#independent fandom web

[dawnfelagund]

I normally actively avoid posting about anything where money is attached. I'm making an exception here for a project that addresses what I see as a significant (and growing) need in the fandom.

I (along with a team of incredible comods) run an independent archive, the Silmarillion Writers' Guild. We are one of the only independent archives left, at least in the Tolkien fandom.

We wage a lot of uphill battles to keep our archive open and active, but one of the biggest is the tech side. I'm not an IT pro; I'm a middle-school humanities teacher. I began learning the tech skills to run an archive in 2006 and have been learning ever since. By now, I've devoted hundreds if not thousands of hours to learning how to build and run websites. And it's hard, mostly because it is hard to find information that is written at a level comprehensible by an exhausted middle-school teacher who has a half-hour at the end of her day to puzzle something out. Documentation generally sucks; tutorials often seem to be written at a level just above where I am. My knowledge has a lot of holes as a result, and I sometimes have to give up on something because I can't find what I need to teach me to do it.

The Fujoshi Guide to Web Development is a Kickstarter project that aims to remedy that by producing materials aimed at teaching web development concepts specifically to a fannish audience and with the goal of supporting an independent fannish web, where fans have the know-how to build their own sites, archives, and other web projects. They are very close to their goal. I made my donation today; I'm hoping we might push them over the finish line.

Currently, fans are primarily tethered to a few large sites used for fandom purposes. Some of these are benevolent and trustworthy (AO3, for example); others are not and have taken damaging steps toward fandom over the years (not mentioning any names here ...) All of them have their limitations. The primary complaints I hear about AO3, for example, have nothing to do with AO3 doing anything wrong and everything to do with people wanting AO3 to be something other than AO3. At the same time, I get it: We are at the point where AO3 is often the only choice for many creators to archive their work and the only choice for people who want to enjoy fanworks. Those people are understandably upset when AO3 can't meet their needs because they don't see themselves as having another choice.

But it didn't used to be this way. It used to be (at least in Tolkien fandom) that if you wanted something that didn't exist, you built it yourself. This is how the SWG came to be: some of us wanted an archive just for Silmfic, there wasn't one, so we built one. We weren't alone in this, and we felt empowered because so many other fans were doing the same thing: learning together and teaching and supporting each other as we went. This was when "building a website" meant learning enough HTML and CSS to hand-markup a page or adjust an eFiction theme.

But, as time passed and the internet evolved, our enthusiastically acquired knowledge of HTML wasn't enough to keep afloat sites that were breaking at a much deeper level, and those sites began to disappear. My comods and I did endeavor to gain the knowledge to save our decaying archive and, as noted above, it was not easy, and I do not blame anyone for not doing the same. It was a part-time job for me for over a year, and I'm lucky that I was able to make room for it in my life. It's unreasonable to expect that everyone will be able to do that.

The increasing consolidation and corporatization of fandom is a problem too. We've seen time and again that for-profit companies don't have our interests in mind. All of the fannish stuff we love on Tumblr and Discord and FanFiction.net could be gone tomorrow and for no better reason than someone will make a little more profit if our embarrassing fandom garbage is not there. It's happened before, many times. Even without corporate malevolence, digital data is fragile and having everything in just one place is perilous. While I'm sure AO3, for example, is diligent in preserving our work as best as possible, data losses and breaches do happen all the time.

It used to be that Tolkien fanfic writers would archive their work in three, four, more different places. If one had a data loss, that sucked, but mostly because you lost comments, not because entire swaths of fanworks were gone forever. That level of crossposting is no longer an option.

It used to be that Tolkien fanfic writers would archive their work in three, four, more different places. If one had a data loss, that sucked, but mostly because you lost comments, not because entire swaths of fanworks were gone forever. That level of crossposting is no longer an option.

[mitsene]

Glimmer Episode 5 part 4 is up!

Is he starting to crack? hrmm

I have more episodes up front on my Patreon (which I recommend subscribing to before November and/or subscribing through the website not the iOS store. I will not be raising tier prices despite patreon's recommendation.)

I also!!! Will be posting more regular updates on Ko-fi and now have a Ko-fi Goal: Publish Vol. 1 of Glimmer!

All tips and subscriptions will be going towards this goal. I've always wanted to have a published manga but never thought I would ever be good enough so this is a big, big personal goal.

[indieanimezine]

With all the data I’ve collected thanks to the interest check, I only need to know what profit model and guest artists people want for the side fan zine. I’ll probably do a quick poll for that; stay tuned.

[plasma-packin-mama]

Is there drama with the independent wiki. Has anyone tried to resolve it thru communication and collaboration. bc having a non-fandom wiki is deeply important and we should try to nurture its existence.

[fogsrollingin]

Okay I'm going bonkers with happiness right now. I posted the first chapter of 2 completed fics onto AO3 (last week I realized I'd only posted 1 story to AO3 this year even though I've written a lot - I just languished as I got closer to the end of them), and linked back to my neocities where the full fic was posted AND PEOPLE ARE GOING THERE! And reading it! And giving me kudos and comments on my fic on my website. One person just gave me kudos, not extra kudos, and I am like so delirious with happiness they even got to my website, thought it was good enough to stay on my website and finish reading the fic, and give me a lil checkmark for kudos 🥰🥰🥰

Starting 2024 out RIGHT!!!

Anywhere here's the fics and their links if anyone else is interested in overjoying me

[kodamark]

This is my webtoon and if you haven't seen it, I just uploaded the third episode last week!!!

This is fully written and illustrated myself so I would be overjoyed if you'd give it a look! And if you're feeling super generous I have my patreon linked on Webtoon, doners get their names listed at the end of every episode!

This thing has basically become my life's work, the first draft of episode one was my submission into college, spoiler alert, I just graduated with a BFA in Film Video and New Media, so I've dedicated a lot of time to this thing, and it's done me a lot of good in my life.

If you're an independent webtoon/webcomic creator, send me a message!! I'd love to find some mutuals who are also making comics ^^

This story means a lot to me and I really hope it finds an audience who'll listen to it <3 and it would mean the world to me if you would be a part of that.

Seven idiots. One story. Told from their perspectives.

[hurtspideyparker]

Hi, sorry but could you recommend any of your favourite Peter Parker fics please?

For sure !!! *cracks open ao3 bookmarks*

Thirty Hours by polaroid15 - Peter doesn't take any breaks during a lengthy fight with the Avengers. The mind-melting fever that follows really should have been expected.

Hurt Peter Parker, my favourite tag <3 I love when Spider-Man is a badass and also lacks self-preservation. He's so cool fighting alongside the Avengers and we get some sweet hurt/comfort irondad!

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by aloneintherain - Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

This fic is an icon in the fandom and for GOOD REASON. I just can not get enough of Peter Parker hiding his injuries. More heavy whump and angst!

All good things come in threes by Bergen - Peter has three secret identities: Spider-Man, the superhero who swings around the city to save people. Parker Benjamin, who gives Tony Stark unsolicited advice on his research. And NightMonkey, the Instagrammer who keeps uploading increasingly popular but embarrassing drawings of Iron Man.

And he can juggle them all just fine, thankyouverymuch.

Okay here is the fluff!!! Peter is a genius, a menace, and a sweetheart. Tony Stark runs into him (again and again) and can't help but have a soft spot for him every time. Funny and cute and an all 'round good time!

Held Together by Spiderwebs by TunaFishChris - Steve is not coping well in the twenty-first century. At all. Three months after the Chitauri invasion, he decides he's had enough.

But just as he's about to end it all, he runs into the new hero in town.

