#esp post empty grave

[redrobin-detective]

I was looking for Lockwood and Co FanFiction the last few nights because I’m starved and was disappointed to find it’s mostly Locklyle stuff. I have no problem with the ship but godddd such a rich, complicated world needs non shipping fics.

And my best dude, Skull is only a weird side character and doesn’t get the spotlight he deserves. There’s so much that can be done with his character and I have so many ideas.

Basically I’m quickly reaching the ‘if I don’t fjnd the content I need soon I’m gonna roll up my shirt sleeves and make it myself’

[tiptapricot]

Since Lockwood n Co is getting a boost w the Netflix show I am once again asking ppl to check out A Girl, a Boy, and a Graveyard by Jeremy Messersmith, as it’s one of the most fitting songs for the series I have ever heard with its lyrics and themes, and was me and my sister’s intro into such a wonderful artist as well!

[starryylies]

maybe this sounds a lil weird but could you pls write abt how all of the cod boys (including graves and köing) dating a female!reader WHO SUPER famous like taylor swift level famous.

thank youuuuu💝💝💝

TF141 + graves and könig with a super famous s/o

Hii ong thank u for the ask and sorry for responding late, i was busy :((

I hope it’s to your liking and your ask is awesome not weird dw I love it!

PRICE-

he definitely did not know you were famous when you both met.

Plans dates at home since it’s pretty much impossible for you both to go out

But when you do go out He is crazy protective of you and doesn’t let anyone approach you.

He once told gaz to take care of you when you had to go to the airport for your tour since he wasn’t around.

Proudly boasts about you to tf141.

Gets jealous when he sees younger actors and singers get close to you :(

Asked you to sign papers for the rest of tf141 esp soap.

Takes pictures of you when you’re at your concerts.

He’s definitely the type who puts away your phone when your mood gets sad after looking at some hurtful comment.

Rents an empty restaurant to have a date with you.

He bought all of your albums.

GAZ-

Okay so he’s a total fanboy, he totally knew about you before you guys met.

He fell in love with you the minute he saw you up close

You both met through price when you needed someone to escort you to a stadium safely since there were high risks of you getting hurt

Asked you to sign his album the day you met.

Totally knows all the lyrics to all your songs

Tells everyone his girlfriend is THE BEST SINGER in the entire world

Biggest cheerleader in your concerts.

Defends you on the internet whenever anyone says shit about you.

when you’re in an interview or meeting a fan he’d make sure they don’t make you uncomfortable.

Makes sure you’re safe whenever you guys go out.

He’s a very proud boyfriend :)

SIMON-

Knew who you were when you guys met because of soap but didn’t give a shit. :(

He had to be your bodyguard during your interview and whenever you went out.

Initially thought you’d be a brat but was proven wrong.

Slowly fell for you as he noticed you’re a very warm and genuine person

Is very protective of you

He takes his role of being a bodyguard very seriously and won’t let anyone near you

avoids paparazzi with his huge frame guarding you.

Asked you to sign 4 albums that soap had given him to make you sign.

Doesn’t like other men flirting with you.

Whenever he sees a man flirting with you he’d come behind you to scare them off. :3

Hates it when your back-dancers get too touchy with you.

He is very cautious with you and is lowkey hyper vigilant.

Would never let anything happen to you.

SOAP-

Okay just like gaz he’s a totallll fanboy

He used to have posters of you in his room

Had many pre existing fan pages of you and even blogs where he would post his thoughts on your songs.

Knows all of your tracks and has his own interpretations on your songs.

Will come with you to the backstage and give you a kiss before you go.

Is the type who will fight strangers on the internet if they dare say anything wrong about you.

Would have an Instagram dedicated to you and post your pics together

Will show you off whenever he gets a chance.

Would have candlelit dates with you at an empty park so you nobody can find you.

I s the type who gets jealous of other fanboys.

Takes you out to amusement park dates while you both wear ridiculous disguises. :D

KÖNIG-

This Hulk of a man is so bbg, he loves your songs and sings to them when he’s showering.

He loves hearing you sing for him

Had been a fan of yours since you had started out with your musical journey.

Doesn’t let any fanboy get near you

Gets insecure when he sees you with all your celebrity friends :(

Thinks he’s inadequate for you :((

Definitely walks behind you to scare everyone away.

Will not let any fan even get a picture with you.

Is your make believe bodyguard

He is surprised by why you chose him but he won’t want it any other way.

GRAVES-

Okay this man is so cocky when it comes to you

Definitely boasts about you to the shadow company

Takes you out to expensive restaurants and places just so others can see him with you

Purposely goes through the paparazzi with you so everyone knows you’re his.

Takes you with him to the shadow company just to show you off.

Has allotted men from the company to guard you.

Because of him you have an army of bodyguard’s surrounding you.

Comes with you backstage to see your perform.

Clicks candid pictures of you whenever you’re performing.

Makes you his profile picture everywhere.

[bunniekittiee]

My name is Ari! I like horror and slashers a lot. I am mainly a writer on here and I used to actually write on Wattpad a few years ago about rock musicians (def had a few Metallica and Motley Crue fics).

I am in college and I do prioritize that over writing for obvious reasons. I tend to not proofread my work out of laziness so there may be mistakes throughout my writing.

Masterlist-

House of Wax-

Bo Sinclair:

To the Grave They Go

Small Snippet

Vincent Sinclair:

(Sorry, this is empty)

Lester Sinclair:

(Sorry, this is empty)

Texas Chainsaw-

Johnny Slaughter:

First Johnny Fic

Silly Johnny Fic

My Sweet Angel- Johnny x Fem. Reader

TCM Headcanons 1

Plushie Dreadfuls

Heaven Beside You- Johnny x Fem. Reader

TCM Headcanons 2

Jealousy

TCM Headcanons 3

National BF Day

Time of Dying- Johnny x Fem. Reader

TCM with reader on period

Short Angst Piece

Losing a Pet

Stranglehold- Johnny x Fem. Reader

Bubba:

TCM Headcanons 1

Plushie Dreadfuls

TCM Headcanons 2

TCM Headcanons 3

TCM with reader on period

Nubbins:

TCM Headcanons 1

Plushie Dreadfuls

TCM Headcanons 2

Jealousy

TCM Headcanons 3

TCM with reader on period

Bestfriend with Nubbins- Nubbins x Fem. Reader

Chop Top:

TCM Headcanons 1

Plushie Dreadfuls

TCM Headcanons 2

TCM Headcanons 3

TCM with reader on period

Escaping from Chop Top- Chop Top x Fem. Reader

Sissy:

TCM Headcanons 1

Plushie Dreadfuls

TCM Headcanons 2

TCM Headcanons 3

TCM with reader on period

Sissy x Fem. Reader Headcanons

Mortal Kombat 1-

Bi-Han:

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader Headcanons

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader Headcanons 2

Bi-Han’s s/o’s relationship with his brothers

Shattered Ice- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

Fluffy Jacket- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

Mean Bi-Han- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

Titan Bi-Han with his brothers

Bi-Han’s s/o interactions with brothers post betrayal

Bi-Han doesn’t love Reader; Raiden swoops in

Sick s/o Headcanons

Titan Bi-Han reunites with Reader

Bi-Han Headcanons

Bi-Han x Pregnant Reader

Birth Control Crisis

The Loudest Silence

Movie Night Headcanons

I Bet On Losing Dogs- Dark Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

Hell Week- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

Kuai Liang:

Bi-Han’s s/o’s relationship with his brothers

Titan Bi-Han with his brothers

Bi-Han’s s/o interactions with brothers post betrayal

Sick s/o Headcanons

Kuai Liang x Fem. Reader Headcanons

Movie Night Headcanons

Tomas Vrbada:

Bi-Han’s s/o’s relationship with his brothers

Titan Bi-Han with his brothers

Bi-Han’s s/o interactions with brothers post betrayal

Sick s/o Headcanons

Smoke x Fem. Reader Headcanons- Kidnapped

Tomas x Shy! Fem. Reader- Pregnancy

Movie Night Headcanons

Bi-Han’s S/O and Tomas’ Relationship Headcanons

Syzoth:

Fem. S/O in a band

Raiden:

Bi-Han doesn’t love Reader; Raiden swoops in

Birth Control Crisis

Christmas Season w/ Raiden

Movie Night Headcanons

Cheater Cheater, Raiden’s Eager

Fem. S/O in a band

Kung Lao:

Movie Night Headcanons

Cheater Cheater, Raiden’s Eager

Kenshi Takahashi:

Kenshi x Fem. Reader Headcanons

Mortal Kombat 11-

Noob Saibot:

(Sorry, this is empty)

Fujin:

(Sorry, this is empty)

Rules and Regulations

I am open to writing about other slashers from other movies too, as well as other MK characters. Sometimes I will include other characters, esp in the MK fandom, but I am currently sticking with Horror and MK.

I don’t really write smut. Sometimes I will hint at it or mention it, but I will never really go into detail about it. It’s not that I can’t write it, I just feel weird/uncomfortable. Smut isn’t my main focus so just remember that.

I will usually write about anything and everything but the obvious such as:

Pedophilia, Incest, etc. you know the drill.

I do write non-con and I will warn you all before the fic, as well as a Dead Dove warning. I will usually use this when writing for horror characters, such as Bo Sinclair and Johnny Slaughter. I will never write non-con or Dead Dove for MK characters. It is not in their characters to be as depraved and scummy as slashers. Please remember that.

If there are any requests for a fic, headcanons, drabbles, or anything you have in mind, send them in! I’ll get to them as fast as I can. Do keep in mind that I will disappear a lot and come back, so sometimes I will not work on requests or I will be slow at it. It just depends.

[chronurgy]

So - I'm at the final boss of shadow of the erdtree. Spoilers below for everything up to that point, though nothing past it (as of yet! I'll get there!)

Starting with frame rate stuff - definitely still having some issues. Nothing so bad as the divine beast dancing lion fight but you really can watch things load in ahead of you. Never had this issue in the game, I think something must be fucked up somewhere in the code. I'm hoping they'll unfuck that soon

Overall impression - the dlc is beautiful. It really is! And it's huge, way bigger than you'd think just looking at the map.

But (yeah, here it comes)

It's empty. It's big and beautiful and empty. I love the cerulian coast, it's probably the most beautiful area in the entire game. It should've been half the size. There's just not all that much there. Same, if not more so, for charo's hidden grave. The abyssal woods is far, far too large for what it contains (esp since you don't get torrent!). The loot is super disappointing. Whoah great, another low tier smiting stone I won't use! Cool! I think they ought to have put a lot more thought into both the loot placement/density and makeup. There're a lot of cookbooks and maybe some people are enjoying that but I'm just deeply over crafting systems in games at this point.

