#The amount of canon material used in this post

[theia-eos]

Hello!

small question about "shadows of the crimean liberation"

in chapter 11 how come Janaff and Ulki didn't recognize Soren as a black dragon branded? I understand for story reasons but you mention specifically that they don't know even after meeting Deghinsea and Kurthnaga in Goldoa so I was wondering if there was another reason too?

Ah, thank you for asking! I do plan to go into it more in other stories, but since it would be from the point of view of characters who don't have the whole picture, I'm happy to provide a top down view.

There a few components to consider.

The first being that Micaiah and Soren recognize that there is something powerful and ancient within each other respectively during Radiant Dawn.

Soren: The Maiden of Dawn… What are you? One of the Branded, that’s for sure. But there is something else about you… Power. Yes, I can feel it in you. You possess great power. Micaiah: Yes, and you would know. There’s something very different about you, too. Your energy feels so…ancient. You and I seem to have so much in common. Radiant Dawn, "Blood Contract," Chapter 3-13

So there is some ancient energy within Soren, this is clear foreshadowing to Soren being descended from the Ancient Black Dragon King himself. Micaiah having some unique great power is a likely reference to her being the apostle and having inherited Lehran's ability to hear the Voice of the Goddess and awaken the goddesses.

The other, and most important, component is that Tibarn, Naesala, Reyson, and Caineghis all go to the meeting with Deghinsea and Kurthnaga, and presumably Ranulf, Janaff, Ulki, and Nealuchi all accompany their kings. Many of them speak to, with, and are around Soren, and none of them notice in the game. This despite Tibarn saying later on in Radiant Dawn that:

Tibarn: That Almedha is a formidable woman. At first I doubted her claim that she was the daughter of that useless old lizard. But even I had trouble holding her down. Me! She’s no ordinary beorc woman, that’s for sure. Elincia: I agree. Lady Almedha and Prince Kurthnaga share a striking resemblance, as well. Not just their faces, but their mannerisms, too. Tibarn: Is that how beorc spot blood relations? We laguz use scent, mainly. Speaking of which, something has been bothering me about Almedha. She has no distinct scent. It’s as if she is neither beorc nor laguz. Elincia: She actually told me something that I wanted to ask you about. She said that she lost her power when she became pregnant with King Pelleas. Radiant Dawn, "Unforgivable Sin," Chapter 4-5

The Extended Scripts expand on it a bit more

[ティバーン] そうか…ベオクは そうやって判断するのか。▼ [エリンシア] ラグズは、どうなさるんですか？▼ [ティバーン] 主に匂いだな。▼ ラグズとベオクは大きく違うし、 ラグズの中でも種に応じて違う。 …俺たちはそうやって個体を見分ける。▼ が、あのアムリタという女は…… どこかおかしい。▼ Radiant Dawn, "Unforgivable Sin," Chapter 4-5

The basic gist being that each type of laguz has its own unique type of scent in addition to the major difference in scent between laguz and beorc. You can read a fan translation by the always lovely amielleon here.

Tibarn also remarks a few sentences later (fan translation, again, provided by amielleon) that "Parentless" have a scent closer to a beorc.

[ティバーン] 黒竜王がベオクと交わったとでも？ それは、天地がひっくりかえっても ありえねえ話だろうぜ。▼ ”親無し”は、むしろ ベオクに近い匂いがするって話だ。 それでもないから…分からん。▼ Radiant Dawn, "Unforgivable Sin," Chapter 4-5

But that clearly means they have elements of both laguz and beorc in their scent, just more beorc than laguz. (This makes it clear why laguz who aren't in the know, like Skrimir or Vika, could mistake a Branded for a beorc, but Tibarn is clearly in the know and can pick up on however small that differentiation is).

And yet no one, not even he-who-spoils-the-Black-Knight-reveal-almost-certainly-based-on-scent-alone Ranulf, notices that Soren is dragon branded, let alone related to Dheginsea or Kurthnaga. Or if they do, they are weirdly and uncharacteristically quiet about it. Which some of them would be quiet (Ranulf is more of a quiet investigator, but even he has moments of cheek "I know what your secret is" [though maybe he's just trying not to upset Soren by keeping quiet]), and others (especially Tibarn) would never be quiet about that tidbit of information ("You'd let your own grandson die by sending us back to the Kauku Caves?" [I love Tibarn, but if he knew, he'd say something for certain when they're in Goldoa in Radiant Dawn, despite the fact that the revelation would kill Soren on the spot(of mortification)]).

So, why does Pelleas have to figure it out? Kurthnaga travels with the Greil Mercenaries in Part 4 and can fight alongside Soren in the Tower, and yet, nothing??? His own nephew is right there, and nothing???

I have nothing, no really good info from the games, so I have to come up with my own answers based on what little we do get.

So back to why can't anyone recognize what Soren's scent is. If the games don't give me the info I want, then I'll make it up.

Well. as Tibarn says, Almedha has no scent that is distinctive of either beorc or laguz. Beorc and laguz have different scents, and the different tribes have their own unique notes as well.

I've decided that the "beorc scent" is of different varities of metals (copper, gold, silver, tin, etc.) and the "laguz scent" is more earthy. Beast tribes being herbal (I reference lions having a basil note later on in that story), bird tribes being more air/water (herons smelling of petrichor, ravens like a storm, etc.), and dragons being stony (black dragons having a subtle clay scent, etc.). Soren mostly gains the metallic scent of beorc, as Tibarn describes, and since laguz have difficulty smelling anything beyond metal scents, the more subtle earthen smell is lost, they just know it's not all beorc if they're more aware than the average laguz.

In addition to that, he has an ancient power from his maternal grandfather within him that Micaiah can sense., and Reyson can also sense to a smaller degree. Maybe it alters Soren's scent a little, maybe not. I'm undecided as of right now.

So Soren just sits there, being a little enigma, because you would have to get up close and personal and smell him to get the obscured notes of his dragon scent, and no laguz is doing that. (Would be funny if the dragon laguz scent notes were stronger in his breath since he's a dragon. Like he just sighs very heavily because of someone annoying him and Ranulf or someone else with a sensitve sense of smell sitting next to him is like "!!!").

And that's why no one can tell he's black dragon for the moment.

[otaku553]

Straw hat women redesigns :) I was trying to doodle some of the crew and came to the realization that I just Could Not with Nami so I wanted to play around with it a little bit

Some more design notes below:

Nami’s design actually went a lot smoother for me than Robin’s! I think canon post timeskip Nami is a very low bar. While you can argue that to some extent Nami being vain and seductive is part of her character, I do feel that there are many more integral parts of her character that can be highlighted in her design, namely map making and her combat. Though not one of the stronger straw hats, Nami does seem to be well practiced with her staff outside of its use for weather manipulation, and I think her being a physical combatant, even slightly, can be better reflected with more loose clothing for better mobility.

For her mapmaking, I wanted her to have constant easy access to her tools and to information about the locale, so around her waist she has one large pouch at the back for books and scrolls and maps in progress and one small pouch to the side for writing utensils and measurement tools. As backup she also has 2 pens in her bun, which also act as pins for keeping her hair up if she ever needs to move a lot.

I’m not sure how clearly it shows up in the notes, but Nami’s shoe soles are also made from whatever artificial cloud material makes up the weather island she stayed on during the timeskip, so that it both pads her steps to make them soundless and bounces for better mobility. The shoes are naturally shaped like heels but without the actual heel, since she tends to move around on tiptoes anyways- a nod to her epithet as cat burglar and her past as a thief.

I made her shoulders a bit broader because I think they probably get a lot of exercise with her staff, and changed out the bikini top for a more supportive chest wrap, with a loose tank over it for breathability. The compression socks and sleeve are more stylistic than anything, since I like layers, but they might come in handy for her if she spends extended amounts of time sitting down making maps for the crew.

Robin’s was a bit more difficult for me to figure out, and I might go back and revisit it at some point. For Nami, it was a bit easier to imagine what would pair well with her combat methods and her needs as a mapmaker, but with Robin, she’s an academic who fights almost completely hands off, without a specific weapon to her name. Because her strength lies mostly in her devil fruit, she has a bit more room for style over functionality, but I also still wanted her to have something that made sense with what she was. I don’t really think I succeeded in that regard, but it’s also hard to convey what she does visually— she’s more of like a professor than a field archaeologist I think.

I really really enjoy her cowboy hat but I didn’t think it would match with the rest of the outfit so I switched it out for a wider brimmed hat and kept the orange sunglasses on it, as a nod to the revolutionaries with the combination of headwear and eyewear. She deserves a trench coat. I don’t make the rules. And the rest of the fit mostly came down to things I think I would enjoy wearing, haha

The trench coat is partially a nod to the scholars of ohara, who seem to wear white coats like lab coats in some screenshots of robin’s backstory. I think also the reading glasses help to make her seem a bit more academic, but aren’t prominent enough to leave a strong impression. All in all I do wish robin’s design had more functionality in it but I also think that robin is a character who probably enjoys dressing up nicely like this, especially in the comfort and stability of the straw hats.

[joelsdagger]

all the things i would do || one shot

masterlist | ao3 | resources on how to help Palestine here <3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: porn no plot. joel finds an article of clothing that belongs to you and there’s nothing holding him back once he gets his hands on them. 

rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI 

content warnings: [Post Outbreak], jackson era, established relationship, implied age gap (25+ years), joel is canon age, slightly domestic joel (blink and it’s gone), joel has a panty kink, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), soft dom!joel, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, pet names (use of baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, love), smidgen of fluff (these two are so in love it’s sickening), an inkling of a size kink (but in my head joel’s at least 6’5, he’s a BIG big man in my brain), joel’s filthy mouth, praise kink, hint of sub!joel, nipple play, one use of the word ‘Daddy’ (moots don’t look at me I couldn’t help it), slight tummy kink/tummy worship, cum eating. Joel’s POV. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader other than having hair long enough that it’s past her shoulders. 

word count: 3.1k

a/n: so, a few things before we get started. i’m new to writing fics and this is my first time publicly putting out a fic that wasn’t just for shits and giggles for my friends and i and i’m so fucking nervous like the amount of times i’ve panicked over this is a little embarrassing to admit but we ball. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo for encouraging me to actually write this all those months ago and for all your brilliant ideas and encouragement and practically holding my hand through it since day one. another big thank you to kat, aura, and naya for beta reading and helping me during the editing process. okay i’m done rambling, enjoy some of the filth that constantly plagues my brain <3 

Joel’s eyes blink open slowly, the sun peeks into the bedroom through the curtains across the room. For a moment he searches for you beside him, but remembers you’ve already left for the day out on patrol duty. Joel harrumphs, still bothered over letting you and Ellie bully him out of his patrol duties. “You’ve been hurting yourself too much baby,” You had told him a few weeks ago over breakfast. “Yeah, you’re an old man now. You fall over one more time and you’re done.” Ellie snickers from her seat in the kitchen. Joel just rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the dishes, but you had caught the small grin on his face when he turned his head back to the sink. Against the two of you, Joel never stood a chance.

Joel drags himself out of bed towards his dresser to grab a new set of clothes. He throws on a blue shirt that fits a little snug on his well built form, the thin material stretches over his broad shoulders, across his strong back, and pulls taut over his biceps and he grunts as he pulls a pair of dark wash jeans over his strong, thick thighs, securing them in place with a distressed leather belt that he’s had for years. Once he’s dressed, he takes in the mess in the room. He notices both of your clothes from the night before are still scattered around the room.  He bends down to pick them up, he grunts as his knees pop when he stands back up. He starts gathering them up to toss them into the hamper already overflowing with clothes. The last article of clothing out of place is yours. Your black lace panties on the armchair in the corner. He grabs them and his eyes widen when he feels it, the center still wet from him making you come earlier. His cock instantly hardened in his jeans.  

Joel turns on his heel and in just a few long strides he’s in your shared bathroom. He deliberately avoids the mirror, knowing that if he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror he’ll disgust himself even more. Briskly, he sets the laundry hamper on the tile near the bathtub. Joel brings the thin black lace up to his face, closes his eyes and he sniffs them, breathing you in completely. He groans at the scent of you. His cock painfully hard now. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. He’s addicted to you and he knows he can’t wait til you get home. He knows he can’t wait to have his way with you, dig into you any way that you will let him. So, without another second of hesitation, Joel unbuckles his belt, a clink from the metal hitting the edge of the counter, unzips his jeans and takes his thick, heavy cock out, and then brings your soaked panties to his angry, leaking tip. His precum meets the wetness of your panties and he hisses at the feeling. With the wetness of the gusset of your panties acting as a lubricant, Joel begins to slowly stroke himself, wanting to take his time, savoring every feeling, relishing in it. Joel soon becomes too desperate for release, he quickly loses control, his hips moving faster to fuck his hand, his hand tightening around his cock, the grip almost painful now. His eyes are screwed shut, as he throws his head back, the night before instantly replaying in his head.

He had just gotten out of the shower to find you sprawled out on your stomach on your side of the bed, ankles crossed in the air. He rakes his eyes over your form until his eyes land on your ass. You were wearing the panties he was currently fucking his hand with. You didn’t notice him stepping out of the bathroom, too busy looking at the photo album you had just put together. It’s relatively new, most of the pages empty, yet you were looking at the photos you had taken earlier that week at the Tipsy Bison. The one that had your attention was a photo of you and Joel that Ellie had taken. Neither of you looked at the camera, the photo had captured you mid-laugh, head tilting back, eyes shut, it was a full belly laugh at something Joel had said. Joel’s arm was around your shoulder tucking you into his side, smiling down at you, a rare type of smile, one reserved only for you. 

Leaning on the entryway, his arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest, he smiles at the view. You’re in nothing but your panties in his bed, in his home. His feet move without thinking, walking over to you. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, tracing his fingers over your soft supple skin down your back and over the lace of your panties, and lightly pinches your ass. “So pretty sweet baby,” he says shyly, almost like he’s speaking to himself. You turn your head to look up at him, smiling. Wordlessly, he took the photo album from your hands, placing it on your nightstand. He gets in the bed, carefully sitting on his knees while attempting to avoid loosening the off-white towel around his waist. You roll onto your back to face him, his silver curls still damp from the shower as water still drips onto his strong shoulders. He combs his hair back after a shower and the ends tend to curl up around his ears. It’s been months since you last cut his hair but you like his hair longer, you had whispered to him in the darkness of your bedroom, your naked, sweaty limbs tangled up together between his sheets. From that night on he hasn’t asked you to cut it for him. He likes it because you like it. 