This one focuses a lot on Steve but I really like him and Peter's relationship in it, and I think this is great Peter Parker characterization. TW for discussions of depression and suicide, it gets a bit dark!

5 Times Spider-Man Saved an Avenger's Ass (and 1 Time They Saved Him) by TunaFishChris - this fic showcases how strong and capable Peter is, he's definitely a BAMF. I really like this genre where the Avengers know Spider-Man but not Peter Parker, makes Peter feel more independent and mature like in the comics.

Five Time Faculty Members Had to Call Peter's Emergency Contact + One Time He Shows Up Anyway, Five Times Tony Stark's Fabled Intern Just Showed Up + One Time He Was Invited, and Five Times Strangers Talked About Peter and Tony + One time Someone They Know Did by kingdomfaraway - I am just gonna recommend this entire series. Super fluffy, extreme irondad and spiderson. They're just adorable from an outside perspective and I love when Peter gets to just be Tony's intern and a teenager for a while :)

research and disaster by blueh - “So, uh, Mr. Stark definitely knows Roomba-Kid,” Becket says and discreetly tilts his head in the direction of the pair.

“Oh my god,” Jess says. She almost sounds gleeful. “Oh my god, he’s not just some random kid. He’s Mr. Stark’s kid.”

or: the interns at Stark Industries have some questions about Peter Parker. The answers aren’t quite what they expect.

I just love intern Peter mk? Let him be a kid genius and have fun!!! Fluffy and humorous, again with the irondad.

Captain, Oh My- Not My Captain! by uncouth_peasant - Peter swallowed hard before firing a web to swing into the fray. “Cap’s going after civilians. I’m out of time.”

Bruised and bloody men <3. Just Peter being a badass and getting beat to a pulp. Cool fighting, lots of Peter whump, and of course the Avengers being protective.

Good publicity by Bergen - Between Peter Parker barely speaking, and Spider-Man being the ultimate chatterbox, how was Tony ever supposed to figure out that they were one and the same person?

Tony Stark is secretly a softie for cute kids, especially when they're a genius and have a sense of humour to rival his own. Peter is a foster kid who ends up finding a home with Pepper and Tony, very sweet.

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle - When Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves, simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help.

Heavy TW for this one, mind the tags. This is a popular fic and for good reason. A very mature and realistic portrayal of the foster care system and homelessness. The Peter angst is really great and I could barely put it down, that boy needs a hug so bad.

Now here's some hydra!Peter fics cuz they're my jam:

Peter is a precious chickpea by Bergen - They attack the HYDRA safe house shortly before sunrise.

The only people defending said safe house are Peter and Leo, and Leo slams his cell door open and starts spitting out orders, but then promptly gets clobbered over the head and keels sideways.

So that just leaves Peter. And he’s not even going to try to fight a whole team of Avengers. He looks up at Iron Man filling the doorway. “I surrender.”

He’s never been captured before and he’s not sure what to do. Escape, probably.

This entire series is PERFECT. I just love how adorable Peter is, and all the relationships Peter forms with the Avengers absolutely melt my heart. Peter's characterization in this is really unique and I wish there was more. The Bucky and Peter friendship is everythingggg. I love hydra!peter and bucky fics.

Indoctrination by phoenixon - The Avengers thought they were on a typical assignment: Infiltrate the Hydra base and find the weapon. What they didn't expect was the small boy raised by Hydra that they found instead. And they definitely didn't expect him to stay at Avengers Tower or how he somehow wormed his way into their lives. As for Peter, he just wants to be good and obey what the Hydra men told him so he doesn't get in trouble.

I just really love hydra Peter changing into a sweet and intelligent boy once he's rescued and safe, and how all the Avengers take up such heart-warming parental roles around him.

out there, living in the sun by Hailfire_73 - The Avengers rescue Peter from a Hydra base ran by his father, Richard Parker, except Peter doesn't really see it as a rescue, and has trouble settling into a new life away from Hydra and his father at the Avengers compound. OR - Peter learns how to be an actual teenager, live life, and put his abusive past behind him, and Tony learns how to be a father.

Hydra Peter but he's most definitely a traumatized and moody teenager. I really enjoyed Peter's character arc and the exploration of his trauma. It felt more realistic the way his journey isn't just a straight or clear path. He's more mature in this one and it was a really compelling read, balancing the angst with some humour and fluff. Loved the ending.

Tinker, Tailor, Spider by Bergen - Tony is roped into a mission to transport a teenager to safety. But when things go south, it soon becomes more and more puzzling who the teenager is and what ‘safety’ means for him.

I really enjoy that the author doesn't water Peter being hydra down. Yes he is a highly skilled assassin and a badass who's trauma pervades his every thought and decision. Made me fall in love with the Tony, Pepper, Morgan and Peter as a family dynamic. Super domestic while still highlighting Peter's troubled past.

[radioactive-juice]

Okay so I just watched a video about the extinction from some guy’s Entities series and. Thoughts:

I feel like a lot of people forget that the Entities are not completely separate things. We have the colours analogy and the Giant Creature with multiple limbs too big to see that it’s all one thing. So, as much as it’s useful to understand stuff, Smirke’s 14 is canonically a very flawed explanation of something very difficult to comprehend. 

Especially with the revelation that the rituals will never work by themselves and that the entities need to all come into being at once, it’s clear that they are more connected than they are independent. 

The video was talking about the statements that are contested in terms of whether they are Extinction or whatever else. First, they can be both. Second, the point of the extinction’s Emergence isn’t so much Totally New Never Before Seen Fear but Fear Becoming More Widespread So We Should Distinguish Itself From Others. Fear of drastic change, the end of life as we know it, etc, existed before the Extinction was thought up, and will exist even though the Extinction never technically Emerged. Dekker says it is branching off from the End, but I think that’s still too rigid. 

In mag200 when we get the origin story of the fears, it starts as “Once, there was fear”. It’s one thing that starts to specialise as life gets more intelligent and learns the things to be scared of. Then, “The thing that was fear felt itself began to tear, to crack and fracture along a thousand unseen fault lines”. So, we do have confirmation that it isn’t just One Thing. But they started as one, which begs the question, where do we draw the lines between Fears?

I think a lot of us have the idea of Which Entities Are Which based on their motifs, which I think holds back our understanding. The Web is one that particularly gets me. As an Entity, it’s about control and manipulation, but a lot of the time it’s boiled down to Fear of Spiders. Spiders symbolise control because of their webs, the idea of being trapped, knowing your fate but unable to escape it. That’s the essence of the Web. Falling into a spider nest and getting them all over your face? Horrifying, but not the right psychological aspects. I’d say it’s more Corruption, feeding more on the fear of disgusting things. I think puppets would be an interesting motif for The Web, but puppets are like dolls which are basically monopolised by the Stranger. Now I’m starting to rant. In general, I believe we could have a lot more interesting interpretations of the Entities if we thought of them more as the psychological fear they represent rather than their common motifs. For example, I really like what they did with the Buried also representing debt rather than simply Dirt. 

On the fandom wiki (I know it sucks. If there’s a better alternative lemme know), a lot of the s5 domains are described as serving multiple fears, which makes sense since they cater so closely to the specific fears of the people in them, which aren’t necessarily a single Fear. Then, of course, we have Protocol. I’ve seen a few posts echoing the same point of We Don’t Need to Rethink the Fears to Make Protocol Make Sense, We Just Need to Stop Defining Everything So Rigidly. I hope Protocol continues to Get Weird with it so we’re forced to think about the Fears from a different perspective than Archives. It’s healthy. It’s enrichment. 