As for the bosses - they're all beatable (well I'll see about the last one) but man are they aggressive. It just feels like the level of aggression has been massively dialed up and a lot of them are fucking flippy too which the camera fucking hates. Actually the biggest camera issue I had was with dryleaf Dane, I think because he was normal sized? It really really struggled to handle his fight to the point I genuinely think they can't keep using it any longer. It's just not capable. Some of the bosses cross the line from fun-difficult to obnoxious-difficult I think. But that's obviously a personal opinion. It just got to the point (for me!) where the combos were so long and chained and fast and the boss was flipping all over the damn arena that I wasn't enjoying the boss fight as a fun test of skill any longer, it was just something I had to endure so I could move on to something I would actually enjoy

The standout npcs are definitely ainsbach and ymir. Fun and interesting characters! I only wish we'd gotten to see more of them, if anything

Lore time! I don't know! I got no fucking idea! Um, miquella used mogh's dead body and summoned radahn's soul into it because he wanted radahn to be his elden lord? Why? I don't know. I think maybe radahn didn't want to? And that's why malenia came down to caelid to attack him specifically? He maybe turned miquella down and so miquella sent his sister to kill him so miquella could get his hands on radahn's soul to force him into it? Or malenia didn't like radahn making any sort of weird pact with her brother and went to kill him to stop it from happening? I'm. Uh. A little lost. I've heard there's a post final boss cutscene that explains some stuff (well "explains" some stuff) and I might give in and look on YouTube for it because I have zero idea about what the hell is going on

Oh one last thing - the flooded keep with something moving in the water and knocking over trees is a fucking fantastic set piece. They knocked that out of the park

Overall - good dlc. The map is really intricate and cool. I liked that they worked to shake up the catacombs. Loot is pretty disappointing, which does impact exploration a bit. Bosses feel a little over tuned. I wish they'd included more scadutree fragments than we needed to reach max level.

[melancholiaenthroned]

10 characters | 10 fandoms | 10 tags

i was tagged by @bladeofavernus tyyyy<3 i rlly struggled to think of 10 fandoms im currently in (that had characters i care a lot about. sorry malevolent) but this was fun! not tagging 10 ppl bc im insecure and dont want to be a bother but ! not in any particular order but here they r

michelle carter (dc comics) the realization that i can only pick one dc character for this... so scary. idk if michelle is my favorite dc character ever but shes certainly up there and right now shes at the top of my brain... what does it mean to walk out of the fridge... what does it mean when everyone remembers you dying except for you... hes mourned you but youre back and you didnt even know you were gone... funerals are for the living....

paige duplass (the silt verses) my girlllll augh. augh. my false prophet... its been going not great for her lately and every scene with her recently makes me want to rip my heart out and sob and sob and sob. she just wants to fix the whole world. is that too much to ask. it might be. ill support her forever tho idc if her godchild fucks up and destroys the whole earth i will always be on her side. she went to business school shes a star employee shes an alcoholic shes mother mary. shes everything

amanda young (saw) you knew she was gonna be here i love her so bad. ive spoken at length about amanda before u all know my thoughts. saw iii you will always be famous

jung heewon (orv) thought id throw in a recent interest even tho im still no where done orv^_^ jhw is my favorite so far ever since her scene where she first used judgement day... i love the avenging angel type of character esp the way she does it (attack dog baby!) and i love her dynamic with the rest of the group.

kim kitsuragi (disco elysium) everyday i am thinking about him if you dont see me post about him know that im still thinking about him. i miss him bad

clara (pathologic) shes just a baby... i love her... i love a girl who is silly but so tragic i love a girl who was born in an empty grave i love a girl with frightening powers she doesnt understand i love a girl placed in a situation outside of her control who is still blamed when it goes wrong.

apollo (wildstorm) doesnt count as dc ok. im reaching here im rlly not into that many things its mostly just dc comics. but its his wildstorm self i actually care about sooo counting it. i miss when he killed ppl

calroy cruller (dimension 20) sorry im gonna be a calroy head forever probably hes so special to me. i love villain monologues i love treason i love betrayal.

sasha (borderlands) not into borderlands anymore but she makes this list bc sasha isnt a borderlands character to me ok shes a dear friend. i love her forever even if i will probably never play those games again. ok thats a lie but ill probably never talk about them online again. ok thats a lie too

eddie brock (marvel) it was truly a struggle to think of ten fandoms i currently care about um. i dont even like current venom comics. but eddie will always be special to me i love u insane girl<3

not tagging anyone today im way too tired to think of ppl sorryyyy but if u want to do this just say i tagged u 👍

[tryingahandinholdingapen]

you know what I think would just be. really funny. like it would be so good.

is if (bear in mind I know v little abt dc canon except that apparently even the canon is inconsistent as hell so like-) Jason Todd before he died on several occasions made quips that implied that he either wasn't gonna die and or wasn't gonna stay dead.

because as far as I know, nobody knows how he actually came back right? I think? Like the timeline I mostly see in fanfic I've read is

1) Joker kills Jason

2) Funeral, Jason is buried

3) Some time later, Jason /wakes up/ and fucking /crawls out of his own grave/ but he's not having a fun time

4) League of Assassins dumps him in a Lazarus Pit

so they know that the Pit healed him, but the impression I got is nobody has any fucking clue how or why he initially woke up right?

So I just really want there to be more content like the prompt I just reblogged (Bury me shallow, it will make it easier when I come back), or the post from a while back where Jason-as-Robin tells Riddler that when Jason dies he had better "check my grave yourself to make sure I'm really gone". And then I want there to be a fuck ton of fics where various characters, post-resurrection, are like. Wait. Wait. Wait hang on I just remembered something potentially critical. Do you remember when Jason said-?

Jason did you know you were going to come back

Jason did you ever really die

Jason can you even die? Are you immortal? Will you come back every single time? Like. Do you want to change your funeral arrangements because man, climbing out of your own grave sounds pretty fucking traumatic the first ti-

Jason where are you going

Jason

JASON-

I can't decide whether it's funnier if Jason does actually know how he came back or not. Either way I think it would be excellent if a) Jason is very cryptic and infuriating about it, no answers (or no helpful answers, at least), lets them run in circles for his own amusement b) they don't tell him his suspicions and are just secretly trying to figure it out and or figure out whether he knows how he came back meanwhile he's like ?? why yall acting so weird

Alternative, equally funny option. Two things happen, either order works: "Hood is back but nobody knows its Jason" and "Somebody actually checks Jason's grave- it's empty holy shit"

And then final point on top of those two: Hood makes similar jokes re: better check my grave yourself, /if/ I die you're invited to my funeral, etc etc. Based on approximately nothing, characters wonder if this means that Hood can come back from the dead the same way Jason presumably did (they don't know where the fuck Jason is and are very concerned but there's only so many ways you can interpret an empty coffin broken from the inside okay) and so start hounding him for information. He has no idea how to react to this.

And/or they go "Okay. So we have no idea who Hood is apart from - probably born and lived in Gotham, came from nowhere x amount of time ago. What if. We can't find him. Because he was dead before that???" Cue ridiculous attempts at finding his secret ID that are all wildly off point

Look

I just want death/immortality themed one liners, miscommunication, and Jason fucking with people as much as possible okay I just think it would be very good. Esp bc like. This could be crack or very angsty depending on how you spin it yk

(Also please note that throughout this post I was v careful not to clarify who the people/characters are....I think batfam/villains/random goons (Hoods men?) are all equally amazing possibilities

[lundiivith]

(i can say i) did it all with love

more reposting stuff i posted months ago to ao3 on tumblr because... unfortunate situations. anyways

here’s a 7.5k words miraak oneshot backstory fic ft vahlok the jailor. read it on ao3 or under the cut!

warning for, uhm... mild/not-very-explicit gore, couple deaths (esp. of family members), eye trauma, fire, a cult, the works. one implication of boarding school-style child ab/use. yeah. not a happy fic

mid-aar; “loyal servant”.

The man held his midsection as tightly as humanly possible. Forced onto his knees by all-too-mortal injury, proud Miraak looked up, defiant in the face of destiny. In that momentf, Midaar was struck by familiarity; but to what, exactly, he didn’t know.

The wind howled as the sun rose. Or fell. Midaar wasn’t sure.

The snow under Miraak was red, as were his clothes. Liquids leaked from his wounds, not all of them blood -- like an ugly, pale acid that left burn-marks on his fingers. The man himself was shaking in agony, and yet, he still raised his shoulders and tried to move. He made a noise and persevered. He’d see this to the bitter end, Midaar knew. It was what his friend always did.

...He was a traitor. He was his friend no more.

(When had he stopped being the man Midaar had known all his life? When had Miraak stopped being the person Midaar had befriended; when had he instead been captured by greed, by an otherworldly spirit’s smoky promises? Had Midaar taken his eyes off him for too long, for just a moment--?)

“You know I expected better of you, Miraak.” Midaar’s voice was icy.

Miraak laughed, a gross wet chortle. “Of course you did.” He tried to laugh as he started coughing, and then he kept coughing. Miraak crawled further, maybe an inch. His free hand held onto the ground, carving the snow as he went; droplets of hot acid smoked as they hit snow. He raised his mask just a little bit and uncovered his mouth; Miraak then stared defiantly upwards, into the slits of Midaar’s mask, and retched blood onto his feet.

Midaar waited for him to finish. Once he did, he knelt and with almost no resistance grabbed the back of Miraak’s head, and he smashed it into the ground once, twice, three times, careful not to let his body shake. Midaar then kept Miraak’s face pressed against the ground, teeth against the cold, and spoke.

“Looking back, it’s obvious. You were always too independent. Too bright, too clever for your own good. You were naïve, Miraak, to think you could best the dragons.”

Miraak grunted something against the snow. He was shivering, burning. Crashing.

“What was that?”

The traitor twisted his head, freeing his lips. “I bested twenty.”

Midaar froze for a moment, horrified, iracund, disgusted, and then replied, “And look where you are now. Dead by the hands of a man.” His chest felt empty. “A man who used to be your friend, Miraak,” he whispered (was he pleading?). “Why did you do this?”

Miraak’s breaths were more and more shallow. He didn’t look at Midaar. “Does it matter?”

“Not to our lords, no.” But you can tell me anyways.

“Then I’ll take it to the grave.” Miraak smiled, wicked and bitter and angry and small. Bloody vomit trailed from his mouth, tears (of pain?) stained by ice and mud. “But I can tell you one name,” he then added. “Kᴀʜᴠᴏᴢᴇɪɴ.”

“...Who?” Midaar blinked, taken aback.

Miraak grinned wider. “Ask the dragons.”

And then Miraak Shouted,

F̬U͍̞̬̰͉̞͖S̜̻ ͙̩̣̱͉̱RO͍ D̪̗̩A͔̙̳̗͍̭̠Ḫ̬̹͈ͅ!̠̺̭͍

The world, for lack of a better world, shook.

A void of ink appeared around Miraak; Midaar only realized he’d fallen once the ringing in his ears began. He could feel a trail of -- blood? -- from his ear. He watched as the ink swallowed Miraak. He thrashed, surprised, and Midaar saw it all, saw him disappear, ( “MIRAAK!” ), saw him gone. He threw out his hand, and Miraak struggled to catch it and failed, his eyes suddenly huge and dark and dark and dark and Midaar’s ears kept ringing --

-- and as Midaar watched, the continent broke.

The wave, the huge dark wave of sea-salt and foam was the last thing the dragon priest saw that day.

The boy waiting on the stairs was pretty excited about joining the ranks of the Dragon Priests, all things considered.

