voice like the crack of a whip in the quiet night.

Dream's eyes shined, not with tears, with fury.

'It. Is. Not.' He repeated, 'This should not have happened.'

He glanced down at his hands, glaring as if they were at fault,

'I am the Nightmare king. I should not be afflicted by my own creations. I should not be slave to my emotions. I should not...' his voice faltered,

'I should not- should not....Still be ...affected by-by...'

Dream faltered once more, lips pressing into a thin line.

Hob didn't ask, he didn't need to.

'I can still....' Dream stopped, swallowed, then spoke again,

'I can still feel the cold.'

His hands were trembling now, even when Hob held them.

He was right. His fingers were ice cold.

Slowly, he brought them to his lips and gently breathed on them, rubbing to try and get some feeling back to them.

Dream just sat there, looking on as he did it.

'Do you want a cup of tea?'

Dream shook his head,

'Do you want anything to drink?'

Again Dream shook his head, followed by a tremble,

'Do you...do you want me to hold you again?'

Dream looked up, as if startled, he pressed his lips into a thin line again. With a resigned sigh, he rested his head against Hob's shoulder once more.

'...yes.'

He sounded hoarse again, Hob gently shushed him,

'You don't have to speak if you don't want to, you don't have to explain anything, ok? You already did and you do not have to try and make any excuses for how you're feeling.'

Carefully, he tilted Dream's head, raising it so they gazed into each other's  eyes. Hob saw a number o f things in those eyes, he always did. Distant galaxies of stars, the possibility of the impossible, now, there was a tiny nugget of hope sparkling  somewhere deep in those baby blues.

'I will hold onto you for a long as you want, until you eventually get sick of me.'

A watery huff was his only answer, Hob counted that as a win.

'Come on, duck, lie down with me.'

Hob lay back down, Still cradling Dream and pulled the covers up over them. Shivers continued to wrack Dream's body, the vibrations travelled all the way to Hob's teeth. With a few more sweet words, and Hob's warm embrace, they soon stilled.

Dream was quiet, for a moment, Hob thought he went back to sleep, then, Dream shifted slightly, turning to look at Hob.

It happened in a flash but Hob saw it.

A quick twitch of Dream's lips, though it was sudden, Hob saw the emotion behind it.

Relief.

He pressed his lips to Dream's head, keeping them there, long after the sun rose. Hob watched through bleary eyes as Dream stretched in the morning sun, basking in its warmth.

It was a beautiful sight. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: March 31/23

Happy Friday Everyone! It’s the end of the month and the end of the week, so let’s start off the new weekend and the new month with some new fics!! Enjoy!

RECENT MFLs

Sherlock Holmes and the Curse of the Were-Kitten by Iwantthatcoat (G, 2,991 w., 1 Ch. || Cat Sherlock AU || Fic Remix, Magical Realism, First Person POV Sherlock) – The problem with the maxim, ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,’ is that, over time, one discovers there are a surprisingly large number of improbable things, and fewer and fewer which could truly be said to be impossible. Take me, for instance. Would anyone in their right mind say that transforming into a tiny black kitten at every full moon is improbable? No, certainly not. That would fall into the realm of the impossible, surely. And yet…

On Holiday in Soft Jumpers by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 4,190 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff and Smut, Humour, Friends to Lovers, Awkward Flirting, Mutual Pining, Vacation, Massage, Jumpers, John’s Imagination, Inconvenient Erections, Soft Sherlock) – When a case in the Alps turns into an impromptu holiday, Sherlock and John slowly let their guard down, relaxing with drinks, massages, and soft jumpers, finally confessing their romantic feelings for each other.

Spin The Bottle by helloliriels (M, 8,120 w., 6 Ch. || Drinking Games, Calls/Phones, Strip Games, Truth or Dare) – Have you ever played this game before, Sherlock?

The Green Carnations by SilentAuror (M, 19,394 w., 1 Ch, || HLV / S3 Fix It, Mary’s Infidelity, Janine POV) – When Janine met Sherlock at John & Mary's wedding, she thought she knew what sort of a man Sherlock Holmes was. So it was a surprise when he called to ask her out for coffee not long after. Set during and after His Last Vow.

