#but it's still much better than the void of nothing we have for the fandom right now

[idaten-jump]

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/15GjiUnYQzT557Tax9J9ZvZvt79aT2P5k?usp=drive_link please share this link it have idaten jump episode 1 to 3 , 5, 7, 8, 11, 12 , 13, 15, 16 in english organized by Mr. H

Thank you so very much for sharing this with us! It is much appreciated!

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART V

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,238

Warnings: dark themes, violence, death and mention of cannibalism

Summary: Your pride and loneliness gets the better, as you choose to pry in what you should avoid.

Desecrated.

It's tender to the touch. Bruised. The simple trace of your finger is enough to draw a frown. The mottled skin of your throat is obvious. A terrible site to bare witness, but there's more; a scattered mess mares your body.

The powders have no affect in hiding their existence, and so you resorted to covering them with fabric. It's better the people don't see. It's better your father and kin don't realise the damage of only one night. If they did, they might not leave you here, and the point of all this would be for nothing.

A waste.

You've come this far and you've survived. It's not for anyone else but for you to decide when it ends. It could be weeks, years or even decades, but you know this marriage is worth more than your life. It means a future for thousands of others, if not millions.

Turning from the mirror, you nod for the servants to continue dressing you. The early morning marks the hour of your fathers return to Caladan. He and the others are set to leave this planet, and you want them to leave with hope and pride.

Honour.

You aren't going to dress like your new people, nor will you ever behave like them. The void of their culture won't ever touch your soul. Instead, the servants prepare you in one of the gowns bought from home. A statement both daring and bold.

"Is it time?" you question, to which the servant nods. She's the very same to whom had once adorned the bruises you do now. For reasons unknown, you had taken a liking to the woman. "Good."

Taking a deep breath as you left your chamber, you couldn't help but yearn for what freedom you might find outside these walls; if for only a short time. If only to see your father depart this abysmal world. Gathering yourself, it was only your lone servant who guided you through the palace and up to the hithe.

The dark star that cloaks this planet bore light, and you wince as it floods your gentle eyes; having been weeks since you'd taken in anything other than the artificial. Even the air is harder to breath despite being outside; far too poisoned with fumes.

In the distance you see the great ship to which you'd arrived in, still gleaming unlike anything you'd ever seen. A beacon. There's very few in the galaxy who have or ever will travel the vastness of space. In fact, the first time you'd ever done so was to bring yourself here.

"I didn't think you would come," spoke your father. Standing in uniform, he greets you well kept but with a face of despair. The loom that surrounds him is heartbreaking. "I didn't think you would want to see me."

"Then you think too much," you replied with a faint smile. "You're my father - my duke. You're an honorable man who deserves to be farewelled."

"An honorable man wouldn't trade his daughter to the enemy."

His words hit you like a bullet. Painful. The surrounding noise grows overwhelming to the senses. Hypersensitive. You can hear the ships, the soldiers and even the planet itself resonating from all-round. Even the wind across your face feels strange.

But as you look at your fathers rugged face, see his familiar eyes and features, you feel the noise fade away. You can see the burden he's carrying. You know this was as difficult for him as it is for you. It isn't fair or right for him to keep carrying it.

"There is no call we do not answer," you repeat in mantra. "We do what we must for the good of the people." Resting a hand on his shoulder, you give a light squeeze. "We do what we must to survive."

"You're strong, just like your mother," he nods with a chuff. "You always have been."

Stepping forward, he places a soft kiss on your forehead and your eyes close amidst the threat of tears. You want to remember him as he is and as the kind-heartedness that he represents. Steadily breathing, you absorb his gentle touch and scent; to which you won't soon forget.

"We'll see each other again," he promises with a touch of your cheek. "I'll make sure of it."

Nodding your head with a mustered smile, the duke straightens himself before taking a step back. There are no other exchanges as he moves to make way for the ship. It's a quick farewell, anything more would be too difficult; too emotional.

"My lady," utters Gurney. Stepping forward, he takes your hand to lay a quick peck. "As a man of your fathers council, loyal friend and protector, it pains me that my only power now is to wish you well."

"Fate is a complexity, is it not?" you jest upon looking at your retreating fathers form. In all seriousness you added, "You'll protect him, won't you - and Paul?"

He pauses, "With my life."

"Then there's nothing to fear," you mutter beneath your breath. A rush of relief washes your bones, perhaps a premonition. "Thank you, Gurney."

Giving a curt nod, he bid himself goodbye before following suit to board the ship; along with the rest. Watching alongside what few soldiers and groundmen there are, you waited by until the doors ceiled. The tender strings in your heart tug at the site.

Loneliness is cruel.

Yet, a shadow looms on the metal floor of the platform. Piter. The mentat appeared from seemingly nowhere, and to your irritably, is the only one of any importance to see your father and people off on their long voyage.

"Where are they?" you question bluntly, not bothering so much as to look at him. Your eyes are still sharply focused on the starship. "Why didn't they come?"

In truth, it doesn't matter that your new family by law had not shown for the occasion. They hadn't done you the courtesy of it upon arrival, and so what little there is to have changed in their humiliation. You only ask in leu of the open wound it now salts.

"Pressing matters," spoke Piter. "The Baron's time is precious. It's best not to waste what isn't so clearly desired."

"And what of Feyd-Rautha?" you queried whilst turning to face the mentat; heated eyes meeting cold ones. "Is his time as coveted?"

"The answer isn't pleasant."

"I didn't ask if it were pleasant."

"Take the day," retorts Piter as he looks out towards the horizon. "This is your home now - you should see it."

The anger within your veins begins to boil. It vexes you that this twisted man won't simply answer what should be the simplest question. It causes your mind to tick, wondering what it could possibly be to make him so reluctant; secretive.

"Do I have to pry it out of you?"

The threat did nothing to change his monotone demeanor, but you can tell he'd heard you well and clear. A break of silence fills the void between you, until finally there is no more effort for him to conceal the truth. He confesses with a neutral tone.

"Prying only leads you to places you shouldn't be," he states before glancing at your servant. "But this one can show you the way."

Glancing over your shoulder, you eye the woman; head bowed low. Piter stays while you take your leave of the hithe. You'd expected him to be stronger, but his words of warning begin ring. Perhaps he's right to stave you from the trail you now follow.

"This way," utters your servant.

Following her lead, she moves at a slow pace; an evident lack of urgency. The reason is an evident one. Venturing into the palace walls and traversing the halls, the farther you travel, the more you studied the lithe and pale woman.

The muscles in her neck twitch and strain ever so subtly. A sign of distress. The way she grips her hands together, so tightly, as if she were trying to cling on, only makes you all the more intrigued yet disturbed.

"Where are we going?"

Keeping her head bowed she responds, "We're almost there."

The answer is hardly clear enough to process. Empty. The abundance of riddling and vague responses you've received only adds to your tart aggravation. It's baneful, with how the Harkonnen's have polluted this place with such fear and secrets.

A terrible infestation.

Eventually, the servant stops outside that of a chamber door; similar to your own but far removed. This place is located deeper within the palace, if at all possible. You can see her milky skin prickle and shiver beneath her thin dress.

You order, "Stay close."

Swiping a hand over the console, the door opens wide; revealing a bright illumination as it beams down from the ceiling. As you step forward, your shoes click against the glossy ground whilst the door close from behind; entrapping the two of you.

The channel of light strikes down upon the epicenter of the room, clearly irradiating the psychotic man you'd been seeking; although he's far from alone. As criminal and dangerous as he may be, his blood still belongs to great wealth.

Feyd stands within the down cast of light, muscular arms outreached while servants attend to his requisite. In a warped sense, his marbled pose and aura makes you think of an something akin to ancient; like a god from the old world.

A god of death.

The other servants are quick to stop and turn heads at your unexpected arrival, but Feyd remains unbothered. Evidently, there's not a soul on this planet for him to fear. However, his attendants have paused far too long for his liking.

Feyd turns slowly, clearly agitated at whomever had decided to enter his domain. His sharpened features don't soften upon realising your presence. Instead, he looks you up and down rather analytically.

He rumbles, "What do you want?"

"Respect," you answer simple and low. "Honour."

Feyd's lip twitches in a slight grimace and snarl. It's enough to show blackened teeth, to which you still find utterly unsettling. Feyd waves off a servant, before turning his undivided attention towards you; malicious.

"Honour," he repeats as he stalks towards you; one step at a time. "For who? For you?"

"For us both," you respond as he circles behind you. "The empire watches - waiting to see what will happen next. Now all they see is you - absent from the honour my house was due this morning."

"You Atreides," he drawls with a grumble. A flutter of feminine giggles echo from the far corner of the room. "You're all the same."

Feyd moves from behind you, instead leading himself to a table. It gave you a chance to take in the room. The servants stand predictably petrified, while three others sat lounged on a booth; the strange women are intermingled with one another.

"Would you like some fresh meat my darlings?" he boasted, whilst lifting a knife from the counter. It took you all of a moment to realise he's no longer speaking to you, but to the women on the lounge. "What would you like? A lung? A liver?"

Their own blackened mouths show in a mixture of smiles and grins. Deranged. Their giggles and moans visibly shift the tension. The other servants seem to faulter on the spot; their heads tucking lower and bodies tremoring.

"You," he leers at your own servant. "Come."

"No," you quip without hesitation. The last thing that'll happen in this room will be his hands touching the woman who stands so vulnerably behind your body of protection. "She isn't yours to torment."

"Everything's mine," he replies while approaching his nearest attendant.

You watch the girls lips quiver and eyes widen as his blade thrusts into her abdomen; once, then twice and again. She groans and splutters whilst falling to the ground in a matter of seconds. Butcher.

A pool of blood seeps as he turns to add, "Even you, Atreides."

The violent execution shocks you deep within, and control is hard to fight for as your emotions take hold like a vice. You're trying not to scream. You're trying not to react as to give him satisfaction. Instead, you watch as the girl continues to die, his victim twitching and suffering on the floor; dying then dead.

"There," he gestures matter-of-factly. "My honour."

His reasoning makes no sense. It's all madness to you. Murder. Lifting the dagger, he observes the blood which coats the blade. Transfixed. The gleam in his wicked eyes is unmistakable, but the gravity of it even more so, when his tongue licks a line of blood.

"Because of me," he elaborates. "My darlings are satisfied. Because of me, they're to live another day. There is honour in being master."

Your gaze flickers from him to the three women who sit intertwined on the lounge. It sounds as exactly as he'd announced, but you simply don't want to fathom the truth. These are fowl notions, even for the likes of his kind.

It sickens you more than the memory of his touch.

Listening to the women revel amongst themselves, they seem clearly pleased with their masters slaughter and offering. Feyd gestures and the others are swift to drag the fresh corpse from site; leaving a trail of smeared blood.

Concubines and cannibals.

[utilitycaster]

Wow your Orym tags really are an eye-opener. You are totally right and now I understand the bitterness about this character a little better. I've seen a lot of "...but C3 is supposed to be this and that" takes and I guess a lot of people think they are owed a certain storyline?

Yeah. People feeling as though they're owed a certain storyline is not new nor exclusive to Critical Role; it's been pretty common in fandom for years (see this excellent post that I still think about). But the particular blame being placed on Orym is a fun new twist on this theme.

I'm sure there's people who hate Orym for other reasons; shipping wank is another very common form of entitlement to a particular storyline. I must admit when it comes to Twitter I think some people just yell random lies out into the void to hear their own voice because there is no underlying logic to any of it. But I do think a large number of people who have been blaming Orym for everything for what is now the majority of the campaign are doing so because he has consistetly refused to entertain the idea that Ludinus makes any valid points from the start, and the narrative has pretty much only rewarded him for that.