He glanced back at the big door and then decided to wait for the Priest who’d welcomed him to come back. The boy didn’t know how old the ma was, but he was a grown-up and he was a Priest and he’d said his name was Vo-something maybe and that he should wait outside until he came back and the boy’s new name was called and then the door had closed and dawn was coming and he’d been waiting for hours, now, and his legs were getting kind of tired.

He watched the people around Labyrinthian. There were also a few dragons, but the boy didn’t find himself caring about them too much. Oh, sure, they were huge and good and stuff, and they sure seemed to be watching over the people wisely and stuff, but the novelty had worn out hours ago and the boy liked people, anyways. Simple dumb people. He found them funny, and fascinating, going around places doing everyday stuff. There was a Dragon Priest talking to a few workers. One of them was a nervous woman who kept shuffling from one foot to the other. The Dragon priest then said something to the nervous worker, and she jumped in place and stared wide-eyed at the maybe Dragon Priest and then began glowing, like straight-up glowing and smiled real wide and gave the priest a short bow and left really fast. The boy smiled. The priest then talked to the other two a bit more, and the boy looked away.

He kept watching as the sun rose, light bouncing off the snow, and he was definitely not scared when a big dragon walked close enough to the entrance to make the entire stone platform shake with his weight. He remembered something his father had told him once, about big things and dragons maybe, and then he remembered that he wouldn’t see his father for a really long time and he felt a little sad. He didn’t know why, though, because being a Dragon Priest was the best thing you could aspire to be, and you got to talk directly to the dragons and change things about Skyrim if they listened to you, and it was much better than the farm and he wouldn’t have to share everything with five siblings.

His thought process was interrupted when he saw a small child by themself.

“Hi,” he told the younger kid. They were maybe four, so definitely younger than the boy, who was eight and three months and five days. “What’s your name? I’m, uh,” and then he stopped because he realized he’d abandoned his old name and he didn’t have a new one yet.

The kid turned around. Their eyes widened for a second when they found him, but they shook their head and stood up straighter. “Hel-lo,” they said, very serious. Little kids usually were annoying, the boy thought, but maybe this one wouldn’t be as bad.

“What’s your name?” he asked, curious.

“...don’t have one.” They seemed… embarrassed. “Had an old one. It was dumb.”

“Are you here to be a priest?”

“...yeah.”

“Me too.” The boy thought for a moment. “Maybe we’ll get matching names. Since we were in-duc-ted on the same day.”

The kid’s eyes filled with tears, suddenly. “No!” they yelled. The boy leaned backwards, a little surprised. They stomped and then started flailing their arms, angry. They yelled for a bit, before shouting out, “I don’t wanna share my name!!”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!!” The boy covered his ears as the kid started wailing. He groaned. Nevermind on them not being annoying! He hated little kids sometimes.

He remembered his baby brother Eluf’s screaming when he wasn’t allowed to pet the chickens. Then the boy remembered he wouldn’t see Eluf for a while and felt… sad. He froze for a moment and didn’t realize he’d dropped his hands until the kid had tugged on one of them.

“Why are you sad?” the kid asked, blunt.

“...it’s nothing.” He raised his shoulders, defensive, but the kid just tugged on his arm again. And then again. The boy huffed. “...I miss my little brother.”

“Oh.” The kid thought for a moment. “Was he nice?”

“He was. He liked to hug everyone. Even the chickens, but he scared them, because he hugged them too tight, and he didn’t know he was scaring them.” There was a ton of other stuff to say about Eluf, but the boy right now could only remember his little brother skinning his knee on the dirt path to the coops while chasing a very shy hen, crying like little waterfalls from his eyes.

The kid stared at him for a moment. “How did he not know?”

“He was a little kid. He didn’t know better.”

The kid then started thinking. And they thought loudly, humming out-loud. “Can grown-ups don’t know, too?”

“I don’t know. I guess?”

“Oh.” They paused. “Thank-you.”

“...It’s no problem.”

A little bit afterwards, the doors opened -- and their new lives began.

Midaar awoke slowly, unsure.

The first thing he saw was a high stone ceiling. The second thing Midaar saw after Miraak’s death was a healer.

(Miraak’s death. Miraak’s death. Miraak was gone.)

He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the blurry shape by his side.

“Sleep, my lord,” they whispered. They touched his forehead for a moment (was he running a fever? He didn’t feel hot) and then, seemingly content, tucked Midaar further into bed.

“What day is it?”

“It’s been three days since your duel with… him,” the healer looked behind themself, alert, then slowly returned their gaze to him. “You were lost for a day. A wave dragged you onto the beach on the second day, my lord Jailor. You were unconscious and had a fever, in addition to multiple bruises and graver wounds.”

“Solstheim. The land…”

“It broke,” the healer interrupted him. “Solstheim is… an island, now. It drifted northeast from the mainland, my lord.”

“...I see.” A blurry thought made its way through Midaar’s mind. “...Why are you calling me your lord?”

“You’ve been made governor of the island for the time being, my lord.” The phrase had been blunt, simple. A punch to the gut. Midaar’s chest went hollow.

“Oh.”

He turned around and fell back asleep.

Years earlier, one late afternoon, Midaar found him staring off into the distance.

His friend looked thoughtful. He hadn’t even noticed him; Midaar had an opening. Nice. He looked at him for a moment, hesitated perhaps? -- and then punched his shoulder hard enough to bruise.

“FUCK!,” was his victim’s first last words, followed by “OW! What is WRONG with you, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ?!”

“Payback, you twerp.” Midaar ruffled his hair and grinned at his scowl. “What are you thinking about, Miraak?”

Miraak huffed, rubbing his wounded shoulder. “...Many things,” he said.

“You can tell me.” Midaar sat down on the cold ground and patted the snow right beside him. He raised a quizzical eyebrow towards Miraak from behind his brand-new mask. Miraak sighed and sat down. He stared away from Midaar, silent, head tilted like the few birds that came to Solstheim in the summer.

“Come on, Miraak. I’m not gonna become a snitch just because I’m a priest now.”

“...it’s not like I think you’ll tell on me,” Miraak began, doubtful. “And it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

Miraak was silent for a moment.

“One day, I will rule this land.”

“Huh?”

“When I finish my training, I will be part of the High Council of Dragon Priests.”

Miraak always had replaced his want-to’s with will’s. “You’re confident in this, then.” At Miraak’s unimpressed glance, Midaar rolled his eyes. “That’s good, Miraak. You’d be a great councilor.”

“You say that because I’m your friend,” Miraak noted dryly. “But it’s no problem. You will be a councilor, too.”

“What?”

“You’re a great leader, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, and you excel at worshipping our ᴊᴜɴ. You might even be heard by them, one day.” Was it just him, or were there hints of bitterness in his voice? Of anger? Did he think he wasn’t worthy of being heard by the dragons one day, when he’d already surpassed Midaar in all his studies of the thu’um? No.

“Miraak. Listen to me.” Midaar grabbed him by the shoulders and physically turned Miraak around, and Miraak yelped. Midaar pointed at Miraak’s chest. “You,” he told him, “will be heard by the dragons more Loudly than I ever will, and this is a promise.”

Miraak’s eyes widened as he heard Midaar’s words, but then his face fell. He looked away from Midaar, clearly angry. He glanced once more towards Midaar and then his face softened, maybe in acceptance. Midaar let go of him.

“Thank you,” Miraak said. His voice was empty, his words a mere courtesy. Had he said something wrong?

“You’re welcome,” Midaar replied, and he looked back towards the sunset.

They both stayed like that for a moment, watching the sun go down at the end of a day that had started fast and lasted long, and Midaar thought not of ink-black or mold-green but of red, red, red, like the blood that ran along his veins, if not Miraak’s too.

The dusk was cloudless. No storm came that night, nor the next, nor storm for years to come. But one day it would come, and it would water some interesting seeds.

The next morning after he woke up, when Midaar was well enough to stand, the dragons came.

The Priest was called outside early. He was still recovering from the fight, sleeping far too much and being only woken up for things of extreme importance -- such as this. He’d gone outside in the snow barefoot but masked, wearing the pants and loose shirt he’d slept in and a fur cloak, jaw dropped to the floor at the dov that perched on the roof and ground before him.

Midaar recognised most of them. There were many dragons he’d either seen around or had spoken to a few times; Sahrotaar, Krosulhah, Relonikiv, Kruziikrel. Most surprisingly of all, however, was that they were led by the dragon Paarthurnax, the Dovah-jun Alduin’s lieutenant, who Midaar had only seen once in brief passing. He started… he didn’t know if he was shivering from cold or shaking from awe, but it was likely both. The sky was a light blue, and Paarthurnax, perched on top of the temple, was staring at him.

“Mɪʀᴀᴀᴋ Dɪʟᴏɴ,” the gray dragon began. Miraak is dead. It wasn’t a question.

“He has… disappeared. It is likely he is dead,” Midaar explained.

“That is enough. As long as you are ready to kill him again, if he comes back.” Paarthurnax stood perfectly still, his head tilted just slightly to the side, and Midaar realised.

He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Yes, my lord.”

“But Solstheim is an island, now,” Paarthurnax continued. “And it is too small for ᴅᴏᴠ to reside comfortably in. Nᴜ ᴍᴜ ꜰᴇɴ sᴘᴀᴀɴ ɴɪɪ.” Yet we have to protect it. “So we have decided that that shall be your reward for slaying Mɪʀᴀᴀᴋ.”

Midaar went still under the morning sunlight and broke eye contact, just for a second, to nervously glance away. He looked back at Alduin’s lieutenant. “What shall?”

“You will ʀᴇʟ over Solstheim,” Paarthurnax told him. Reign. “You will ward ꜰɪɴ Lᴇɪɴ from his influence.” The world. “And you will also wield a new name, a new title; one befitting your new position.”

“I am profoundly honored, my lord.” He was. (He wasn’t).

“From now on,” Paarthurnax continued, perched above the Solstheim temple, his face tired and cold and hard, “you will be known as Vᴀʜʟᴏᴋ, and you will guard the island of Solstheim.”

Midaar… Vahlok fell to one knee. “I am so profoundly honored,” he begun, and then he started coughing.

Saltwater and blood fell from his mouth as the dragons watched, impassively, and he felt somehow so incredibly desperate to escape this coughing fit he started worrying this was the proverbial straw and the world’s back was about to be broken. He closed his eyes, hoping against everything the dragons would not see this as weakness.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw the consequences of his actions; disgusted, definitely, all of the dov gathered had flown away, their wings like thunder on the too-far blue horizon. All of the dov but one.

Paarthurnax stood, an undeniable shape the color of envy, before Vahlok.

Vahlok looked up, worshipful but hesitant. “My lord Paarthurnax,” he began. He paused for a moment, to think. Should he heed his last words? He was a traitor, of course, but he was Midaar’s friend. He was clever, and inquisitive, and hungry for knowledge in a way Vahlok had never seen anywhere besides him -- and was yet strangely familiar. He was… He’d been. His friend was dead, he reminded himself, whether or not his heart kept beating. And that helped rationalize his actions, at the moment and perhaps later, because he was honoring his dead friend’s memory, and that was something no one could take away from the mortal.

“...Yes,” Paarthurnax said, clearly confused about the long pause after Vahlok’s words.

“My lord Paarthurnax, I… I wish to ask for something.”