While you’re busy ogling him, Joel’s hands immediately reach to trace the floral lace pattern before toying with the little satin black bow at the center front. His rough, calloused hands slide up your bare thighs, wrapping his large hands around your thighs and he pries open your legs, his hazel eyes locked in on your center like a bullseye and you notice the cocky smirk he’s got plastered on his face, pleased with himself that he’s already got you wet for him. 

He brings two thick fingers to slide over your covered cunt. He feels the wetness on the material and he pulls back to look up at you and finds your attention on his fingers. “What a mess you made, pretty girl,” he murmurs. You’re watching the movement of his fingers, entranced by his fingers teasing your pussy as he glides them up and down your slit. He clicks his tongue at you, “so wet for me huh baby? Always so wet for me. So perfect,” he smirks to himself as he gently pulls your panties to the side, revealing your aching, needy cunt. He lowers his head placing gentle kisses on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his lips tracing and peppering your skin all the way towards your center, his mouth hovering over the place you need him most and you shiver beneath him. 

“Joel,” you whisper, he chuckles seeing you all worked up for him. “Baby please,” you whimper. 

“What is it baby?” he tuts, “use your words, sweet girl,” he tilts his head slightly with a smug grin on his face. His fingers move up and down your folds. 

“N-need them inside me, p-please,” you whimper as you claw at his forearms, clutching them for stability. 

“Alright baby, lemme taste her first,” He lays flat on his stomach, moves his arms under your legs, and hoists them up over his broad shoulders. He lowers his mouth onto your cunt and the tip of his tongue licks through your folds. He hums at the sweet taste of you on his tongue. He flattens his tongue and licks a long thick stripe and he groans lowly, the vibrations making you squirm under him. 

“Fuck, more baby,” you beg. You gasp at the hook of his nose bumping your clit. Your hands fly to his hair, eyes closing swiftly, brows furrowed as you let out a loud moan. 

“There she is,” he smirks. He flicks his tongue over your clit. His eyes slip closed as he relishes in the noises leaving your mouth, like music to his ears. Your hips buck up into his face, selfishly grinding your cunt for more. Joel’s eyes flicker back up your face, “eyes on me sweetheart,” he murmurs. Your eyes snap open to watch him as he brings his fingers back up to your cunt, two thick fingers dip into you and you can hear the wet squelch as he eases his fingers in, simultaneously, he circles his tongue around your clit. He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, his tongue lapping at your cunt. You feel the pressure building up more intensely inside of your belly and then you’re chanting his name as he curls his fingers inside you, petting at the spongy spot he knows will break you. He closes his mouth around your clit and he sucks hard. 

“Fuck, Joel, yes yes,” Your hips bucking up into his face, your legs start to shake as you come on his face and your cunt tightening around his fingers, a loud strangled moan filling the air. 

“That’s my girl,” he says as he watches you gasp above him, pressing a quick kiss to your clit. Your eyes flutter open just in time to see him removing his fingers, all wet and shiny, and putting them in his slick covered mouth, sucking them clean. 

Softly, he grabs your ankles, pulling you down towards the edge of the bed eliciting a giggle. His favorite sound…well one of his favorites. His favorite being the next sound that comes out of your mouth when he quickly pulls your panties down. He sees the wet shine of your cum in the center and his face lights up with glee. “You made such a mess ‘a your panties, baby,” he tuts before tossing them across the room. He unties the towel from his waist and lets it fall and it pools around his legs, revealing his thick, heavy cock, the tip angry and beads of precum seeping out of the slit. You place your hands around your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, presenting your already spent pussy to him once again and he groans roughly.

He leans forward, his fingers running through your folds once more, and you quiver at his touch. He gathers your cum on his fingers and strokes himself twice before he dips the wide tip of his cock inside of you. A whine leaves your lips. That. That was his favorite sound. He doesn’t push in further… he doesn’t move an inch. He’s teasing you…wants you to ask nicely for it. Like clockwork his voice laced with honey he says “Ask for it baby, ask for my cock.” 

Desperate, you whine again “please joel… I need your cock.” Your needy fingers trail lightly over his soft belly, sitting up slightly, you place soft kisses from his belly button down to the dark patch of hair above his cock, his body trembles at the feeling of your lips ghosting over his belly and a breathy moan escapes his lips. He laces his fingers with yours, bringing your hands near your head, his large form encompassing your smaller frame, he lowers himself down over you, his lips brushing against yours. “Baby, please. Please fuck my pussy” you mewl. He pushes his cock deeper, deeper, and deeper til the head of his cock kisses your cervix, provoking a loud groan from him against your ear as he nestles himself into you, where he belongs. 

“See baby all you had to do was ask politely” Joel cooes. He drags his hips back, leaving only his tip inside you once again and you clench around him. “Fuck, goddamn you’re fucking tight,” he grits. Slowly he starts thrusting his tip in and out. 

You whine again, “Baby don’t be mean. I want all of it.” 

“Shh..I know baby, I know,” he soothes. Then in one long single thrust, he wedges his cock back inside of you to the hilt, bottoming out into your cunt, hitting the spot that only he knows with a loud ragged groan into the crook of your neck. His cock is stretching you out, feeling every twitch, he’s everywhere and it’s overwhelming. He hitches your legs up towards your chest, opening you up more, your chest pressed tightly against his, he drags the weight of his cock languidly between your slick, moaning at the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. 

When you look up at him it’s like you can see a lightbulb go off in his head and before you know it, Joel’s large hands grab the swell of your ass, he picks you up, and repositions you both so he’s on his back and has you sitting on his thick cock. He wants you to ride him. In this position you can feel him in the deepest parts of your belly and it hurts just a little bit but you find pleasure in it, you always have.  

Leaning forward, you place your hands on the headboard and arching your back a bit more, Joel's head falls back down onto the pillows. At the sudden change of the angle, his eyes shut for just a second before he’s snapping them right back open. He doesn’t want to miss a single thing. He wants to see it all.  He watches how your breasts bounce as you move and quickly, he leans up to catch a nipple in his mouth. He’s licking and sucking all over your pebbled nipple and then his teeth graze along the hardened peak before swiftly pulling it between his teeth. He moves onto the other and he flicks his tongue over your nipple, he sucks and nips at it lightly before he lets your tit fall from his mouth, admiring the slight bounce of your breast before his eyes lock in on your face, watching your face contort and your mouth open while you seek your high. It's his favorite thing, watching you like this. 

“Jesus Christ, look at you, you’re takin’ me so well,” he groans. 

The grip of his hands on your hips tightens but doesn’t guide you, just seeks some ounce of control. You lean forward more so your clit brushes ever so slightly against the dark patch of curls at his base. The friction makes you approach your orgasm quickly. Joel’s eyes flicker down to where you two are connected, taking pleasure in seeing his cock splitting you open, watching as it disappears deep inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck….use me. Fuck yourself on daddy’s cock, atta girl,” You roll your hips faster, grinding harder on his cock, greedy and desperate to come again. “C’mon baby, come all over my cock.” 

His words and your clit repeatedly pressing against him make your hips stutter and you clench around him as your orgasm finally washes over you, harder than before. Your body goes limp on his chest. Joel doesn’t let up, he grabs your thighs and lifts his hips, relentlessly fucking his cock up into you. His cock slams into you so hard the wet slapping sound of your bodies fills the room. 

You turn your head and press your lips to his ear, nipping at his earlobe, you spur him on “c’mon Joel, come for me baby,” you softly rasp. “C’mon baby, for me, do it for me love,” you whisper and he whimpers, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. You bite down on his shoulder to muffle the whines that leave your mouth as he fucks into you harder, your walls tighten around him, his cock twitches inside you before he hastily pulls out with a long pained groan and with his cock between your bodies, his cum spurts out, thick and warm, coating his stomach. A moment passes and you lower your lips down his chest, feeling the rough edges of his skin underneath your lips as you pepper open mouthed kisses along his strong torso, the soft skin of his belly, over the jagged scar on his lower abdomen, all the way down his happy trail, you feel him shiver beneath you. 

You sit up on his thighs, locking your eyes with his, you bring your fingers down to his cum on his stomach. You look back up at him, your gaze meeting his as you swirl your fingers twice in his spend and bring your shiny, sticky coated fingers up to your mouth, closing your lips around your fingers, sucking them clean. His mouth agape, he’s staring back at you while you use your fingers to lick up his cum, “dirty girl, one’a these days you’re gonna gimme a heart attack woman,” he groans. 

The memory of it all…you riding him, your naked breasts bouncing, his cock impaling you, watching it disappear inside you over and over, your cunt clamping down around his cock and the echo of your moans as you came last night playing in his head sends him hurtling over the edge.

His cock twitches in his hand, his other hand slamming down on the counter, he groans your name raggedly and his thighs quiver as he comes hard into his fist, harder than he ever has when jerking himself off. He pumps his release into your panties, hot, thick ropes of his cum painting the gusset. His cum spurting out seemingly endless for a man his age. 

If you were here in front of him he would pull the fabric up over your thighs, making you wear your cum filled panties before going about the rest of your day.

But you’re not here so instead he brings the cum soaked panties up to his face, eyeing his spend and your wetness for a moment. He stops himself and contemplates the idea in his head as he eyes the glistening sheen over the center. Just as quickly as the thought infiltrated his head, he decides against it and bunches up the thin material and tosses them in the old laundry basket sat in the corner of your shared bathroom. Joel tucks himself back into his jeans, washes his hands, limping slightly as he walks out of your bedroom and closes the door behind him leaving your laundry for another day.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Donnie Tech Part 1/?

After many moons here are the promised observations of the cartoon shtick logic of Donnie's weapons for season one!! Will link a season two and movie version Eventually, but keep in mind I can't explain in depth how each bit of tech works, rather that I can pinpoint the functions for the visual bit. Keep in mind that Donnie's tech can pretty much do any ridiculous thing you can put your mind to, and that it can also backfire in any ridiculous way you can put your mind to.

Tech Bo:

Collapsible, can become a shorter version of itself easily stored

Shoot a grappling hook AND function as a zip line

Can form a rocket from either end (usually at the same time, resulting in the bo spinning)

Is equipped to be a fire extinguisher

Can shoot out lasers

Has a button that activates the "Shopping Cart Protocol" to lock the Turtle Tank if it goes outside a set perimeter

Top can turn into a rocket powered fist

Turn into a giant drill

Turn into a saw

Turn into a tranquilizer

Turn into a tennis ball shooter

Turn into a selfie stick

Top can turn into a disco ball of "multidimensional reflective orb neutralizer"

Battle Shell:

Has rotary engines (think jet turbine or computer fan) that help him fly around. He calls them "rotors" for short

Can transform into a seat so April can sit on his back

Can split up into a DJ set up in "music mode"

Jet Pack Shell:

His fastest mode of transportation

Not much is shown, but April had a significant difficulty controlling it

Spider Shell:

Has four arms with three fingers

Arms can turn into saws

Has a seemingly endless toolkit inside that includes basic things like hammers and wrenches, but also blowtorches

Goggles:

Has night vision

Can function as binoculars

Is able to summon is tech ("communicates with microwave transceiver with class c encryption protocols")

Read mystic energy signatures after adding the crystal they found in Draxum's lab

Gauntlet:

Has an app that can tap into every security camera in NY

Bug Slapper:

Has a green Mad Dogs sticker on the side

Compacts itself into a metal suitcase and then expand back into a vehicle

So far only uses Big Mama's webbing material as projectiles

Shelldon:

Began as an automated smart lair designed with the intent as a cleaning assistant

Has a "disposal unit" which unlocks several of Donnie's weapons such as: guns, pinchers, drills, and flamethrowers

Can carry at least two turtles (Mikey and Donnie)

Is nicknamed "Cyber Bishop" by Donnie

Uses surfer dude slang: “dude”, “gnarly”, “buzzkill”, “okey dokey”, “dawg”, “you beefed it”, “brohounds"

As a smart lair has clear favoritism towards Donnie until tampered with. As a drone they share more of a familial or pet like relationship, and Shelldon has room to sometimes poke at Donnie's faults as well

In conclusion there's not much to worry about breaking canon, the physics of our reality, or understanding complicated tech and science to write about Donnie's tech. He can do whatever he wants as long as it's silly, overly dramatic, and includes an unnecessary amount of purple guns. His tech bo is especially flexible with breaking the rules even before we get to his ninpo powers.

I'm keeping the Turtle Tank separate, because it also deserves its own post. Happy writing!

[ohai-there]

post canon SVSSS x minato hokage era naruto crossover where it's scumplane (bcos i love scumplane) heading to the elemental nations on official business for some reason or another (maybe theres a barrier between their lands to prevent leakage of spiritual energy or somethign) SJ hates being alive purely because it means he's in SQH's debt for ripping him out of SQQ's body that Shen Yuan was inhabiting and reviving SJ (because SY decided to fuck off and live his best life as the demon emperor's wife and Cang Qiong NEEDS a peak lord for Qing Jing)

canonically immortals are extremely beautiful (even SQH is described as a 'proper' face iirc) and SJ is like TOP TIER beauty, but also immortals are sometimes described to have faces 'carved from jade' so I imagine when they step into immortality, they no longer have micro expressions and have like... crazy control over their facial muscles - so it kinda freaks out the ninjas, because the only emotions they can see is exactly what scumplane want them to see (SJ - disgust, usually. SQH - cowardice/flattery)

Scumplane also have 0 sense of danger when it comes to shinobi - they're immortals and old (lets say this is an indetermined amount of time after canon wraps up) so things like mundane steel and mortal poisons mean nothing to them when theyre so old. They also don't even bother holding back their tongues because what can these mortals even do to them? Worse comes to worse, they just seal up the worlds again, or just wait out for all these mortals to die (a strategy they use for troublesome emperors or politicians).

They also bring their disciples (Ming Fan specifically because I want him to have a redemption) and after canon had wrapped up the PIDW's story finished, everyone in the world actually bounced back into their rightful places (e.g. MF suddenly got a second puberty, his face improved to be beautiful as it should be and his intelligence returned to the level that the head disciple of the scholarly peak should be).

I want it to be during Minato hokage's short, short tenure - Minato is 23, a war hero and recently hired as ninja president, Konoha just came out of a war and suddenly the daimyo is paying WELL and hiring for the best teams of Konoha to escort these foreigners who are so otherwordly beautiful and so otherworldly RICH, like, the material of the clothes they wear puts the daimyos court to shame, they can pay in pure gold and stones thrumming with power.

SJ's whole thing is like... based on image. So imagine SQH bowing and being like 'ooh thank you for your hospitality' and SJ just grabbing him by the back of his collar and hauling him up like 'wtf dont even bother bowing to this guy. Have some face. he's only got the same rank as you AND he's a fucking child.'