A lot of people really thought that Campaign 3 "all bets are off" didn't mean like, messing with the narrative structure (they hate when that happens by the way. they acted like Downfall and the Solstice Split and the fact that this has been a very plot-driven campaign rather than one about character backstory are all fucking violations of the Geneva convention the way they carried on, and I say this as a person who can complain) but rather that Critical Role, a D&D-based fantasy, would shed those pesky two previous campaigns of canon (unless of course earlier canon helps them make a point. I truly cannot believe someone made like 5 alts and harassed me and all my mutuals for an entire evening over hypocrisy for...liking one ship more than another when these idiots exist) in order to become some kind of deeply pathetic "French Revolution Except Instead Of Kings It's Gods" historical re-enactment.

We're at the point where like, nothing has validated them and everything they've claimed the gods have done, Ludinus or the Weave Mind have done like, tenfold. As mentioned, the people who were like "oh my god STOP SAYING HUBRIS anyway obviously Bells Hells would NEVER see the gods as relatable" just watched Laudna and Imogen be like "wow, they're flawed and conflicted and a fucked up family just like us." I shit you not, I saw someone criticize FCG's relationship with the Changebringer because "he had to work for it" as if that's not like...how literally all relationships work if you're not an utter black hole of entitled self-absorption. The Kreviris Imperium wants to straight up colonize all of Exandria but they turn a blind eye. There's someone out there talking about putting Rashinna's head on a pike for being willing to endanger the poor Ruidusborn children that...Liliana (probably to some extent coerced by Ludinus to be fair) could have left alone to live out their lives on Exandria. People genuinely channel some anti-abortion "but What About The Disabled Children? Shouldn't Pregnant People Be Forced To Carry And Parent Them" style arguments at Alma's "hey, we have people delay birth for like half an hour so their children don't have The Psychic Migraine Disorder That Made Imogen Possibly Suicidal". The arguments have devolved into "well, canon isn't real" and "but the status quo" as if there aren't ALIENS FROM SPACE SPEAKING AT THE DRAGON VATICAN. How STUPID do you have to be to think that wouldn't change the entire world. Or, to get back to this ask, how desperate are you to maintain the illusion that you are going to get a wish-fulfillment campaign that never once existed? So yeah. They blame Orym because otherwise they have to blame literally the entire cast, and themselves.

[blancheludis]

Whumptober 2024 Day 8: isolation chamber

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Tags: Child Abuse, Dark Bruce Wayne, Running Away, Protective Dick

Summary:

The car breaks down outside of Metropolis. Bruce arrives only a few hours later.

"There's an inn a few miles down the road," he says, his face impassive. Jason knows him well enough to know he is furious. "You can walk or one of you gets the trunk."

Jason looks at the free, spacious backseats of the car. Before Tim can make a stupid, self-sacrificing decision, Jason pushes forward and in front of him. "We'll walk."

The car breaks down a few hundred kilometres out from Metropolis. It is not the smartest place to go, considering that Superman is based there, but they did not actually plan much beyond the how. When was the best and earliest opportunity. Where was just away. They got farther than Jason would have expected. He has long since given up building on hope.

"What now?" he asks as he opens the door and stretches out his legs. They are all alone out here, having stuck to smaller streets. No one to help get the car running again. No one to helpfully point them in a direction where two runaway kids could disappear to, never to be found again.

Tim is fiddling with the car's cables, fruitlessly trying to get a reaction out of it. Nothing happens. The entire car just shut down on them, leaving them to come to a slow halt by the side of the road, with no clue what, exactly, went wrong, much less how to fix it.

Finally, Tim resurfaces and mulishly packs up his little toolkit. "We should get someone to look at it," he then says, shrugging at their surroundings, void of any life. "There must be a garage around somewhere."

"We don't have that kind of money," Jason says, as if Tim needs the reminder. They have slept in the car instead of getting even a cheap motel room, and lived off junk food to stretch their meagre cash as far as they can. "Aren't you a computer genius, though? Can't you hack a bank and get us some money?"

Tim snorts, not sounding very amused at all. He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. "I don't think life will get better in prison."

Jason is not so sure about that. It cannot really get worse. "B wouldn't send us to prison," he says anyway, turning the key in the ignition again, as if the twentieth attempt will actually change the outcome. "Too much temptation for us to talk."

"Not if they put us in solitary," Tim points out, voice too quiet for it to be ever mistaken as a joke.

"Tim." Jason reaches out and grips Tim's shoulder like a lifeline. Softer, he adds, "We'll think of something."

It is a lie and they both know it.

Still, Tim manages to smile at him. "Sure."

Bruce arrives a few hours later. That just shows they never quite got out from under his thumb in the first place. He stops the car a few feet in front of them and then gets out. He leans against the hood as he watches them silently. Perhaps they should have taken their chances and gone straight through the fields instead of sticking to the road. It would, at least, have made it harder to find them, even if that would have only delayed the inevitable further. 

"There's an inn a few miles down the road," Bruce finally says. His face is impassive, but Jason knows him well enough to know he is furious. The kind of icy anger that burns everything it touches. "You can walk or one of you gets the trunk."

Before Tim can make a stupid, self-sacrificing decision, Jason pushes forward and in front of him. "We'll walk."

Because there is no question who would be allowed to ride in front and who would get locked up in the dark, cramped space behind. It is one of Bruce's favoured punishments for Tim. And it looks like he chose the car accordingly. Things will be bad, but Jason has not yet learned not to fight.

Bruce nods as if it is all the same to him. "If you make it until sundown, you'll get dinner."

They do not get dinner.

Jason is the one who ruins a perfectly good vigilante and pushes him over a line they did not know was drawn in the sand. He wants to go to the new production of Macbeth. He is the reason they are on the road that night, right in the path of a man driving drunk. He gets Alfred killed. It is all downhill from there.

Tim is also Jason's fault. He saw the kid first, following after them at night with his camera and absolutely no sense of self-preservation. He should have been subtler, should have taken the kid aside and told him to stay away in a way that worked.

Instead, Tim kept following them and, one night, hit with a dose of fear toxin, revealed he knows who Batman is. Tim's parents got served a lawsuit for criminal neglect two days later and Tim officially became part of the Wayne household a week after that.

For days, Jason did not sleep, waiting for the inevitable, wanting to apologize for ruining another life but not knowing how. The first time a bruise darkened Tim's cheek, he knew it would not do any good.

He is still trying to protect Tim as much as he can.

Bruce is waiting for them in front of the inn, drinking from a half-empty water bottle. 

"What exactly was your plan?" he asks calmly. He is his most dangerous when he is calm.

Tim is eyeing the water, his eyes lingering too long before he turns towards Bruce. "We wouldn't tell anyone." He does not clarify what he means. He does not need to, of course. There are a hundred damning things to pick from.

It is still the wrong answer, Jason knows, and winces. Strike one.

Bruce shows no outward sign of what he thinks. "Jason?" he prompts instead.

But Jason is tired, too. Tired and thirsty and on the verge of lying on the dusty ground and just giving up. "What the fuck do you think?" he snaps. 

It is usually not a good idea to make Bruce angry. The thing is, he already is. Now it is all about damage control. About not drawing things out. The longer Bruce has to think about things, the worse it will get. He already had two weeks to simmer. Two weeks of running and they are back to square one.

"Language," Bruce says without inflection. Strike two.

He gets to his feet and picks up the bottle, only to casually empty it out on the ground between them. For a moment, he watches the water sink into the dirt like a declaration of what is to follow.

"Come," he orders. And, like beaten down fools, they do.

Turns out, Bruce does not need a trunk. The closet in the inn is lockable and small enough to be uncomfortable. It is not, however, soundproof like the one in the manor.

Jason tries to keep quiet, but Bruce has both experience and patience. He knows how long he has to hit Jason and where, to make it really count. To make him bite his lip bloody and then cry out anyway.

Tim still does not have a lick of self-preservation, because he hammers against the closet door, drawing attention in a way that is dangerous. Jason does not want him to be locked in, but he wants him to be dragged out and beaten right alongside Jason even less. They all have their roles to fill, and Jason is not as fragile as Tim. He has taken beatings long before Bruce ever took him in. 

Just like Tim knew isolation before Bruce ever built a sensory deprivation chamber just for him.

"Next time, I should send Superman after you," Bruce says the next morning when they are in the car, driving back towards Gotham. "I'm sure he could make the lesson stick."

Jason shudders. He sits primly, careful not to let his bruised skin touch the back of the seat. Of course, Bruce knows to accelerate fast enough to push them all back far enough to count.

He can only imagine the damage Superman could do if he puts his heart in it. The few times they have met, Superman was always genial, careful when handling normal things and people. Bruce is good at keeping up facades, too, though. Jason does not want to find out how Superman gets rid of his frustration.

Tim is friends with Conner and he never let anything slip. Then again, neither do Jason or Tim.

For a man his size, Bruce knows how to move quietly. It only adds to the quiet threat of omnipresence he likes to wield. There is nowhere they can hide without him finding them, nothing they can say without him hearing it. Privacy is nothing more than a pipe dream in the manor, and Jason has learnt to expect that everything he does will be used against him.

Bruce appears in the door to the dining room, where Jason is trying to get caught up with school work. When they arrived back, Jason's work was laid out for him on the table and he was ordered to get started on it immediately. He could only watch helplessly, as Bruce led Tim further into the manor to lock him up for who knows how long.

"Dick will come for dinner. He wants to hear all about your vacation to Metropolis," he says, his tone mocking but not hiding the threat behind the words.

They will have to conjure up stories about a happy trip that never happened. Not that Jason particularly wants to talk about the truth, about failing to run away, about all the reasons why they even felt they needed to in the first place.

Jason has never found out whether Dick knows what is happening in Wayne Manor behind closed doors. He does not think that Bruce ever touched Dick. The first time Bruce hit Jason was after Alfred died, long after Dick had moved out. Also, Jason could never imagine yelling at Bruce the way Dick does. Jason snaps and curses and shows his teeth, but only when he knows punishment is inevitable. The waiting is always the worst thing for him. Dick, on the other hand, often seems to argue just for the sake of arguing. Jason could never. He does not have a death wish.

Jason straightens his shoulders. "Is there anything specific you want us to prepare?"

Sometimes, Bruce gets out Alfred's cookbooks and gives them impossible tasks in some attempt to relive the old days. Or to set them up for failure. He does not need a reason to punish them, but he still likes to make some up.

Bruce shakes his head and says, "Tim can cook. You and I will train."

Jason swallows. They have been back for barely a day and every movement is hell, pulling on the welts littering his back. He merely nods, though. If Tim is to cook, then Bruce will have to let him out of the chamber. That is good. He will gladly take a few more bruises for that.

Dick comes in bright and smiling. He engulfs Jason in a hug that Jason is sure reopens some of the cuts on his back. He does not make a sound.

"Jaybird. I was so jealous when B told me about your vacation." He pouts as he turns to greet Tim, too. "Why didn't you invite me? We could have made a proper outing of it. All us brothers on the road."

Brothers, Jason thinks and almost scoffs. Tim is his brother, cemented in misery and blood and the doomed need to protect each other. Every minute Tim is out of his sights just allows anxiety to grind down Jason's insides further.