“Have we not given you enough?” Paarthurnax huffed through his nose, clearly annoyed, but his sentence had no bite. Vahlok decided not to question his luck.

“Of course you have, my lord. I just wished to know of a dragon. To… congratulate him, or at least speak to him.” Before Paarthurnax’s watchful eyes, Vahlok shrunk a bit. “Miraak mentioned him with hatred,” Vahlok added, and Paarthurnax snapped to attention.

“Vᴏᴛʜ ɴɪ…?” Paarthurnax stopped there. Midaar waited, to see if he’d continue, and then spoke.

“Yes, my lord. And -- and I just wished to perhaps see him. To see what role he might have played, perhaps… to warn other priests not to fall into the same traps as Miraak did.” He was only half lying; as he spoke, those became his intentions, his ambitions, and while he didn’t forget Miraak’s words, he wanted with all his heart to believe he didn’t care about them.

“...Wᴏ?”

“The dragon Kahvozein, my lord.”

The frills and spikes that dotted Paarthurnax’s face and ran along his spine bristled for a moment. “...Kᴀʜᴠᴏᴢᴇɪɴ,” he stated, thoughtful. “I… have not seen him in a long time.” He shook his head, and the shaking went as a shiver down his back and to the tip of his tail. Paarthurnax then lowered his head, staring right into Vahlok’s eye. “You cannot see him.”

Vahlok took a step back, then another. “My lord,” he said, simply.

“If he has…” Paarthurnax began, and then sighed.  “Rᴏ ʟᴀᴀɴ Aʟᴅᴜɪɴ ᴡᴀʜ ᴏꜰᴀɴ ʜɪ ᴀᴀᴢ, ᴀʜʀᴋ ʜɪ ʀᴏ ɴɪ ʟᴀᴀɴ ᴅᴀᴀʀ. Jᴏᴏʀ sᴀʜʟᴏ -- ꜰᴏᴅ-ᴅʀᴇʜ ɴɪ ʟᴀᴀɴ ᴍᴜ...*"

Vahlok looked at the dragon. Slowly, the realization sunk in that he would not be allowed to find answers, that his request would be forever denied. That he would not be able to prevent his greatest failure. That he would not be able to mourn his brother. His face felt foreign all of a sudden, his bones distancing themselves from his nerves. A perfect poker face crept onto his features. Midaar looked away for a moment, then looked back into the dragon’s eyes, hardened by resolve.

“Of course, my lord,” he found his lips saying, independant. “Forget I ever asked.”

Paarthurnax paused for a moment, then looked at Midaar, his face tired and cold and hard, and nodded once before leaving -- with the beat of his wings like a punch to the gut.

Midaar turned around, and remembered, offhandedly, that the healer had told him the next ship towards the mainland would be lifting its anchors tonight. He wondered… he’d been masked for so long. Had the metal blinded his mind, or had it only changed his face?

“On three,” Miraak told him, dead serious. Midaar stared at him in sheer disbelief, but breathed in deeply and prepared for Miraak’s ridiculous request. “One, two…”

“You two, stop immediately.”

Midaar froze.

He slowly, slowly turned his head around, never letting go of Miraak’s shirt’s collar. He lowered his fist, and missed Miraak stealing a glance at how it shook.

At the door’s frame stood the priest Geinmaar, his mask a cruel caricature of a grimace. His shoulders were tense, and his hands were balled up into tight-knuckled fists. Midaar flinched.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, sir,” he said, at the same time as Miraak replied, “Training, sir.”

“Training?” Geinmaar asked, dryly. He didn’t wait for an answer before oh-so-slowly walking over to the two. Midaar’s hands shook. “What kind of training begins half past midnight?”

“Urgent training, sir,” and Midaar looked at Miraak, eyes wide. What a bold-faced lie.

“I don’t believe you, Miraak.” Geinmaar crossed his arms behind his back and leaned over him. Midaar tried to hold his breath, but it went by far too fast.

“See, sir, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ had slacked earlier today.” Midaar gaped openly at Miraak. The little-- “And I graciously offered to help him. However, he didn’t relate the information until just recently, and we’ll be tested on our hand-to-hand combat abilities soon, so it was urgent.”

“I see.” A wicked gleam shone through the older man’s eye. “But,” he added, “if that is the case -- then why are you offering no resistance?”

“Uh,” Miraak stuttered, his brain visibly trailing off. Midaar glared at him.

“Sir, if I may,” Midaar told Geinmaar, voice trembling as he went, “Miraak had told me he was afraid of being unable to stay conscious after being punched. To the extent of nightmares, sir.”

“...Really,” Geinmaar said. His voice was distorted by his mask’s metallic shape, echoing oddly into something far more threatening than a mere human voice. Midaar hated it.

“Really, sir,” Miraak answered, smoothly continuing his performance.

“...Well. If that is all.” The priest tilted his chin up, disdainful. “But if another noise complaint comes my way, you’ll both be in very serious trouble.”

The dragon priest then turned around and left the room.

Midaar sighed with relief. “By the Lord Alduin,” he whispered, “that was close.” And he shook his head. “Why are you even asking me to punch you?”

“To prove a point to you, obviously, since you don’t trust any pain I may inflict on myself anymore.” Miraak sighed. “Just do it.”

The resounding punch echoed on the stone walls. Midaar made a noise, head flooding with possibilities -- would Geinmaar come back? Would he hit them? Shit.

“Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ,” he heard, and then a single hard shake of the shoulders. He focused. Before him was Miraak, still held by the neck of his shirt, nose bleeding from the hit -- and before Midaar’s very eyes, the blood stopped flowing barely seconds after beginning to gush.

“...Oh,” Midaar said.

Miraak wiped his face. “As I was telling you,” he continued, and then he paused to pull away from Midaar’s grasp. “As I was telling you,” he repeated, “I’m stronger, and heal faster…”

Vahlok’s footsteps on the echoing chamber were nearly silent. The high stone ceilings, fit for a dragon, held for him the same meaning as a night devoid of stars. He hurried up. The cold air felt strange on his face; it had been far too long since he’d been maskless outside of his own chambers.

When he finally finished crossing the grandiose hallway, the last one in a series of tunnels best left unremarked upon, he found himself before an arch. A curtain was draped over said archway, a thick piece of purple cloth Vahlok quickly pushed away. On the other side -- and he remained on this side of the archway, only looking -- on the other side was a room Vahlok had never seen before. Decorated with more of these thick purple curtains -- all hanging from the ceiling, tall as the mountains -- and entirely lit by candlefire -- including a few dangerously close to the cloth --, a stage stood in the middle of a room, and on it a slab of rock like a table. One side of the room had another platform, higher than the one in the middle, and he couldn’t help but note it seemed the right size for a dragon to lay upon.

He was wondering whether to continue or to stay where he was when, suddenly, a few of the curtains were pulled aside. Chatter filled his ears. Dozens of men and women, all in robes and hoods, made their way around the stage. Their footsteps echoed against the stone floor. Vahlok stood still, as silent as he could, and closed the curtain nearly all the way. Only a sliver of an opening remained, mostly so he could see. He held his breath.

A thunderous noise. Vahlok froze in place, unable to move even if he’d wanted to, before the very sight: a gigantic purple dragon, with wings spotted white, had appeared from behind one of the curtains. The dragon settled on top of the taller platform and languidly raised his head. Soon, a hooded mortal scurried across the multitude, holding in their wobbly arms a shaky bronze tray full of what looked like enormous chops of raw meat. They climbed onto the smaller, central platform and placed it upon the larger platform, then bowed deeply and stood in place, shaking. The dragon inspected the tray with one compound eye. The mortal shivered. The dragon then, simple as the act of breathing, stretched forwards just enough to bite onto the mortal, grabbing their body tightly with his teeth, before launching them upwards -- and as gravity forced the body onto a downwards momentum, the dragon opened his maw to rip the body messily in half. Blood rained across the people around them. Vahlok watched, silent, as they cheered the dragon on, screaming in joy as their robes were covered by blood.

After the screaming lulled to an end, one of the curtains was pulled. A dragon priest appeared from behind it, followed by three people. Vahlok didn’t recognize her, at least not at a distance. Out of three people behind her, two were wearing armor and hoods, and were dragging the third across the floor in chains. The multitude parted like an impossible sea as the woman walked up the steps to the central stage, followed by the two ...guards? and their prisoner, the only one not wearing a hood. His head bumped on the steps. Vahlok could gleam from his position that he was a man with longish auburn hair, his face streaked with warpaint, but not much else. The man was led to the stage and then thrown on the table in the middle. He fell unconscious. The Dragon Priest dismissed the guards with a gesture, and they hurried down into the multitude as she began circling the chained prisoner.

There was a gleam of metal. Vahlok watched as the Priest produced a sharp, curved bronze knife, somewhat resembling a dragon’s tooth, from the folds of her clothes. She stopped before the dragon and gave a deep bow, placing the hand that held the dagger behind her back.

“Kahvozein, my lord,” she said. “I bring to you this sacrifice, only just captured -- a rebel against the glorious regime.”

The dragon chuckled, a deep laugh that seemed to shake the very foundations of the chamber. “A traitor, you say?” he said, his teeth bared in an approximation of a smile. “Do you all ʜᴏɴ these words?”

The audience broke into a hellish sort of noise, fueled by pure hatred. Mere inches behind one, Vahlok stifled his breathing, trying his damndest to not be caught. His mind had crawled to a stop at about a thousand miles an hour in mid-flight. The multitude screamed vile words towards the rebel, spit out their darkest curses and cursed him down to his earliest ancestor as the man regained bleary consciousness. The rebel realized what his situation was all of a sudden and began struggling against his bindings. Vahlok watched, mesmerized, as the Dragon Priest walked up to his face and gave him a resounding slap that echoed through the room; the man visibly gave up on freedom as soon as his cheek hit the table. He whimpered.

The Priest placed her hand on the man’s chest. “Well, well, well,” she said, “weren’t you a hunter before you fell? I wonder if you were good with the bow.” She chuckled and lifted the knife, placing it under one of the man’s eyes. He screamed, muffled by a cloth gag, and she just shook her head. “Now, now,” she added.

Before he saw something he wouldn’t be able to unsee, Vahlok violently averted his gaze from the spectacle, instead focusing on the candle closest to a nearby huge curtain. He heard muffled screaming. The candle seemed dangerously close to the curtain. The audience held its breath. He looked into its flame, burning a white smear into his gaze. He didn’t think about the wet, ugly noises he could hear coming from the room, until --

“And now,” the Priest said, “perhaps the other one.”

Perhaps not, Vahlok thought, and he kicked the candle onto the cloth.

The fire spread in huge, sudden bursts, consuming the curtains hungrily. The mortals gathered started screaming. The dragon stood up, glared from side to side as smoke began filling the room, then roared; useless, because Vahlok had hidden behind the archway’s side once again. He heard hundreds of footsteps storming out of the room, hid in the darkness behind the archway as people poured out of the chamber through his very own archway, and then suddenly, on impulse, slipped inside the chamber and ran towards the stage.