The Case of the Dancing Cameras by Kr_Nl (E, 54,091+ w., 10/11 Ch. || Post S4, Dancing Men Adaptation, Case Fic, Angst, Slow Burn, Massage, UST/URT, Homoerotic Literature, Angst, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Scars, Humping, Masturbation, Flirting, Almost Kiss, Pining Sherlock) – The case in which John gets to be a massage therapist for a case and Sherlock gets to be massaged against his will (not really). Taking liberties with The Adventure of the Dancing Men of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Or the case in which John discovers Sherlock turns himself on with homoerotic literature.

[mrcompass]

The Antichrists of Beyblade (Part 1): Damian the Deceiver

Damian's character shares many similarities with the concept of the Antichrist found in the Bible as well as popular culture. This will provide another perspective on the character in relation to previous analyses I have made on him, as well as on other characters. The Antichrist is a concept that has been applied to many characters, but it is generally tied to the idea of an entity who deceives humanity in order to attain and usurp a position he doesn't deserve or wasn't meant for him. Damian embodies that concept particularly well.

The name Damian means to subdue or dominate, which is what he attempts to do during Metal Masters as he asserts his superiority over his opponents. It is also reminiscent of the purpose of the Antichrist, to dominate the minds of humans and subdue the world. Damian is also tied to Demeter, goddess of agriculture, whose daughter Persephone became the queen of Hell. Damian, unlike his team members, is more tied to Hell, and it is more difficult for him to escape this reality, the realm of Hades Inc. Finally, the name "Damian" sounds similar to the word "demon" in English, which is why it was apparently chosen as the name of one of the most famous fictional Antichrist, Damien Thorn.

Both are tied to Hell, possess a hellhound (Kerbecs for Damian), live with wealthy people (the Thorns and Ziggurat), and abuse their powers by harming others. Additionally, there is the chorus that plays each time they use their special abilities. Finally, the name "Damian" is also tied to the patron saint of doctors, Saint Damian, who shares this patronage with his colleague (and sometimes brother), Saint Cosmas. They used to heal people without asking for anything in return, which is the opposite of what Ziggurat does: he always tries to gain something from someone, and the results of his healing are somewhat dubious. What is interesting is that "Cosmas" (which means cosmos, synonymous with universe) can be tied to Gingka, who has (in the dub) Cosmic Pegasus and whose name itself means galaxy (something that is part of the cosmos). This illustrates Damian and Gingka's duality and the ties they have to each other as opposite figures.

Damian's design is very atypical compared to most characters; it looks closer to what a Burst character would wear. @mach-speed-spinh-speed already made a compelling post about Damian's design, which gave me ideas, here , I will not describe everything about his design, so I recommend you check the post.

Damian's cap and jumper suit are a little reminiscent of Ryuga's own design, who also employs black and white as dominant colors. Damian also wears armor, which makes him appear bigger than he actually is and more threatening. In a way, this design is made to lure us into thinking that Damian is similar to Ryuga in the sense that he is the main antagonist and the main threat, but in the anime, he is not. The color choice is interesting because the exterior is white and gold, almost heroic in a way; it seems like Damian tries to appear as a sort of hero or rather to eclipse the hero of the story by appearing as the incarnation of the concept of the chosen one. Indeed, his attire makes him stand out from the rest; he is not like anybody else; he is special. Or rather, that's what the writer wants us to think. His hair is quite peculiar; they look similar to Ziggurat's in terms of style. They look like horns or ears of dogs (fittingly, Damian has three pairs of spikes usually like Kerbecs has three heads, so three pairs of ears).

The Antichrist receives power from the devil and manages to miraculously heal itself. Damian received power from Ziggurat, who represents the devil, and he managed to endure many special moves throughout his fights (such as Black Excalibur, most of Kyoya’s arsenal, etc.). Everyone was surprised and, in a way, mesmerized by his power, even Gingka himself was shocked until they were told that it was the arrangement system. Furthermore, Damian managed to win against Julian, who called himself an emperor, the highest-ranking title of a monarch in Europe. And the Antichrist is described as a beast with crown, symbols signifying its power and authority. Damian's victory against Julian in a way establishes him as a threat but symbolically his authority and fake superiority over all bladers.