Dick, on the other hand, is just the kid Bruce took in before them, who once did not like Jason for taking his place while not bothering to check whether Jason actually still wants to be here. He is an infrequent guest, who puts Bruce in either a worryingly happy mood or a terrible one. Neither of which is actually good for Tim and Jason. A happy Bruce gets creative. An angry Bruce is just cruel.

"We thought summer is a busy time for you. It was rather spontaneous," Tim answers diplomatically. He is wearing a sweater long enough to hide the burns on his arms. Of course, Bruce was not content with just letting him cook. "You know how it is. The lack of homework and exams paired with summer heat? We just wanted to get out for a bit." Or out for good.

Neither Jason nor Tim had to learn how to lie. True, they used to do it under drastically different circumstances, but at least Bruce deemed them both reasonably capable of keeping their mouths shut without doing it for them or locking them up indefinitely.

Dick sits down at Bruce's right hand, leaning into his space like there is nothing to it, like Bruce's hands are not just there, within easy punching distance.

"It's been ages since I took a vacation, though." He is making puppy dog eyes at them, including Bruce, who smiles in return, broad and honest. The sight just makes Jason's stomach churn.

"Next time, we'll take you," Tim says easily.

Next time. Bruce had said that, too. As if there truly would be a next time. They had their chance and blew it.

Tim moves to serve the soup. His hands are not as stable as Alfred's were, once upon a time. Might be that he has not yet shaken off the hours of being locked up. Might be the burns pressing against the hot china.

"Deal," Dick agrees with all the enthusiasm of someone missing any and all signs of the tension around him. "I hope you didn't get into too much trouble."

Tim and Jason share a quick look, brief enough that Dick does not notice. Bruce, of course, does. He always does.

"Trouble?" Jason takes over to allow Tim enough respite to try to serve the soup without spilling any. "You know Timbers. We were going from one museum to the next. No time for fun when there's things to learn."

No time for fun when they were fearing for their lives, either, but that is just another secret tucked away behind high walls and new scars. Trouble, however, they know intimately.

Picking up Tim was a stroke of luck for Bruce. There is no better way to control someone than by threatening someone they care about. Tim and Jason took to that lesson like ducks to water.

Jason would have either given up or done something drastic ages ago if it were just him and the vengeful bat in the manor. Now, if he goes two hours without seeing Tim, he gets nervous. And pliant.

And Tim, well, Tim will never not try to spare Jason, no matter what that means for himself. He has never learned to think of himself as someone worthy of protection, of love. Jason does his best to rectify that, but life is making that very hard, indeed.

The first time Bruce put a gun in Jason's hand, he thought it was a joke. Batman has rules, principles. Not taking lives is one of them. Probably the most important of them. Batman has gotten a lot laxer about his rules, however. And sending others to do his dirty work does not, apparently, count as breaking the rules at all.

He saw potential in Jason and now bleeds him dry using it.

"I can help," Tim insists one night, a secret whispered only once they are sure Bruce is out of the house. They have taken to sleeping in the same room, as if that would actually make them any safer. If he wants to, Bruce comes for them no matter whether the other watches.

"No," Jason denies him immediately. "I will not let you kill someone." Things are bad enough without loading that on Tim's conscience.

"I wouldn't do it myself," Tim argues stubbornly. "But I can arrange it. If you need a break."

And he could do it. Easily.

But Jason says, "No." And that is that. It is enough that his own hands are bloodied.

Tim's talents lie elsewhere, anyway. He is trained to fight like all of them, but the true magic happens when he is put behind a screen. Recon, research, finding patterns, writing up ridiculous complex formulas to predict all kinds of things, hacking anything and anyone he sets his eyes on.

Jason is strong and Tim is smart. Bruce uses them accordingly.

Bruce is restless. They have been back for a few weeks, but he does not seem willing to let it go, watching everything they do, just waiting for the smallest mistake. It is almost as bad as during those weeks after Alfred had just died. It had broken a dam when Bruce had struck Jason for the first time, when he realized how he could lessen his own pain by putting it on another.

"Perhaps we need to switch it up a bit, since you've been feeling so adventurous lately," Bruce says in the middle of dinner. He pushes away his plate, making Tim and Jason scramble to put their cutlery down. It is a principal rule that nobody eats once Bruce is finished. "Tim, go to the gym and wait for me there."

Tim stands up immediately, even though he looks wide-eyed at Jason before he moves to the door. It is not the prospect of a beating that scares him, Jason knows.

As if Bruce read their minds, he continues, "Jason, you know the way to Tim's chamber."

Chamber, of course, is an entirely cruel name for the cramped, dark box Bruce likes to lock Tim into, taking away his senses and freedom in one go.

"No." That is Tim, standing straight, one hand on the doorknob, not moving. He is pale and trembling, but he looks straight at Bruce, refusing to back down.

"What was that?" Bruce smiles and Jason feels a trap snap close around him.

Tim swallows, his knuckles going white around the doorknob. "I said no," he says, anyway, his voice the only thing that does not waver. And then he makes it worse by adding, "Running was my idea."

Jason is on his feet in an instance. "That's not true," he exclaims, almost stumbling over the words. "I stole the car keys. I convinced him to go."

They are left to glare at each other, unwilling to let the other take the fall, even though they know better, even though they know it is never about whose fault it is. They both ran. They both broke the rules.

"It seems we have a bit of a conundrum." Bruce waves Tim back in. "Sit."

He waits just long enough to watch them both do as they are told. Then he gets up himself and leaves the room, knowing they will not move. Not so soon after having been dragged back here.

When he returns, he has a switch in hand, well-used, familiar. He puts it down on the table between Jason and Tim. He has the gall to be still smiling.

"I think twenty strikes each sound fair. Tim will start." It is the calm in his voice that always, always gets Jason's blood boiling. The way he can sit there and just casually order them hurt. The way they always comply.

Tim remains where he is for a long moment, drawing deep breaths. Then he stands and, with entirely too steady hands, begins to pull his shirt off.

"Oh, no," Bruce interrupts, his smile turning into something sharper. "You will do the honours."

Shirt halfway up his torso, Tim freezes, expression filling with horror as realization dawns. Jason knows his face must mirror Tim's. This is not - Bruce hurts them. They do not hurt each other.

"No," Tim says for the third time this night. No one could ever say he is not brave. Bravery is the surest way to get himself hurt here.

"It's twenty if you do it. Of course, you'll have to repeat strikes if I don't think you're taking things seriously," Bruce says easily, looking at both of them in turn, making it clear what Jason will have to do, too. "If you make me do it, we double it."

Double. Forty. Jason swallows.

They look at each other, Jason and Tim, brothers in misery but also something far more precious. Jason loves Tim. Whatever else happens in this house, Tim is family and there are lines he will not cross. From the determination settling over Tim's features, Jason thinks - hopes - he feels the same.

Forty strikes from Bruce will be brutal. Even if they were to do it themselves, though, there is no telling whether Bruce would not have them repeat strikes to reach the same number, because there is no way Jason could hit Tim in a way that could ever satisfy Bruce. And that is not counting the psychological element of it. It is hard enough to be helpless, to watch when Bruce hurts Tim. He will not be complicit. Not any more than he already is.

"No," Jason says, his throat dry. It does not come out as strong as he hoped, but strength has never helped them anyway. "I will not hurt him."

"Is that so?" Bruce cocks his head to the side, sounding curious. "Tim?"

Wordlessly, Tim shakes his head and then finishes to pull his shirt off. He folds it, showing a calm Jason is certain he does not feel. Then he pulls a chair out of the way, braces his arms against the tabletop, and waits, staring unseeingly at the remains of their dinner.

"So obedient, all of a sudden." Bruce hums and just looks for a long minute. "Stay where you are. Jason, we'll begin with you."

That is the obvious choice, of course. The pain is just half the punishment. The rest is having to watch. Tim might not be fully present by the end. Why give him an easy out?

Jason swallows a curse as he gets to his unsteady feet. He does not bother to fold his shirt but simply throws it on the table.

"Count for me, Tim. And do take care. I'd hate to begin again if you miss one."

Every time, Jason thinks the anticipation is worse than the actual hits. Every time, Bruce proves him wrong.

"One."

"We have to do something," Jason says, two nights later. Bruce is out on patrol and Jason has taken a jammer out of the cave. He is not going to let Bruce overhear this.

Tim sits up in bed. "What can we do?" he asks, sounding utterly exhausted, which has little to do with neither of them being unable to sleep. "Do you think the car broke down out of the blue? You know Bruce. He's weird about his cars."

Which means he let them run for two weeks, just waiting for the right time to bring them low. Like a cat playing with its prey.

"It's only going to get worse."

Tim nods in agreement but still scoffs. "And who'd believe us?"

"Look at us," Jason says, pointing at where bandages peek out from under Tim's sleep shirt. "Who wouldn't believe us?"

"Let me rephrase that." Tim rolls his eyes, Jason knows despite the darkness. "Who would believe us that we could actually contact without Bruce knowing and who would do something about it?"

Jason knows exactly what Tim means, of course. They have been adopted by Bruce Wayne. They should count themselves lucky for that privilege. Surely, being slapped around a bit is an adequate payment for a life otherwise lacking nothing. Nothing that Bruce does not withhold from them.

"You're the computer whiz," Jason says, aiming for a lighter tone and falling painfully short. "Don't tell me it's impossible to get a message out. Hell, one picture should be enough." At least until Bruce's money and lawyers make it like no evidence ever existed. That is the oldest story in the book. Money dictates the world.

"It's not impossible." Tim shrugs. He likely has played through all possible scenarios already. "I just don't know how quickly he'll notice. We can't be around when he finds out."

An involuntary shudder runs through Jason. Getting caught at trying to run away again, after the first time went so terribly wrong just a few weeks ago, could just be the thing that tips Bruce entirely off the edge. And he is barely clinging on as it is.

"He hasn't killed us yet. He likes it too much to have his own personal punching bags," Jason says, although it does not come out as convinced as he would hope.

What if Bruce does tire of them? Worse, what if he wants to exchange them for a younger, less troublesome model and Jason has to die knowing he has condemned another person to this hell?

Tim looks at him, too young and too serious. "He also hasn't had us hurt each other before. Things like this always get worse."

The words settle between them, making the air taste bitter. Although that might just be the bile at the back of Jason's throat.

"So what?" he finally asks. What can they do, if staying is not an option but running is hardly feasible either?

"Superman isn't an option. The way Bruce talks about him, he might already know," Tim says, falling into the familiar rhythm of presenting research. "I can try Conner, though. I mean, I can call for him without technology."

Their civilian identities are still a secret, of course, so they cannot know that Conner will answer if it is not Robin calling.

"And then?" Jason asks anyway. "Wonder Woman loves children."

She pretends to, at least. Then again, Bruce likes to get photographs with the babies at orphanages, too, whenever he has to visit for the Maria Wayne Foundation.

Tim smiles bitterly. "I'm not sure the Justice League will forsake their bankrolling member just because of us." There it is again, the problem with the money.

"Gordon?"

But Tim shakes his head before Jason has fully finished saying the name. "He has taken Batman beginning to kill without protest."

True. So much for the only upstanding commissioner of Gotham.

"Dick?"

They look at each other, full of the same gnawing hesitation. This might be their last chance. They cannot botch it up.

"Assuming he doesn't know," Tim picks up the idea as if it is not a giant, uncertain if. "What could Dick do against Batman?"

The mere thought is laughable, so Jason points out, "Nothing. But against Bruce? He could get us out of the house. He will never reveal Batman's identity and he wouldn't let us do it either, Bruce knows that." Allowing himself a moment of weakness, Jason says, "We could just go living with our older brother."