(He's figured that Daimyo = weak emperor-ish, because what kind of a emperor only has control of such a small land AND has others in nearby lands with the same, competing title????. Hokage & Konoha is like the sects, and all the peak lords of CQS are of the same rank as a sect leader. Of course, they all defer to YQY officially, but tbh all the peaks run like their own individual sects, and SJ has never allowed himself to act below YQY in rank)

During Minato's reign, Orochimaru is still a loyal Konoha shinobi.... his interest in immortals makes him soooooo crazy invested in them....

SJ looks at Orochimaru who's questioning him on immortality and is like, 'out of all these people, you are the closest. Your mind is too unstable, however (ironic, coming from SJ) and you still cling too tightly to the material world. Abandon all worldly matters and immortality may be in your grasp, if the heavens deign it so.' acting like he's a good teacher or something, while SQH is in the background, the voice of reason like 'SHIXIONG WTF!!! WE'RE NOTT SUPPOSED TO BE GIVING UP THE SECRET TO IMMORTALITY TO THE MORTALS OF THE FORBIDDEN REALM????'

Maybe SQH does know they're in the naruto world, and knows what naruto is, (hc that the water walking we see YQY do in the donghua was ripped off from naruto, when SQH was still writing PIDW) but it's been like 200+ years! He can't remember shit!!! This is all new information to him!

[pennyblossom-meta]

L Lawliet: a deep dive into the expanded universe pt.01

EDIT (07/04/2024): Added some imgs.

Apologies for being so late to give this a follow up to @maevearcher's meta which can be found here and here. As usual, she’s made excellent points and I'll try to answer the ones which caught my eye.

Since this post ended up gaining a life of its own and becoming a bit too long, I’m splitting it in 2 or 3 parts. The core of the content for part 01 starts after under the button to Read More.

Here we talk about L's humanity.

I'll start with a disclaimer of my own: while I consider the manga as the base for the story, I'm very much open to the expanded DN universe as a complementary study of the characters and their motivations — sometimes even filling in the blanks for some of the background mysteries, such as the dynamics of Wammy's House and how L's successors view him.

To further clarify: by canon I mean the manga and any works by Tsugumi Ohba as the base material. I think @maevearcher and I are more or less in agreement on that, from what she mentioned in her own posts. As she said, the written word is indeed the baseline truth.

The expansion of the DN universe also has its own very special set of problems; for example, in many ways, L:CtW (L: Change the WorLd) commits the sin of overindulgence by throwing in considerations that, arguably, go against canon. Besides the ending where L lives for a final 23 days and Watari dies, the portrayal of Near in the movie (though in the novel he's also walking a fine line between becoming partially and very much OOC) is also a point of contention. I confess that I really wasn't fond of the way they portrayed Misa as a potential crush of L given canon insights on his opinion about Light whether in the role of Kira or as a person (pg.64 of Vol 13: How to Read, henceforth referred to as V13:HTR), but aligning L to become more humane and forgiving was at least interesting.

The same happens with the live action movies, the 2015 series, and the musical. At least the game Spiraling Trap isn't clashing with canon elements — that I could tell. The main plot is separate from the events of DN and the dating sim is a little slice of heaven into L's thoughts and emotions which I dearly love.

However, while L:CtW does indeed overindulge, the novel AN:LABB (Another Note: LA BB Murder Cases) gives us a singular glimpse into L through the eyes of Mello while keeping the events mostly accurate to the main plot, even with its slight deviations. It's certainly an optional perspective to the core of DN, but one that I always found very insightful. In V13:HTR, Obha mentions how he would’ve liked that there were more novels about L and how he solved previous cases, in a similar fashion to how Nisio Isin approaches AN:LABB. Here’s what Ohba says in pg.61 of V13:HTR:

(...) I didn’t think up much for [L’s] past. For him to be in such an influential position, he must have solved an amazing amount of cases, but I have no idea what kind of cases they were or how he solved them. But I would love for NISIOISIN, who wrote the Death Note novel, to write more stories about that (...)

This means that, to some extent, even the original author, Ohba, accepts AN:LABB as close to canon — or rather, as canon as it can get given the creative liberties allowed to a third party writer. To that point, Nisio Isin took L’s capoeira demonstration during the Yotsuba arc and made it a whole thing in the novel, with L taking inspiration from Naomi Misora’s skills. However, given the importance of that event, in the main story, L takes a while to even remember Misora so we can infer that either the stress of the case is getting to him OR learning capoeira and subsequently Misora’s role in it didn’t leave that much of an imprint on him because true canon didn’t really put that much emphasis into it. Either way, it’s an extrapolation that works. The technicalities can be overlooked given how ambiguous the scene is, as there is more than room to deduce a different past.

At the same time, I am an apologist that there are shared characteristics to L throughout the different mediums. My own interpretation of L's character has the manga as a baseline, but the expanded universe has taught me that there are sides to him that might not be so easy to perceive in dialogue bubbles or illustrations alone. Little things like L's addictive personality or the way he represses feelings are visible in the manga but caught beautifully in the novels, for example.

Going from the written word into the screen also represents a loss of the purity achievable only within the narrative in-book, where you can extrapolate and reach your own conclusions without being subject to the bias of sound and movement — though manga aggregates the visual to words and with it an altogether different dimension of meaning. That's one of the many things I enjoy about elements of fiction introduced through books; the stillness of the images and the narrative are more complex. Every time the baseline gets adapted, it loses something or that something shifts to fit into the perception of others. It ceases being pure and its essence is fundamentally shattered. Like the concept of a musical score on paper that gets played by an orchestra, there will never be an adaptation as good as the source material because it breaks the illusion.

While I can certainly extrapolate and accept the loss, I find that the written word from the novels, the tone of a VA's voice and the body movements in a live action still complement the manga well, despite narrative clashes.

About L’s humanity

Recently I've been re-watching the anime and it's incredible how Alessandro Juliani's understanding of the character resulted in such a well-rounded voice for L. I actually prefer the EN version to the JP because of the voice acting. It's superbly brilliant, even if L becomes less listless. He's certainly still aloof, but his aggressiveness is portrayed more vividly; in contrast, L in the manga feels a bit more dangerous and scary to me due to the range of expressions that the anime didn't manage to add in due to time and budget constraints. If anything L tones down how dangerous he can be. He does this on purpose so that he can trick and trip his adversary, as can be seen during his earlier interactions with Light. At times, L makes a mockery of himself, apparently placing himself in the position of a more demure individual while sharply observing the world around him and forming conclusions.

As to @maevearcher ‘s first point:

(...) An image of this lonely autistic genius, locked inside the confines of his ways, waiting for the right person to come along and save him from the banes of his solitary existence…until he meets Light and realises there’s someone out there who he can relate to, for understanding and stuff. I personally don’t buy too much into that.

The depth to which L relates to Light can be overestimated, but not without reason. Theirs is mostly an adversarial relationship with varying deviations throughout the expanded universe, but if we solely consider the manga then we get this comment from Ohba regarding whether L has any friends on pg.64 of V13: HTR:

Nope. And when he says that Light is his first friend that’s a big lie. He never considers him a friend. He probably secretly thinks really negative things about him.

During the Yotsuba arc, L is at a disadvantage. Light has turned the tables, tricked him into what Beyond Birthday could not do and thus gained a solid position into rendering L almost powerless to charge him. To elaborate on the latter point: BB wanted to create the perfect, unsolvable crime to humiliate L, making him lose, and thus “spend the rest of his life trembling in fear of B’s shadow” (pg.163, AA:LABB); L would know who the guilty party was but wouldn’t be able to prove it or bring that person to justice. As such, L would not be able to solve the mystery. At the end of the novel BB fails due to Misora’s quick thinking and that’s that. However, Light has several advantages that BB lacked, starting with his own social position, charm and the impeccable reputation of a model student and the prized son of a police chief who helps solve cases every now and then.

We can argue that, what truly happens in manga canon, is L and Light showing how much they respect each other for their detective skills, forming a sort of strange kinship within the cat and mouse game, especially when Light loses his memories of the Death Note. The game thrills them and they enjoy pushing each other’s buttons. No one else has ever challenged them like this. That being said, the first time they meet up for coffee after the tennis match, L is observing Light like a hawk, keeps testing him for a reaction and seems somewhat irritated at how much Light talks. I would venture a guess that L doesn’t actually like Light that much, even when he loses his memories. He might even find Light a nuisance when he waves the flag of morality — though this is a common problem L is confronted with when dealing with the Task Force, in particular Chief Yagami and Aizawa. This also places him at another gruesome disadvantage, as he’s surrounded by people who openly dislike and criticise his methods. The Task Force is also extremely wary of the way L pursues Light and think he’s being stubborn without proof to substantiate his reasoning. Ironically, it’s Aizawa, one of L’s most critical subordinates, who initiates Light’s downfall years later once he starts to consider L’s suspicions in light of Near and Mello’s tactics. 

Both L and Light respect the game, no matter where it takes them. I would further make an educated guess that Light even preyed on L’s vulnerabilities during the Yotsuba arc, predicting how L might fall into depression for failing at the game. Light was more than capable of understanding that L’s competitive and childish side would make him a sore loser, especially given that he had already “lost” the first round of battles just by showing his face. Even if there is a sliver of friendship between both during Light’s months of amnesia, it’s dead and buried the moment he becomes Kira again. 

My conclusion here would be that, while what happened with Light was extreme, it was also somewhat similar to Beyond Birthday’s eternal enmity towards L: the challenge, the need to humiliate and take down the greatest detective, one of the most brilliant minds to ever walk the Earth. There are some notable quotes from AA:LABB that reference what it is to be L, surrounded by future challengers and individuals who both look up to L and want to prove they’re better than him:

Pg.69

By simple arithmetic, L's ability in 2002 was the equivalent of five ordinary investigative bureaus, and seven intelligence agencies (and by the time he faced off against Kira, those numbers had leapt upward several more notches). This is easy to think of as a reason to respect and admire someone, but let me say this as clearly as possible: that much ability in one human is extremely dangerous. Modern danger management techniques rely heavily on diffusing the risk, but his very existence was the exact opposite. In other words, if someone was planning to commit a crime, they could greatly increase their chances of getting away with it by simply killing L before they began. That was why L hid his identity Not because he was shy or because he never left the house. To ensure his own safety For a detective of L's ability, self-preservation and the preservation of world peace were one and the same, and it would not be correct to describe his actions as cowardly or self-centered.

Pg. 117

L was the goal of everyone in Wammy's House. Everyone of us wanted to surpass him. To step over him. To step on him. M did, N did, and B did. M as a challenger, N as a successor. B as a criminal.

Pg. 160:

B approached Naomi Misora, calling himself Rue Ryuzaki. Rue Ryuzaki - L.L.  For anyone from Wammy's House, there could be no higher goal than identifying yourself with that letter - and Beyond Birthday seized this case as his chance.

One of the biggest problems with these quotes is that they paint a very complicated — and, ultimately, suffocating — picture of what it is like to be L. Ohba himself mentions Watari’s predisposition towards collecting geniuses from all over the world and what Wammy’s House has turned into, under the snippet for Watari’s character (pg.60 V13:HTR):

He’s a guy who cultivates detectives for fun. That’s kind of terrible, isn’t it?

Everyone profits from L. Watari becomes richer than ever. Wammy's House becomes breeding ground for geniuses who end up dreaming of a life where they enjoy constant thrill and challenge. However, in order to do so, the dream cannot be complete until the successor crushes the original; until M, N, B and A defeat L. At least one of L’s successors couldn’t handle the pressure and committed suicide. B, known as Backup, runs away from the orphanage and goes on a murder rampage. Having never met L in person, he deduces several personality quirks that the “original” demonstrates, going as far as exacerbating them in order to be creepy and repulsive. Mello, who boasts of having met L in person and being privy to stories about how he defeated several other detectives (then taking their aliases as a trophy) both fervently admires L and wants to step on him. 

Step on him. That’s quite the turn of phrase. It does sound scary, doesn’t it? To be surrounded by people who would take the opportunity to pull you down, no matter how much they admire you. They want to be you, to prove that they’re better than you. It’s game and ego. Life and death. Winner and loser. 

And that’s perhaps the most blatant summary in approved canon of what it is like to be L that we’ll ever get. We can, of course, argue that Watari cares about L. He’s not only his handler, but also the one who brought him into Wammy’s House. It’s fairly clear that he nurtured (and even enabled) some of L’s most distressing character traits, though I wouldn’t necessarily say it was with a purely utilitarian agenda. It’s perfectly acceptable to extrapolate how Watari might’ve wanted to keep L, a child of great intellectual genius, happy by allowing him to be challenged and properly educated. In fact, AN:LABB (pg. 145-46) even gives us L’s perspective on the kindness that justice can achieve, which is confirmed within the expanded universe to be similar to Watari’s teachings as L confronts Kujo in L:CtW. 

"I have nothing to do with him," L said. "To be completely accurate, I do not even know B. He is simply someone I am aware of. But none of this affects my judgment. Certainly I was interested in this case, and began to investigate it because I knew who the killer was. But that did not alter the way I investigated it, or the manner in which my investigation proceeded. Naomi Misora, I cannot overlook evil. I cannot forgive it. It does not matter if I know the person who commits evil or not. I am only interested in justice." "Only... in justice... " Misora gasped. "Then ... nothing else matters?" "I wouldn't say that, but it is not a priority." “You won't forgive any evil, no matter what the evil is?" "I wouldn't say that, but it is not a priority." "'But..." Like a thirteen-year-old victim. "There are people who justice cannot save." Like a thirteen-year-old criminal. “And there are people who evil can save." "There are. But even so," L said, his tone not changing at all. As if gently admonishing Naomi Misora. “Justice has more power than anything else." "Power? By power ... you mean strength?" "No. I mean kindness." He said it so easily. Misora almost dropped the phone. L The century's greatest detective, L. The detective of justice, L. Who solved every case, no matter how difficult... " ...I misunderstood you, L." "Did you? Well, I'm glad we cleared that up."

I would, once again, venture another educated guess that, while Watari’s primary reasons for starting a program of successors to L was noble, it ultimately backfired on an individual level. Society wise, the letters, as L calls them in L:CtW, are a force for good. They solve crimes, help law forces around the world to keep peace. Some of them even become scientists like Dr Kujo — though she becomes the main antagonist in the spin-off novel. However, the pressure this kind of lifestyle fostered creates a group of individuals who are highly competitive and manipulative. Some, like A, can’t handle it. Even L has his own troubles, being called a reclusive sociopath, possibly by the police forces who treat him as a utility rather than a person. He’s someone they admire and resent, who is tolerated given how effective he is at cracking down cases. 