In conclusion, the Fears aren’t so separate, Smirke’s 14 has never been real, the Extinction isn’t a world-breaking anomaly, and motifs don’t necessarily define what Powers are actually at play.  

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄThe Visitꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Au

❦When Y/n makes an impulsive decision to take a trip to Japan, a trip to the wrong room causes her to catch the wrong attention❦

Sano Manjiro, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Red phrases are Japanese

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable.

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

The Visit

Y/n’s journey to Japan was based on an impulsive decision. Wanting to bask in the differing culture compared to America, she decided to take a small break, her plan to only stay for a couple weeks. Unfortunately, her friends, too busy with work and stable living, couldn’t join her sudden trip across the world. Y/n currently works on her own accord, a delivering app where she makes her own schedule. A lot more freeing compared to a job where she’d have to make decisions two to three weeks in advance.

Sure, she’s no doctor or business owner but she still makes enough to afford her living and to take spontaneous outings, becoming bored easily from the day to day routine of driving and delivering all day. After all, she can even work on her vacations, though she’d prefer not to. When she was younger, she had a hard time doing things on her own so as an adult, she’s gained her own sense of independence. Using the phrase, YOLO, as an excuse to go out on her own and make things happen without waiting for others to join. Her personal challenge in life. Which is why she decided to go to a popular night club, all on her own.

Flashing lights beam as the loud music bursts through the speakers, causing the building to vibrate occasionally, chattering and laughing mixing in with the frequency. A euphoric feeling for someone in search of a good time. She walks through crowds of people after she passes the security, slightly shoving her way, light “Excuse me,” and “Sorry,” as she squeezes past the dancing mass. Obviously, nobody hears her apologies as they close their eyes and grind against the nearest person. Finally, she makes her way to the bar, the bartenders tending to the customers with smiles on their faces, conversing and flirting with the newcomers.

She takes a seat on the stool, ignoring the awkwardness of feeling out of place in an unknown world. Most of the conversations surrounding her are misunderstood, as she only knows a few Japanese words. She knows she should’ve studied more, though the anticipation caused her impatience, determining that if needed, she’ll use the web’s translator, no matter how embarrassing it’ll feel. For a second, she zones out in her own world, palm on her cheek as she leans her head, elbow plastered to the table.

“What can I get for you?”

She responds with a fruity alcohol mix, dropping her hand to the table as she watches the bartender make her drink. Once finished, he slides it to her as she hands him her payment. She sips it down fast, emptying the glass within seconds, wanting to free herself from the anxiety that fills her body, calming her thoughts as the alcohol persuades her to get out of her comfort zone. Ordering another after another, she’s finally out of her shell enough to think about hitting the dance floor, after all the crowd should cover her terrible dance moves.

After her fifth drink, she feels great, on top of the world even. Without the weakness of anxious thoughts and tense posture, she takes a selfie to send to her groupchat, her friends responding with likes and support. She smiles to herself, vision slightly shifty as she hops off her seat, shoving her phone in her purse as she walks through the crowd to a good spot.

Considering how lively she is, others fall in line, dancing near or on as everyone hypes everyone up, the music and alcohol causing everyone to lose themselves in the motion of the dance floor. The girl takes a couple photos and videos of all the different people she meets as they laugh and share the moment with each other. Some take photos and videos as well, showing off their night. Time passes as the drinks keep pouring.

Finally, the liquid reaches her bladder, causing her to stumble through the group, walking towards the bar as she searches for the nearest bathroom. Unfortunately, it takes her a while to walk around in frustration, sighing as she sees a staircase towards the balcony. Using the rail as support, she stalks up the stairs, walking until she reaches the balcony. She walks past the people as she makes her way down the hall.

“Damnit, I’m about to piss myself.” She hisses as she continues to look around, no sign of any bathrooms near.

Out of curiosity, she stops near a door where talking could be heard, though nothing she could understand besides the few words she could make out. She rolls her eyes.

“Hopefully, there’s a bathroom in here, or else I’m peeing wherever.” She mutters, chuckling as she turns the knob. When she opens the door, she’s greeted with an empty space with lounge chairs and dimmed lights, pink and red being the main color scheme of the room. The voices are louder as she walks into the room.

Maybe that’s the bathroom.

She shrugs as she walks forward, closing in on the door, the voices raising. Her eyebrows furrow at the language, caught off guard by some of the words being shouted.

“Mikey, please! I just need m-more time!”

A loud thud could be heard followed by a ‘Shut up!’ Y/n continued to listen as the concerning sounds became more apparent. She attempts to make out the words, to no avail, but she could tell that someone is begging, considering the word, ‘please.’

“Please! My wife and kids, th-they need me! God, I’ll do anything!”

“What the fuck?” She whispers. The event behind the door causes her to forget about her full bladder, which feels as though all fluid has disappeared on its own. One of her hands places itself on the door as she leans closer, becoming more intrigued as she attempts to decipher more words. Coming up with a plan, she grabs her phone and searches the web for translation. She presses the button to record and sets the phone as close to the door as she can.

“Boss, do you want me to finish this rat?”

After reading the translation, her breath hitches, eyes widening as she quickly deletes the phrase and sets the phone back in place. The hairs on her body stand as the fear sobers her enough to focus. She’s in disbelief to what she is hearing, yet she can’t find the will to move as curiosity brings her closer to demise.

Silence falls for a moment besides the pitiful man’s sobbing, weighing on her heart as she feels sorrow for what could happen, still unknown to any experiences like this. After what feels like forever, she decides to press the power button of her device and stick it back in her purse.

“NO!”

BANG!

She stops for a second, eyebrows furrowed as she stops breathing. She stares at the door in disbelief. Her hands trembling as her legs barely keep her up, causing her to lean against the wall near the door. Her heartbeat accelerates as her head begins to pound, the ringing in her ears indicating that fear is taking a toll. Before she could take another step, another three gunshots ring, echoing from the room.

“N-no fucking way.” She says to herself, turning on her heel to run out of the room.

“Shit!” She hisses as she runs into a plant, the vase shattering as she falls on the floor. Scrambling to pick herself up she quickly runs out of the room, sweat dripping from her forehead as she breathes heavily, ignoring the sound of the door behind her slamming open.

As she runs down the stairs, she pushes through anyone in the way without any apologies, too scared of getting caught snooping she rushes past the dance floor. She shrieks as shots rang through, causing everyone in the club to scatter and scream. More chaos ensues as she shoves her way to the exit. Some people could be seen falling as they’re trampled by the gathering, too many people trying to leave at the same time. The guards try to help as much as they can while the staff hides behind the bar, some in the rooms as well.

The shots continue as she's pushed against the stools, knocking them over as she stops herself from falling. She continues on, finally reaching the exit. When she makes it outside, she runs down the sidewalk, others bringing attention from the outside as well as they mimic her movements. Police sirens could be heard in the distance as she continued to run.

Breathing heavily, the pain in her stomach forms as well as the tensity in her legs, though she ignores it with the will to live another day. As she runs, she misses the black car passing by, tinted windows covering the group of men sitting in the seats.

“Another successful night of ridding ourselves of another rat, yeah?”

A tall man with short lilac hair takes a sip of his glass, leg crossed over the other as his free arm lies on the top of the seat. Lazy eyes with a side smile on his face as he eyes the men in the car.

“Successful, indeed brother. Too bad the night ended early.”

The man, sitting next to the other guy, positioned in the same way with the opposite leg, says while lighting a cigarette, the driver pressing a button to crack the windows. His hair, lilac as well, but shaped to be a mullet smirks as he pulls the smoke into his mouth, settling it before blowing out.