He expects Tim to shoot down such a stupid pipe dream immediately. Instead, Tim studies him, his features somehow sharper than before.

Then, without the slightest trace of hesitation, he says, "We could also kill him."

"Tim," Jason exclaims, immediately looking at the door, half expecting Bruce to appear as if summoned.

"What?" Tim asks dryly. "He must know we'd think of that eventually. We're trained. He's paranoid but he can't be on alert all the time."

It is true and Jason will not lie and say he never thought about it before. Taking a life, now that he has had practice, is not hard at all. They would have to carefully prepare, but it should be doable. It would, however, just get them into a whole new world of trouble.

"We're not killing Batman," Jason decides, sounding more convinced than he feels. "We're not killers. Not when he does not force us to be."

Tim nods and some of the tension bleeds out of him. "All right."

A small part of Jason is disappointed at Tim's quick acquiescence. "Just like that?"

"I just wanted you to know that's an option." Tim reaches out in the dark, finds Jason's hand and squeezes it. "I would - you know. For you."

Jason turns his hand so they are holding each other. "If it ever comes to that, I would, too. For you."

They do not let go of each other until the sun rises outside.

They needle Dick long enough that he agrees to take them to some kind of event in the zoo. Jason has already forgotten what it is about, but it coincides with an important board meeting at Wayne Enterprises, so they are reasonably sure to be free of Bruce for at least a few hours.

On the way to the zoo, Tim, admirably, keeps up with Dick's excited chatter, pretending for all the world to see that nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. Jason grunts out responses when needed and otherwise tries to keep his heartrate under control. He hopes his lack of excitement can be put down as him being a moody teenager and feeling himself too old to go to the zoo with his brothers. He has never had a talent for acting, and he will not start to try with so many things hinging on this going right.

Once at their destination, they make sure to pass at least four security cameras and then dive into a crowd where it is loud enough that their phones will have trouble picking up their conversation if Bruce decides to listen in. They still ditch their bags there for the moment - and Dick's, too - just to be sure. Bruce is not the only one who can be paranoid. Then they drag Dick off into a corner of the zoo with fewer people and, more importantly, no security cameras.

"What's going on?" Dick asks, because he, too, was trained by the greatest detective and, of course, knows that something strange is happening. He does not resist them, however, which has to count for something.

"We need to talk to you," Tim says simply, sounding like he is chewing glass. "Only you."

Dick raises an eyebrow at the implication but nods, tersely.

When they are suitably out of the way, Jason looks at Tim, suddenly breathless. Are they really doing this? Well, it is now or never and Jason has never liked waiting. 

"We noticed you are yelling a lot at Bruce."

That is not exactly how they were going to start the conversation, but Jason needs to know. All of their plan hinges on Dick being clueless as to what is going on in the manor. After how their last plan ended, Jason is not willing to take any chances.

Dick's shoulders slump. "Boys, it's -" He trails off, looking miserable. His face is so open, guileless. "I'm sorry if it's making you uncomfortable. It has nothing -"

Jason cuts him off, not able to stand the uncertainty any longer. "Has Bruce ever hit you?"

Out of the corner of Jason's eye, he sees Tim wince. He shrugs at him. They are on a strict schedule. They cannot be out of sight of cameras and out of the range of their phones for long.

Dick is staring, opening and closing his mouth several times, before he manages to ask, "What are you talking about?"

Jason crosses his arms in front of himself and shifts slightly, just so that he can slip fully in front of Tim if it becomes necessary. "Has he?" he then demands. Before he does not have a satisfying answer, they cannot push further.

"No, of course not," Dick exclaims, entirely too loud before remembering where they are. Much quieter, he continues, "I know it's not good that we keep arguing so much but -" Dick cuts himself off as he takes a closer look at them, at their sombre expressions, at the way Jason's hands are digging into his arms and Tim is standing entirely too straight. "Did something happen?"

In a measured tone, Tim asks, "Would you believe us if we said that Bruce hit us?"

Dick flinches back and stares at Tim, stares like he can open up their heads and find out exactly what is going on. He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out rough. "Us as in both of you?"

Tim turns abruptly and, after a quick glance around, lifts the back of his shirt. Their backs are looking better, the bruising already more green and yellow than angry blue. The places where Bruce drew blood, however, are unmistakable. Fine, parallel lines like a confession.

"Forty strikes," Tim says, voice sharp, clinical. He has no intention of pulling his punches, so to speak. This might be their only chance. "Well, forty-four, because he did Jason first and then had to start over several times with me because Jason was fighting to stay conscious and did not start counting quickly enough."

Jason wants to close his eyes at the memory, but he keeps watching Dick. This is the moment of truth.

Pure horror takes over Dick's face and Jason cannot help his relieved sigh. Dick did not know. Dick does not approve.

Jason reaches out blindly, finds Tim's arm and squeezes. He is not sure he can keep standing on his own. Tim shrugs his shirt back on properly and then moves against Jason's side. They have practice keeping each other up.

"Is this - are you -" Dick takes a deep breath, then tries again. "Was this the first time?"

"No," Tim says and smiles, no trace of humour on his face. "Far from it."

Dick leans back, pressing his hand against his mouth. He does not look away, however, does not hide his terror. "And you both - you - your trip?"

He is smart, quickly connects the dots. Jason tries not to feel bitter about the fact that they might have gotten help earlier, if only Dick had deigned to see them.

"We were running away," Jason admits, shaking off his misgivings. He learned early on in life not to cry over what ifs. "Unsuccessfully, of course."

To give him credit, Dick does not ask why they did not come to him sooner, why he seems to be their last resort. He knows Bruce, perhaps not as well as they do, but well enough.

"We can't get him arrested."

They know that. Bruce has too much money, too many lawyers just waiting to do his bidding. He has the Justice League and Gotham's police. They are just two kids with nowhere else to go.

Jason and Tim stay silent. They both agreed on the importance of this. Dick must want to help them, must offer to help on his own. Otherwise, he will never stare down Bruce for them to tell him he will lose them both. Well, all three of them, at best.

They watch as Dick thinks, fighting to correlate the Bruce he knows with what he has just learned. Then, he sets his jaw. "What can I do?"

Jason feels like he is taking his first real breath since their stolen car broke down. Tim finds his hand and holds on for dear life. They are not alone anymore.

[spidertroupeart]

Not gonna lie, we need more GOOD UNDERTALE AU outcodes... ya' know, the guys who go around the multiverse doing stuff with their own specific goals

I mean, we definitely have them, but it's sad that the last "Big" outcode to ever reach a greater audience was this sad mistake of an Error clone.

I mean, I'd highly suggest looking into stuff like Stitchau, Poppy's story, the ALIVE AU and No!sansverse (which is basically a take on the sansverse that de-sansifies the OUTCODE sanses, this sad sack of rooftop swordsman brainrot included), but it's unfortunate this guy gets more publicity than these three... we need more input from the community.

I don't want to insult or spread hate about undertale outcodes, AUs, or what have you; a lot of them were made by people who were genuinely trying to do something interesting- and unfortunately, everyone's favourite character at the time (and still the majority of the fandom's, probably) was Sans, so he always got the most attention. I can't complain a lot about that, considering I myself am also incredibly guilty of favouritism.

What I think is that a lot of what people were doing could be better expressed and made more interesting if different characters were used, and it didn't become a confusing mess of "Wait. Who's from where??" for me, personally. My brain is very small and can only handle so much.

But, along those lines, I'll share my thoughts that went into Ink!Chara and Ink!Asriel, to try and better make a point- the void, or anti-void, whatever it may be, is a neat concept, but I never really understood it myself- so I kind of made my own interpretation of it with my minimal knowledge.

The whole thing behind these two was that it's stated in-game that no one knows what would happen if a human and monster soul fused- so for all we know, the fusion could be incredibly unstable. Perhaps game-breaking. And along the lines of not knowing what would happen, it's even less known what would happen upon defeat- considering that a monster soul cannot persist for long after death (provided said monster is a boss monster), and a human's can persist for God knows how long.

What if this contradiction led to a huge bug in the already unstable game, and in order to save itself from a crash, the game just. Completely drops the souls? Shoves them out of the way to get everything working again once they were no longer active. We know for a fact that both Chara and Asriel (now Flowey's) souls are seemingly gone, so why not do something with that?

Ink!Chara and Ink!Asriel are separate entities from basegame Chara and Flowey, in that they are their souls and only their souls. My point is.

There are so many ways to make these outcodes more interesting (at least to me) just by using different characters and throwing things at the wall. Once again, nothing against the originals; without them I wouldn't even be having these ideas.

Apologies for this long and unstructured ramble, I've been wanting to properly talk about my inks for a while now lmao

[doonarose]

Right, so here's the thing(s).

I've not been around much... which is probably what I've said the last half-dozen sporadic posts I've made but basically since like July or August I've just kind of fallen out of fandom for a number of complex reasons and also just because it was time for that to happen, I guess?

I would very much not like to have fallen out of fandom and am trying to force my brain back into engaging. But then every time it does and for whatever/whoever reason, it's not fun engagement, off I go again.

This is entirely a me problem.

Work is work and we've had a hectic month. I am somewhat disappointed in two of my research students but somewhat pleased with the other two. The two I am pleased with are very on the fence about whether they will convert into PhDs... which I would like because they're good students and we could actually get something done with three more years. It's a big ask though, with shitty pay and less than ideal conditions. In some ways, I am mentoring them to explore other options because they probably could do better than my dinky little lab and it's story of woe. Their final theses are due in a week... that's something like 30k words I need to comb through and poke at which is just... exhausting... on top of all the other stuff.

And it's my birthday on Tuesday. 37 which is a bit of a nothing year but maybe I can convince myself it's going to be a good/better one... If nothing else I think I've convinced my parents not to drive up and surprise me/take me out for dinner/whatever. Which in itself is a bit pathetic but also, even more pathetic that I've asked them not to which has just pissed them off. They'll come up Friday and we'll do something... And then I'm down there for four or five days the week after to see all of them and some friends for the traditional four day horse racing weekend thingy.

Honestly, the best, easiest way for my birthday to go is for me to do a few hours at work and then go home, drink a bottle of wine and eat some cheesecake and that be that.

Rivals is a nice little treat in all of this. If my math is correct, it'll land this evening and I can, again, drink a bottle of wine and eat some cheesecake, and lose myself in tv and new David Tennant.

I'm gonna power through a few more hours thesis reading and then head home. I do still enjoy my journaling here, even if it is mostly talking into the void. Gosh, maybe I do, finally, need to get a therapist, in this, my 37th year...

[pendragaryen]

Merry christmas, my dear friends, mutuals and followers and all the best wishes for the upcoming new year! 🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡

The last bit of 2022 and the whole of 2023 have not been very kind to my family - and so I'm standing here today, looking back at the past 13 months and finding myself almost back and stuck in the emotional state that I had been in after the separation from my long time boyfriend/life partner in 2009... That was a very dark time. I was trying to live and breathe with a constant black hole in my chest and soul for a couple of years then... I felt so empty and lost. I had a very similar feeling for the span of a couple of months after I had been kicked out of my job in 2017. But nothing, and I mean it, nothing has the rug under my feet pulled away and made me hit rock bottom like the cancer illness of my sister, the death of my grandma and now the fact that my mum is diagnosed with a tumor in her spine, all in the span of just 13 months... Please, we all need some rest in my family so desperately. But now we're all very anxious bc of the surgery my mum has to go through at the 12th of january. It's a difficult surgery. No-one knows for sure at this point what kind of a tumor it is. It causes her legs getting more and more numb and if they don't do anything, the risk of her ending up using a wheelchair rather sooner than later seems very likely. If the tumor should be malignant (please, god, no, NO!) the consequences would be even worse bc it could've spread already... But the fact that the doctors pushed for a fast surgery likely speaks for the possibility that the tumor is benign and seated in just one place... Well you see, this really keeps me busy... We all hope desperately that she will get better after the surgery, and not worse... We have plans! We want to travel together again! To the Netherlands next! Or to Danmark!