This passage from L:CtW paints a grim picture of the way L suppresses his own feelings as he breaks down for not being able to prevent Maki from being kidnapped (pg. 150-51):

"Light...it hurts. My heart--" It was a hurt that L Lawliet had suppressed, that he had to suppress in order to continue his existence as the peerless Detective L. How had the world's top detective been described in regard to facets of his personality rather than his ability as a detective? He had been called a kinky detective who relished bizarre murders, a human computer capable only of measuring mass murders in terms of cold numbers, a reclusive sociopath. What L thought of such estimations of his personality only L could know. But no one could truly understand L. How L did not and could not forget the faces of thousands of victims. Who could comprehend the man who had lived his life, and had to live confronting all the lives that ended prematurely, the tears of grief-stricken survivors, the devaluing of life as a daily reality. How was it possible to measure the pain of such a man? Was it a strain so heavy that L's back curved under all its weight? Was it an agony so terribly to leave the indelible dark circles around his eyes? Was it a feeling so bitter that every bite he took needed to be coated in sugar? The chronically rounded shoulders, the inevitable dark circles, the eccentric tastes--L suppressed the pain of being a champion of justice, but the evidence of the pain was moulded into his very body.”

Even within the clear disparity from the official canon, this passage slaps. It humanises L further, making the detective become a person and not just a machine who is content with his lifestyle. I know there’s a tendency for those who prefer the manga to see L as someone who is unabashedly himself and perfectly alright with the life he lives. I would argue that the Kira case was not only the most difficult challenge L ever faced, but also a series of moments where he had to be at his best — and at his worst. He had to do everything within his power to solve the case, not only because of his pride but because of what he considers to be his sense of justice. Saying with such confidence ‘I am justice’ is a rather cheesy and childish thing to say out loud, though I read it as both what started as a child’s stubbornness and what L became, as he positioned himself as a barrier to prevent crimes. 

L suppresses himself, represses his emotions; he tries to control them, as Fu Takashi says in an interview, he is “dependent on games or battles of the mind”. Perhaps this is a consequence of the foundations of his personality. Despite L’s innate stubbornness, it could be argued that this is as much his fault as it is Watari’s, who didn’t nurture L’s social skills as he should have when he was a child. By not having an outlet outside of his hobby, L is trapped in a prison of his own making. Superficially, L is a “smart guy who hates losing”, but what about the rest? What about the things that make him human, the connections with others? In the same interview, it is mentioned how L feels lonely and needs affection. But what affection can you get when you isolate yourself from the world and keep everyone at arm’s length? He’s not a machine. Even machines become obsolete with time, and need outside help to keep functioning.

As for the latter point, if everyone around L is trying to step on him, humiliate him and surpass him, then it’s only natural that his emotional defences would be up. Aside from Watari, whose loyalty he can count on, he’s alone. L has no one else. And everyone around him will have a dangerous, significant probability to betray him.

Next in part 02: About romance, having someone close and intimate, the meaning of the Monster speech.

Tagging @rinneroraito and @sharkiethrts who might be interested in this meta.

[bibibbon]

Someone made an animatic of Bakugou and Shoto going to visit Izuku at his fast food job under the guise of "cheering him up." But they both just went there and laughed at him. And of course the comments were full of "I saved the world-" "Put the fries in the bag."

And I get they're supposed to be jokes, but I can't help but feel like the fandom has a tendency to make fun of Izuku's trauma. Everything he's ever gone through is always swept under the rug or ridiculed. And it's always by Bakugou fans who claim to like Izuku (they actually don't, they like Izuku being a prop for Bakugou)

Hi @sapphic-agent 👋

Honestly Iam really not surprised at all.

The MHA fandom has this very weird thing of never actually paying attention to the main character and just making fun/bullying everything that happens to him.

The McDonald's worker Izuku gag is horrible and it's not even the first time that the fandom has done something like this. Personally I just stay in MHAs critical Tumblr corner so I had to do some research into the things you mentioned and this is what I found. Both are honestly horrible.

Like I said this isn't new as the fandom has made memes of izuku and his pain multiple times.

1) either call him a crybaby and edit him crying

2) the whole hospital bed x Izuku gag ship

3) the hate that izuku has been getting by other fans (I have seen a post on Tumblr showing a screenshot of a twitter post saying that they wish izuku commits because he killed tomura)

I can't tell you the amount of times I have seen BKDK shippers romanticise bks abuse and severe bullying towards izuku whether that be using canon material or their own fanon material.

Also there's something weird about MHA fanfiction making izuku go through a hell ton of trauma (a lot are very exaggerated in times)

Tldr: Izuku's trauma is either made fun of, ignored or simply romanticised.

[wajjs]

i hate batstans who spamming hal jordan tag ughh

I know this is related to the now deleted poorly written post about Hal/Arisia, in which Jason chases Hal threatening to murder him for being a "pedo freak" and Hal is somehow scared of Jason when in reality Hal has no reason to be afraid of him since they're not on the same power scale.

I was saving this ask to post a good answer, but I'm very sick and ultimately it boils down to this:

The infamous "not a child molester" panel is purposefully shared out of context because it has inflammatory language and it's the best way to rage bait people + it prolongs ignorance in fandom circles (already known for never looking at the source material) by not explaining the whole situation like it should be explained.

It is an incredibly scummy thing to do considering how sensitive and delicate the topic is. It is also incredibly telling that it's mostly antis the ones who share this panel out of context and without nuance. Antis LOVE to use words like "child molester" and "pedophile" like they're candy and like these words have no real weight behind them.

I have seen antis pile on a survivor of child molestation for saying they do not agree with calling Hal a pedophile, because in context he's not, and using that accusation as a blanket statement "gotcha!" only helps to water down the complex terms and alienates survivors. I've witnessed antis tell survivors to "get over it" and that "maybe they (the survivors) are the real pedos" for "defending Hal Jordan".

I'm gonna break down the context in simple terms so that it can be understood:

Arisia joins the Green Lantern corps as a preteen/young teenager

Hal consistently, repeatedly, explicitly, calls her "little sister" across multiple issues and treats her like family

Arisia develops a crush on Hal that starts off Innocent and turns into an Obsession

Hal explicitly, repeatedly, consistently, turns her down

When they're trapped in a cave, Arisia cannot take Hal's "no" as valid answer and uses her willpower to age herself up into a full-fledged adult. She must have Hal

I repeat, she's NOT a child. In text, in canon, she's now drawn and written like an adult — a very precocious young adult, yes, but an adult nonetheless.

ONLY AFTER she turns into an adult does Hal show interest in her, and they make out in that cave to then develop their relationship

What's the REAL issue?

I am aware that the context is far from good, but what is most important from it is that the relationship is very clearly out of character within the same run it develops from. Before Steve Englehart, the writers consistently kept an older brother/little sister dynamic between them. Englehart was the one to add the ""romantic"" twist to it and directly contradict not other writers, but even himself. Moments before making out with Arisia, Hal is written turning her down. Again.

This is clearly not a character trait of Hal. This is a self insert situation in which the writer, and with support of the editors, decided to put his fantasy on page. It's not the first time this ever happened in comics, it will not be the last — it just is, unfortunately, infamous all around the internet.

To sum things up before I pass out again from the amount of meds in me:

Hal is not a pedophile. He only develops a romantic relationship with Arisia AFTER she's grown into an adult (in the blink of an eye, yeah). He is not a child molester. Nowhere in the run before or after was that ever a thing. It is beyond me why Englehart wrote that dialogue. Who knows.

His relationship with Arisia has its surprisingly sweet and stable moments, though it quickly deteriorates because Arisia and Hal are at different life stages. They break it off. It was retconned. I repeat, IT WAS RETCONNED. IT'S NO LONGER CANON. And for good reason.

I am TIRED of Batstans, mostly Jason Todd stans, using a clear example of bad writing to bash on a well beloved character. As if Jason hasn't suffered from atrocious writing as well.

Now can we stop with the obvious rage baiting and blatant spreading of misinformation?

short cbr article with a breakdown of events for those interested

[lover-of-mine]

https://www.tumblr.com/lemotmo/755374254590246912/can-we-take-a-minute-to-talk-about-how-todays-bts

This is spot on. The BT fandom has worked so hard to completely try and twist the narrative 9-1-1 has put forward. I’m not surprised Oliver is blocking people and not promoting the ship because there isn’t anything worth promoting and if I were him or a showrunner I would also be annoyed that a small amount of fans are trying to hijack a storyline. BT fans act like the general audience loves Tommy when I genuinely think the general audience just does not care one way or another about Tommy. Because the show has not given any reason to care about him. The only people that care so strongly (either liking or disliking him) are fandom people online who are stuck in discourse. That is not the majority of viewers. We’re going into season 8 - we don’t have a guarantee of how many seasons are left. Now that they’ve moved networks and we’re given the green light they’re going to focus on the storyline that wraps up their main characters arcs in the most satisfying way (which based on everything we’ve seen in this show is Buddie) not trying to start from scratch for both Buck and Eddie with new relationships. And if they DID want to pair Buck and Eddie with other people they would’ve actually tried to develop Buck and Tommy in season 7 and they very purposefully didn’t.

clickable link for the post because it's very spot on

The thing with the cameos is that it turned a narrative that was supposed to be about Buck and turned it into a narrative about Buck and Tommy. There is nothing in canon that backs up the idea that Tommy is anything other than just some guy. The show didn't restart at season 7 and if they wanted to make Buck and Tommy something with a fighting chance, Tommy would've existed in the narrative beyond the coming out plotline. Taylor's storyline was complete with beef with lafd personnel and a canon tragic backstory. If they wanted to make people care about Tommy they would've. They made it with Taylor with 4 episodes. You want me to believe they couldn't do it with Tommy after 6? Lou was putting out headcanon after headcanon and people took that as gospel as if he was reading scripts and had input from writers when Lou said in an interview that they didn't even tell him what label Tommy was supposed to have when they filmed the kiss. The show created a very clear narrative that shows that the relationship is not that serious. And if we are taking word of god as canon, Tim said that it's a "level entry relationship" and used the word "first fling" multiple times. First implies a second and fling is as unserious as it can get. The actual show is saying something, the creator of the show is saying the same thing. But sure, the actor they are paying and prompting has more say than the actual source material 🙄🙄. This story is about making Buck bi. Nothing else. If they wanted to make this be a Buck finally found his person, they would've developed Tommy into someone who's at least a little bit likeable, not continuously make him look worse every time he opens his mouth. If Oliver really is frustrated with this and blocking people because people hijacked the storyline he's telling, he has every right to be. He wanted to tell a nice story about Buck being bi and now he's caught having to dodge people who want him to walk up to the creators and say they have to marry Buck and Tommy by 802 or else he walks, when he clearly just wanted it to be about Buck's identity. Somehow Buck got pushed to the background of his own story by this very loud group of people while being aided by an actor who's creating a pr nightmare. The story is about Buck exploring bisexuality not about Buck falling in love with Tommy and it's painfully clear. The fact that people can't see it because someone paid a dude 100 and something dollars to say they are "thriving" is madness and shows the lack of basic media literacy.

[communistkenobi]

Wrt your posting about the jedi taking on children, I disagree thst the argument about force sensitive people 'need' to be trained for everyone else's safety. It's like Dragon Age mages or BNHA quirks, it's not special if someone can fireball me if they're having a bad day, some random person can already beat or strangle me with just their own two hands in the real world, no fireball necessary.

I mean idk I feel like Star Wars does a fairly decent job of establishing how dangerous force sensitivity can be - it’s not just extra strength or throwing things, but also mind control, healing (which i know is rare tbf), communicating with animals, etc. It also establishes how scary it can be to have those sorts of powers without knowing how to deal with them. I think Rebels does a good job of exploring this kind of thing with Kanan and Ezra.

However I also agree with you that it doesn’t “need” to be a problem, like force users are not inherently doomed to darkness/violence unless trained eternally across all space and time. But I think force sensitivity introduces a wholly organic way to accrue power (both physically in the sense that you’re more powerful and socially in that you have a type of organic ‘capital’ that can be used to gain social and political power in society, either because people adore you and want to follow you, and/or because they fear you), and having that type of power isn’t dependent on class position or family history*, it’s essentially random chance if someone is force sensitive or not. Which creates a threat to the types of societies depicted in Star Wars where there are durable ruling classes who want to maintain power.

And I think the Jedi Order offers a solution to this problem by capturing that type of ‘organic capital’ for lack of a better term; you monopolise an institution responsible for moulding force sensitive people into a particular type of subject - one that is not a threat to the prevailing societal order - and in exchange for being forced to be a Jedi you get massive amounts of privilege via access to knowledge, social status, material needs, and so on. While this creates civil unrest and distrust of the Jedi from a lot of laypeople, it’s a pretty sweet deal in the eyes of the Republic if it means not having to deal with rival force sensitive groups using their power to make political demands, especially through violence.

I think looking at it this way explains why the Jedi don’t really accept or allow any other type of force user, especially as they become more enmeshed with the Republic (the coven in the acolyte is a good example, the dathomiri witches, etc), and why a lot of force users who are not Jedi are labelled Sith, either because they adopt that label themselves or because they’re labelled that by the Jedi. And I’m not saying “the sith are just misunderstood victims” or whatever, but that in a scenario where you have a very powerful monastic order that controls how the rest of society understands and interacts with force sensitivity, force users who fall outside of that are going to be treated as a criminal class who are a threat to the republic (because they are - Maul is treated this way, Dooku and Anakin quite literally topple the Republic, etc). So like in the settings Star Wars tends to play in, force sensitivity is narratively understood as a source of incredible potential power, and capturing that power via an institution like the Order makes sure that power potential is not disruptive to prevailing society and power interests. Which is why I think the Jedi do have a fairly good rationale for taking kids and training them, even if that rationale is tied to the maintenance of the status quo - the Order’s power depends upon the maintenance of their own monopoly

*KIND OF. obviously some of the canon loves doing blood lineages with palpatine and shit, the midichlorian thing, etc. which sucks so bad. But general canon consensus as far as I know appears to be that anyone can potentially be force sensitive

[primnroses]

— An insight about summons: Katsuyu, the slug of the Shikkotsu Forest

The information presented in this post has been checked and revised. My aim is not to hate or to discredit any of the characters mentioned. Please read about me for further information.