The two men sitting across from the brothers sit quietly as dark eyes stare out of the window, the platinum hair swaying as the wind blows through the cracks.

“I should’ve tortured him more, the disgusting scum deserved every shot for betraying my king.”

The pinkette growled, his icy blue eyes glaring into space as he imagined doing the worst to the man, violent acts playing in his head. His fingers tingle, an effect from the substances in his system, excitement causing him to smirk as he leans his head back against the seat.

“Kakucho.”

The ride became silent as their boss spoke to the driver.

“Yes, boss?”

“Look into Y/n, L/n.”

The dark eyed pale man eyes the card in his hand as he analyzes the picture and information. Finding the photo id in the lounge room, he realizes that she must’ve been the one to shatter that vase, indicating she must’ve been there during their conversation. If not, it’s good to get a hold on her, just in case.

“Yes, boss.”

“Yeah, it was fucking crazy!” Y/n says as she kicks her shoes off, locking the door behind her as she walks to the bedroom, phone against her ear.

“Is everything okay now? Are you safe?” Her closest friend says on the other line.

“I think so, Leila. I got away and nobody has followed me here so I think I’m good. I just can’t believe I witnessed something like that.” She responds, breathing out a sigh as she sets the phone on speaker, setting it on the bed as she grabs a t-shirt and shorts.

“Me neither. You probably shouldn’t go clubbing for a minute.” Leila suggests, worry evident in her voice. After Y/n is dressed, she grabs her phone and walks to the bathroom.

“Maybe, but I didn’t come here to not party. I’m sure it was just that side of town or something.” She says as she grabs a makeup wipe, starting with rubbing her eyeliner and mascara off before moving to her cheeks and forehead.

“There’s other things to do, plus you don’t know how things are fully run over there. You really know little to nothing about the area you’re in so you don’t know how consistent it is and neither do I.”

She moisturizes her face after using water to wash off any residue. She grabs her phone and pulls it to her mouth.

“I understand that, which is why I’m gonna explore some more places tomorrow, but I’m probably going to go clubbing again. Just not at that one.” She says, leaning on her leg as she places a hand on her hip.

“Okay. Just be careful, especially since you’re alone up there. I have to go back to work, so I’ll text you.”

“Alright, see ya.”

Y/n ends the call, grabbing her toothbrush and brushing her teeth. After she spits, she uses mouthwash and rinses. After her process, she grabs her phone and walks to the kitchen, chugging a glass of water before walking to the bedroom.

When she gets in bed, she pulls up a reading app as she lies in a fetal position. As she pulls up a story she saved, her eyes follow the lines until they become heavy - lidded, blurry vision overcoming until the darkness finally engulfs her.

When she wakes up, she lies for a moment before grabbing her phone and checking her notifications. She yawns, stretching and hopping from the bed, completing her morning routine as well as a shower before getting dressed in simple attire. As she walks out of her door, she cautiously looks at her surroundings, eyeing the people walking on this fine morning. In need of a picker upper, she strolls down the sidewalk, heading towards the nearest cafe, hands in pockets as she walks through the breeze.

After she walks in, she orders her drink and takes a seat in a nearby booth, intrigued by the screen of her phone as she takes sips occasionally. A figure distracts her vision, sitting in front of her, causing her to shift her gaze. She eyes the mystery man who sits in a suit, furrowing her brows as she gazes over the attractive guy. He gives her a lazy smile, greeting her and introducing himself.

“You can call me Y/n. Do I know you?” She asks curiously. She knows that she has no clue who this guy is, but asked anyway, wondering why he decided to sit at her table.

“No, we don't know each other. You’re a lovely woman, and I’d like to get to know you more.” He responds, his smooth voice adding to his demeanor. She raises a brow.

He proceeds to tell her about a club he owns, inviting her to attend that night.

“I’ll think about it.” She states, giving a polite smile as she thanks him. He nods, standing up from his chair as he walks out of the cafe.

She messages her friend about the invitation from the attractive man excitedly.

Once the evening roars, she finishes the final touches of her makeup. Finally, finished with her process, she grabs her purse, making her way out of the hotel. She rides to her destination, making it to the packed nightclub she was invited to.

Security allowed her in when she said her name, as Ran told her to skip the line earlier and the guards will understand. That didn’t help the slight anxiety she felt from the angry people waiting in the long line. Shaking it off, she walks past security, to the bar that is right outside the dance floor. She looks around the crowd of people, searching for the familiar man, confused as to where he could be. She grabs her phone when she feels a buzz through her purse.

***-***-**** : come upstairs ♡︎

She chuckles at the heart, guessing it was Ran. Though, she doesn’t remember ever giving her phone number to home, nor vice versa. She shrugs, walking up the staircase until she reaches the blocked off balcony, the guards moving the rope to allow her in.

“Ooh fancy.” She states.

Before she could take another step, she was grabbed roughly from behind, pulled into a chest as a cloth covered her muffled screams. She fails at keeping her eyes open, drifting into the darkness.

She awakens, a dim light revealing her to be cuffed to a chair within a warehouse, causing her to struggle against the restraints as tears threaten to fall.

“No, no, no!” She sobs, frustrated with her circumstances. “Fuck!” She hisses.

“Nobody gave you permission to speak.”

Her head shoots up, meeting with four intimidating individuals, one familiar guy she had just met.

Damnit! I’m so stupid. This has to be those people from the other night with that man! They’re gonna kill me!

The pink haired man with a sadistic look of amusement on his face walked forward until he reached the side of her, gun in hand. Lifting it, he raises the barrel of the weapon to her temple, causing her body to tremble as she attempts to comprehend the situation, eyes widening at the man who sat in the middle of the standing twins. His dark eyes boring into hers.

She watches the man pull out a card from his pocket, turning it over to face her; she recognizes her photo id, unable to believe her unfortunate mistake.

“Y/n, I don’t like to waste time. What did you hear?”

“Nothing! I was just looking for the bathroom.”

She grimaces as the platinum haired man narrows his eyes, piercing through her. He flicks his hand.

“Sanzu.”

Said man nods, pulling the gun back and back, handing her with his other hand, her face forced to face the side. She shrieks a curse from the sudden pain.

“Boss doesn’t like liars, Y/n.” The man with the purple mullet states, smirking at her reaction with his hands placed in his pockets.

“Rin, don’t make fun of the poor girl, she’s already having a hard time.” Ran mockingly states, smiling with one hand in his pocket as he takes a hit of his cigarette.

Y/n grits her teeth, embarrassment and anger filling her mood as she glares at both men. The sense of dread already taking over, she becomes reckless with her words considering she’ll die anyway.

“Fuck you, and fuck you!” She growls, breathing deeply as she tries to keep herself calm enough to prevent an anxiety attack. Everyone’s eyes widen, excitement taking over at her behavior, the pale man’s posture slightly straightening as he becomes intrigued. Another harsh smack forces her to scream as she’s roughly gripped by the chin and turned to face the man known as Sanzu.

“Know your place in the face of the king. Watch your mouth.” He glares at her, releasing her as he replaces the gun on her head. She sucks her teeth to prevent herself from speaking anymore, though the glare doesn’t leave her face as humiliation rises by the amused expressions on the brothers’ faces.

“Answer my question.” Mikey states.

“All I heard was gunshots when I was leaving. I just wanted to find the bathroom, that’s it! I’m just visiting!” She exclaimed, ignoring the throbbing sensation of her bruised cheek.