Don't get me wrong, there HAD been good things that happened in the last year, not at least the fact that my sister is now considered as cured. We're all so relieved and thankful, I have no words for it! But then... the death of our grandma... and now the tumor and surgery of my mother... I feel like i'm trapped in a constant state of emotional stress, like standing in the dark and screaming into the void with nobody being able to hear me... I can't even begin to imagine how my sister must've felt or how my mum is feeling now. Sometimes I think I'm too empathetic, the way I suffer with and for my beloved ones... that can't be healthy. I'm so tired.

Sorry to bother you with all this. I'm not around here that often anymore. Sadly I have to say I lost joy in many things I once loved or loved to do over the course of the last years. I'm unmotivated most of the time. But now... I have to function, I have to be there for my mum. It'll take half a year at least for her to recover from her surgery (if everything goes well - fingers crossed please!!!) and so I have to be strong - and I WILL be strong! For her! For my family! I hope my sister will support me then... The relationship of her and our mom is a little difficult... Sadly. But she's working on it..

I said I lost the joy in many things I loved once, but one thing I'll never get tired of is, on the rare occasions I visit this site, to read you all at our weekly BFSN, to see the 100 fam still being so creative and devoted, so that our favorite show never really gets forgotten. Thank you so much for that! And please keep tagging me in things! I read you, look at your photos, and I smile, even though I may not answer. This little corner of our fandom is so dear to me, it's almost a little like homecoming when I log in here. A comfort place.

Thank you all for your kind, empathetic, couraging, and motivational words at the last BFSN. I appreciate each and every one of it.

I hope the year has been kind to y'all and that these christmas holidays and the new year will be filled with tons of health, luck and love for you and all of us! Here's to a well deserved rest for us all!

And may we meet again. Here and in words. Maybe one day in person? Who knows?

Always.

Anne

@sunflowerkru: @togetherkru @carrieeve @ninappon @roguetwelve @bellamyblake @jeanie205 @geekyogicheese @natassakar @heartbellamy @okmcintyre @immortalpramheda @igotbellarkeforthat @infp-with-all-the-feelings @isweartobreathe @kizo2703 @travllingbunny @bookwormforalways @lee-em-dee @julibernardo @broashwhat @its-tea-time-darling @delicatebluebirdruins (and each and everyone else I maybe forgot, please excuse me)

[i-only-know-fandoms]

Carlos's mention in the wedding special and how they handled it was disappointing and vague and, in my opinion, leaves the door open to either fate

Context

So I took a peak at the Barnes & Noble bonus chapter of Melissa de la Cruz's Beyond the Isle of the Lost and Mal and Evie and Jay and Ben and even Doug are there but there's no mention of Carlos, and I don't know, that really upsets me. The Core Four aren't going to be in the movies anymore, (Disney, though intent on making more movie, at least hasn't sunken as low to recast Cameron, and Dove, Sofia, and Booboo won't return without him) they still exist in the universe (Mal's portrait, this bonus chapter, etc). And it just seems to me, as long as it's not on screen and they're continuing the franchise, Disney should include Carlos in any future books they might appear in

(Which I also believe they should do to continue Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay's story. They're intent on continuing the franchise, they've made that clear, and so tossing aside the characters that created it seems callous. Obviously there can be no more movies with them, thus, books. Also, these theoretical books could be for the YA fans of the original trilogy and thus get into the grittier details of the Isle, not the watered down happy ending that made no sense canonically in D3. As many are pointing out, Rise of Red will be for a new generation of fans)

I, personally, think that if they're set on continuing the franchise they should honor they characters should still be used (again, offscreen in books) to continue their stories and the legacies of the characters and the actors who created them, especially Cameron, as this is really his only legacy character. It also gives another way of keeping his memory alive, if they dedicate the books to him, and raise awareness for his foundation by including an page promoting it in the books.

It also seems callous to me to just toss all the work of those characters to the side, like they don't mean anything now that they can't be used in movies.

But, I am also worried want wanting this (or even asking Disney this, though I doubt they'd pay attention) that I am also just using Cameron? I just, I miss him so much, and this would keep him alive (similar to Chadwick Boseman through T'Challa. Like, they had him die in the movies as to not recast him, but there's still all the Black Panther comics and merchandise that he lives through. Yes, it's not necessarily his iteration of the character, since it did exist before him, but he's still connected with it). But should this stay in the fandom through fanfics and fanart, and not touched by Disney? But they're continuing the universe, so feels like this is just forcing him to disappear? Idk, I did another post about this after the Wedding Special, because I don't know if I'm being insensitive by wanting this. I don't think I am, I don't mean to be, but that doesn't mean I'm not.

So I set up this poll, (and set it before my rambling since who wants to read all this, lol) to get some wider perspective. Should I keep asking Disney to try and get the Core four's stories continued in books (if you're on Instagram, yup this is me) or am I being insensitive towards as them by asking for this

(The utter hopelessness of asking Disney and if I should give up because of it isn't in question, I have nothing better to do with my life than scream into the void. But if it's morally wrong.... I trust the fandom for an honest opinion on this and tumblr is the best place. And now we have polls, so......)

[kalolasfantasyworld]

You know what. Two chapters in one day! AAAUUUUUUGGGHHHH! Chapter 9!

The very first paragraph of the chapter. So as not to say too much about the spoilers I've been made privy to from group chats, Helena's, erm, feeling for lack of a better word makes me think of... you know... her. And the explanation you gave regarding her magic... You know... Right? Right...

The lack of dialogue for a few paragraphs is a nice way to keep the chapter from dragging through an uneventful morning. But also the lack of meaningful exchange between characters also builds that tension. It's like the chapters of this and the previous chapter would say "the calm before the storm." Nothing big is said because the quiet is building towards the chaos.

While Helena isn't a Magic Knight, she does embody a bit of their spirit. She may have the power/position/opportunity to benefit only herself but instead exercises her privilege to help others. She harnesses her large mana reserves to become a healer and her position of safety in the hospital gives her a chance to open the doors for the endangered citizens. Overall, good character beat.

Helena truly does take patient care seriously as a doctor and not merely a battlefield healer. At least if I were writing the scene, I would had Helena pull the girl away from the door and started healing on the spot. But no, you have Helena take the girl (and her rescuer) to a quieter and better equipped area to do more thorough mending. It goes to show your own knowledge as someone learning medicine/healthcare. This is one of those things that makes me enjoy reading the works of others, seeing what they choose to write more elaborately over others things.

And here we come to the first of many scenes reframed through Helena's eyes. Helena may not have known the Silvas long but she's more intimate with them than the ordinary citizenry and sees them not as the all-mighty Magic Knights but as the powerful but still human beings they are. She doesn't gasp in awe at them. She watches with worry and fascination as their full power becomes known to her in this moment. I can tell Helena's respect for them has grown. They all may have gotten off on the wrong foot but this is an incident which helps Helena warm up to the Silvas (much how the audience of the original manga should've been able to respect the Silvas a little on a professional level for their efforts as Knights even if they weren't personally kind to Noelle).

Even when the Silvas are spirited away. Even with Helena's worry for the family that has graciously been hosting her. She is able to focus herself enough to worry about the scared and injured in front of her. Good on her, the poor dear.

... Is this burn victim going to come up in the future? Maybe you're just going into the description of the girl so describing her burn scar isn't out of place. But then again, you could bring her back for something. Something small but... something. Cause really, aside from what ships crop up in the fic, I am going into his fic quite blind and I don't know how much set up and pay off you have stored in this fic!

Can Helena/I please stop getting punched in the gut with disheartening sights? One thinks they're long over Fuegoleon getting wrecked and then they read a fanfiction where it gets addressed/reacted to all over again and they remember the pain. This is a years old wound for the fandom and yet! AND YET!

It a moment where Helena's gentle heart is exposed. Despite only meeting twice, Helena felt a sense of companionship with Fuegoleon and to see him come to such severe harm must truly shake her.

Again, we get a long stretch of text without spoken words from characters. This time, instead of suspense, it builds emotion. Fuegoleon's injury is something quiet and solemn. The quiet of the scene is like the void his own voice and passion has left behind. Helena sees a good man in a broken state and has no words, only a silent grief. Until... Nozel comes along and Helena lets herself break down in front of him. Nozel and Helena aren't friends but their tolerance and growing respect is something more than whatever Helena has with any other person in Clover Kingdom at the moment. So of all the people she allows to see her weakness, she lets Nozel see it. (Which, recalling past conversations about future events in the fic, might not get reciprocated... Ouch.)

Well played to have Nozel break the silence not with any words of comfort but simply his harsh determination to get justice for Fuegoleon. His solid mercury heart hasn't softened yet. And really, as life-long companions/rivals, it does make sense for Nozel to focus on what's been done to Fuegoleon rather than Helena's emotions regarding it. And knowing you, Lola, that's probably something you did intentionally and take pride in. Write the birb man in his cold and distant era!

... Hey why is the next chapter titled "The Breakdown"? Lola...?

Hi!

I'm not as fast with replying as you were with commenting that day, but it made me so happy to read your thoughts. I lately reblogged Laura saying about how the answers to the amazing comments should try to keep up the level.

Ehm... I'm not saying much 😂 I love how you're picking up things based on the spoilers you know. This is amazing. I can't believe somebody's getting this. However it's not in that exact way and certainly not on that level.

I'm so glad I managed to write the tension here, because this was exactly my plan. A fairly normal morning with the exception of Helena's feeling.

She totally embodies the MK's spirit. As you know she will be working closely with them in the future as Owen's second in command. And yes in this moment she feels that she needs to help, she knows she has more mana than probably all the others in the building combined.

Yes Helena is not a healer additionally to being a mage, she's a healer above all and this will always stay as her primary characteristic. Hah I admit when I made her a healer I decided why not sneak in some actual medical knowledge. Just for fun.

Yes so so far Helena knew the Silvas through the House. One time she went to the SE base only to be kicked out by Nozel. This is the first time she can see their power and be truly impressed. Afterall so far she's only seen her father and Gabriel who were very powerful mages and used their magic skilfully. Here Helena also sees the Silvas as protectors. S you're right a new layer of respect.

Helena is a pratical and mature woman. She knows at the moment there's nothing to be done for the Silvas, while she has her duty to the citizens. That's where she can help.

The burned girl ^^ I love how you caught on why my description was so accurate. Yep she'll be back. I'm not saying anything more. And hah there's a LOT of set up going on over here 😂 So you paying attention to details pays off.

This chapter was "Helena faces reality" since she was sheltered for most of her life it hits her even more. I needed to adress Fue's condition and how Helena sees it, because I'm not expanding but there's more to it and why was she shaken up to this level. You'll understand ;) Her pain is much more personal and as you stated these two haven't interacted that much. Just something for you to ponder on.