This post will contain evidence in picture format directly from the manga Naruto (1999 - 2014) created by Masashi Kishimoto and published by Shueisha in 1999. I will also use information from the official databooks of Naruto.

This informative post will analyze the concept of animal summons in the world of Naruto and highlight Katsuyu’s unique abilities throughout the series providing evidence. This meta will also mention other animal summons from the Three-Way Deadlock. I will not use information present in the novels because there is none.

This meta is crossposted in AO3.

I give my permission to use or share this thread with informative purposes as long as you credit me.

I do not support the anime or the work of Studio Pierrot in regards to Naruto because I consider it over exaggerated and beyond biased. Furthermore, these fillers include some actions that these characters are unable to do in the canon according to official sources and they also generate unnecessary debate.

Please, take this into consideration.

Katsuyu, also known as Katsuyu of the Shikkotsu Forest, is a giant slug from the Shikkotsu Forest, a secret and legendary place from the Three Unexplored Sage Regions (仙人三大秘境, Sennin Sandai Hikyō). 

The Three Sage Unexplored Regions according to the Fourth databook.

She is the personal summon of the Fifth Hokage Tsunade, and later, her disciple Sakura Haruno; both women are probably the only people in the world that have been able to summon the slug.

Katsuyu possesses one of the most unique qualities and abilities among animal summons, most of which are still a mystery within the series. 

— WHAT IS A SUMMON AND ANIMAL SUMMONS?

A summon is the ability to invoke objects, weapons, people or animals. This action is carried out through a Summoning Technique (口寄せの術­, Kuchiyose no Jutsu), a special hand seal based jutsu to transport any element to the user’s location for a limited amount of time. 

A Summoning Technique is classified as a space-time ninjutsu and a C-Rank (chūnin level) difficulty jutsu. 

Summoning Technique according to the First databook.

Usually, in order to summon objects or weapons, users apply scrolls or special sealing techniques to contain the desired material. This is the case of Tenten, for example; she uses scrolls to seal multiple kunai, shuriken and any weapon of her choice, granting her the title of “Master of space-time ninjutsu”.

However, for animals and living creatures, this is different.

An animal summon is a technique that adds to the ninja’s ninjutsu repertoire, as a shinobi can take advantage of the animal’s abilities for battle or other purposes.

Before any animal can be summoned, the animal and the user must sign a contract with the species or the specific creature using their blood. In order to summon said animal, the user applies some of their blood, normally by biting their fingers, and channels their chakra to their hands thus invoking a sealing pattern that transports their summon to that same location. The amount of chakra used to summon the creatures determines the size and number of summons. 

The summoning contract of the Toads of Mount Myōboku, Naruto chapter 92.

In the case of the Three Unexplored Sage Regions, the summoning contracts vary. 

Naruto Uzumaki Jiraiya and Minato Namikaze sealed a contract with the toads of Mount Myōboku using their own blood, so when they perform a Summoning Technique, any available toad can offer their services to them. 

Orochimaru has his contract with the snakes of the Ryūchi Cave tattooed on his arms. The methods his disciple Sasuke Uchiha uses to summon snakes from the same location is unknown. 

Tsunade and Sakura Haruno do not have a physical contract, or at least it has never been revealed. However, by reading the manga, the contract with the Shikkotsu Forest might be through their Strength of a Hundred Seal, as it is only possible to summon Katsuyu if the summoner possesses this seal.

It is unknown if there is a blood contract involved, but it is likely that there is since the method of summoning is blood like his companions. 

Orochimaru's contract Naruto chapters 165 and 344.

— KATSUYU AND HER ABILITIES, WHAT MAKES HER SPECIAL?

Katsuyu is a very intriguing and interesting animal and the only one whose past has never been explored.

Summon’s habitats and the Three Unexplored Sage Regions are home to a single species of animals. 

The Ryūchi Cave is home to snakes such as the White Snake, Manda or Aoda, and Mount Myōboku is home to toads like Gamakichi, Gamamaru or Gamabunta.

But, unlike those, Katsuyu is the only organism living in the Shikkotsu Forest. She does not have any other slug companions. 

Following the same scheme as the rest of summons, Katsuyu resembles a real slug. 

She is white or ivory in color, with three turquoise stripes running on her head and sides that start on her head and end in her tail. 

One special feature about her appearance is that her true size has never been seen. Using one summoner, Katsuyu is bigger than the Hokage Residence, and using two summoners, Katsuyu is the size of the roots of the God Tree, which is just one tenth of her real size according to Tsunade. 

Katsuyu's size summoned by one person or two, Naruto chapters 422 and 650.

Her size changes depending on the amount of chakra used to summon her. She can appear as a small slug used to gather intel or help in supplementary tasks, or she can appear as a giant creature using one or two summoners. 

Small Katsuyu summoned to assist Headquarters Naruto chapter 561.

Her age is a true mystery. It is known that toads and snakes live many years and have descendants, such as Gamabunta and Gamakichi’s father and son relationship, or Aoda having great grandchildren; or certain summons retiring when they reach an age while their companions or children replace them. 

The Three Unexplored Sage Regions are legendary places known for many generations. 

Katsuyu, on the other hand, is the only inhabitant of the Shikkotsu Forest. She does not have descendants or companions in her home habitat. Her age or her true origins are a mystery. The first shinobi to discover her existence or previous masters before Sakura Haruno and Tsunade are also unknown.

The first and most important thing to point out is that Katsuyu can only be summoned by users of the Strength of a Hundred Seal. This seal is an extremely difficult jutsu to learn and achieve, so there have only been two summoners in history.

The reason for this is that Katsuyu is such an enormous animal that it requires an immense amount of chakra to summon, and that chakra is stored inside the seal. 

Tsunade and her disciple Sakura Haruno are the only beings able to summon Katsuyu Naruto chapter 650.

The primary skill Katsuyu has is the ability to divide herself in many fragments, hundreds or thousands of them in fact. This technique is called Slug Great Division (蛞蝓大分裂­, Katsuyu Daibunretsu) and it can be used for supplementary purposes, as well for battle. 

In a fight, thanks to her rapid ability to transform her body and divide herself, she can separate herself to nullify attacks by avoiding any strike at incredible speeds. She can do this as many times as she wants without exhaustion. Each of these fragments are also quite fast, able to throw themselves in front of people to shield them from danger.

Manda trapping Katsuyu but she escapes Naruto chapter 170 and Second databook.

She also has the ability to spit a sticky and elastic acid, a jutsu called Tongue Tooth Sticky Acid able to melt stones and vaporize everything it touches (probably senjutsu although never truly revealed). It is also very difficult to dodge due to its unpredictable nature. 

Slug acid, Naruto chapter 170 and Second databook.

Unlike Shadow Clones or other regular clones that are independent from each other and are not interconnected, what Katsuyu does is divide her own body in equal parts, so she is in as many places as she wants at once. She is one entity divided into many other independent and interconnected parts while remaining one single body. Each of her divisions behaves like their own person, so she can complete different tasks while also knowing what her other parts are doing in other places.

Being the summon of medical ninjas, Sakura Haruno and Tsunade take advantage of Katsuyu’s ability to divide herself in order to channel their healing chakra and treat as many people as necessary. 

With a technique called Immense Network Healing (蛞蝓・網療治夥­, Katsuyu: Mōryōjika), Katsuyu collects chakra from the Strength of a Hundred Seal to transform it into healing chakra and treat the injured. 

Using the Great Division and Immense Network Healing in tandem, Katsuyu has the ability to heal and protect everyone she makes contact with. Healing any kind of injury or absorbing people inside her in order to shield them from attacks or sudden explosions is her specialty. Her body is able to resist explosions and even Kurama's corrosive chakra.

Katsuyu divides her body and heals the Alliance Naruto chapter 634 and Fourth databook.

In fact, Katsuyu's power is not only limited to healing wounds, but regeneration too. One of her most impressive feats is the ability to maintain a patient in suspended animation, keeping them alive for as long as she possesses chakra from the seal in order to ensure their survival. 

Katsuyu was able to keep Tsunade alive despite having her body bisected, which on normal circumstances, would mean instant death. However, the slug's regenerative abilities allowed Tsunade to remain alive until she obtained a chakra boost from a third party. This fact is known as Tsunade does not really present the unique Uzumaki Clan ability to keep themselves alive for as long as possible.

Katsuyu kept Tsunade alive despite having her body cut in half, an impressive feat Naruto chapter 635.

This jutsu also acts as a sensing technique due to Katsuyu being connected to the chakra of the injured in order to heal them and her master. Katsuyu is able to relay Kakashi Hatake and Chōza Akimichi’s conditions to Tsunade through their connection, as the slug is connected to the Strength of a Hundred Seal; as well as being able to tell Sakura that Kurama’s chakra was still connected to the Allied Shinobi Forces.

Katsuyu can transmit the chakra levels and the condition of everyone she is in contact with Naruto chapter 427.

This way, Katsuyu was able to protect Konoha’s citizens from Pain’s Shinra Tensei and even survive Kurama’s toxic chakra. 

Able to be in many places at once, her ability to cover infinite distances while her parts remain interconnected allows her to fulfill communication and intel gathering roles. Being in many places and her clones being part of the same body, Katsuyu relays information to one person or multiple people, something she could do by attaching herself to someone’s shoulder and speaking. 

It was Katsuyu the one giving Naruto Uzumaki information about Pain and also told him that Nagato had revived Konoha citizens through the clones that stayed in the village, kept every villager informed about the situation and followed evacuation protocols when Naruto transformed into six tails, and told Tsunade everything that was happening in the battlefield thanks to having another body summoned by Sakura on the other side of the country, and vice versa.

Sakura instructing Katsuyu to evacuate the area through the multiple clones Naruto chapter 438.

This communication ability can cover immense ground at once because the communication is instant. It works similar to regular telepathy, but instead of hearing the other person's voice in their head, people are talking to Katsuyu, and Katsuyu in turn is actually talking to herself through her clones.

Katsuyu's clones on different parts of the Land of Lightning tell Tsunade and Sakura the events that have taken place on both ends Naruto chapters 635 and 647.

An animal summon can only perform at the top of their abilities for a limited amount of time, what is known as the summoning time limit. 

It is unknown exactly how long the invocation lasts, or whether it varies between animals. A summon will help its master before the jutsu runs out or the summon has exhausted its power. 

Gamakichi mentions the summoning time limit Naruto chapter 642.

However, for Katsuyu, this is not the case. 

The slug can be summoned for unlimited periods of time and several times a day, as seen when Katsuyu spent the Fourth Shinobi World War by Tsunade’s side in the Headquarters, primarily helping Shikaku Nara and participating in the planification of the troops, and later with the Five Kage against Madara and Sakura with the Allied Shinobi Forces.

This could be explained by the symbiotic bond Sakura and Tsunade share with Katsuyu through the Strength of a Hundred Seal. 

The seal stores unimaginable quantities of chakra inside, which are used by Katsuyu to perform healing on people. As long as Katsuyu has been transmitted every drop of chakra in the seal, she will continue her work, as seen when Tsunade gave the slug all the chakra inside her Byakugou to the point it disappeared but Katsuyu physically remained in Konoha until her services were no longer needed.

Tsunade's Byakugou disappears but Katsuyu still serves her purpose as a summon to evacuate Naruto chapter 430.

Still, like any other summon, Katsuyu can be exhausted from battle and disappear. When the Ten Tails absorbed the chakra of every shinobi in the battlefield as the Kurama Chakra Cloak, every Katsuyu fragment attached to them was also absorbed and vanished, but the main body remained intact protecting Sakura Haruno form the tree. 

Katsuyu's clones disappeared absorbed by the God Tree Naruto chapter 647.

— THE PERFECT SUMMON?

Katsuyu is very different from the rest of summons. 

From the immeasurable amount of chakra it requires to summon her, to her multiple multitasking and supplementary abilities and her mysterious origins, Katsuyu might be the perfect summon and the strongest animal summon of Naruto and Boruto.

Her ability to divide herself in thousands of fragments, a body and chemical composition resistant to blasts that can reshape her own state, no summoning time limit, outstanding healing and regeneration factor, the unlimited wide range communication she offers, acidic attacks, useful to gather intel by herself and turn small enough to offer battle assistant, and a sensory connection with her master and other people she is attached to. 

Katsuyu is the ultimate creature.

Without a doubt, the most essential ally in desperate times. A valuable help in case a village is being attacked by powerful enemies that threaten to destroy everything around them, Katsuyu is the only weapon able to protect thousands of people from any attack and offer assistance while in contact with her master and everyone she is with.

Thanks to her, every Konoha villager that had not been killed by the Pain Paths previously could survive the Shinra Tensei explosion that destroyed Konoha, which later allowed the surviving shinobi to handle evacuations, as well as allow Naruto to obtain intel about Pain and Nagato or be told that Konoha's villagers were revived.

Katsuyu is an unrivalled intel summon Naruto chapters 431 and 449.

She was also the main link of communication between the Headquarters and the two different fronts of the war, Five Kage and Allied Shinobi Forces, and the reason why the Five Kage survived the fight despite their fatal injuries.

Lastly, it was also Katsuyu who protected the Allied Shinobi Forces against the roots of the God Tree, saving a large portion of the shinobi from death, and later offered a healing area for their future fight against the Kanzeon Lotus King.

— CURRENT WHEREABOUTS.

Ever since the death of Madara Uchiha, Katsuyu has not been summoned again.

With no threats to the destruction of Konoha or the need to establish connections between battlefields, Katsuyu was not summoned in the Blank Period. 

In Boruto, Katsuyu’s debut is strictly linked to Sakura’s appearances: if Sakura does not appear, neither does the slug. This is something that is hard to fathom considering that the village has been exposed to explosions, invasions and multiple deceased shinobi ever since the start that could be prevented by Katsuyu like previous times.

Katsuyu appeared in the anime arc “Kawaki and Himawari in the Academy” where the students had to put on a play about the Sannin and Kawaki dressed as Katsuyu.

Kawaki representing Katsuyu in Boruto episode 267.

-

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Grand Deception - Part One

As a seamstress, you know your way around a ballgown. A ballroom is a different story, but you are determined to experience it for yourself.

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Personal Disclaimer: I wrote this having only watched the Bridgerton tv show. About a week ago, I discovered that Benedict's book-canon love story shares some similarities with my fic. These similarities are coincidental. After posting a poll about the topic, I decided to share this work anyway. Please know I am aware of the situation!

Rating: Mature. Minors, do not interact

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: A lot of backstory, trespassing, lying about identity, alcohol consumption, flirting, references to Regency-era values. Author played fast and loose with rules of Regency dining etiquette.