The room goes quiet besides her deep breathing. She furrows her brows at everyone’s dead stare, wondering if she said something wrong considering the silence. She looks around in concern, shifting her gaze around sporadically.

“Hm, do whatever you want.” The boss waves his hand as he leans back into his seat, still criss - crossed as the other men’s smirks grow.

“W-what do you mean? What are you going to do?” She exclaims, terror causing her to pull harshly against the restraints. She shifts in her seat as they get closer, Sanzu using a key to undo the cuffs. Before she could take the opportunity to flee, she’s grabbed by the arm and roughly pulled out of the seat by the man known as Rin, forcing her to her knees, causing bruises to form as the pain of the cold floor aches.

His hands still on her shoulders in a tight grip that causes tension, while Ran places himself standing in front of her. He unbuckles his pants as he pulls out his length from his underwear, giving his infamous smile as he lazily eyes her form.

“Alright princess, no biting, alright? I think you already know what’ll happen so open up.” He uses his thumb to force her mouth agape, her blocking by moving her head away from the veiny girth. Her eyes widen at the pulsating member in front of her face, tears falling as she tries to push herself away, only to be forced back into place by his brother who moves one of his hands off her shoulder and places it at the nape of her neck and head, pushing her forward. He crouches to get a good angle on her.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Sanzu says, placing the barrel of the gun on her head. “Don’t even try it.”

She glares through her tears at both men that she could see and barely opens her mouth. Ran pushes his throbbing erection through her lips, a slight groan escaping his mouth as he slowly forces her to reach his base, causing her to gag. Rin helps by adding force to her neck, holding her in place once more.

“Good. S’ fucking good.” He breathes as he pulls his hips back and pushes all the way in once more. A mixture of precum and saliva dripped from her mouth, falling down her jaw as well as salty tears. Humiliation is the only emotion to decipher as she closes her eyes to escape as much as she could from this reality. A pinch on her nose forces her eyes open as he accelerates.

“Keep those eyes open, Y/n.” Sanzu hisses. The other hand placed on her shoulder disappears as it reaches around her neck.

“We might be nicer if you’re good.” Rin whispers as he squeezes his hand around her neck. She struggles against her pinched nose and neck squeeze as her breathing is blocked. Ran’s thrusts become sloppier as he moans, his hand on top of her head and the other on her ear and cheek as he pulls back and forth.

“I’m so close.”

Mikey watches as the events play out. Despite the bored look on his face, he couldn’t help but be turned on by how she looks as she lacks air while being fucked from the mouth. His erection reflects against the bulge in his pants, slight sweat forming beneath his sweater as his eyes bore into the scene before him.

Y/n’s face, shifting colors as she struggles against the hold, vision weakening as black dots begin to engulf her. Noticing the limping of her body, the two men release her nose and neck, allowing her to breathe through her nose as Ran releases into her throat, ropes of cum shooting as he grunts.

She coughs and takes deep violent breaths when she’s released, makeup smeared as her outfit clings to her body from sweat.

“Let me fucking go! There’s no reason for this! I won’t tell anyone just stop.” She sobs angrily. They ignore her as she’s forced on her back. Sanzu forces her legs open as Rin climbs on top of her. Ran slips his pants on before he sits right above her head as he faces her from above, pulling her wrists up as he grips them, smirking as his brother places himself in front of her, crouching over her breasts.

When she gasps from the wet muscle licking her clit, Rin takes the opportunity to shove his dick all the way to the back of her aching throat.

“Shit!” He hissed as he bottoms out. Moaning with his head pulled back, he grips her head, thrusting in and out at a faster pace than how his brother started. She twitches and shifts as Sanzu sucks her clit thoroughly, flicking his tongue whenever deemed fit. He slightly moans as he licks up her juices, his tongue moving up and down as it makes contact with her bud. His hands grip her thighs tightly, nails leaving indents as he pulls her in more, eyes closed.

Rin’s hair sways as he thrusts in her mouth. Wet sounds filling the room as the cum and saliva mix while he uses her face as a fleshlight. Her body couldn’t help to react to the stimulation of her clit, to her disapproval. She also didn’t want to orgasm considering it would enable them whether they believe she truly wants this or not. In order to speed the process, she sucks his cock to bring more tension, causing him to become sloppier.

“Yes! Like that, good fucking girl.” He breathes as his eyes roll into the back of his head, thrusting harder as he gets closer to release. Everyone’s erections twitch when she unconsciously releases a moan, to her humiliation.

Just hurry up and cum so I can leave! Please!

“Dirty girl, you like this, huh?” Ran teases, as his brother’s moans become louder. Sanzu grips tighter as he rubs his erection through his pants. Mikey grips himself through his pants, enjoying the pain of his own arousal as he watches his men take advantage of this woman. His face keeps his same expression, slowly rubbing against himself as he applies pressure.

Her hands turned to fists as Sanzu used a finger to push inside of her, angling it to gain more twitches from her body. Her hips buck when he adds another, strategically pulling in and out of her vagina. His tongue flicks against her clit repeatedly, suckling as he thrusts his hand.

I don’t care if my body is reacting. I want them to stop! This is humiliating!

Tears fall as Rin finally releases into her mouth, cum shooting out as he fills her throat. She orgasms right after as Sanzu assaulted her core. Rin removes himself as Sanzu and Ran pull back. She breathes heavily as she tries to gain strength in her weakened body, still trembling from the violent acts. She freezes when she sees their boss stand up. Her eyes widen as she picks herself up and sits up, not long before Mikey motions for Sanzu to lie on the floor. The short man shoves her over the pink haired man, her face meeting his amused expression.

She’s forced to hold herself up as the brothers stood up and took the chairs her and mikey used, sitting themselves down as the anticipation of what was to come caused them to grip their erections.

When she realized what was happening, she attempted to push herself out of their grips, to no avail.

“No, please! I’ve never done anal before and I don’t want to, please! Don’t make me do this!” She sobs. Her breath hitches when Mikey shushes her from behind. As Mikey grabs her hips, Sanzu eases her down on his cock, gripping her back so she won’t pull back. She shrieks from the force, slight pain blocked from wetness yet her anxiety makes it hard for her to fully open, causing him to bully his way in.

She cries as he adjusts himself, gripping her head as he rubs her back, causing shivers to run down her spine. The brothers watch with smirks, groaning quietly as they begin to rub their own cocks. Mikey wets his finger before slowly shoving it into her anus, causing her to flinch in pain and legs to tremble. Sanzu pulls her down to lie fully on his chest as Mikey uses his other hand to push her back down, aiming for a better angle as he adds another finger.

Sanzu groans as her walls tighten around his cock, shoving it deeper as he holds it in place, head falling back as he breathes heavily. She whimpers in his ear as she tries to hold back a moan from the head hitting her cervix. It presses causing pressure as it’s still inside her, twitching occasionally as he waits for Mikey to enter.

Finally, Mikey adjusts his head to her hole after wetting his cock, shoving it inside as he ignores her cry of pain. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out, both men groaning as they rub against each other through the lining causing extra pressure. She grunts in pain and stimulation as her body trembles. She breathes heavily in Sanzu’s ear unconsciously bringing him more pleasure as he feels the hot air against his ear, her lips barely touching his neck.

“Oh fuck, M-Mikey, can I please move?”

Forgetting his king’s title in the midst of intense pleasure, the Haitani brothers chuckle as they continue their motions.

“Yes.” He breathes as he pulls back, gripping her shoulders as he leans over, thrusting deeply as well as slowly. Long strokes as he repeats the process. Sanzu syncing with him as he hits her g-spot repeatedly, pressing against with his own long strokes.