Nozel was just in the right place in the right time. If not for him she would have probably bottled it in, because yes Helena is rather open and wants to talk about her problems, but there's really no once so far she could share her pain with. Here she assumes Nozel is hurting as well, so he could relate and she just wants to let go.

(yeah... he's not reciprocating... not really)

Nozel isn't really comforting her here. Yes I did that on purpose ^^ and I'm proud of myself. Overall I take pride in the way I write Nozel and keep him rough around the edges. The cold and distant era is so important to show his growth. Yet another reason why PH starts with the start of BC storyline. We're getting the full change.

You already read it 😂. The breakdown well some fighting happens, but it's more about "the breakdown of events" rather than emotions. Word play on my part.

I'm glad you're paying attention to chapter names. I put a lot of conscious effort into picking them.

Thank you for your amazing comment!!! 💕

It truly made my day

[eastofedean]

I've seen a lot of posts about your 20s being the loneliest years of your life. and while I don't think you can that about every person's experiences...

I think I have been angry at myself for most of my 20s. There has also been a huge part of me that's felt an immense sense of grief. Grief about a childhood that ended too quickly, and teenage years that were spent worrying and not thinking I'd make it long enough anyway. I am turning 25 next year and I feel like I've missed out on so much in my life. I grew up pretty isolated. I was never good at making friends and something in me made me incredibly scared of people. I hate that about myself. I wish I knew how to stop pushing away the people I care about most. I wish I could stop feeling so much and nothing at all all of the time. There is a part of me that wants to make friends, I mean fucking hell, who the fuck wants to do all of this on their own? I think I will always feel guilty about the relationships I fucked up and the people I hurt. I know that there is no way to change the past. I just hope it's okay that I'll keep them in my heart. My dad used to make me feel like it's my heart that's wrong. He is getting older and doesn't remember most of the things he said to me. He still hates most of the things that make me me. I still care about him. I hate myself for it. I wish I was stronger, I wish talking would come easier to me. I wish I could be strong enough to tell people I care. And I wish I could get out of this loop of self-pity. I've been feeling sorry for myself for so long. I think, maybe there is still hope. I wish there was. They say you haven't met all the people who will love you yet. I am scared that I have. I worry that my trying won't ever be enough. I want to be needed and I can't deal with it when people actually care. It feels like it's only a matter of time for them to find me out. I am trying so hard to change not only to crave connection but also to let it in when it happens. I feel like I am bleeding out and everyone who tries to help starts bleeding too. It's just me and my self-sabotaging ass against the world lol. This shit is harder than I thought though. I wish I could blame someone for the way I am, but I did this to myself.

I am not sure why I am writing this. Life is so difficult for all of us. We are all trying to make it through. I just want to try and be better. I want to make up for the way I am. I feel the need to apologize for every ask I never answered, and every message I ignored. I know most of you probably think it's not a big deal, but it is to me. I wanted to get more into the fandom, to connect with people... to be brave, but it didn't work. Most of you probably think "what the hell is she talking about" which is fair. I don't think there is a good reason for me to share this so openly. But screaming these things into the void... sometimes I like to pretend it does help. it's like having an imaginary friend. This year has been a rollercoaster. I feel super lost and I am dreading yet another birthday spent alone. But I am still here, I am fighting through it, and even though I'd like life to stop feeling like a battle I have to fight in... I still hope that one day life and my bones won't feel so heavy anymore.

[firecrackerhh]

If the writing in HB is such a disappointment for you I suggest you quit while you’re ahead and just not bother watching Hazbin Hotel at all, obviously your standards are way too fucking high. I suggest finding something you actually like and blogging about that instead.

Also the way some “fans” talk about Vivziepop is frankly really disrespectful. It’s irrelevant that she’s a creator online and thus should expect pushback on everything she says or does, some of you go way too fucking far with it. She is still a human being who deserves respect, if you can’t give the CREATOR of a show you actively choose to watch any respect because of insignificant bullshit reasons like “they made something that personally disappointed/offended me” or because of accusations made against said creator with flimsy evidence at best, then those same people who claim the fandom is full of immature children are the most hypocritical jackasses I’ve ever seen in my life.

You want to criticize? Fine, but do not act like you’re morally above any of us who like the show when you actively choose to treat not only the creator like shit, but the fans as well. Hell I’ll be honest, if you don’t like Viv, I can’t say it bothers me that much, these idiots just shout into the void more often than not and their bitching amounts to nothing in the end anyway. But to treat the fans of HH and HB like we’re fucking idiots all because we have committed the horrible sin that is…liking something and not wanting to be bombarded with ever constant negative bullshit about it? That isn’t any more mature. That’s toddler behavior, crybully behavior even, and I don’t respect that shit whatsoever. “Waaaah these people don’t agree with my opinion on a cartoon so they’re all retarded and delusional and mentally ill I’m totally not projecting you guys waaaah!”

I do not deny that some fans go overboard with defending their favorite show, but notice how it’s all defensive, not offensive. We don’t start this shit, they bully us first, and then have the nerve to cry when we rightfully tell them how full of shit they are? What are you, a fucking baby? If you can’t handle other peoples opinions about a cartoon maybe you should fucking touch grass my dudes.

How’s that shoe feeling on the other foot? Not so nice when those criticisms are laid at your feet huh?

If you think you can do better, fucking do it then. Use your ever constant burning contempt for something useful and productive instead of sounding like a fucking whiny loser online, cuz that’s what you people sound like.

Speaking of disrespecting others…

I never want to hear any of you motherfuckers bitch about ableism ever fucking again. Retard is the nicest word I could use to refer to you fucking troglodytes. You deserve to get called that shit and worse.

Also for the love of god that’s not what gaslight fucking means you mentally challenged amoeba. Pick up a fucking dictionary.

🔥🧨~Firecracker out~🔥🧨

[lightburnsyou]

respond to the following prompts out of character, then tag others you'd like to get to know a little bit better.

roleplayer name: sky!

roleplayer pronouns: she/her

muse name: anakin skywalker

preferred communication: tumblr dms or discord!

experience: over fifteen years! i started on neopets (doing "gifted vs government" rps if you remember those. it was basically just x-men ocs lmao) and started on tumblr doing groups when i was about 14? discovered indie rp around a year or so later. moved to discord and wrote 1x1s sometime during lockdown. rped exclusively with one friend for like three years. (still write the same two rp threads w her!) recently came back to tumblr with this blog! have been in many many fandoms.

preferred roleplay type: as long as there's something to work with, i am content. i'm very story focused. i don't care much for threads where it's just two characters chatting about nothing, unless it's giving us juicy character exploration. i prefer threads with some kind of conflict, whether it be internal, between two characters, or a third party/impending doom/secret/whatever. it doesn't have to be action based, but i think all stories do need something going on. as long as there's something, i'm happy. i'm not very good at this, but i also really like threads with strong environments! i suck at remembering to describe places, but i like a nice setting. i think it makes it more fun and vivid, and you can do cool symbolism and metaphors with a good setting. trying to get better at this bc sometimes i feel like i write characters in a void rather than a solid, grounded place. so if my partner is good at establishing setting, it makes me happy bc i feel like i'm learning lmao

pet peeves & dealbreakers: ooc dramaaaa. it is my biggest dealbreaker. also this is a minor pet peeve and hasn't really come up here, but i must warn you all that i am not a hayden simp. please don't assume i am just bc i write anakin. love him as anakin! great actor! but idrk him and i don't want to talk for hours about how hot he is. i'm a lesbian, and i'm just not interested in talking about the hotness of men really at all, let alone in excess. i won't stop you from talking about it, but i just can't sometimes. a boundary i have. i'll talk about my love for anakin all day any day tho.

plot or memes: both! i will say that memes can sometimes get the ball rolling faster, especially if the characters have an established dynamic or common setting! that being said, i do love plotting just as much! never feel scared to reach out to me to discuss a plot or dynamic! i'm down. and unless otherwise specified, you're more than welcome to continue any meme without asking! i try to write them with potential continuation in mind

long replies or short replies: i don't really mind length, but i do gravitate to multi-para. one-liners are great starting points, but i naturally expand. i don't vibe with blabbing just for the sake of matching length, though. anakin is a talker, so a lot of my replies do have a bit of dialogue! however, whatever i feel the reply needs is what the reply gets, and i hope my partners do the same! there's no pressure to match length, as long as there's something to work with, yk?

best time to write: it really depends! my work schedule fluctuates quite a bit. for me, as long as im (a) not tired, (b) have a quiet environment, and (c) am in a somewhat good mood, i can write something. the thing that hinders my writing most frequently is stress or sleepiness.

are you like your muse?: i think we all are in some ways. there is a reason we chose to write or create the characters we did. my writing is obviously rooted in how i see the world, and through that, how i see ani. there will always be a part of me in the way i write anakin. we have very different life experiences, reactions, and perspectives on things, but i love that boy.

tagged: @petitsdieu

tagging: anyone who sees this and wishes to fill it out! tag me! it's good to get to know one another

[lonely-shine]

Plagued by Thoughts of You

[Read on AO3]

*Fandom: The Arcana *Rating: Mature *Relationships: Asra/Julian *Characters: Asra, Julian, Mentioned Apprentice *Chapters: 1/1 (one shot) *Wordcount: 2.700~ *Additional tags: Red Plague, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, hurt no comfort, grieving/mourning, non-explicit sex

*Summary: The death of apprentice Shell left a gaping void in both Asra's and Julian's hearts, which they try to ignore with single-minded focus to their goal (one bringing her back, the other curing the plague) and looking for something they know they can't have in the other.

********

It was late when Asra got back to the shop, the sky dark and cloudy overhead, the streets cold and quiet. He sighed when he finally stepped in and closed the door behind him, tired; it had been a long day at the Palace.

"Finally alone..." he muttered, mostly to himself.

Faust slithered out of his sash and flickered her tongue at him.

"He is so annoying, isn't he?" Asra said, smiling and giving Faust some scritches. He didn't dislike Ilya, and hadn't minded when Countess Nadia asked them to work together, but he was so tiring to deal with. "So clingy and so needy and..." And he's not her, he thought, frowning, but didn't voice this aloud.

He was not her. He was not her and would never be. How could he even think of being with him when Shell was dead? How could he be so preoccupied with the cure when that wouldn't bring her back? She was his apprentice too. He knew her, he knew her and still did nothing to—

Asra took in a deep breath as he braced on the shop's counter, his knuckles becoming white from the force of it. His vision blurred and he saw his own hands in different times and places: cupping Shell's face as she lovingly gazed at him, covered in blood as he retrieved her ashes and charred bones from the grounds of the Lazaret.

'If I can't convince you to stay and you can't convince me to go, maybe we should split up,' she had said, and he had agreed, feeling hurt and betrayed, and left. Left her behind. Left her to die alone and...

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling and redirecting his thoughts to anger instead. "He's not her," he said, aloud this time. Anger and hate felt better than guilt and grieving, made him feel more in control, and he needed that feeling of control. "And he's impossible."

Faust wrapped warmly around his shoulders in a gesture of comfort, and he let out a shaky breath he didn't quite realize he was holding. "You miss her too, don't you?" he said, then stepped away from the counter and towards the shelves, all stuffed to the brim with books and magical items. "Soon enough. I will bring you back, Shell," he said, taking one of the heavy tomes in his hands. "I will fix this."

********

By the time Julian finished his shift it was well past midnight. He crammed into the nook that functioned as his office in the medical dungeons and lit a candle for light.

He rubbed at his face, sighing, and slumped into the chair at the narrow desk —ridden with scattered books, papers, and medical tools— that took one of the walls of the tiny space.