Next | Masterlist

---

It was of some comfort to you that - when the situation inevitably unraveled - you could not claim to have invented the idea yourself. 

You were hardly the first seamstress who used her skills to disguise herself. Nor were you the first to use her overheard knowledge to learn who may be hosting a masquerade ball so she could attend. 

To that end, Madame Delacroix had told you of her own experience infiltrating the ton’s events. You had learned well, but you were merely another follower, not a visionary. The penalty for your transgression would not change, but your conscience would be eased slightly with the knowledge. 

The single inspiration you could claim as entirely your own was that of your shop. You purchased gowns at the end of every season, researched coming trends for the next season, and altered the gowns to fit. 

Ladies of rich and respectable families were willing to part with gowns for a relative pittance, but most of your gowns were from society matrons. When their time playing chaperone to some wide-eyed miss had ended in a successful engagement, the lucky matron retired to a comfortable life in the countryside. What use did she have for extravagant society gowns there? And, with the style of gathers and ruffles for married women, you could easily fashion multiple gowns from one matronly dress. 

Your shop was hardly the most popular one in London, but you ran a brisk enough business. There were no investors to keep fat with your profits, and you poured most of your money back into the materials and help you hired. It could tax the nerves to operate with such a small amount of money in your coffers, but such was the nature of the business. The lead-in to a season was incredibly busy and profitable, but the off season could ruin you.

But you were happy. Your work was varied and interesting. You worked with sumptuous fabrics in the richest colors. It was a necessity to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. You truly could not have imagined a better life for yourself. 

And yet… you were unbearably curious about how it would feel to wear one of your creations. You were occasionally hired to style a hopeful debutante, but you handed her off to a chaperone before she walked out through the front door of her own home. You witnessed all of the preparations and you had been party to the aftermath, but you had never had the opportunity to attend a ball. 

It was a silly dream. You were the daughter of a tailor, and not one who served the upper echelons of London society. Your mother spent her time running the household herself - a necessity, as your family could not afford to keep servants. Your brother worked at a newspaper, operating the printing presses. Your sister had married well, wedding a butcher who lived above his shop in a respectable section of the city. 

You had already achieved one silly dream when you had opened your own shop. Rather than satisfying you, that achievement only convinced you that you were capable of incredible things. Why should a ball be the exception?

Fortunately, the ton was an uninspired thing and thus wholly predictable. At least once every season, at least one family believed themselves to be the most creative souls and hosted a masquerade. 

Your ability to foresee the trend had allowed you to plan far in advance. After the last season had ended and you made your purchases, you had bought just enough fabric to fashion yourself a dress. The material was simple, but of high quality, and you had embroidered beading and embellishment enough to allot the finished product an artistic simplicity rather than leaving it painfully plain. 

The mask you had chosen only assisted the illusion of being understatedly gilded. It was a shining silver - not a true metallic mask, but a close enough facsimile that it seemed to be a choice due to the weight rather than the price of the silver. There was a delicate tracery over your brow and along the swells where the mask arched over your cheekbones. 

The effect of the outfit was far from dramatic, especially when you very well knew the sort of dresses that the young ladies of the ton would be wearing at the ball, but you had been purposeful about it. You were trying to fade into the background, and it seemed likely that you would succeed. 

One of your more clever ideas had been to cut the dress as a matronly garment rather than a daring one meant for a debutante. Doing so would relegate you to the realm of mamas, chaperones, and spinsters. Few bothered to steal a second glance at that foreboding cloud of judgment, disapproval, and eager plotting. You were too pragmatic to think your plan foolproof, but you had taken as many precautions as you could imagine.

The Lawsons had been the ones to secure a masquerade theme for the season, and you strategically arrived at the home at eleven, a full hour after the ball had begun. It was a simple thing to slip around the corner of the great manor house, entering through a side corridor. When you passed any of the house’s servants, you ducked your head and nervously arranged your hair. 

With that attitude and countenance, they would likely believe you were returning from some secret tryst in a private place, not attempting to sneak in entirely. Servants were paid for their discretion - at least, in the eyes of the ton - so your exploits would not be disseminated until the following morning at the earliest. 

Your matron-styled dress allowed for a more flexible corset than the most fashionable styles, but you still found that your breath was short as you reached the ballroom. You were thankful for the music, as it gave you a better idea of where your ultimate goal was. 

The room was cavernous, yet filled to the brim with intricate details. A second-story balcony curved around the majority of the room, rather like the opera house you’d had the privilege to visit once. A grand staircase descended from the middle of that balcony, and it was full of still-arriving debutantes and their chaperones. 

The orchestra was sat on the balcony along either side of the staircase, and you noted the way each instrument seemed to take precedence in turn as you walked along the length of the floor. They were playing a quadrille at the moment, and the dancing couples seemed as enamored by the music as much as by each other.  

Above and all around, candles glowed and flickered, casting small pools of light across every surface. A chandelier hung overhead, eye-catching in its size and brightness. The crystals set among the candles sent tiny reflected rainbows dancing across the crowd beneath. The reflectors behind the candles on the main floor helped catch the brightness that would otherwise be wasted on the walls, throwing it out into the room until it looked near daylight. The effect was multiplied by an array of mirrors set around the room, refracting both light and the furor of activity in the ballroom. 

Conversations filled any spaces left in the music. Everywhere, men and women chatted, laughed, and told stories. They were eye-catching with their grand gestures, only made more fascinating with their ornate clothing. You longed for a scrap of paper so you could make note of the styles of this season, and how they might be adapted to meet the styles of the next. 

A table at one side of the room was manned by a servant offering refreshments. You knew from the stories you had heard that a supper would be served at one, but there were beverages for any guest or dancer who may need one. You accepted a glass of iced punch with a grateful nod to the servant. It was remarkably hot in the room, especially compared to the chill of the January evening. 

Sipping the strong punch - and abruptly understanding the wisdom of such small glasses - you ventured forth to find a vantage point for observing the crowd. 

You found one buried in the crowd of matrons and chaperones. They were watching the dance floor with great interest, speculating about matches and comparing notes on how the gentlemen and young ladies had been occupying themselves during the season thus far. It was the perfect location - a view of everything and in earshot of all the information you could possibly desire. Some of the information was likely to be nothing more than rumor, but you cared little. It was entertaining enough to compensate for a lack of veracity. 

“Benedict!” one woman called. She was a handsome woman, dark hair perfectly coiffed to match her elegant dress. You recognized her even from behind as the widowed Lady Bridgerton. 

A man separated from a group of other young men and approached, smiling expectantly. He bore a strong resemblance to Lady Bridgerton, and was wearing the simple black mask that seemed popular among the men of the ballroom. “Yes, Mother?” 

“Do dance with Miss Harper this evening,” Lady Bridgerton instructed. “She needs cheering after the loss of her uncle. And she would be quite an excellent match for you.” 

You wrinkled your nose. Arranged marriages were less common than they had been when you were a child, but the aristocracy still tended to take a heavy hand in deciding their children’s future spouses.

Unfortunately, the young Bridgerton glanced over his mother’s shoulder and took in your expression. You hurriedly glanced down at your glass, as if your face had been a reaction to the strong punch, then applied yourself to staring around the room. 

“I will take that under advisement, Mother,” Benedict said. Your wayward glance prevented you from seeing his face, but his voice was filled with laughter. “If you’ll excuse me?” 

He departed then, retreating back across the ballroom. However, you were far from unobservant, and you counted the multiple times he noted your position from among the group of laughing gentlemen. You did your utmost to ignore him, taking solace in the knowledge that your mask protected your identity from whatever scrutiny he may choose to apply. 

You could hardly pretend surprise when you found him standing beside you scarcely an hour after you had overheard the conversation between Lady Bridgerton and her son. He was facing quite the opposite direction, but you could not fail to miss the way he inched closer every time you took a step away. 

At long last, he bumped into you with his broad shoulder, sloshing your punch onto the floor and still refusing to acknowledge you. 

“And to think Bridgertons are said to be well-mannered,” you snipped waspishly. 

He glanced back at you, eyes bright. “I beg your pardon, miss. I did not see you. Allow me to fetch you a new glass of punch in recompense for my rudeness.”

“No, thank you,” you said, the coldness in your voice detracting from the politeness of your words. “I would not take the risk of another incident.” 

“Did it stain your gown?” he asked, taking your elbow and looking you up and down. However solicitous it may have seemed at first, the mischief in his expression belied the gesture. 

You glared at him until he dropped your arm. “You need not feign concern, Lord Bridgerton. You have apologized, I have accepted it, and my gown escaped the incident unscathed. There is no need to continue our acquaintance.” 

With a final frown for good measure, you turned away. Benedict seemed undaunted, keeping step with you as you found a servant to take your near-empty glass. 

“May I ask your name, then?” Benedict asked, for all the world like you had not dismissed him. 

“Lady Sharp.” 

It was a falsehood you had planned well in advance. The Sharps were one of the largest families in London, some branches so far-flung that no one seemed capable of remembering who was who. 

Despite your confidence in your assumed identity, Benedict paused for a moment and your heart stuttered. At long last, he smiled. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

Perhaps if you continued to be short with him, Benedict would understand that he should leave you well enough alone. 

And yet… The young Bridgerton continued to stay close as you watched the dancers, interrupting your overheard bits of gossip with remarks of his own. His commentary was amusing, but you continued to be irked by his presence. He was drawing attention by standing with the chaperones, dowagers, and doting mothers, and some of that attention was reflected onto you by virtue of proximity. 

“You need not remain close as some form of apology, Lord Bridgerton,” you informed him at last. “You have more than adequately apologized for your earlier misstep, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s scorn if you miss your dance with Miss Harper.”

Benedict shrugged. “Miss Harper is occupied well enough with other partners. It is my duty to see to it that every lady may dance if she chooses. Shall we?” 

You frowned deeply, staring from his face to his proffered arm and back. “I do not dance.” 

He paused at that. “Surely you are simply being modest…” 

“I assure you, I mean what I say,” you told him, voice appalled, “I do not dance. If you feel a particular urge toward the dance floor, I urge you heed it and find a suitable partner before they have all been otherwise engaged.”

Benedict turned slightly, his gaze traveling from one end of the crowded ballroom to the other. When he had completed the visual circuit, he faced you, grinning engagingly once more. “I appreciate your concern, but I would rather continue our conversation.” 

Your mouth fell inelegantly open. Thankfully, the room was called to attention before you could loose a scathing comment about your time together.

Lady Lawson stood at the bottom of her grand staircase, Lord Lawson standing attentively to her left. A servant you recognized as their butler announced in a booming - yet not abrasive - voice, “Lord and Lady Lawson invite you to adjourn to the dining rooms.”

To your dismay, the men and women of the ballroom paired together. The crowd moved steadily in the direction indicated by the butler. 

Benedict offered his arm once more. “May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Sharp?” 

You paused, frantically searching for a reason you might excuse yourself. If the Lawsons had arranged for their guests to sit in predetermined places, your presence would not only be marked, but commented upon and questioned. And yet, the gathered crowd meant that slipping away would be nigh impossible. 

“Lady Sharp?” Benedict asked again, pulling you from your thoughts. “You are attending dinner, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” you said, immediately belied by your trembling voice. From a sheer lack of options, you accepted Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He inclined his head as if to silently acknowledge your thanks and steered you into the dining room. 

Truly, there was far more than one room in which to dine. There seemed to be at least three hosting tables set with full arrays of silver plates and utensils. The dining areas seemed far less brightly lit than the ballroom was, the low lighting offering a soft intimacy that made the surrounding couples perk with excitement. Clearly, the flirtations of the dance floor would not be suspended due to a simple supper. 

“May I help you find your seats, sir?” 

You had been too entranced by your own thoughts - the sudden appearance of the servant made you start like a spooked horse. Benedict patted your hand. The gesture was a bit condescending, but you found it oddly soothing. Far more worrisome, however, was the sight of small name cards resting at every place setting on the tables.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he said. “I believe I was to be seated with my family a few tables behind you. This is Lady Sharp. I will dine with her this evening.”

“But sir…” The servant looked bemused, white brows drawing together. “Lady Lawson was informed that the Sharps would not be in London for this year’s season. Lady Sharp reported that Miss Rosalie Sharp was far too ill to be moved out of her confinement in the countryside.” 

You stammered weak protests, but Benedict smoothly interrupted. “Surely Lady Lawson is aware that Lady Clara Sharp decided to winter in London this year. The physician said that a change of scenery would be good after leaving a confinement of her own.”

“A confinement of her-?” The servant shook his head. “My mistress said nothing of this when she was preparing the ball.” 

You gathered your nerve. If your ruse were to fall apart, it would not be at the hand of an overly curious servant. You drew yourself up to your full height, giving your best steely-eyed, matronly disapproval. “I had assumed that my lack of an invitation was no more than an ignorant oversight. However, I begin to suspect that it was something far more intentional. Perhaps it would be best if I departed…” 

“My apologies, Lady Sharp,” the servant hurried to say. “Please, allow me to find a place for you.” 

You inclined your head in the shallowest nod you could muster, watching imperiously as he rushed off to find a place setting for the fictitious Lady Clara Sharp. 

“These events are growing less organized by the day,” Benedict confided, shaking his head in mock despair. 

The servant returned, sparing you the effort of inventing a response. “I will guide you to your seat, Lady Sharp. Lord Bridgerton, you requested your seat moved beside Lady Sharp’s, did you not?” 

“Yes, I believe I should like to dine with Lady Sharp,” Benedict said amiably. 

“Very good, sir,” the servant said. “This way.” 

You did not particularly enjoy the tone with which Benedict said ‘Lady Sharp’. In his voice, it sounded less like a title and more like a private sort of jest. 

Fortunately, your arrival in a far dining room provided a much-needed distraction. This was clearly the last table to have been filled, and as such was seated with an interesting amalgamation of people. 

A timid-looking young lady sat nervously adjusting and readjusting the skirt of her dress. Her watchful chaperone eyed the process with fascination and concern. Seated at the chaperone’s other side was an older gentleman who seemed to have overindulged in punch, if you were to guess from his flushed face and exaggerated gestures. 

On the other side of the table was a young man who kept glancing at the young lady and pretending that it had been accidental any time he was caught at it. Beside him were two place settings. From the lack of name cards above the plates, you assumed they were meant for you and Benedict.

Abruptly, a wave of vertigo washed over you. You had accomplished so much to be here, yet how many accomplishments were too many? It was as if you had climbed something terribly tall - every time you moved upward, it only left you with further to fall. And if you were to be discovered during this dinner? You would have very far to fall indeed.

“Are you well?” Benedict asked. 