Vahlok hurried through the crowd, being bumped around and almost ran over, before he reached the stage. It’d been deserted by the Priest, but the rebel remained bound on the table, sobbing hysterically. Vahlok hurried up and produced a lockpick, thanked Miraak for teaching him how to break locks. Thanked Miraak… oh, he’d have time to thank Miraak for everything when he was back on Solstheim. He clumsily opened the chains’ padlock. The rebel fell into his arms, already coughing up smoke, and Vahlok coughed with him, too. He glanced at the rebel’s empty eye-socket. Fuck. Vahlok managed to get the rebel to stand up, holding onto his shoulder, and began half-carrying him towards the exit, until he heard a voice like thunder.

“ YOU! ”

Vahlok turned around. Face bared to the world, he made eye contact with the dragon Kahvozein, Proud-Reversing-Beyond. His eyes widened, and he turned away as soon as he could, but the damage was done; the dragon, coughing up smoke, was after them.

Vahlok dove to the ground, bringing the rebel down with him, just barely avoiding the dragon’s maw. He coughed and crawled forward, bringing the rebel with him, and pushed himself and the man both off the platform. They fell onto the quickly-emptying chamber’s floor. Vahlok stood up and held the rebel as he ran, as fast as he could, away from the great wyrm’s snapping jaws; finally, he was able to get both of them past the archway, too small for the dragon. He heard Kahvozein Shout furiously, uselessly filling the chamber up with even more fire before leaving in a hurry, and slid to the floor, still holding onto the rebel.

The rebel looked at Vahlok, wide-eyed. He coughed and seemed to notice something, touched his empty… orbit… ah. Yes.  The man blinked and then gave up on reality, falling unconscious on Vahlok’s chest.

“...I was wrong,” Vahlok whispered. “I was so, so wrong. All this time.” His shoulders shook, and he began sobbing from shock into the stranger’s auburn hair.

Someone knocked at his door, that fateful day. (A year ago; remorse bit at Vahlok. An eternity).

At the sound, Midaar blearily blinked the last bits of sleep away from his eyes. He slapped his nightstand until he found his mask and stood up, sliding it in place; then he yawned.

“Who is it?” Midaar asked.

“It’s me, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ,” Miraak’s voice replied. There was a tone in his voice, an edge of urgency, that Midaar had rarely seen from him before. It finished waking him up. Midaar grabbed the nearest clothes he could find -- yesterday’s -- and went to the door, which opened with a soft click.

Miraak wasn’t wearing his mask.

Midaar hurried to slide the mask halfway off his face. “Miraak? Is everything alright?” he questioned, suspicious. He had barely seen Miraak’s face in years, since his friend had been made a Priest.

Miraak shushed him, urgent. “I need to talk to you now.”

“What’s wrong?”

Miraak stared at him for a moment. “I… Fuck’s sake, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ.” He let his head drop on Midaar’s chest; Midaar took a step back, surprised at Miraak’s arms around his ribcage. He hugged him back. Miraak breathed in deeply, then continued. “There’s things I need to tell you. Things I didn’t trust you enough to tell you.”

“How important?"

“Very.”

“I thought you knew you could trust me.”

“Not with this, though.” Miraak’s voice was muffled. “But I’m here to right those wrongs.”

Midaar pulled Miraak away from him. “Alright. Tell me then.” His brow furrowed in worry.

Miraak looked away. “Where to begin,” he mused. “Where to even begin.” He shook his head, then looked back at Midaar. “I saw a dragon die, six months ago from today.”

“You -- what?” The dragons were immortal. If one of them was somehow slain, Alduin would claim his soul and resurrect him. No dragon could die, and this was known.

“I saw a dragon die, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. I had -- sneaked,” Miraak admitted, just a smidge shameful, “sneaked somewhere I never should’ve gone to. Two dragons fought, enraged by clashing… it doesn’t matter. One died. And I… Its soul. I saw it.”

“You -- Lord, Miraak, where did you go?!”

“It doesn’t matter. Not far from here. Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, I… I need to tell you something I discovered about myself that day, and I need you to know I was scared.”

“What are you talking about? Are you still scared?” Priorities, snarked a voice in Midaar’s head.

“I’ll explain, and no -- I assure you, I’m not scared anymore. I will not be scared anymore, and this is a promise.”

“Then tell me.” Midaar’s grip on Miraak’s shoulder tightened.

“When the dragon died,” Miraak said, slowly, “it glowed. I saw its soul, an orange flame -- an impossible flame, forged through eons of living. And it… went, inside of me.”

Midaar’s mouth opened. It stuttered silently, then closed.

“I know,” Miraak replied. “This was the answer, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. When we were children -- I was stronger, more powerful. Healed faster. I’ve always had the ᴛʜᴜ'ᴜᴍ on the tip of my tongue. And I found my answer. I absorbed the soul, do you understand what it means? Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, my soul is that of a dragon’s.”

“I…” Midaar just stared at his friend.

(That was the pivotal moment. Vahlok, in but a few months, would rewind the entire conversation a thousand times in his head, thinking over and over what he could’ve done better, how he could’ve helped his brother. And it always, to him, revolved around that moment -- the moment Miraak’s face fell for the first time in ten years, since that talk under the sunset. The last in a string of times Midaar wilfully had let himself be left behind).

Midaar’s first words after the pivotal second had been, “This cannot be.”

Miraak’s eyes widened, and his face hardened. “It can. I’ve ached for power just like one of them from day one, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ, and you know this.”

“You -- dragons don’t own the spirit of conquest. I can’t… Lord Alduin, is this why you…?” He trailed off, shaking his head. This was a nightmare, a bad dream. It would soon pass.

“There is a spirit, a god of wisdom, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. He knows everything. He could grant me the wisdom to rule -- grant us the wisdom to rule, my brother. I did what I had to do for the best of this land, and I beg of you to join us.”

“Us.”

“Yes. You think I am alone in this rebellion? No. Others have seen the truth too, Mɪᴅᴀᴀʀ. Please, listen to me. He could be so much more to us than a dragon who does naught but allow his fellows to toy with our kind.”

Midaar stared, wide-eyed, at his brother. There was a look in his brown eyes that made him hesitate for a moment, but then blinked and looked away.

“A spirit,” Midaar said. Empty. “Miraak, you cannot trust him.” He looked back at Miraak, put a hand on his shoulder. “Please. It’s not too soon, Miraak, I beg of you to desist. This is not--” Not how we were raised. Not how we lived. (Unlike anything we ever knew).

“No, you don’t understand -- they were wrong!”

“I can’t! This is how it’s been our entire lives, Miraak. You-- This isn’t right! The dragons will kill you, and the spirit -- what says he’s trustworthy?! And you’d make a shit ruler!”

“What was that?!”

“You don’t care about people! You just care about power! And you’re so fucking rebellious, you refuse to listen to anybody! You’d end up a tyrant!”

The fire in Miraak’s eyes flickered and died. “...Fine,” he said. He smacked Midaar’s hand away from his shoulder, stepped back. Rage built up in his shoulders, built up his shoulders.  He made as if to turn around, only to abort the movement.

“Go fucking die, then, with your precious tyrannical regime,” Miraak told him, disdainful, cold -- and he punched Midaar’s face.

It caught his mouth, the side of his cheek. Midaar’s head was slung backwards and he bent over, spitting out blood. More than blood; one of his canines appeared on his hand, and his tongue immediately went to poke in its place -- empty. Shit. Shit!

“Miraak,” he muttered, just slightly sibilant. “Miraak! What the fuck?!” His head whipped upwards -- but Miraak was already gone.

A year and a day after Miraak’s defeat, Vahlok watched silently as the dragons landed upon the island of Solstheim, and Paarthurnax watched him back, equally silent. Blood dripped from the arrow wound over one of his eyes, but Paarthurnax ignored the warmth on his temple as the last of the other dragons settled.

Vahlok stared from behind his mask, hands clasped behind his back, regal.

“...And so, the dragons have come to Solstheim,” he began, simply.

“And so we have,” Paarthurnax echoed. “To one of the last bastions of our rule, we come, so that the revolution might not have spread here.”

Vahlok did not move. That should’ve been the first clue, in retrospect; Vahlok did not bow, did not take a knee, did not seem particularly worshipful at all of the dragons. He simply stared, his head swiveling left and right, and behind his mask his eyes jumping from dragon to dragon. Counting them.

“I am afraid,” he said, “I cannot afford you safety.”

Paarthurnax tilted his head. “...How so?”

Vahlok’s eyes snapped to him, and he took a moment to reply. “This island is too small, its harvest too poor,” he blatantly lied. “We do not have enough room to afford even thinking about it.”

“These sound like excuses, Vᴀʜʟᴏᴋ,” Paarthurnax replied. “We can clearly fit, seeing as we already do so.”

“Oh, but there are no buildings designed for dragons on this island anymore,” Vahlok replied. “No grand stone arches, no purple curtains.”

“...Purple curtains. A strange choice of words.” Paarthurnax didn’t notice Vahlok’s shoulders stiffening. “I admit I have seen them. Nonetheless -- a ᴅᴏᴠᴀʜ does not need ᴊᴏᴏʀ’s buildings.”

“No, you don’t.”

“And you can feed us. Even if you couldn't, we do not strictly need food. This we know, and so do you. So why lie, then?”

Vahlok stood for a moment, arms straightened, quiet. He slowly bowed his head. Paarthurnax did not expect the next thing he heard from the mortal’s lips to be a chortle -- a small, choked-down laugh, escalating into a giggle and from there onto an open laugh.

Vahlok bent down the middle, consumed by laughter. The dragons’ wings rustled. His laughs echoed in the empty morning, bouncing off the gently-falling snow like sunlight would’ve done otherwise.

“Ah, hah hah!”, he wheezed, holding a hand to his stomach. “Oh, you’ve caught me, my lord.” He sighed. “I’ll miss this land.”

The dragons looked at each other, uncomfortable. “What are you talking about?”, one spoke up.

Vahlok huffed, the last of his laughter left behind, and straightened up, chest puffed forwards. “I reject the charge of governor of Solstheim,” he said, his words muffled from behind his mask. “I reject the charge of the guardian of Solstheim. I reject the charge of jailor of Miraak.”

As he spoke, he dug his hands into his hood, untying something; he pulled down his hood and his mask fell onto the ground. Big, dark eyes on a pale face, copper wisps of hair flicking against his face in the wind.

“And... I reject the charge of sonaak,” he finished.

“You-- you cannot do that!”, shouted another dragon.

“Oh, I can,” Vahlok replied. “I quit. I desert. I am finished with your horrible little charade of a religion.”

Angry roars and affronted whispers sprouted in the crowd of dragons. Paarthurnax silenced his entourage with a look, then looked back into Vahlok’s eyes; the mortal did not flinch.

“You are bound to us until death,” Paarthurnax said.

“I am bound no longer,” Vahlok replied. “As are the innocents and guilty alike you’ve captured, careless, to be sacrificed as entertainment. As are the multitudes dead in mismanaged famines. As was my brother, Miraak -- the priest named, as I once was, for loyalty.”

The dragons seemed about ready to jump on Vahlok, but Paarthurnax taking a step forward embarrassed them, cowed them into watching what would be a fun spectacle.

Paarthurnax looked down at Vahlok, just a tiny speck of grey and brown some distance below his field of view. Vahlok stared up at him, his hair whipping in the wind -- definitely longer than a sᴏɴᴀᴀᴋ’s should be.