Finally, the Antichrist desribed as a beast in the Book of Revelation comes from the seas, and the first appearance at Hades Gate and Kerbecs (who is also a multiheaded beast) is at the same time the stadium is filled with the Cetus’s water, giving an impression of the gate rising from the sea. In the gates, a winged Cerberus is explicitly shown during its first appearance. Wings are often tied with Gingka's Pegasus in the series. However, this surprising association reflects an appropriation by Kerbecs of something that doesn't belong to him, almost like he is trying to usurp Pegasus. And that's what Damian is trying to do; by winning the match against Gingka, he would have officially become the strongest blader in the world, but he wouldn't have earned that position because of the fact he relied on the arrangement. Ryo and Hikaru also strongly insisted on the necessity for Gingka to win because they needed a true blader to show the world what beyblading means. Damian shouldn't have succeeded at any cost because it could have created a precedent which would have irrevocably harmed the world of Beyblade. Also, Damian, like the beast described in the Book of Revelation, insults people. It's not blasphemy, but he called everyone weak, even people as hardworking as Kyoya and Julian.

Despite his seemingly godly power, Damian is chained to Ziggurat and to a life he didn't choose. The Antichrist is merely a pawn to the devil to enact his plans; it cannot change nor deny its destined path. However, the entity finding another path is a theme that was explored in other works of fiction, such as the Good Omens series, in which Adam Young, the Antichrist of the series, is swapped with another baby and ends up living in an English village instead of inheriting a life of luxury as the son of a wealthy American diplomat (the name Damian was also put forward for him).

He ends up in a family with loving parents who put limits on his behavior; he has a bunch of friends whom he plays games within the woods. What is important is that Adam has had a fulfilling childhood with actual parenting, and in the end, he rejects his father (the Devil) arguing that Satan was never there for him, unlike his human father, and that he is obviously only concerned with using his power. The reason it ties with Damian is that he was (probably) raised by Ziggurat, who is by all accounts a sociopath, who hates children and, most of all, encouraged Damian's sadistic nature, calling the "results" against Excalibur "outstanding." Also, Damian is very pale, more than other characters, and he is only rivaled by Rago, who seemingly spent a significant part of his life in a closed room. He doesn't know what dirt is; in the Japanese dub, when dirty, he said: "What is this?". Damian lived in a very controlled environment, in total opposition to Gingka, whose father faked his death to send him on a journey. Damian's situation is best symbolized by Kerbecs's beast, which only appears when the gate of Hades appears or inside of it (except once, but very briefly in episode 94). He probably never really had a childhood and never experienced the outside world. He also doesn't seem to know what the concept of fun is and is more concerned with competing in his job, arguing that he is destined and chosen to do beyblade, like the Antichrist is destined to bring the world to its end. Damian can't escape Ziggurat or that path that was chosen for him because he obviously didn't have a choice and didn't question the doctor's motives. Damian doesn't have friends like Julian to support him and help him find a better path.

In a recent post, I put forward the possibility that Damian's flashback/backstory happened more recently than it seems, which would also mean he is younger than many think. I still believe in this since Ziggurat said he started the conception of the arrangement system after the end of Battle Bladers, Damian's physical changes can all be explained by the arrangement, he didn't grow taller... The reason I'm bringing this up is that even if true or false, this is another deception; we don't really know how old he is, and I genuinely think the writer made it unclear. Damian looks bigger and more threatening than he actually is, and even though he hurts people physically and mentally in the most horrendous ways, he is Ziggurat's victim as well as his creation; his behavior is the result of the arrangement but also of his education. In a way Damian acts a lot like the doctor. They both like to feel superior to others, they use others as test subjects for their inventions/power, they deny reality in equal measures, they are sadistic and manipulative... Damian is a child who doesn't know any better and who has a warped sense of reality because Ziggurat really believes in all the things he says about the arrangement. Which further deceives Damian and drives him further from the truth that he can't understand anymore. He deceives others into thinking he is strong, big, and powerful, but he also deceives himself. Ironically, he told Julian and Kyoya to stop their "tough guy act," but he is the one doing that.