You blinked. The servant was holding your chair, waiting to help you be seated. You weren’t hungry in the least, but there was no way to excuse yourself that would not draw more attention than was wise. The only way to return to safety was to continue on as if nothing were amiss. 

“Yes, thank you,” you demurred, moving to your seat. 

When the skirt of your dress was safely tucked under the table, the servant offered a slight bow and moved away. The first course was laid out on the table, a manservant lingering nearby incase someone required a dish from a different part of the table. 

“What may I tempt you with?” Benedict asked. His smile was a touch too wide for the question to be entirely innocent. Before you could say something harsh, he half-stood, fork extended toward a dish holding chilled cuts of meat. 

You took a moment to study everything. “Roast chicken, please. And perhaps a few prawns.” 

Benedict took your plate and began transferring the items you had requested. “Soup as well?” 

“Perhaps a little.” 

You eyed the women across the table. The young lady was picking delicately at a few scraps of meat and you were concerned by the quantity of the choices you had made, but her chaperone was tucking into a plate piled high. 

Benedict placed your dishes back in front of you and gathered his own selections. When you were both seated again, you cut a piece of chicken and ate it as delicately as you could manage. It was delicious and you congratulated yourself once more on choosing to attend the ball dressed as a chaperone rather than a debutante. 

“So, a Sharp in London,” Benedict mused. “I rather believed you all traveled together. Like a herd or a pack.” 

You gave him an unamused look at the animal references. “And you pretended to know all of my family’s concerns when we were finding our seats. Do you always lie to achieve your own ends?” 

He gave a wince, but it was decidedly playful. “‘Lie’ is such a harsh word, Lady Sharp. I simply choose the path most likely to lead to my destination and follow it.” 

“By lying?” 

“And I suppose you are a paragon of virtue?” he asked, and you fell silent. It would be rather paradoxical for you to blame him for a lie when you were currently lying to an entire ballroom of people. 

“That was not an admonishment,” he clarified after a moment. “Nor was it a bid to halt our conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“From what I have gathered of your temperament, I doubt you often suffer from the lack of enjoyment,” you snipped. “You seem to find infinite amusement in everything surrounding you.” 

Benedict’s eyes widened. “I… am flattered, truly, that you’ve taken such pains to truly detail my character. Perhaps I should return the favor.” 

“Do not.” You regretted the warning a moment after you had issued it. Rather than looking dissuaded, Benedict seemed intrigued.

“Indeed, I may be unable to help myself,” he mused. “Your motivations are fascinating, and they would be even more so if you turned out not to be Lady Sharp after all.”

“I am Lady Sharp,” you insisted stubbornly. 

“Of course you are,” he agreed easily. “But imagine if you were not. Why would you pretend to be?” 

Your mind halted abruptly when faced with the task of imagining your own motivations as if they belonged to another. What should you say? What could you say? For all of his casually friendly demeanor, Benedict was not stupid. It was possible that your false theories of your own motivations would provide him with proof that you were the very person you pretended to understand.

But still, the rules of polite conversation required that you provide some sort of an answer. Your voice was slow as you asked, “Who can begin to guess at the motivations of the poor?” 

It was more harsh than you had imagined it would sound, but Benedict did not recoil. Instead, he replied, “Motivations are mysterious, those of the poor and the nobility alike.”

The answer was vague, but you understood why - his eyes were fixed on the young lady at the end of the table and the young man seated across from her. 

“Miss Barrett, I found the most interesting flower in the park yesterday afternoon-” he started. 

He had the young lady’s attention immediately, a shy smile on her thin face, but her chaperone pointedly cleared her throat before the young lady could reply. “Elisa, it is not proper for you to answer him without being formally introduced.” 

“Finnie and I have been friends since before we could walk!” Elisa argued.

“His name is Lord Finlay Spencer,” the chaperone corrected. “And your childhood acquaintanceship does not matter. You have not been officially introduced in the time since he returned to London.” 

The young pair fumed silently, with nothing more than frustrated glances shared between them.

“Lady Barrett,” Benedict said abruptly, drawing the attention of everyone who longed to be distracted from the tension. “I understand you are a most loyal patron of the arts. Is that so?” 

“It is so, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Barrett confirmed. “I believe in the importance of preserving artwork for years to come.” 

“As do I.” Benedict smiled at her… and at the red-faced man seated to her right. “And our sentiments are shared by our companion, Lord Hopkins. He has recently donated a number of works to your preferred museum. I believe they are to name a wing in his honor.” 

Lady Barrett turned to Lord Hopkins, an expression of mingled surprise and admiration. “I recently took in the Hopkins collection. Most impressive, Lord Hopkins.�� 

Lord Hopkins blinked rapidly, clearly attempting to gather himself. He made an admirable effort as he returned her smile. “You are too kind, Lady Barrett. I mourn the loss of those works, yet they were wasted with only my family to appreciate them. And, if you will pardon my directness, I believe I may have been the only one of the Hopkins family to truly appreciate them.” 

“I am certain the Hopkins family has an interest in art ,” Lady Barrett demurred, “though I understand the sense that one has a keener appreciation for art than those around oneself.” 

With such a topic brought up, the pair slipped into conversation. Lord Finlay Spencer and Lady Elisa Barrett cast grateful glances in Benedict’s direction and began to speak in softened tones to avoid drawing the attention of the elder Lady Barrett.

“Neatly done,” you complimented lowly. “Yet it prompts me to wonder how often you concern yourself in the affairs of others.” 

Benedict shrugged. “I simply enjoy pulling strings to see what unravels. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.” 

You arched your brows. “And precisely what string of mine do you believe yourself to be pulling?” 

“That you are not Lady Sharp, of course.” 

He took a sip of wine as you fought to control your expression, and his utter lack of concern was infuriating. 

“Are we to continue this thought experiment, then?” you asked at last. “In truth, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”

“I do not need you to confirm my theory,” Benedict told you. “I have gathered proof enough of my own since we met.” 

“Proof?” you asked, attempting to sound skeptical rather than afraid. 

“You did not wait for an introduction, you claim not to dance, and you did not shyly simper away when I touched your arm,” he listed. “You are no more a lady than I.” 

These arguments were presented without censure, but you loosed an inelegant snort regardless. It was foolish and you knew it, but you could not prevent yourself from showing your own powers of observation: “You are wearing a fine silk shirt, a perfectly pressed cravat, and more perfume than anyone else in the room. I am a lady, so it follows that you may be one as well.” 

Benedict - unbelievably - grinned at your insults, his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fought not to return the expression, though you found it remarkably contagious. “I believe it is called ‘cologne’ when it is worn by a man. I confess, I’ve never quite understood the difference myself.”

“If you believe I am a fraud, why have you kept me company all evening?” you asked. It was not a confirmation of his suspicions, but it was close enough to make your heart race.

“You are interesting,” he countered. “Certainly the most interesting person here, and among the most interesting people I have ever met.” 

You would have found a reason to cut the conversation short if Benedict had pressed for any further information, but he did not. Instead, you continued speaking plainly together through the remaining courses. He wanted to learn your opinions on all manner of things, from politics to the latest fashions. 

When the time came to return to the dance floor, he stayed close. He was charming and amusing, but refused to be parted from your side. It could have been cloying, but you privately thought him akin to a particularly amiable sort of burr.

After a few dances had passed, Lady Bridgerton approached, nodding to you with an assessing sort of look. However, she spoke to her son rather than question you. You were grateful for the slight. “Benedict, I believe I asked you to dance with Miss Harper.”

“You did, Mother,” Benedict agreed, “but Lady Sharp and I are speaking of important matters. I could not possibly tear myself away.” 

Lady Bridgerton gave him a look filled with motherly disapproval and you cleared your throat. “Lord Bridgerton, we may speak at another time. The number of dances at this ball is limited and the hour grows late. I fear Miss Harper will be fully occupied if you delay longer.” 

Lady Bridgerton turned, triumphant, to her son. Benedict sighed and bowed shallowly in your direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sharp. I look forward to continuing our conversation after this dance.” 

He wove his way through the crowd, presumably in the direction of Miss Harper. Lady Bridgerton remained by your side, and you glanced at her in the silence. She met your gaze, tilting her head curiously in a manner that reminded you of her son. “I do not believe we have met, Lady Sharp. I am Lady Violet Bridgerton.” 

You returned her nod with one of your own. “Lady Clara Sharp. Lovely to meet you.” 

“I was unaware that any of the Sharp family were in London this season-” she started. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired young lady.

“Mama, I need to speak with you-” 

“Eloise, I am not-” 

“Mama, please!” the girl insisted, tugging at her mother’s elbow. Lady Bridgerton studied you for another moment before giving an apologetic smile and allowing her daughter to pull her away. 

As cues went, it was a fairly clear one. You steadily worked your way through the crowd until you could slip into an unguarded hall. From there, it was a simple thing to leave the Lawson house, find the cloak you had stored in a disused shed, and travel back to your shop. 

When you had removed the mask and the dress, you took careful stock of the evening. The dress and mask would need to be destroyed, and you regretted not bidding a true farewell to Benedict Bridgerton, but you considered the endeavor a success. 

One that could never be repeated.

---

Author's Note - As usual with Fanfic February fics, this is a two-parter. Tomorrow's chapter will have spice in it, so please be warned.

Thanks for reading!

[bijoumikhawal]

I've gotten tired of making a post like this every few months so let's just fire a few of these off, and feel free to add on! Tropes you should at minimum reconsider using when you write or talk about Julian Bashir:

Mentions of "harem" pants, "Arabian nights" aesthetics, etc. These are improper terminology (that feeds into racist ideas) for real things, and when using that terminology those things are often being misrepresented. For my part, if you would actually like to know about the material culture of the Middle East and North Africa, I'm a "hobby" researcher of that very topic and will readily answer asks about it- with the caveat that I mostly know about Egypt, and I'm not the best person to ask about Sudanese specific culture even though I know a little, and I don't know much about Indian or Pakistani fashion (mentioning because these seem to be the most common cultures brought up around Julian).

comparisons to monkeys, apes, the word "simian". This should be obvious but it happens a fair amount, and it's almost comedic given a common trope is to comment on how much Garak hates being compared to a lizard.

This is separate but the way some people use mammalian tips from writing xenofic and trying to understand how an alien would think and categorize things into something that feels very exoticifying. It's not a "full stop, do not do this" but it is something I've noticed

Jokes about how undesirable Julian is. He's the exception that proves the rule about fandom's obsession with white twinks and a rare example of a brown nerd who isn't pinned into the "Couldn't sleep with a woman if they were the last two people on earth" box. I'm not saying we can't make fun of how he flirts just- Stay clear of Raj BBT territory

Conversely: my most hated garashir trope is when the author makes Julian's libido a problem by making him inconsiderate, cruel, and outright manipulative in service of his dick, and the writing often makes it clear they're connecting this to his masculinity. Julian does do some really stupid shit when it comes to his relationships, but this particular way of trying to incorporate this into writing him is just OOC, and you need to not confuse writing Julian's canonical robust and healthy sex life with negative stereotypes about lecherous Black and brown men. There's fics that pull off Julian being a bit of a dick or manipulative well- such as Salt the Earth or the ageswap series (at least where I last left off on it).

making his eyes green or blue. I have the same eye color as Siddig, more or less, and while it's technically hazel (or olive, as some people call it) most people think it's brown and most lighting makes it look brown. If you look at screencaps of Julian, you'll notice it also most of the time, looks brown. This sounds minor if you haven't experienced it, but it has a real and very negative impact on people's self image.

Older one but to be clear: if you're writing Julian as explicitly Muslim, find and replacing "god" with "allah" in English text is not how Muslims (or Arabic speakers in general) use the word? It is really funny to read, but please...

Over focusing on Julian as British. There's a long, LONG conversation that could be had about the dynamics of assimilation and how European racism (ime) very specifically views it as progressive to strip people of their culture and thinks they're causing the problem if they don't go along with it that would need its own post and which I've had with white fans before and feel exhausted thinking about- but to put it simply, there is no such thing as "just British", even for white Englishmen.

Yes the inverse is also wrong but I really haven't read a fic newer than 2014 guilty of that lmao and I think some of the more recent complaints about it are overblown, given I've read only a few fics recently published that delve into Julian as a Brown/African Person and I enjoyed them

I would personally appreciate it if fic writers were a little more balanced about cultural discussions honestly. If you write a lot about Cardassian culture, it'd be nice if Julian’s background was discussed. I won't say that kind of research is easy (again, I do this as a "hobby" that's very important to me, it's actually really annoying and difficult sometimes), but it is possible. I recently talked about how not doing this kind of mentally slots Julian into a "white guy" role.

This is not a matter of me policing your "artistic expression". I have no control over what you do. I would just like for fandom, a hobby I do for fun, to be a place where people stop being racist in a way that directly impacts me.

[cynthiav06]

Do you think there are insanely few couples with Percy in this fandom? Characters that are well thought out and have a backstory. For example, Rachel and Percy are an interesting dynamic and a repetition of the Theseus myth with a different end to the story. Or Percy and Michael Yu (Apollo's son who fell off the bridge) It would be interesting if he survived: Percy feeling guilty for the fall, and Michael comforting him. Or Will and Percy, where both feel the guilt of the survivor (Will is the doctor, and Percy is the commander and leader), or the same Percy and Nico with their story and attempts to talk. Percy and Ethan would be a real pain in the ass with a story and explanations. But they don't nominate them as a couple? Like Pernico, they can be found, but everything else? Will's only fanfiction/The Percy I found was the one where he cheated on Apollo with Will, and Will cheated on Nico with Percy. And I really can't stand cheating.

It's a general problem in the fandom, especially prominent in Percy ships, which is that there are very few of them, and it is made to seem that liking any Percy ship other than Percabeth is taboo. It's only recently that there's an influx in other ships, and even that is miniscule in comparison to the excessive Percabeth fic pool . I know how bloody frustrating that is. For a good amount of time, I have vented over that.

Another problem along the same lines is fanart. There's extremely little fanart on any other Percy ships barring Percabeth. This has created a very toxic sort of environment in the fandom for alternative shippings. It also discourages people from making other fanarts and fanfics due to certain toxic Percabeth fans. ( I am not saying all just most of them). Hence why you won't see much material on most of the ships you have mentioned.

I think the fandom has forgotten that people can ship whoever they want, canon or otherwise, and that's the point of a fandom. We are allowed to disagree with the canon and dislike cause in the end books are subjective and we can choose to like and prefer whatever interests us as a reader and there is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT! Especially to Percabeth stans and recently Solangelo stans, you have your ship, no need to force it on everyone else, sure you can make points about why it's good or why people should like it but that doesn't mean have to or should.