“And this is where you truly wish to stand, then? Nᴀᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴀʀ ᴋᴏʟ, ʜɪɴᴅ-ᴅɪʀ?”

“Yes,” was Vahlok’s succinct response. “Miraak was right.”

“...You have planned this,” Paarthurnax realized. “For some distance.”

Vahlok frowned, confused. “You could say that, yes.”

Paarthurnax huffed a passable sigh. “If you will not give us your servitude unto death,” he said, slowly, “we will take it.”

Vahlok blinked back tears and smiled. “Take it,” he said. He faced the sky. “I have loved Skyrim for thirty-one years,” he said. “If you loved her as much as I did, as much as men did, as much as Miraak did… things would be different.” He closed his eyes.

Yᴏʟ Tᴏᴏʀ Sʜᴜʟ!

Paarthurnax’s voice was the last thing the dragon priest heard.

mir-aak; "allegiance guide".

* (non-literally) “[I] fairly requested of Alduin to give you mercy, and you unfairly/harshly ask of me this. Mortals [are] weak, should not request [of] us…”

if you liked the fic, feel free to give it kudos on ao3! and stay safe!!

[memcaked]

Shop

Source: Subarashiki kono Sekai | The World Ends With You

Relationships: Kiryu “Joshua” Yoshiya & Hanekoma Sanae

Characters: Kiryu “Joshua” Yoshiya, Hanekoma Sanae, mentions of shibuya kids and higher plane

Additional tags: Post-game, possible downer ending, vague talk of suicide that’s joshua kiryu, TWEWYTOBER, TWEWYTOBER 2020, Not beta read

Summary: Joshua opens the door to WildKat and doesn’t even bother turning the lights on when he shuts it behind him. He steps gingerly over the torn wallpaper, uprooted flooring, and broken furniture to the counter and turns a chair the right way up. He flips open his phone and punches in the keys, summoning black coffee in a perfect porcelain cup that he knows isn’t the one Sanae made for years when it touches his lips.

Beginning notes: this was repurposed from unpublished vent shit because again JoshuaSympathiser69. originally it was in the format of a letter joshua was writing neku about the current state of the UG that hanekoma forced him to for ment tell health which is very funny because like, vent shit that was probably a little bit too enabling. i couldn't keep the format so i just nixed it rip. the image of joshua sitting in the empty trashed wildkat never leaves my head

also i wrote this in comic sans lol

Body: Joshua opens the door to WildKat and doesn’t even bother turning the lights on when he shuts it behind him. He steps gingerly over the torn wallpaper, uprooted flooring, and broken furniture to the counter and turns a chair the right way up. He flips open his phone and punches in the keys, summoning black coffee in a perfect porcelain cup that he knows isn’t the one Sanae made for years when it touches his lips.

Maybe it’s a sense of twisted nostalgia. He doesn’t have the same darkvision he has tuned down to his human form, but he could feel the same debris squelch under his soles; the food wasted on the floor, all his shelves ransacked, that precarious fan with its blades bent half-hanging from its wires like a chandelier over the ruins. Minamimoto blazed through the UG, and when he burnt out everything tasted like ashes. It hangs low on his tongue, but he's not really sure if it's the coffee’s bitterness or the cleanup he has left in his wake or learning entirely why Minamimoto was like that.

It came so fast, flashes of light and explosive power that Joshua could barely register anything other than the Higher Plane was angry and he couldn’t tell if it was him or Sanae or both. There was another Angel, not that he could remember their face or name, and they were the new Producer looking after him. Joshua asked why this was so sudden and it was about Sanae Hanekoma broke Angel code and needs to Fall for his crimes - and you’re not doing anything freely for a long time either, Composer.

Whenever he wasn’t stuck Composing, having to watch whoever this Producer was do everything for him, he visited WildKat. It was in shambles, and he thought nobody had the time to clean. He visited WildKat, still in shambles. He visited WildKat, visited WildKat until the food started rotting and reeking, until the rot sank into the floor, leaving it sticky and burnt and not, not like the place he remembered visiting. Not like the warm café that smelled of java and pastry and soup and someone who understood. Sanae is different now and it may be his fault, a lot of it. He saw Sanae in Pork City in his rare off time fixing the elevators and all but launched himself at him. He was going off like a weird motormouth, asking are you good and why is an Angel doing everything now and why don’t you clean up WildKat and why do you look so solemn, Sanae?

His words sounded stilted, spaced, broken. He says things like Taboo and Fallen and fugitive and it doesn’t make sense until he says he did it all for Shibuya. “My Producer tried to kill me,” Joshua said, trying to keep his voice leveled, “and you thought this was a little trifle?” He couldn’t restrain himself for long until the chains snapped. Maybe it set the precedent for every conversation they have now; something reopens the wound in Joshua his trusted men tried to kill him for what he wanted and he starts screaming with the wrath of all of the Noise in Shibuya on his side, and Sanae escalates when his reasons (excuses) don’t penetrate the red in Joshua’s eyes. Nothing new is said, they strain harder and harder, and Joshua has to erase the Noise tailing him the hours after from how intense it is.

There’s a whole optimal world down there; everyone is so happy and it’s nowhere close to the same place that he wanted gone back before the Long Game. But the UG is trying to scramble to fill in the gaps of Officers and Conductors and it’s only so much Soul he can identify and bring back, all while the RG people sicken and take too many risks or be in the wrong place at the wrong time and they pile up, ready for another Game. His clairvoyance has been so blunted in the Higher Plane’s punishments he tried to tell how long until now and he came up with nothing. He wants to ask the new Producer how, but everything Joshua says is rude and unbecoming to an Angel. He asked Sanae in another rendezvous if all Angels were like this and before he could answer he elaborated into a long vignette on how he has so little control over things, so little feeling or expression involved, and he just wants to--

Sanae grabbed him by the wrist. “J, don’t tell me you’re thinking of dying again.” His voice was gravely stern, the way of talking he’d only heard several times for how much he’s known him. “You and I both know we won’t have the strength for it if you do.”

“You’re so worried,” Joshua put on his mock-affected voice Sanae loves to defuse the tension. “To put you at ease, I’m not texting my l’appel du vide again until next year.” Sanae didn’t like that one either. When he echoed the give up on yourself and you give up on the world, Joshua exploded over how he’s such a hypocrite and gave up on his Composer because he couldn’t respect his wishes. It’s been 11 days since he’s seen Sanae. They’re all bitter.

To lay himself bare, he doesn’t feel like anything Sanae was concerned about. There’s something in him he needs to fill, something he didn’t know was missing back when all he could feel pulsing through the veins he didn’t have was the corruption that wouldn’t empty, that needed to be destroyed. Joshua hasn’t felt emotional or human for a long time, hasn’t felt more uncertain and stuck when this should be the perfect world. He wanted the best for Neku, for Neku and Shiki and Beat and Rhyme and he knows he could never be a part of their human equation or if he deserves it. The world is perfect for them, the one Neku earned himself. This is him dealing with the consequences of everything.

Through the rustles (does WildKat have an infestation too? probably.) and chilled, stagnant air there’s something only just palpable - more like ESP, stronger than Noise or Reapers or him that he can’t sense. Sanae told him the Angels of Shibuya are everywhere, waiting for any spare moment or lead to arrest him, and asked Joshua “if you were me, where would you regularly go?” when Joshua remarked how WildKat still isn’t clean.

He drinks up the last lukewarm dregs of the coffee, hunches over and types the keys to vanish the cup; he doesn’t need to add dirty crockery to this never-cleaned mess. He thinks he needs to put 680 yen on his tab when one of them breaks the silence, like they don’t realise they’re trapped in a cycle and straining. Joshua plugs the siren song of the void. Sanae didn’t Fall for him to not to.

End notes: gonna give up my dreams and ideas forever now after writing "I'm not texting my l'appel du vide" its the perfect line

[severusdefender]

Back on my '2 Gryffs & a Slyth Walk Into a Traincar AU' Bullshit again (lol)

So like, I just figured that the mystery of Lily’s Empty Grave could be an interesting adventure that might drag former AU friends Remus and Severus back together before realizing that Lily is alive again.

Remus happens to be eking out a temporary living in or nearby Godric’s Hollow, where Lily was buried next to James (which Remus was left wondering if she had iced him [Remus] out in the end too bc he was left way outta the loop, those Daily Prophet rumors be strong despite being total lies). And I already HC that Severus visits the grave periodically to not only mourn but hate himself, expert multitasker that he is.

But Severus visits the grave again, not at his usual time, because he got a mysterious package (idk, like a box of Lily’s things? Addressed to “Severus Snape or Remus Lupin, in the Event of my Untimely Demise” which was never sent until Something got involved) handdelivered by a strangely normal man (Lily’s FaeDad) before he just… Fooshes away quietly like Batman, unnerving Severus.

And then they both run into each other, and there’s no buffer here, just… Raw, old hurts and bad blood and what could’ve (spoiler: will be, but not yet) been. It’s barely civil, and shows signs of devolving into a loud fight (because Severus would still token fight back at least, but not like he hates Remus or anything), but the first time they’ve spoken in a long time for them. But then something’s amiss, the mud that had barely filled in the over the broken bits of the coffin gets stepped on, and the ground just collapses. 

Can’t really decide who falling into the grave would be better, Remus or Severus. If Remus falls in, Severus is Still Concerned for his (former) friend, like he’s afraid that the man’s broken an ankle or leg and post-1stWar!Severus out of his scripted comfort zone is always good. But if it’s Severus who falls in, and Remus has a moment where he’s immediately concerned for the former friend, before catching himself as he’s pulling Severus outta the grave. And Severus notices it spark and immediately ebb away and it’s extremely bittersweet on both sides because these morons are affection-starved af, but both pretend that the other didn’t see anything regardless of who falls in. Thoughts?

Then they realize that the Grave is Empty, and that the enchantments on the coffin have been destroyed (& Lily’s wand is missing, another detail Sev later brings up). And suddenly it’s just this mystery that the both of them have to solve together, who stole their friend’s body and for what (probably dark) purpose? 

Shipping Ahead: Watch as Remus and Severus, old former friends who ended badly, get prickly with one another, but are forced to work together because they can’t/don’t trust the Wizarding authorities or public with this at all. And then the Mutual P I N I N G starts on top of their complicated baggage and raw hurt and everything just hurts so GOOD.

X'3

All the while, a distressed and confused FaeLily is wandering the English countryside & towns like a strange, magical hobo with amnesia, leaving small ripples of chaos in her wake, trying to figure out wtf is going on, how to get a grip on her magical superpowers and helping literally every distressed child she sees like some wrathful Fairy Godmother ripped from Grimm’s Fairy Tales, because Fae and Fae logic. Maybe some accidental curse-breaking and sorta Eldritch horror-type adventures, but generally let’s explore some of the magic that’s in the Muggle World because I think the Wizard-centric Ideology is dumb and needs to go lol.

Maybe like, her FaeDad acts like a… Detached trickster mentor figure? He’s pretty hands-off for the most part, and doesn’t intervene unless dragged in or invoked directly (which FaeLily doesn’t remember rn, both while “Dead” and Alive both times). But his motives are pretty ambiguous and he isn’t a fuzzy figure either, but resurrected Lily is still an interesting investment, so he’s… Watching his kid (despite being an adult, he’s a Fae, she’s YOUNG in comparison) find her feet without his help, while occasionally trying to herd her toward where Harry would be.