The days at the Palace were long, and the nights were even longer. So much death, so much suffering... How many victims had he seen? Strangers, acquaintances, his own colleagues once they succumbed to the disease...

And then there was her, he thought as he unlocked the desk's drawer and took out Shell's last record to him. He hadn't seen her body —she had been directly cremated at the Lazaret, he later found out— yet he could still picture her dead on his arms, on Valdemar's table during their demonstrations...

Julian shivered. Valdemar always made the fine hairs on his nape stand on end. There was something... off about them. Just as well that Shell's body never entered the Palace. He couldn't have borne to see her in that state.

The paper page of the record crumpled as his fingers reflexively clutched at it, his eyes fixed on Shell's signature at the bottom corner.

How could have he missed her death? She was his apprentice, his responsibility, and he didn't even know she was sick until after her death. How could have he been so careless? He should have kept a better eye on her. Should have protected her. Now all that remained to remind him of her was that record...

The record, and Asra.

He was a little surprised, when Countess Nadia introduced him to them. Shell had talked about Asra with him —and from what he'd gathered, they had been very close indeed— but he never thought he'd meet them.

Asra was... a little odd. So carefree and with his head always on the cloud, even in the midst of a plague. Were all magicians like that?

Belatedly, Julian remembered Shell was a magician too —she hadn't talked that much about it, while they'd worked together. Oh, but she made it sound so different! More coherent and less hocus pocus. Almost more like engineering than magic. Almost.

No, it must be something about Asra himself then, and not his profession. But he must be a good one, even so. Shell had spoken fondly of him, and she had been so kind and brave and... Well, she must have had good taste.

Or, well, she usually must have. She must not have been at her best when she answered to Julian's half-hearted flirting. Probably was just humouring him anyway. Or just being kind. He shouldn't assume.

But, ahh, how had she made his heart sore! Should he have confessed his feelings to her? Maybe not, considering how it all had ended up. What kind of man would he be, to confess his love and then forget about her until after her death? Better he had kept it to himself.

Julian sighed and put the report back on its place in the drawer.

He couldn't save Shell, it was far too late for that, he knew, but he could find a cure. He could prevent more deaths. Shell had wanted to help the people of Vesuvia; he had a small hope that in finding a cure he would earn her forgiveness, if only a little, for being too busy to notice it when she was gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

That thought spiralled inside his head enough that it made him dizzy. He got up from the chair and almost hit his head on the ceiling.

He had to get out. The air down in the dungeons was always so thick and oppressive, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, not with the thoughts and smell of sickness in and around him.

Julian left the Palace at a brisk pace, and soon he could feel the cobbled streets of the city under the soles of his boots. The air was misty, and cold enough that it hurt his lungs when he breathed, which felt right.

He told himself he didn't know where he was going, that he was just wandering, as he walked down the streets. Just a stroll to clear up his mind.

However, his mind was too full of concern for a certain magician for him to believe his own lie, his steps clearly leading to the Centre City.

He was just checking on them, Julian tried to convince himself of on the way. He couldn't let harm come their way. They were the last connection he had to Shell. If they died...

No, he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't keep Shell safe, but the same wouldn't happen with Asra.

Giving up on the pretense of a random stroll, Julian turned his heel and took the shortest route to the magic shop. It was late, but Asra was a nocturnal creature too. With any luck, he'd find him awake.

********

Herbs, magical tools, and heavy tomes were scattered on the backroom’s floor as Asra tried another spell, the air filling with a thick, purplish mist as their power manifested.

They had consulted every book they could get their hands on during their research. Books about the Arcana, curses, healing, forbidden spells, necromancy… The latter ones always required a body to work with, which was useless when they hadn't found but charred bones and ash of Shell.

None of the books gave them the information that they wanted, that they needed. They’d have to figure a way out themself.

A sudden, insistent knock on the door distracted them from their musings, making them turn their gaze away from the book they were holding. Who could it be at that hour? With a sigh, they went to answer.

When they opened the door, Asra found the lanky, nervous figure he knew well waiting outside. "Ilya?" They couldn't help but frown, not that Ilya dropping by was rare, but the hour definitely was. "What are you doing here? I told you I'd be fine."

"Yeah, I know, I just—" Ilya tiptoed his way around them to get inside, then snuffled his nose at the thick, purplish streams of mist coming out of the backroom. "Wait, what— What are you doing here?" He started coughing, doubling over at the power of the spell in the air.

"Can't you tell?" Asra said, letting the door close and grabbing Ilya by the chin to make him look at them. "Just a magic trick."

"Ah, something from one of those ridiculous tomes?" Ilya asked, breathing heavily.

They sighed, letting go of him. "Something from one of those ridiculous tomes." They took a long look at him then. Ilya was... He was a lot of things, but he held an imprint of Shell in him. It was not strong, but it was proof of her existence. Maybe... "If you'd like to help, I'm sure I could find a use for you."

"I—" He swallowed audibly. "Will it help? If I do it, will it change anything?"

Asra's gaze darkened as they turned away. "I hope so," they said, voice low and dangerous, drawing the curtains to the backroom open.

Ilya followed them inside, giving a wary look to the scattered books and the magic circle drawn onto the small, round table at the centre of the room.

Asra gestured to the circle, serious and looking directly at Ilya's eyes. "Blood. Bone. Sweat and tears. All powerful catalysts for these spells," they explained, carefully regarding Ilya. They knew perfectly well how squeamish he was about magic, how superstitious. How far was he willing to go? How committed was he to Shell? He couldn't know the spell was for her. Would he help them anyway? "I wonder... How much are you willing to give up, Ilya?"

"I— Uhm, well, that is to say— You know—" He gulped, visibly straining against the force of the spell permeating the room, then bit his lip as he looked at them. "I'll give you all of me, if that's what you need," he finally said, blushing.

So loyal. So eager. A lopsided smile twitched Asra's lips up, despite themself. They shook their head. "For now, I just need your hand."

Ilya immediately extended his arm over the table, no hesitation. Asra raised an eyebrow, half amused, half surprised by this. They hadn't expected such willingness, given his dislike for magic... Then again, maybe he was just trying to gain their favour.

No matter, a willing offering was a willing offering. They took out an ornate dagger from the pile of objects scattered around the tiny room and, holding his wrist firmly with their free hand, sliced Ilya's palm open.

Blood sluggishly came out from the shallow wound, trickling down his skin and dripping onto the table.

Asra held their breath when the magic circle started glowing upon coming in contact with Ilya's blood, daring to hope it might be enough... Then deflated when the glow quickly faded away.

"Is, er, is that it?" Ilya asked, sounding uncertain.

They let go of his wrist, turning away from the now-dark circle, feeling tired once again. Another one that did nothing. "That's all I need from you, Ilya."

"Now, hold on, what kind of magic was that? What did that do?" He stepped around the table, towards them, his voice equal parts curious and concerned.

Asra shrugged. They didn’t feel like explaining. "I'm not sure. I won't know until it happens. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps..."

"Are you putting yourself in dange—"

Asra sighed and turned around sharply, shutting him up by grabbing his wrist. "You talk too much, Ilya," they said, their eyes fixed in his.

Ilya looked back at him, blushing up mightily. "Th-then just tell me what to do instead."

Asra felt themself smiling, their anger now faded. Ilya wasn’t always easy to deal with, but then again, he wasn’t always difficult either. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" they said, taking a step forward, forcing him to take one back.

"Y-you— Oh my god, yes." He managed to blush even more deeply as they slid one of their legs between his. "I'll do anything you want, anything at all, whatever you need."

Asra sobered down somewhat at the look of hunger and longing from Ilya. Longing felt too close to love. "You know I can't give you everything you want, Ilya."

He slid down to his knees, not taking his eyes off them. "I'll take what I can get."

They placed a hand on Ilya’s throat, not as much grabbing it as just resting their fingers there, for the moment. Still, they could feel his pulse jumping as they leaned down to whisper on his ear. "And when it hurts you?"

This close, they could hear him gulp. "I can take it."

Asra laughed, with no real mirth nor malice behind it. They pushed Ilya down on the floor, hand on his chest, and leaned down to breathe on his neck. "Then let it be. Just stop me if you need it."

********

'Just stop me if you need it,' Asra had said.

But he wouldn’t. Need it, that was. He wanted the pain. And Asra being the one delivering it felt right.

Julian could feel Asra’s hands sliding under his clothes, griping, scratching, pulling moans and groans from him. He held onto their hips with urgency, pulling them closer.

"Hands to yourself, Ilya," Asra said, their voice firm, snapping like a whip.

He obediently let go, putting his arms above his head, submissive.

"That’s better." Asra smirked and resumed his handling, expert and teasing.

The magic in the air was gone, but Julian’s shortness of breath was not, even if for fully different reasons now. He pleaded, he begged, and wherever Asra touched him, he felt his skin burn in a way that only left him wanting for more.

He could feel the tension increasingly building up inside him as Asra traced paths on his skin with hands, teeth, and tongue, marking their way and making his head spin. He arced his back towards Asra, struggling against their grip and calling their name when it finally released.

Asra looked at him from above, a lopsided smile on his lips. He seemed pleased, but he wasn’t done yet.

"Ah," Julian breathed. "Let me hel—"

"Don’t," Asra said, a hand pressed to Julian's chest while keeping the other on himself. "Stay down."

He nodded, obedient, his heartbeat fast against Asra’s palm as he worked himself up on top of him, sweaty, struggling, and so freaking beautiful Julian couldn’t help but stare as he too found release.

Still panting , Asra stayed still for a moment , catching his breath, then combed a hand through the mess of his white curls, pulling them back and away from his face. He smiled, c heeky , looking at him from above. " I hope that wasn’t too much? "

Julian bit his lip, holding a groan back . " Not at all. "

Then Asra got off him , standing up, and started fixing himself and his clothes back together. " Well, it got rather late to keep at this, " he said, moving away and disappearing from his view.

Julian wasn’t sure if they were talking about the sex or the magic. When he sat up to take look at them, Asra had produced a pitcher of water and a glass from somewhere in the room, and was offering the latter to him.

" O-oh! Thank you,” he mumbled, taking the glass. The water was pleasantly cold.

Asra nodded and leaned against the small, round table, leaving the pitcher on it. "You should get some sleep, Ilya. You start early tomorrow." He paused for a long second, looking away, then got up and away from the table. "You can take the couch in the shop, if you need." He said, finally looking back at him with an expression Julian couldn’t read. "Goodnight, Ilya."

[candycandy00]

So this might seem like a controversial opinion, and please keep in mind that this only applies to me personally, but I don’t mind at all when someone Likes a bunch of my fanfics without reblogging them. 

Let me be clear, of course I prefer reblogs or comments. Of freaking course. But if you just click Like on my post? That’s great! I’m flattered and I’m happy you enjoyed my writing enough to click that little heart. I honestly can’t imagine not being happy with a large number of Likes. 

So I’ll explain why I feel this way, and bear with me because I have to delve into a bit of my history as a writer. 

I started writing fanfiction in my early teen years. When the internet was still young. When fan-run forums were a great place to post them. When we all had “shrines” to our favorite characters hosted on Geocities, joined thirty web rings, nervously posted our first lemons, and fought off flamers. 