You can dislike a ship and even express why you dislike it, but you can't tell people what they can and can't like. Just give your opinion, try not to be negative or offensive , just stick to the facts and objective reasons why you dislike it or just say it's a personal preference .

I personally generally either favor Perachel or Percy with no romantic partner. But I have read and seen some other Percy ship fanfics.

Perpollo and Pernico are kind of popular and I have read some fanfics of that category though Pernico's popularity suffered greatly due to Solangelo stans as such and some other opinions. (I have covered my thoughts on both Solangelo and Pernico in an old post of mine so check that out if you want).

Other alternative Percy ships I have seen mostly are Percy/Jason or Jercy. I kind of like where thea are going with it cause I really liked Percy and Jason's this odd but very unique dynamic they have and I really wanted it explored more but after the events in HoO and TOA and what happened to Jason( I refuse to accept it still due to no actually compelling and necessary reason behind it plot wise or character development wise), I kind of gave up on it. I really thought Rick Riordan would flesh their dynamic out more thoroughly other than whatever misguided rivalry he was trying to stoke between them. (Let's just agree that despite minor envy they might harbor for each other, they have much higher respect and admiration between them).

There's I think a few who consistently ship Percy and Artemis I think? Which I really thought was very contradictory and just simply not viable in canon or by fanfic cause Artemis is a maiden goddess.

There's Perclarisee which I mean I am neutral on it. I can see what it's based on but I actually liked Clarisse with Chris and I kind of thought of them better of as good friends who bicker a lot( I have a post on Perclarisse as well).

I once made the mistake of searching all Percy ships on ao3. It's safe to say I will never be doing that again ever. The absurd and deranged pairings I saw. Not even bleach will get that out of my eyes or mind.

As for Michael Yew, I am not sure about a romantic pairing of him and Percy, but in an au, it can kind of work, I guess, but I just don't see the appeal. I mean one moment of trauma bonding can't be the basis for a whole relationship.

As for Will and Percy, I see the parallel you are trying to make, but Percy can heal himself, so he's not really in need of a healer most of the time. Cause his power and ambrosia fix most of his injuries. Overall, I just don't think they are very compatible, but I will try and find fics about them for you.

Ethan and Percy? Where the hell did you find that? I don't think anyone ships that. Percy should have killed Ethan the first chance he got. That bastard really really had it coming. Even after Percy spared him so many times, he had the audacity to try and kill Percy. Absolutely not a pairing.

This is like the people who ship Percy and Luke. There are some, and I have never understood it. Luke tried to kill Percy multiple times and showed no remorse for it, and Ethan is the same. They are enemies, not a pairing. Not everything has to be enemies to lovers. But I suppose to each their own, everybody has their own preferences.

As for cheating , to whoever wrote that fic, stay the hell away from pjo respectfully cause neither Percy nor Will would ever do that to anyone. This literally goes against their very nature itself. To people who write cheating Percy fics, his fatal flaw is literally LOYALTY, what the hell is wrong with you?

Anyway, I am very sorry for this devolved into a rant. If I find any Percy and Will fics, I will reblog this post with recommendations.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

In sally and poppy's character page it says "Sally and Poppy are often depicted together and, according to recovered material, could potentially be best friends."

and to that i say, best friends my ASS!! those are lesbians right there

oooo i actually talked about this in the update stream when i was reading the updated bios! to restate!

a common Cover for lesbians used to be "best friends". why are those two women living together? why they're best friends, so why not! why do these women spend all their time together? they're best friends! why are those women so physically affectionate - well! they're best friends! an excuse that would never fly with gay men is perfect for lesbians.

and you still see this in recent years! remember all of the posts making fun of facebook moms / grandparents seeing photos of lesbians and going "well they seem like a lovely pair of Best Friends!" this still happens! i'm sure there are people today seeing lesbians and thinking that they're best friends. the amount of times i've pointed out to my own parents "they're gay" and gotten surprise and sometimes even denial is response because they genuinely thought these blatantly gay people were only friends

to me and my current knowledge, this addition to Poppy & Sally's bios is evidence worth considering with this context. a tally in the "canon Popstar?" box!

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

 

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of child abuse, masturbation. (separately, not related to one another)

Words: 2.4k

[A/N: we are so back yall, i think... (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous

V. (NSFW)

Preach, pray, consume, forgive, kneel, repent, repeat.

Viktor’s  worn fingers traced the grooves of the heavy missal as the morning light filtered through stained glass, casting lazy hues upon the cold stone floor. The scent of incense, mingling with the earthy aroma of old wood and dust, rose in spirals as thoughts meandered like the smoke. He recited every prayer, absent from the materiality needed but without a misstep. Not a single one of the faithful that had congregated on that Sunday morning noticed something was amiss, which in retrospect made it seem like he had been doing this for a while, unbeknownst to him.

Their eyes, some pious, others wearied by life's burdens, stared back in expectation, and in their collective gaze, he intoned the familiar prayers, his voice a low murmur resonating through the vaulted space. No part of his body registered the passage of time; only the ashen-colored light that now bathed the right-most side of the altar accused the hours he had lost to the liturgy. A soft voice calling out to him gently nudged him out of his stupor. 

“Father” The altar boy whispered with an outstretched hand that held the washed communion plates. 

“Thank you, Tobias.” Viktor said as he reached out to grab the plates, “I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted as of late.” 

The boy nodded animatedly and skipped his way down to the altar again. Tobias was a lad of scarcely ten summers. Like many others—including Viktor himself—he had been ‘donated’ to the church. To everyone else, this was seen as a foolproof way to skip purgatory, a show of mercy from his parents that proved their love for him and their devotion to god. To Viktor—who was there on the day he arrived and was charged with paying his parents an appropriate amount for him—it was a desperate plea to guarantee his five other siblings did not starve to death.

Viktor looked down again, and the boy was still walking around, clad in a robe slightly too large for him, its hem brushing the floor. His small hands worked with care, putting out the candles with a long, brass taper. Viktor watched as the boy handled the sacred objects with a reverence that belied his tender age, so full of potential and untainted by cynicism. When he was done with his duties, he walked back over to where Viktor sat and stood there in silence, waiting for more orders. 

“What do you wish to be when you grow up?” Viktor asked casually.

He spoke quickly, like he had rehearsed it. “A priest, like you.”

Viktor let out a small, good-humored chuckle in response and raised an incredulous eyebrow. Tobias looked on both sides like he was afraid someone would be there to hear him before speaking again. 

“A stonemason, like my father.”

“Do you miss him?”

His glossy eyes didn’t escape Viktor’s, but he didn’t wish to pry for answers any further, afraid the boy’s feelings would end up triggering memories of his own. And even though Tobias quickly left after Viktor nodded in understanding, the memories he was trying to repress came flooding down. 

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The day his parents took him away was etched in Viktor’s memory with painful vagueness. Cold hands pried him from his mother’s skirt, her eyes wet and empty, filled with a sorrow too deep for words. He barely remembered her face, and now and then, when he tried to latch onto her ghost, she escaped him like smoke. His father’s voice, gruff and resigned as he muttered it was ‘for the best’, was the only thing he managed to recall clearly. He was never able to tell if he felt sad; although his tone seemed tired, it always had, this time seeming nothing more than a feeble attempt at justification. 

The heavy monastery door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through his young heart, and despite the fact that they lived nearby, he never saw them again. Stone walls towered over him, pressing in, their cold embrace devoid of the warmth and comfort he had known. Father Isidore's face, nothing more than a priest back then, loomed hard and unyielding, offering no solace.

Lonely nights were spent in a narrow cot. This was, for all intents and purposes, a better sleeping arrangement than what he previously had, but he longed for home, for the familiar sounds of his mother’s cooking and his father’s laughter as he woke up before sunrise, which had been replaced by an oppressive silence and whispered prayers. Days blurred into weeks, and the unfamiliar routine and stern discipline pressed down on his spirit as curiosity, once a joyful pursuit, became a dangerous trait to have.

He remembered the sting of Father Isidore’s cane against his skin, the punishment for asking questions deemed too freethinking. The pain on his back that burned with each strike, shame and pain mingling as his stern gaze bore into him, and the sickly feeling in his stomach when he smiled at him with the slimy insincerity of someone who believes he’s doing you a favor.

Back then, he bit his lip to stifle his cries, the taste of blood trickling down his throat that for so long he associated with fear, and now it had mutated into a morbid parade of all the wrong sentiments: pleasure, anger, and defiance. If only little Viktor the altar boy knew that the joy of discovery that was crushed under the weight of dogma and the vibrant world of his imagination that was stifled by the constant threat of retribution were once again enkindled, and by the spine-chilling yet exciting presence of a demonic creature nonetheless, he would not believe it. 

The university days provided a brief respite from the oppressive confines of the monastery. The city, alive with possibilities, offered a tantalizing glimpse of freedom. The rush of independence was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline he had known. Yet, even as the world beyond the monastery beckoned, he found himself bound by an inexplicable sense of duty. The decision to return was made—a choice that haunted him. The familiar chains of the clergy tightened around him, the opportunity for escape slipping away.

And although each passing year brought a deeper sense of regret and the burden of faith grew heavier, the ache of what could have been was, at this very moment, no longer a constant. His path led him to where he stood now, an experience so formidably unique that it felt tailor-made for him. Did he deserve such a test from god? It depended on how you saw it. If this was a punishment, then it was fit for all the sin that blackened his soul, and he would endure it in silent penitence. But if this was a reward for being a pious servant and having endured the temptation of unbridled knowledge before, a bigger and more difficult challenge for Viktor to prove his worth, then he did not feel deserving of it. 

Either way, no matter how he sliced it, he was failing. Whether this test had been put before him to teach him restraint or not, it was doing quite the opposite. She had given him a new set of eyes, and now he found a fresh and bitter perspective for every aspect of his practice that he had accepted and embraced before.

Confession was no longer a way for him to provide the people in his community with relief and forgiveness; it was a dirty show of egos for people who are disgustingly contaminated by greed and gluttony to flaunt their superiority in the eyes of a corrupt institution. Their opulent vestments were nothing more than a vainglorious boast of wealth, unfit for a group of men who made a vow of poverty to mirror the temperance of their god. The altar boys were only an unfortunate bunch of children stripped of their choices due to their inescapable place in society, a society where the poor, the vulnerable, and the young were exploited with the promise of salvation if they paid tithe and served their godly emissaries. 

And then there was the liturgy. Granted, he was never too entranced by any of the rites he had to perform; they had always felt like a distant repetition of nonsensical words that he felt no real connection to, as he always felt closer to god in silent and private prayer, but now, with his unintentional new perspective, it was the aspect that felt the most different to him. 

For decades, he had been taught to be passive, to repress, and to contain. To escape anything that was even remotely tempting and to be satisfied and held in contempt by the only nude body he’d ever be allowed to see, the one nailed to a cross. Why is it then that the art scattered around the church puts such an intent focus on the immaculate figures of naked men? Why is it that he is thought to rub, to whisper, and to consume in that context but is forced to repress such acts once he steps down the altar?

Viktor took a deep breath. His long fingers twirled the beads of his rosary absentmindedly as he pondered, and before realizing what he was doing, he brought it up to his nose, taking in the faint smell of roses that still lingered from when it was made. While he did that, images ran through his mind—of himself kissing the crucifix during Holy Week, the defined torsos carefully painted in the sacred images of saints, the almost ecstatic feeling brought by communion. Flashes that appeared in quick succession fused with the intense pleasure of flagellation and the still vibrant recollection of what She had made him feel. 

___________________________________________________________________

He knew those thoughts would lead to these, and not only did he purposefully not repress them, but he was hoping as much. There was that distinct tension, that heightened awareness of his body, that sense of electricity that seemed to hum just beneath his skin. Something that was no longer new to him and also no longer unwelcome. 

He stood from the chair he had spent the afternoon rotting away in deep thought on and lethargically walked back to his quarters. Once there and with the door tightly shut behind him, he fell on his back against the stubborn mattress, not waiting even a moment before pulling up the fabric of his cassock to reveal the tight clasp of his trousers. 

His fingers trembled as they moved to untie the sash with deliberate slowness, the anticipation heightening his senses. He hesitated for a moment, as if seeking some final absolution, before he grasped his swelling desire. An almost cynical laugh escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, the motion tentative at first, then more assured as he slowly understood the intensity of his own touch. The sensation was electric, his body responding with a fervor that he had only experienced deep in prayer. 

His free hand, with his rosary entangled between his fingers, gripped the edge of the cot, knuckles white with tension as the wooden frame creaked under the strain and the beads etched small marks into his skin. As the feeling of that distracted him from the pressing heat gathering with each pump, another unusual feeling took him out of the moment. 

The same bone-chilling breeze he had felt for the past few days, every time she came around. There was no fear inside of him this time and no guilt either, so when her figure became clear and visible, he didn’t flinch, freeze, or even stop what he was doing. A silent acknowledgement was given in the form of a lingering look, before the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity urged him to start moving his hand once again. 

She looked at him with pleased eyes, contemptuous but not gloating. She recognized that her role had been simply one of a catalyst for something that had been inside of Viktor all along. Did she want to participate? Of course, but there would be a time for that; this was his victory to enjoy. 

He continued stroking with a rhythm characteristic of someone who was slowly trying to connect with his own body, not rushed by guilt or fear. In the midst of one of the pauses he took to prevent himself from coming to his release too early, he took notice of her again, still standing opposite him near the door. 

“Will you be in hell to welcome me when I die?”

“Hell is now, this, and here.”

“So there is no realm of eternal punishment?” Viktor chuckled bitterly. 

“If there was, it wouldn’t be for people like you.” 

“Eh, I don’t believe that.”

“Can you confidently say...” She started as she walked over and kneeled near the edge of the bed where Viktor sat, gently placing one of her cold hands over the one that gripped his cock. “...that something that feels like this is undoubtedly immoral?”

She slowly guided him up and down once again, increasing the pressure of his grip with her own as Viktor looked into her obscured eyes, mouth agape. 

“Perhaps, though I’m prepared to pay the price.” He said, almost in a whisper. 

They both continued moving, aided by her firm touch over his hand, and the pressure building became almost unbearable. In those final moments, his thoughts became a blur, a cacophony of want, desire, and need, with part of him wanting to touch her and another part wanting to completely lean back and let her finish him off. Instead, his body tensed right where he was, every muscle tightening as he reached his climax with a shuddering release that left him gasping for breath.

The crucifix dangled on his neck as he started to lean over.