(Or maybe uses her like a strategic catspaw to deal with some of his local enemies/nuisances in the Fae/Magical realm without her knowing? Some sort of longgame probably in the works.)

But consider, in this way, Lily’s learning to be “Fae,” while wandering on her own, having occasional nightmares of her former life and some of the inbetween time wherever tf she spent “being Dead.” Her logic and actions are driven by survival and impulse, along with her need to find out what happened to her and who even IS her? She drifts away from human societal norms and moral-paradigms, making her own decisions and observations of this strange and unfamiliar world around her. 

Maybe toss in some international evil wizards too, like, okay so Voldemort’s Civil War that he started might have started to build at least a little traction outside the UK? Not a lot, mind you, but perhaps some like former Grindelwalder-esque peeps who went to ground, because racist rich people tend to flock together? And Voldemort would’ve probably been seen as a good bludgeon that some arrogant douche probably thought they could easily remove when he was done sacking the country, or a weapon-ally-of-convenience to point at their enemies in the name of their cause.

Separately, FaeLily and the Snupin Detectives clash with these wizards, who are doing a Plot, which I haven’t quite sussed out what exactly, but it’s probably bad for everybody in the future, though. Thoughts?

Anyways, back to detectives Remus & Severus! But for a while, just keep barely missing her once they finally get on the trail. In the meantime, OH HOW THEY PINE! THE BAGGAGE! THE DRAMA! THE S U F F E R I N G~! The moments of accidental fluff and bittersweet remembrance of good times, both Remus’ & Sev’s self-hatred, their regrets, the misunderstandings, the old chemistry sparking to life again, THE GUILT over accidental fluffy moments. And alllllll that Mutual Self-Denial. Delicious.

Severus is still concerned over his friend’s apparent dedication to not bothering his still-alive and (possibly? Sev doesn’t know really) not-shitty father, Lyall Lupin, that Remus would rather suffer and be in danger and a possible danger to others in a roulette of circumstance instead. Remus is trying to keep himself from trying to unravel whatever tf is going on with Severus, because he’s like, not entirely sure of Sev’s loyalties, or that Severus flipped because Dumbledore didn’t tell Remus shit for some reason (security?) and Severus isn’t expositing for shit. Just give me these two broken-hearted and damaged morons trying so hard to pretend they don’t care and fail, but deny it up and down until FaeLily decides that she ships it and decides to intervene later.

Then suddenly their dealing with more bad magic-users and strange occurrences, all the while on the trail of… Something (FaeLily). But the tension is growing between them, and they’re still not communicating very well either (also poverty, because poverty sucks, also I’m really down for the HC that Severus owes Lucius money for a loan he took for his Mastery from TAB). Then Remus & Sev finally stumble into some misadventure, expecting to find a thief or another wizard criminal or Plot involving their friend’s corpse for a ritual of some kind or worse.

But then they come face to face with FaeLily, who doesn’t know who the fuck-diddley they are, alive. What a twist~

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

That’s very interesting esp with the inclusion of Lily’s Fae father. I think Severus should fall in  just for the horror of thinking he was lying on his dead best friend’s body but there’s nothing. Maybe the plot could have something to do with wizards trying to steal Fae magic to subjugate the world

[redjaybathood]

Favourite and least favourite writers/stories for Jason?

So kind of you to ask.

Favorite authors:

1) Mikimoo - they write awesome jaydick fics. The plot! The drama!

Hands down one of the best action writers in DC fandom, I think. Romance, too, as far as I can judge. Between the Bars is easily the best case fic I ever read in the fandom. And Who By Fire is a character-driven drama that gave me so many feels. And all the others, of course - you literally can read anything they’ve written and won’t be disappointed.

2) redtruthed - that’s quality gen fics right there!

3) See how deep the bullet lies - it’s Arkham based series, which, usually not my cup of tea, seeing how I didn’t play it, but I will gladly recommend to read it even if you didn’t, too. Bruce and Jason reconciliation in this universe, man.

4) Verdant by Cerusee - I absolutely love Talia&Jason, here. Everything else is good, too, but this is the fic that made me care about Talia, to be honest.

5) A Bird in Morning by audreycritter - it’s fic where Bruce finds out about Jason being in the hospital after he dug himself up from the grave, before Talia can kidnap him off the streets. I’m always excited when I notice a new chapter. Their Inbox is very good, too.

6) Stargazer by LemondeGarden. I literally cried reading this fic. It’s the seal of approval of mine, right here.

7) The View From Jade by lowflyinhgfruit. Jason-centric time-travel fic, superbly written.

8) Common People by AmariT - OH MY GOD WHAT IF JASON WAS BRUCE’S BIOLOGICAL CHILD. ♥♥♥

Also, Red Blood, Blue Blood by Telperien a good one on the same theme.

9) Nest and Cages series by LanternWisp - also, anything by this author, but this series esp., because here, Jason is bio son of Lady Shiva, so he’s also Cass’s brother, and he’s bio father is not Willis Todd and alive, but his real dad is, you know, Bruce.

10) Druthers by d_aia - this fic has a very satisfying career path for Jason Todd, while dealing with the absolute black&white morality of Bruce’s. (though I’m forever sad there’s no sequel with clex in it; also, I think this author could have pulled Lex/Jason off e a s y and forever sad they probably won’t).

11) Little Absences by MoonySideDown - one of a few short fics I read and enjoyed, and it hits me just with it’s summary every time in the solar plexus:

There’s an empty seat straight across from him. A seat where a little boy used to perch each morning, wolfing down his breakfast like someone was about to take it from him. He would poke at his food with his fork and tell Bruce about whatever he was studying in school, or what book he was reading.

    A gaping hole sits in front of his face. A bleeding wound in his life where his second son used to be.

    Good morning, B.

I mean. Try not to cry after this one.

12) Quarter past midnight by Aaren - Jason digs himself up, but he’s in a better shape in this AU than in the canon: he doesn’t remember anything but all other brain functions are alright. Love this story.

Also, I tried to find another similar story, where Jason too, doesn’t have any memory of what happened before the resurrection, and hangs out in Bludhaven, and is found by Dick and literally dragged back to batfam. He doesn’t know any of those crazy people, what do they want from him? Very hilarious and also sad but mostly hilarious story but! I can’t remember neither name nor author. If anyone knows what I’m talking about, hit me up with the link pls! I will add it to the post.

13) Retrograde by agent37 (kaivevo) - deals with amnesiac Tim who was whisked away from Gotham by Dick. It’s absolutely thrilling to discover what happened, to get characters where they are now. (it’s jaytim story with jaydick mention, if it is important to you)

14) If You Don’t Grow by Generator Cat - Dick pulls a Bruce, meaning parenting/big brothering Tim and adopting Jason. Tim was a Robin in this fic, and Jason wasn’t. Jaytim also. Very sweet.

15) The Till-Then From the Ever-Since by Kieron_ODuibhir. It is a time-travel fic of sorts, where past or future versions of batfam appear in the present, and no one knows why. Character-driven time-travel drama, what’s not to love.

16) The Bat’s Crest by livirambles - it’s universe hopping fic where batfam swap places with their counterparts in another universe where Bruce is actually an evil dick and also a wanted criminal who will be executed by Justice League… if Jason and Co don’t do anything about it (and of course they will).

17) Say Something by Skalidra - it’s jayroy young justice-adjacent fic, multichaptered and plot-heavy. One of the best jayroy fics outwhere, I think. (And, as I old jayroy very dear for me, I’m very hard to satisfy with jayroy stories. I’ve yet to find any to my liking that are written in RHATO universe… oh well).

For right now, I’m head over hills for scandalsavage‘s fic Therapy - but I need to say, it’s brujay, which I appreciate because I appreciate unhealthy family dynamics, they make me cry like no others. Now, this writer likes to write dark stuff, so be advised, but this fic hits me right in the heart. I can’t not rec it. It’s post-RHATO #25, Bruce drags Jason to the Batcave. I love how the author deals with their relationships in the current canon, and their outlook on the Jason’s character. Even if brujay is not your cup of tea - which I would totes understand - it doesn’t have any explicitly brujay bits yet, and it is worth the read for all Jason fans (though not necessarily for Bruce fans).

That’s not all, of course, just what I remembered and actually found. Enjoy reading! I will be glad to talk about any of those - or other - fics some more.

[glitterdustcyclops]

so tumblr, what incredibly petty, ridiculous things are you fully planning on literally dying mad about? cuz for me, there are two very specific incidents in my life that i have actually out-loud sworn to still be bitter about while lying on my deathbed, both of them involving food establishments that have wronged me

okay this post got wildly out of hand (i am a dramatic bitch) so the rest is under the cut

first, the Saga of the Medium Dipped cone. so a few years back when i still lived in vegas, a brand new dairy queen opened up a few blocks away from my house which was personally like a gift from the heavens. idk if u know this abt me, but literally one of my favoritest things on this earth is a chocolate-dipped vanilla soft serve cone, and honestly tbh nobody does it as good as my queen of dairy do. so i was excited to have such unfettered access to my supplier so wonderfully close to my abode, and as soon as i noticed they were open, i begged my dad to take me one day. now, i may love a dipped cone but i’m not an animal, so when drivethru dude asked what size i wanted for my frosty chocolate treat, i said medium. sensible, i thought. not pathetically tiny, but not complete hedonism either. a reasonable amount of chocolate-shelled cream to apply directly to my face parts, or so i thought.

cuz what i in fact received from drivethru dude was a giant fucking cone,literally almost a foot of that fuckin sugar styrofoam nonsense  (easily the worst part of the ice cream cone experience we are all in agreement, right?) with maybe abt a half an inch of soft serve on top, hastily slathered in some chocolate shell. and y’know, i understand mistakes can be made sometimes, so i asked my dad to double check the sitch, because that didn’t seem like my previous experiences with a medium dq dipped cone. so my dad is like “this was supposed to be medium?” and this guy, this fucking guy, looks my dad straight in the face with his cold, lifeless demon eyes and goes “oh, well, it’s just the cone that’s larger.”

THE CONE. THAT IS LARGER. JUST THE CONE. JUST THE CONE. *deep breaths* i like to think i’m a reasonable person, esp when it comes to exhausted retail/food service workers. we’re all just trying to get that bread, i understand. but yall. YALL. i about leapt over my father into that fuckin window and pummeled this dumb motherfucker. THE CONE. the fUCKING CONE IS LARGER.

i came home actually, literally, ranting about how the fuck this fuckin guy thought he could get away with giving me a “medium” dipped cone that was literally just a small ice cream in a giant ice cream package. i ate the cone, of course, and it turned to ashes in my mouth. my heart grew as icy cold as the pathetic amount of soft serve i consumed, and merely a moment later, it was gone. and my mom, my beautiful perfect precious mom was just like “next time you go, just get a small cone, and proportionally it will be more ice cream!” which honestly, is just a portal to madness at that point.

so anyway, me and the moms went back a few weeks later and i thought surely, surely they wouldn’t try that shit again, right? it was just a fluke? just a single, cruel person who hadn’t known love or joy and was too fuckin lazy to make my ice cream properly, but this time, surely, it would be different. dairy queen could redeem themselves! i believed in the power of redemption!! second chances!! so i, like an idiot, ordered a medium. dipped. cone.