During his final in episode 100, Kyoya managed to break the hell dimension before damaging the Hell/Hades fusion of Kerbecs and leaving the room full of cracks. This represents how this battle, more than the one with Gingka, impacted and literally shattered Damian's worldview, or rather the one that was forced upon him by Ziggurat. He escaped the fate of sinking to the abyss with the demoniac doctor and his city, but in a way, he is still punished for his actions. He who liked putting others in despair is driven to despair as he lost everything of value to him; he called people weak, he will become weak and powerless without the arrangement, he thought of being the chosen one, he will completely disappear, not even mentioned by anyone. This is Damian's tragedy; his bey is the only one whose constellation doesn't exist anymore; he doesn't shine like the others. Like Cerberus, the only world in which he belongs is Hades, but it was destroyed. Being freed could have been an opportunity for his character to build his own identity, but he wasn't given his chance.

Like the Antichrist, Damian seeks to subdue others with illusory through deception, but in the end, he was the one who was the most deceived.

[littlerainyghoul]

A short ficlet about Yule with the ghouls

Ghyule? Ghyule. - A Yule Special.

Words: 581

Characters: Copia and Era V Ghouls (Sunshine is Regressed but it can be read as not)

“Oh my goodness, you've got to be kidding me!" Dewdrop burst into peals of contagious laughter as he gazed at Mountain. Mountain, with his majestic horns decked out in twinkling yule lights, stood tall and proud. He tried his best to maintain a serious expression, but his lips couldn't help curling into a mischievous smile.

Seeing Mountain's struggle to keep a straight face, Dewdrop couldn't help but be entertained. "You just can't resist, can you?" he chuckled, filling the air with a delightful blend of laughter and twinkling lights.

Mountain's chuckle soon turned into uproarious laughter as he doubled over on the floor, unable to contain himself any longer. The sound of his contagious laughter reverberated through the room, attracting the attention of the other ghouls who eagerly gathered to witness the joyous scene.

One of the ghouls, Sunshine, looked absolutely adorable in her striped red and green jumper. She exuded childlike joy as she made a hilarious attempt to climb onto Mountain's adorned shoulders. "Up! Up! Up!" she giggled, her voice brimming with infectious happiness.

Meanwhile, Aurora popped up behind her, capturing every moment with her phone, determined to record the hilarious spectacle for posterity.

Finally succumbing to the adorable pleas, Mountain lifted the little ghoullette onto his shoulders, and together they embarked on a spontaneous run around the ministry. As they scampered through the enchanted corridors, their laughter harmonized with Mountain's huffs of exertion, creating a lively symphony that echoed throughout the halls.

Enchanted by the commotion, the rest of the ghouls couldn't resist joining in the whimsical parade. Dewdrop, always the instigator of laughter, danced alongside them, his mischievous giggles adding a playful rhythm to the impromptu procession.

The twinkling yule lights seemed to shine even brighter overhead, as if applauding the ghouls' spontaneous celebration. Mountain's majestic horns sparkled with each step, illuminating the path of their joyful escapade.

Copia, the leader of the ghouls, watched the delightful spectacle unfold with a warm smile on his face. The spirited run of Mountain and the little Ghoullette, accompanied by the laughter and joy of their companions, filled his heart with happiness. In that moment, all formalities and responsibilities melted away, as he absorbed the genuine happiness radiating from the enchanting scene.

"Little Sunshine, you look positively elated up there!" Copia remarked with genuine affection, his eyes twinkling with amusement. The enchanting atmosphere of Yule seemed to weave a special magic, softening his usually formal demeanor.

Encouraged by the positive energy, Aether eagerly joined in. "Come on, Papa! Join us!" he exclaimed, playfully lifting Dewdrop onto his own shoulders. Not to be outdone, Cumulus and Rain also joined the fun, lifting Copia and Aurora high into the air, creating a jovial and lighthearted atmosphere.

With the serene glow of the twinkling yule lights surrounding them, the ghouls formed a cozy circle, basking in the unity and camaraderie they shared. Windows adorned with flickering candles added to the soothing ambiance and seemed to bless the heartfelt gathering.

As quietude embraced the gathering, the soft rustle of leaves outside the ministry echoed the tranquil stillness within. The Yule tree stood tall and radiant, symbolizing the magic that had unfolded in the heart of their enchanted realm.

The little Ghoullette, Sunshine, succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep, her dreams filled with the laughter and warmth of the Yule celebration. The other ghouls, each wearing a contented smile, exchanged glances that spoke volumes about the bonds they had forged on this magical night.