I wrote fanfiction for many years, for lots of different fandoms. And I loved doing it. I loved the feeling of being part of a community of fans. I loved being creative with the stories I enjoyed. But most of all I loved the feedback, the engagement. Regardless of the quality of my work (and let’s be real, those early fics were super cringe), I got reviews, comments, people telling me to continue. And the feedback came almost immediately. Within hours of posting something, there would be at least a few comments or reviews. These pushed me to keep writing, because I wanted more. More reviews. More encouragement. More reactions. Feedback and engagement are the most addictive drugs to a writer. Knowing someone read your words, and even better, knowing they enjoyed them? Instant high. 

However, my true passion has always been original fiction. I’ve been making stories since I was a small child. I’ve had “novels” in progress since I was ten years old. And at some point, after basking in the feedback of fanfiction, I decided to focus more on my original work. My dream was always to be a published novelist, after all. So after many many years as a fanfiction author, I left fanfiction behind. I returned to it very briefly a few years later, wrote exactly two fics, then left it again. 

I worked on my original fiction. I wrote and actually finished multiple novels. I edited, rewrote, etc. Then I excitedly began querying literary agents. And the result? Form rejection after form rejection. Not a single request for the full manuscript or even a partial manuscript. Not a single word of feedback. And this repeated with each novel I wrote. 

Desperate for feedback, I started posting my stories on various places online. Wattpad. Here on tumblr. Various forums and other websites for posting original work. I even joined Facebook groups specifically for sharing your unpublished novels to get feedback. The result was still a resounding “nothing”. No comments. No likes or votes or reviews or reblogs. A small handful of views on Wattpad was all I got. And I’m talking small. Like less than 20 per chapter. On some stories, less than 5. It was like my work was invisible. No one would give it a second glance. 

After all of this I started to question myself. Was I actually any good at writing to begin with? Had I just deluded myself into thinking I had any talent whatsoever? Getting zero feedback or engagement on all of it was crushing. I would much rather get negative feedback than none at all. It was like screaming into the void, to keep posting work that would be totally ignored.  

At some point I remembered how wonderful it felt to get feedback on my fanfiction. And I craved that again. I’d been following a few blogs on here that took requests (blogs like this one I’m currently running). I actually sent a few anon requests into them. And at the same time I was thinking of how much I missed writing fanfics, I got a few ideas for fics that just would not leave my brain. So I wrote my first BNHA fanfic, and my first fanfic in general in many years. That was Break Time, a Shigaraki x Reader fic. It was my first x Reader fic as well, and it took me a bit of effort to get used to the format. But I did it. I wrote it. And then, I nervously posted it to this blog, and waited to see if anyone would spare it a glance. 

When those Likes started coming in, I literally teared up. It was like, “Oh so I can still entertain people with my writing. People still like my work.” Coming from the barren wasteland of zero feedback, those dozens of Likes early on were like an oasis. Each one meant more to me than you can ever imagine. 

So for me, it absolutely boggles my mind that anyone could actively hate getting Likes. I get it, reblogs and comments are so much better. But are Likes that terrible? 

To me, it’s like this: Likes are like small pieces of candy. Reblogs and comments are like big strawberry parfaits. Do I prefer a big strawberry parfait to a piece of candy? Of course I do. But if someone walks up to me and gives me a piece of candy, I’m not gonna be mad at that person. I still like candy, even if I get way more excited about the parfait. And when you spend several years getting no candy whatsoever, you definitely appreciate it when people start giving you some. 

And yeah, it’s definitely frustrating to see other people getting strawberry parfaits and all you ever get is candy, but does that make it alright to be a total jerk to the next person who gives you candy? To angrily scream that you’re not accepting candy because people aren’t giving you enough parfaits? Honestly, it just makes you seem petty to me. 

(And to clarify, saying you’re frustrated about not getting parfaits is not what I’m talking about, yelling at the people giving you candy and being super rude about it is what I’m talking about.)

If you’re someone who is getting genuinely angry at people for Liking your stuff, I invite you to try a little experiment. Write an original piece of fiction. Just a short story, but put a lot of effort into it. Then post it. Literally anywhere. I can guarantee you that the next time you get a bunch of Likes on your fanfics, you’ll appreciate them. 

All this to say, feel free to Like my stuff! Spam Like my stuff! I’m cool with it. Will I get all squishy and blushy if you reblog or comment? Yes. I most definitely will. But if for some reason you only feel comfortable Liking it, it still makes me smile. 

Also, end note here, but I don’t reblog fanfic. I reblog art, gif sets, etc. but not fanfic. That’s because this is my fanfic writing blog and I have this fear that people will confuse the reblogged fanfic for being my work, and I hate the idea of getting credit for someone else’s work. I know this might be an irrational fear. I am planning to make a secondary blog just for reblogging fics I enjoy. I’ll link it when I do in case anyone wants to follow it for a curated list of really great fics! 

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic villain tier list?

From top to bottom:

Eggman: Duh.

Hard-Boiled Heavies: All five of them had more personality in a game without dialogue than Sage did with it.

Chaos: The original monster, and still the best, with clever designs for each of his forms, and an interesting backstory. My only regret is that he started The Trend.

Erazor: The best villain that's not Eggman, made by Eggman, or associated with Eggman. He's everything Mephiles wasn't, and he brought out a lot in Sonic through his antagonism and his cruel relationship with Shahra.

Metal Sonic: His robot status and identity crisis give him an edge over other dark rival characters. His design is iconic, and he works not only as Sonic's equal, but also as an extension of Eggman's evil. (OVA Metal is the best, of course.)

Captain Whisker: He's a more compelling Eggman Nega than the actual Eggman Nega. And his boss music is peak 60's Spider-Man.

Infinite: Not sure why everyone likes to single this guy out as one-note when this franchise is utterly stacked with one-note villains, some of whom are praised for it. Infinite may be simple, but at least he's fun.

Gerald: His recorded video was certainly ominous, and he does work as a tragic character, but there's a lot of questions surrounding his story that take me out a bit, and while Chaos may have started The Trend, Gerald - by using Shadow as his posthumous proxy - was the one who established it as a trend.

Black Doom: Not actually a good villain (very controversial, I know), but everything about him is hilarious, and he never gained a disproportionate fandom like certain other villains, so I can't help but enjoy him ironically.

Merlina: She could have been great in practice, but she suffers from Disney Twist VIllain Syndrome, in that once you get past the fanfare involving the twist, there's actually not a lot to her beyond that, and we don't get enough of a feel for her as her true villainous self. There may have been some mild foreshadowing, and we may have gotten a look into her sympathetic motives, but all in all, it was very undercooked, and a major reason why I don't think Black Knight's story is that amazing.

Deadly Six: I defended them for so long, and I'll still defend their original outing (at least Zavok, Zor and Zazz), but ever since IDW turned them into yet another Better Villains Than Eggman... I'm not as dedicated in doing so as I used to.

Void: He exists.

Ix: He also exists.

Eggman Nega: Either he's a redundant presence since there's nothing he does with Eggman that the doctor couldn't do on his own (Rush duology), or he's another usurper and exists only to pose as a so-called better version of the main villain of the franchise (Rivals duology). Take your pick.

Mephiles: Complete dumbass that does not live up to the suave mastermind archetype that the writers intended him to be, and what fans pretend he is. "Eggman makes mistakes too!" Yeah, but never to this level.

The End: He brought back The Trend in the games. And he boasted about being better than all the other threats Sonic has faced, like a textbook bad fancharacter. And he never shuts the fuck up. And he failed to live up to his big talk. And his fight was Perfect Dark Gaia-tier. And he's a purple bollock. I really can't think of anything redeeming about this guy (as much as I hate Mephiles, at least he had Dan Green going for him). As far as personifications of death go, I'll stick with the Dreamworks Wolf.

I didn't bother adding non-game villains since most of them would have fallen into the same "shite, lol" category. Same for the post-Chaos giant monsters.

[ashtraythief]

Are you a hardcore Sam fan or a hardcore Dean fan? I don’t know if you’ve ever talked about this before! I think for me Sam & Dean are a package deal so it’s hard for me to separate them. I probably lean towards Dean, though, mainly partly because Jensen is the most attractive person alive. What about you?

Huh, I don't know if I have, nonnie, but I'm with you, they're a package deal for me too. The most interesting thing about them is their relationship I think. Because it's beautiful and all-encompassing and codependent and unhealthy and so single-minded. They're so different, but they work and they're both brave and determined which means in the end nothing can stand in their way and that's beautiful. Their relationship also develops and evolves which makes it even better. There's the default togetherness of the past, the rebellious separation, the anewed togetherness, first by need and circumstances and then by choice, there are fights and misunderstandings and temporary separations, but they always come back to each other, become more honest with each other and that's just beautiful. 

Ahem. Sorry, I just love them so much. But. If I had to pick. Give points. Make a ranking, whatever, I am slightly leaning Dean. Because yes, for shallow reasons, I also think Jensen Ackles is the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life (don't get me wrong, Jared's both hot like burning and insanely cute, a feat not many people can pull off, but Jensen is either proof of alien life or a fae prince in exile on earth, I don't know, but he's not fucking human). From a story telling point, it's easier to get to know Dean and to emphasize with him. Sam keeps a lot of secrets in the beginning because the mytharc revolves around him and Dean kind of wears his heart on his sleeve and is the one being vulnerable. Dean's also a little dorkier, a little nerdier, gets the car and the music, while Sam's humor is more sassy and we don't really learn a lot about his likes and dislikes in the beginning except that he's not as much fun as Dean. Which is not bad, and poor boy is grieving, and Dean can be annoying, but I think there are more Dean girls in fandom and I think this is maybe one of the reasons why. As the show goes on and we learn more about Sam, he of course has the sort of almost villain arc in season 4 (the show says it itself, the blood drinking is a tough pill to swallow esp because you know he's wrong), but the way he worked for his redemption and made the ultimate sacrifice in the end, man, I never loved Sam more than at the end of season five. What he went through, the pain, the loss, learning his entire fucking life was a staged theater by Azazel to manipulate him into saying yes, and after being duped by Ruby, after falling victim to his own hubris and anger, after trying to make amends and overcoming his addiction, he still has to jump into the cage and he does… motherfucking hearteyes for Sam motherfucking Winchester. His strength and determination and the discipline he has most of the time almost elevate him to some kind of super human level. Dean obviously is just as brave, mostly just as strong (he does have his doubt arc in s5 which he overcomes because of Sammy of course), just as determined, but Dean's also a functioning alcoholic (depending on the season), seeks out meaningless sex with women to fill a void, and is just a little bit more of a mess which makes him more human I think, more relatable. Sam's maybe a smidge more admirable, while Dean has the edge on lovable. I'm nitpicking here of course. Both of these characters are larger than life heroes with their only real flaws being their love for each other (though it's really only a flaw for the characters who get sacrificed in Sam and Dean's endless quest to save each other). Yes, Sam can be closed off and Dean can be annoying and overbearing, Sam's a controlling know-it all and Dean's a bundle of daddy issues with I know what's best tendencies, but like. How can you not love them? They both are strong and honorable, they're smart in different ways that work well together, they're brave and compassionate, they risk their lives to save other people, they have fun little quirks and interests, they are witty and have great sense of humor. Different enough to create fun teasing friction but also complimenting each other. What makes these characters so special and what made supernatural work for so long is that they're layered and complex characters with strengths and weaknesses that are written mostly consistently and they're both I think among my most beloved characters in TV. 

I totally understand the Sam girls (being a Sam girl is a valid, sensible life choice) and I love Sam a whole bunch, but Dean's really just a tad more fun imo and prettier 😅 not that it matters that much, I think, because like you said, they're a package deal and what creates the magic of the show is the two of them, together.