Her eyes snap shut, tightly, as she grips Sanzu’s shoulders. Tears fall on his neck as she begins to cry. Both men’s jaws hang slightly ajar as they accelerate their speed, one going in as the other goes out. The sound of all their juices mixing as her holes drip with moisture.

Their hips snap as they become sloppy with their movements, syncing once more as they thrust inside of her roughly. All four men’s moans filled the room blocking her whimpers and cries as she sobbed for them to stop. The Haitani’s eyed the sight intently, faces bare of any smiles with nothing but undeniable pleasure as their hands bring them closer to release.

Thank god I’m on birth control.

Their grips become tighter as well as their thrusts until finally with one long but hard stroke, they both cum deeply inside her, pressing themselves inside her walls as they hold in place, the pressure causing her orgasm to crash violently, as well as the Haitani brother’s who rubbed themselves until ropes of cum shot out on their clothes.

After a while of everyone’s rugged breathing echoing through the air, Ran began to let out a light - hearted laugh.

“Awe princess, look at the mess you made! This is my favorite suit.” He smiles.

“Slutty girl, all worn out when you made us do all of the work.” Rin taunts.

Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she allows the darkness to take over, closing her eyes and drifting into a deep sleep.

Waking up, she eyes the ceiling in confusion. She sits up, eyeing the unfamiliar room as the memories from before she passed out recollected. Her eyes widen as she dashes from the bed, falling back when her ankle is held by something cold against the bed’s bottom post.

She yanks the covers and eyes the cuffed ankle.

“No! No, no, no!” She cries, the feeling of being violated and stripped of her freedom all taking a toll as she reaches for her head. Finally feeling the cold breeze, she eyes her naked body, feeling shame as she uses the comforter to cover herself.

She looks up as the door clicks open, an unfamiliar male walking in with his white hair to the side.

“Hello, Y/n. I’m here to inform you that your stay in Japan has been prolonged.”

[febuwhump]

febuwhump 2024 survey results

has it been six months since febuwhump? yes. yes it has. nevertheless, here's the cold hard data (analysis) of the survey from febuwhump 2024: feb five.

firstly, this year was our most popular yet! with 1417 works in the official collection across 329 fandoms, we made (and shared) 103 fics more than 2023, and 770 more than my first year running febuwhump in 2021! this isnt even including all the art and fics posted to tumblr, or wasn't shared during the event, which would put our total so much higher!

the prompt list had 4000+ notes and i received 115 responses to the survey.

there were 62 people in the hall of fame, up from 51 in 2023.

the blog hit 2,683 followers, up from 1,946 at the end of the 2023 event.

across two independant check, based on the average word count of 2,000 words per fic in the 2024 collection, and aware of the multi-chapter fics (some of which were finished after the event), it is estimated that 2.8 million words were written for febuwhump 2024. which is just. fucking insane.

now, onto the survey results!

firstly: in what way did you participate in Febuwhump this year?

with extra write-ins not pictured, fanfiction was the overwhelming winner with 92 responses (82.6%), followed by original fiction (22.6%) and artwork (11.3%). interesting to me personally is the 4 responses who wrote poetry and the not-pictured 1 response who created web-weaving! which is very cool and i would like to see it.

fandoms

according to the survey:

the most popular fandoms written for were the star wars universe and legend of zelda universe (8/115 responses)

21 responses included original fiction

the majority of responses also referenced more than one fandom, meaning less people stuck to a single fandom or topic the entire time.

according to the collection:

21 anime/manga fandoms were represented

51 books/literature fandoms were represented, 12 being specific star wars subseries

24 RPF fandoms were represented, including bands and minecraft servers

the most popular fandoms written about in the collection were:

star wars (all media types) - 253 works

star wars: the bad batch - 80 works

torchwood - 66 works

original work - 56 works

my hero academia - 54 works

why and how

next, there were a lot of really lovely responses about why participants took part in febuwhump, a few favourite and repeated responses being that it seemed fun, they'd done it before and so wanted to do it again, and they liked to write about their favourite characters suffering. also, multiple people have been doing it for three of the four years i've been running it (of five total), and several were encouraged by friends!

the majority of participants discovered febuwhump through tumblr, the admin's tumblr, ao3 fics and discord servers. a handful said there's apparently a google doc floating around that houses a whump event calendar. i would be interested in seeing that if anyone's got it.

did you participate in Febuwhump 2020, 21, 22 or 23?

the majorty of respondants were new comers to febuwhump at 66.1% "no" to 33.9% "yes". the majority of comparisons to previous years referenced a noticably bigger community, more interaction on the blog, and the admin being more "confident" (oh, you guys), however several noted that the prompts felt more repetitive or samey this year than they did previously.

are you a Febuwhump completionist or participant?

a fairly even split, 51.3% of participants didn't finish compared to the 48.7% who did. however, only 88.1% of those completionists submitted to the hall of fame.

for those who didn't complete, the most common amount of prompts completed was 2 (13.6%), 3 (11.9%) and 12 or 6 (6.8%).

the most common place to share prompt fills was tumblr (74.8%), ao3 (72.2%), or choosing not to share at all (7%). several write-in responses said that they were planning to share in the future but hadn't yet. and while 76.4% of people submitted to the ao3 collection, those who didn't claimed it to be because the fics weren't ready to be shared on time, they weren't following the rules so didn't add to the collection, an inability to find the collection on ao3 (i swear i'm working on it) or shyness/fear.

what went well/even better if:

the only actual criticsm of the event received was that the blog was posting in a "spam"-like way, to the point that the participant almost unfollowed (and another suggested a reblog tag so it could be ignored easier if people didn't want to see the works throughout the month).

several comments asked for a later deadline for submission to the collection/hall of fame, which is going under advisement, but the current position is that by doing so, it makes the event a different event. there are no stakes to actually create once a day if, at the end of it, you actually get 2 weeks of extra time.

another couple mentioned there being too many dialogue prompts and vague prompts. this will be considered during the next voting period and prompt collation - potentially, if i allowed less dialogue prompts into the final 100 vote, less would make it through to the official 28, however the voting itself is out of my hands (unless voter fraud occurs once again).

the main suggestion for improvement (8 times out of 44 suggestions) was for an additional mod to help with reblogging more. (which imo flies in the face of the "spamming" from earlier, but there is surely a middle ground). this is likely to not happen, because i like running the event alone, despite the major burnout i receive every single year without fail. but thanks for your concern lol.

on discord:

31.3% of participants were in the discord server (which, this year, ignored the first year's 100 user cap and had 172 total users).

43.6% of people who didn't join the server did so because they hadn't heard of it, while the majority didn't join because they were either shy (the minorty) or don't use/like discord (the vast majority). i don't know if tumblr still does groupchats and if that would be a viable alternative, or if there is another forum/chat location that would work better (or to have in tandem), but i am open to suggestions.

of the people who were in the channel, most (33.3%) used it "rarely", followed by "most days" (25%) and "for half the month" (22.2%)

febuwhump 2025

the majority of responses wanted next year's colour scheme to either be red or green, but shout out to everyone who wanted orange, the person who said "children's hospital" and the other person who gave me this specific hex code: #4BEC13

which is vile, but also another vote for green.

finally, here are my favourite suggestions for febuwhump 2025's colloquial name. previously, we have endured febuwhump 2: electric boogaloo, febuwhump 3: tokyo drift, fourbuwhump and feb five.

febuwhump 6 suggestions:

fe6uwhump (which, i'll be honest, is a real contender)

"I don't know"

febuwhump 666

febuwhump: revenge of the sixth

"I don't know, sorry"

"febuwhump sex and make all the prompts kinky"

"??? i have been thinking about this for 10 mins"

febuwhump 6(9)

feBEEwhump

"i am bad at this"

"could not care less"

febuwhump feb five 2: electric boogaloo

apparently, i accidently made this a mandatory question and that made some of you mad :(

and that's the wrap up survey, six months late! any questions/queries/want to see some of that cold hard data? send me an ask. i'll actually respond to it i swear! (probably!)