AND GUESS WHAT I FUCKIN GOT. GUESS. GO ON. YOU’LL NEVER GUESS. because it was actually, somehow, less ice cream than last time, still on a medium-sized cone. like which demon thought when i ordered a medium-sized ice cream cone what i was really hoping for, what my truest heart’s desire, was a medium-sized empty-ass cone to eat. ice cream, guys. ice cream is what you serve, ice cream is what i thought i was ordering what is WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE. i was livid.

and from that day forth, i actually and literally swore that i would go to my literal and actual grave still seeking vengeance upon this establishment that had wronged me so egregiously. every time i go to a diary queen now i order a medium dipped cone, almost spitefully, and wait to see what they give me. thus far no one else has been dumb enough to try the “oh it’s just a larger cone” bullshit on me, and i haven’t had to try and nuke the entirety of dairy queen as a brand from orbit. for now.

my second story isn’t quite as dramatic but definitely still just as petty and ridiculous. this is The Sushi Incident, and it goes like this: when we first moved to utah, me and mom were shopping around for a sushi restaurant. our expectations for the food culture in this state had been already thoroughly disillusioned by this point, and after a few too many 4-star yelp reviews that surely must have been posted sarcastically led us down some dark, dark paths, we were desperate for anything approaching edible at this point. and so we hit up a pretentious looking place near where i worked, and it was busy and loud and took forever for us to get a table, but i was trying to be positive here. and i was looking over the menu and it actually kind of all looked terrible but-positive, i’m trying to be positive here, so i was searching for something that sounded good. and i noticed- under the basic sushi rolls, there was something missing. my number one, go-to staple sushi order. my version of the cheeseburger. my safe haven, that thus far not even the worst restaurant has managed to ruin for me. the rainbow roll. (yes, 95% of the reason i order it is because it’s called a rainbow roll, and therefore, it is the gayest sushi option).

so i asked the waiter, innocently, curiously, oh, do you guys not have a rainbow roll on your menu? and this monster, this eldritch abomination in the shape of a white guy (it’s always fuckin white guys, isn’t it) stared at me, like i’m fucking with him. complete blank face. like i was veering wildly off menu here, some demanding spoiled brat asking for herculean tasks in my honor. the fuckin grocery store makes rainbow rolls. this is entry level bullshit. i tried halfheartedly to explain-y’know, it’s a california roll, but it’s got slices of raw fish on top. like, c’mon dude. it’s the ham-and-cheese sandwich of the sushi rolls. and he just shrugged awkwardly and wandered off.

i don’t remember what we ended up ordering that night, i think i blocked the traumatic experience from my memory. but i do remember appending another black mark to my Record, and one day i know that i’m going to be old and withered, in a hospital somewhere surrounded by generations of my family, my wife beside me holding my hand. and i’m going to beckon towards one of my great grandchildren, and i’m going to pull them close, and i’m going to whisper they didn’t fuckin know what a rainbow roll was and then my heart is going to stop beating. those will be my last words.

so, like, pls, tell me i’m not the only one with these ridiculous stupid petty grudges against things?? pls???

[jeongjaebae]

the fact u actually planned out a sequel OH MY GOD AND THE BOUQUETS ARE A HIMT FOR WHATS TO COME???? HELLO?????? MAN HOW COULD I GET EVEN SADDER i better be like the first person you inform if you ever decide to write/post it

AND YES I SEE TYAT TOO i think i only have one enemies to lovers with hyunjae but otherwise ive always seen him as the caring older brother figure (even in kidult where he's...six) JUST PLAYFUL ALL SMILES he very much suits all angst i dont think i can really pin him towards one trope...BUT I MEAN HEY MCD- no okay but ive seen a shit ton of sunwoo with enemies to lovers, eric too, TBH ALL OF TBZ id gladly punch Any of them with my fists anyday. even jacob. always jacob. no that's a lie i love him WAIT NOW IMAGINE ENEMIES TO LOVERS WITH JACOB................LIKE THE JACOB BAE okay omg i need to stop

ALSO REGARDING HOLDING ON yes he, kevin, and jacob make an appearance in holding on. a little hint for jacobs character but as y/n's friend, he tries to hold back any information about younghoon. basically y/n throughout the story is trying to remember who this mf is and jacob is like yEah idk what ur talkinh abt YK?

listen its so funny ive never had this bias problem with ANY OTHER GROUPS maybe nct dream where i switched biases every week but if you had to guess who my bias is in tbz, you literally couldn't. not even my sisters and my closest friends could pinpoint a member with me because i literally switch up on them so very often, I DO HAVE A NECKLACE OF SANGYEON AND A TEDDY BEAR with his voice but i was hak biased at the time i decided to have both of those things? and i got erics voice in superstartbz WHICH I HIGHLYYYYYY DONT RECOMMEND THIS MF SAYS OH NOOOOO EVERYTIME U MISS IM TEMPTED TO BUY ANOTHER MEMBERS VOICE BC OF HOW ANNOYING IT IS i saw this all jokingly and lighthearted bc eric is really cute but Why did i do this to myself. wait okay i wanna rant about tbz so ill do that in another ask since this one is getting too long

LOL it's kinda funny bc my sequel is a bit like what you commented on a fic reblog? bc juyeon owns the flower shop where those flowers were from, and y/n visits when she gets flowers for hyunjae's grave. oh but juyeon's married. you can probably imagine the rest (or maybe not, there are twists hehe). i guess it's not sad in a tear jerking way but more like... an empty or bittersweet way :')

ahh hyunjae does fit as the caring older brother figure!! i saw the clips of him on that "we became a family" show and he's so caring towards kanghoon (?) and the other kids!! but omg enemies to lovers with jacob... that could be interesting 👀 i never really thought of juyeon in that trope either but stereotype sets it up pretty well (although i feel bad for him esp with how this first part ended 😭)

omg. you're gonna hurt jacob too. jacob... holding back how sad he feels watching what y/n is going through..... jacob crying when y/n breaks down in his arms after finding out the truth. jacob.... also being tormented by his ghost of a friend. vae ur gonna hurt a lot of people here 😭😭😭

oooh a necklace and a teddy bear omg that sounds so cute???! but yeah they're a pretty well rounded group so there's def something to like about each member, and the fact that you see that is such a positive outlook tbh 🥺 but GIRL 500 DIAMONDS THO?!?!!!? i saw that and immediately tapped out of it LMAOOO. it sounds cute but distracting at the same time like how do you stand having eric's voice telling you oH NO DID SOMEONE MISS A BEAT??? OH NO DID YOU JUST FAIL??? i guess it'd be so funny too LOOL but i have like 5 diamonds and maybe 100 rp i'm hella broke ok 😭😭 lmk if you ever manage to three star out of control HAHA

[thatfantasybroad]

Nytha had a good time today, to spite her existential dread about choosing the sword over the lute (which I will make a separate post about now that I realize I have yet to do so.) and the impending battle. 

The group planned the points of defense for the island and an old party member built some shelters for casters and such.  

There was a lot of rp and defense management, but I worry about how much talking/planning I was doing? I always doubt how well I rp nytha as being kind of flighty/dumb like she’s supposed to be. I also worry about stealing the spotlight too much. :x 

HOWEVER… we got as much shored up as we could, and the island’s Knight informed us of some stones of far speech/sending stones in the care of an old thorn in our side who owned the local inn, so after identifying the 3 paintings (which were worth a LOT OF MONEY- One was the equivalent of da vinci’s Lady with Ermine- Titled Boy with Squirrel in game) we planned to not only get revenge on this guy, but get the stones to boot. To explain- Lord Hyden (aka Lord Chucklefuck, Sir PrickedBum, Mister Fuckface, etc etc) was unreasonable early on- and when we tried to do the right thing and warn him about the impending blood revel by the Erlqueen, he instead warned the people of the island that we were part of a doomsday cult, taking advantage of the fact that we have two tieflings in the group… so we had our (and esp for nytha- her family’s) good names dragged through the mud. 

The following is paraphrased, as I am very tired.

Nytha used the glamored studded leather (which Nytha adores tbqh) and used the command word “Givenchy” (Old elvish word for couture ofc) to change into “a blingin’ Alexander McQueen-esque outfit” to make a grand entrance to the tavern. There was a bit of W.A.S.P.-ey obviously sarcastic talking about the quality of the inn’ s finest wine, “This wine is…. adequate.” She also played the marble capture of her Nat 20 performance check and earned the attention of the room- which prompted Lord Hyden to come over and start talking shit and reiterate that they were from a doomsday cult and further trash talk.

Nytha, with my best suburban white mom outrage impression, went on an indignant DIATRIBE, railing against his hospitality, sharing how filthy the place was before one of NYTHA’S group deigned to help (Grudo Boulderfist the stonechild Mason). The foolish Inkeep stoked the fire by claiming they had no money. OOOHHH BITCH, OOOOHHHHH BITCH YOU DID NOT

Nytha proceeds to empty all of the treasure (which is foolish in it’s own way) out of the bag of holding onto the table, including stacks of gold and platinum , solid gold cherub statues, gold trim, huge draconic scrolls, and some other fancy shit. Pragmatic and paranoid as ever, she put that all away in the bag of holding, and THEN revealed one 10,000gp painting…. then ANOTHER 10,000gp painting…. and THEN revealed the 50,000gp Boy with Squirrel.

Nytha: as you see, I am a woman of esteem! *Nat 20 Persuasion roll, in addition to guidance for a total of a whopping 33* Crowd of Nobles: *Gasp!* Lord Hyden: It’s fake! It’s some kind of bardic magic! Nytha: woud any casters in the room like to challenge the painting with an identify spell? Any at all! Lord Hyden’s Bard: *gravely walks off the stage and casts Identify, and says in a hushed tone,* it’s real…. Nytha: *To Lord Hyden* WHAT NOW BITCH? Persis: *Laughing her ass off* Lord Hyden: *miserably* That’s impossible! How could you have that???

Nytha then proceeded to plug her Mum’s inn to the nobles, then turned to Lord Hyden and said “There is one little thing I want that you could prevent me from telling every inn on Kallasia…. I want your stones of far speech.” Hyden: *floundering* if you’re really rich, you could get your own. Nytha: *scoffs* it’s a matter of convenience. Unless anyone else on the island has them? Crowd of Nobles: *Crickets chirp, No one steps forward* Nytha: there you have it, I intend to have some nicer ones made when the time comes, but this is a matter of necessity. Thank You Ever So Much." She then turned on her heel and swanned out of the room. 

That nat20 made my DAY let me TELL YOU.

Later on there was one interaction that deflated her ego a little

Lucca the Halfling: Yeah, I know you guys. You're part of the doomsday cult.

Nytha: >_< *still resplendent in her designer imitation armor* Do I look like I could be part of a doomsday cult?

Lucca: ... I mean yeah, you have horns. ..

Nytha: That's racist! *crocodile tears*

But I will admit it was not deflated by much. :P