[itchyeye]

For 🐅, maybe Jon or Sasha? They’re my favorites haha. Thank you!

tyvm for giving me specific characters!!

i'm not sure this is "unusual" so much as it's "against broadly accepted and wildly inaccurate fanon" but i do not think sasha was some sort of hypercompetent sleeper cell who would have made the perfect archivist

jon was the perfect archivist specifically for completing the magnus archives' ritual. no one else could have done it. he was chosen by the web and by jonah.

also i don't think sasha was cold and calculating and shrewd. gertrude was, and gertrude admired sasha. but sasha had all the same characteristics as gerry and michael which made her an admirable assistant in gertrude's eyes. she was headstrong, rash, unafraid in the face of danger. she was not above manipulation and illegal activities to get the information she needed.

sasha is a great character and her relationship with jon was clearly warm and meant a lot to him. i love the aftereffects that her death and replacement send through the narrative. but she (by virtue of being a woman and of being alive for only 40 episodes) has been squashed down into the UBIQUITOUS "fandom mom" trope of being "the only competent one" or "the only one with the brain cell" which is every progressive fandom denizen's favorite way of removing an annoying woman character from the equation by sanding off all of her flaws, complexities, and dimension in favor of making her an emotionless, hypersmart, capable, independent robot.

who needs female characters with characteristics when we can instead talk about how much we love women by making them totally featureless. j'adore!!!

[fujostore]

The Official BobaVerse Holiday Fundraiser

It’s that time of the year again! That is, the time for the official BobaVerse Holiday Fundraiser, with discounts all across our projects!

Whether it's a ship ownership certificate, a yaoi cheese paddle, or cool stickers, we have the perfect gift for your friends… or yourself!

Project 1: RobinBoob, the Ship Ownership Marketplace

For the first time, we have a just-implemented RobinBoob discount code! Use code FOLGERS_SEASON for 15% off, and get an additional 5% off exclusively during Cyber Week.

Project 2: FujoBoard

Remember the old Yaoi Paddles? This is them now!

Serve your fujin friends some festive treats in style with our engraved cheese paddles! This holiday, we have 5 new styles up for grabs: blorbo, smut, fujoshi, fudanshi and fujin!

Again, code FOLGERS_SEASON 🛒

Project 3: BobaBoard

If you prefer more bite-sized merch that supports indie developers and artists, head to store.bobaboard.com for stickers, charms and more! Want these AND FujoBoards in one single order? I hear the FujoBoard footer might have a hidden xmas egg for you!

Want an EVEN BIGGER discount? Time for a read more.

For an EXTRA 10% OFF, and to see more projects like these (as well as more underrepresented folks in coding and open source), $upport our project lead @essential-randomness directly to help her continue her work in 2024!

Find her support me page here!

...and now that you made it all the way here, follow us on our other socials too!

BlueSky

Twitter

Fediverse

[verifying-gimmick-posts]

Can you verify @iwanttokillsupermario and see if they're hatred is real? As their blogs creation was at least from what I can tell AFTER (the very genuine) @iwanttohavesexwithsupermario which seems a bit suspicious however I'm not fully convinced that it isn't real

I am incredibly autistic - I have, through various careers and college certificate classes, experience in web archival research, independent investigation, business economics, and advertising / marketing, however I also have an exceptionally poor grasp on psychology, emotions, and the human condition. For this reason, I'm much better at demonstrating when false or misleading information is or isn't being shared and, if it is, why.

That being said, 15 minutes on each blog gives me the impression that @iwanttohavesexwithsupermario is much too personal and honest about the real-world effects of wanting to have sex with Super Mario, whereas @iwanttokillsupermario seems to moreso have a general, perhaps even healthy disdain towards bland, safe, mascot-type characters which is either intentionally or subconsciously being exasperated due to the inherent humor of managing a gimmick blog, especially in a space where multiple adjacent blogs interact with you.

To be more specific: I doubt anyone making an absurd sexual statement just for the inherent humor of it, with zero genuine attraction, would continue to post about it when a large amount of their followers become r/AITA commenters reacting to a small argument over a glass of fancy wine being spilled with petitions for divorce. Obviously whatever attraction is being felt is being exasperated, heavily even, for comedic purposes.

Likewise, I doubt anyone who holds a genuine, unhealthy hatred towards a fictional character could manage a 100% serious blog solely dedicated to said hatred on the fandom epicenter of the internet without becoming a terrorist.

iwanttohavesexwithsupermario Gimmick Post Verification Status: LIKELY ACCURATE

iwanttokillsupermario Gimmick Post Verification Status: LIKELY ACCURATE

[apotheoseity]

Honestly I'm going to make my own post about it because I've reblogged a few already.

The "Welcome Home fandom" kind of sickens me as someone who's wanted to create interactive art/stories before. The way people took something that wasn't even fully out of its CONCEPT STAGES and ripped it to shreds in front of the creators eyes is.. horrific!

It's awful, the amount of fan content being created for something that doesn't even fully exist is terrifying, people writing fanfic for characters that never actually got a chance to be written is WEIRD, and the fact that Clown had to put out multiple statements politely asking "fans" not to do things that should be common courtesy for interacting with artists (IE, not sexualizing the creator's very personal OC or profiting off an unfinished work) is just disappointing. The fandomization of a small creator's work is GREATLY concerning, and upsetting, and makes me worried to create my own projects.

But most of all I'm like... pissed at YouTubers who took this art project and presented it as something it isn't, functionally tossing the creator to the wolves without a second thought. Not every independent web horror project is an ARG; for someone who's in the past been so pedantic about the meanings of it, for NM to call Welcome Home one is... kind of surprising. But maybe they've become more lax about it since I stopped watching (because of the ableism and transmisogny allegations).

All in all, if you consider yourself part of the Welcome Home Fandom, rather than just someone who enjoys Clown's work, I politely ask that you... reconsider things, and if you decide to continue as you are, to not interact with me and especially not with my original content.

[theherdofturtles]

Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: Fantastic racism Rating: G Word Count: 7,253 There once was a kid, a country, a non-human creature of a long-lived species, under the care of a an Empire. That kid got stolen. The rest was history.

Or: the AU in which Canada is a Changeling This also had more comedy in it than I expected @badthingshappenbingo

1.

Back in the day, The Fae wanted nothing more than pretty children, neglected babies they could slip easily off in the wind, or a boy who'd ventured his imagination too far from home so they could play for all eternity. Then the fae would leave behind a wheezing, weaker child of their own whom they didn't think would ever amount to anything.

This selfishly solved an age long problem: Fae society wanted life to be an independent game of fun, and they didn't want their own child if they got in the way of their goals.

The deplorables, leftovers, unwanteds who took three or four more minutes of attention than the typical independent whelps, got shuffled off in exchange for a human to toy with. A human child gave them good fun, and they could lock them up when the fun was over. 

Back in the day, the Fae didn't much mind if the fae child lived or died, but if the Fae child lived long enough, one day they'd vanish into the wood no matter how loved or unloved they were.

Fae fate wasn't kind, England knew. England lived and witnessed and travelled into Fae business through their mirror-unkind world since he could walk. He'd organized many treaties, trades, and wars over stolen children. He'd seen how they treated reclaimed Changelings... outsiders of two worlds... the fae were cruel creatures.

That was why he checked the cradle twice every night, nailed horseshoes to the door, could switch an infant's coat inside-out under ten seconds flat,  and kept all their eggshells untossed.

And that was why, now, England stood dead stiff. 

His blood was chill. 

The smell of Lady Slippers and Foxgloves permeated the air, sweet.

England stepped closer, and, and then, looking down onto the bed, leaning over the new cut wood, facing the small, soft, quiet fingers curled over the rim like silent little white worms, England stared. 

Those little fingers curled, pale, slowly. 

England's head started to throb. His gaze strayed from focus, dizzy, sliding off the child as the cotton fog of dew-dropped spiderwebs stuffed his thoughts, threatening to cloud his rationality.

England shook his head. The sickly sweet fog cling to him, didn't drift. He muttered a few prayers and a spell fell under his breath, but he knew those where poor provisions.

The hair of this child was curled, gold, lighter, too perfect in the dim light... his face was expressionlessly soft. Hints of purple glinted where purple shouldn't glint, there wasn't constant blabbling sound were it should be... no expression at all.

England's head started to hurt worse. The child's golden hair blended into a paint pool of memories, fuzzing his mind as the purple, waiting eyes desperately faded blue, soft, keep me—

England shook his head again. "Ug... stop. You're not him."

Spider webs were getting sewn into his brain. He couldn't focus, he shouldn't forget. This child fell further hidden with an instinctive cloak of faerie magic.

The shirt over the bed frame laid untouched, useless. Across the room the window was still open... the latch should've been iron and nothing should've touched it.

"Where did you come from?" England asked. Like it could answer. Like it was a responsible adult. Like England didn't plan to kill whatever had crawled through the window.

England reached down, putting his hands under its armpits and lifting the thing from Alfred's bed. The child's pale hands reached up, curling for grasp onto his shoulders.

The child remained deathly quiet.

"I need Alfred," England told him, plainly.

The child held tighter.

England ignored that and took it to the cabin's ashy fireplace, where he sat down with determined finality, keeping the child prisoner in his lap... not that the child was trying to leave. The child laid, perfectly still, clutching tight as possible. The crackling flame should've sent a fae fleeing... it should've kept the room light, so much should have... this child wasn't meant to be here.

The iron poker felt like ice against England's palms when he picked it up. He shivered at the soft, purple eyes looking at him.

"... This will be short, alright? It'll be over before you think. Then everyone will be back where they belong, and you won't even remember this."

With one hand, England took the child's limpish arm. He kept a firm, solid grip. His other hand gently tapped the cold poker onto the child's skin.

The thing gasped and huddled closer, wide-eyed and breath caught.

"Hold on..." England cringed at the sizzling sound weakly starting to crisp the contact between skin and cold iron. The child squirmed but refused to sob.

Instead it began a steady sound of breath-held sniffling. Muffling stifled, quiet gasps.

Fae children didn't cry often... crying was a sign that they'd be too much maintenance for a parent.

A sharp throb suddenly spiked behind England's eyes-- England cringed. A thick, heavy, woolen faerie cotton packed pressure into his brain, England grit his teeth as it spiked, like acid touching his brain. Blending, blurring, paint-like and red. Nauseatingly scrambling at his head, tears dripping—help me, help me, hurts—

The iron dropped from involuntarily from his fingers onto the floor with a clang.

England clutched the fae thing close as if it were Alfred. 

The child didn't resist his grasp. The thing had such weak survival senses, clutching close to England, who'd hurt him.

England's aura immediately wrapped around the child.

It was so, so quiet.

Not like Alfred, at all.

"M' sorry..." he muttered.

Where Alfred would wail for attention, this child made no sound, as if afraid that if noticed, England would toss him outside and lock the door.

"You can't be him... I'm sorry... you're not Alfred," England said. "You're different. You can't be Alfred, stop trying to be him."

He took the boy to a basin of water in the kitchen. He kept all the magic and herbs required for his usual work... he took marigold for the iron burn, washing and cleaning the ugly wound. The child, still, made no sound, only clenching his eyes shut. The skin puffed red, angry, glinting stick and shine as he dabbed flower's pulp onto a flinching, pitiful boy.

England knew when his simple magic worked. 

The room got colder and a tap scratched at his door. England's attention shifted to the sound.

He picked the boy up again, approached, but staying safely hesitant. Two more muttered prayers and a spell... and then... then he opened the door.

A woman stood on his porch.

Well... not a woman. 

Everything about her was the shape and form of an avarage colonist, but when England looked at her, saw the small unnatural movements of her mouth, the mildly unsettled proportions of her limbs, he recognized she couldn't be a woman. He knew what she was. He expected what she was.

Especially when she lifted the cloth over her basket, revealing a dazed, sleepy Alfred in her arms.

England tensed.

"I will give you what is yours," she said. Her form didn't care to keep, she knew England knew. Her pupils morphed into large, owl-like, yellow saucers. Her face contorted until a beak overgrew her nose. 

Alfred got shoved into his arms. He could barely grab onto Alfred's heavy and floppy-dazed deadweight with one arm before she left Alfred to gravity.

"Now give me what is mine."

Both boys were balanced awkwardly in England's arms... one clutched England's coat, the other sleeping dazed.

He stared intently at Alfred.

England's grip adjusted tighter.

"No."

"No?!"

"You... you gave your child away, you've released your rights to him." 

"That child is mine." she raised her silvery gaze and slim finger to point at the boy in his arms. 

The quiet child held tighter to his coat. His face quickly hid, pressed into England's shoulder.

"I've already named him." England defended.

The faerie screamed.

"You hurt him. you hurt him you hurt him you hurt—"

"And you abandoned him. This child is mine." 

England flinched behind the horseshoe nailed overhead and slammed the door on her inhuman shrieking.

The wind rattled the house like a flock of wild wings beating, slamming into the windows.

England put extra cold iron on each cill, and didn't sleep that night.  2.

Wood had been chopped and readied but the fireplace had been left long cold this January day. If the boys had been ten, or eleven- old enough to learn how to spark fires- England would've shown them the click of flint or the wick of a candle. But as it was, both were too young to need the guidance of a father yet.

Over twice now he'd looked into hiring a governess... over twice and a half, one comment from a potential had quit his plans. 

'Iron in the cills, Lord Kirkland?' 'Matthew is looking so pale... indoors all day, quiet... this isn't normal for a young boy.' 'purple in his eyes! How odd...'

They might discover Matthew... the boy wouldn't be accepted by paranoid people nursed on faerie stories. England didn't trust humans to keep secrets long, or to keep their heads once they uncovered them.

Matthew needed to stay hidden as his kind was inclined to do if he was to survive in a human world.

So England raised the boys alone. He told Alfred he discovered his twin brother, and Alfred had giggled and grinned, excited to share the cabin and unaware of how strange it was for a sibling to appear from thin air. Matthew had stared long at Alfred, wordless, unaware of how normal a twin sibling could be. 

For the first two months, Alfred discovered a problem with the door. It mysteriously shut when he was outside alone. Then the door would lock of its own accord and he'd be stuck outside for hours until England found him wailing for attention.

At month three, Matthew seemed to realise there would always be three plates on the table.

Alfred stopped getting shut outside.

England was glad the problem with the door had been solved before winter.

He picked a log of chopped wood from storage, stacked it into the fireplace, and built the split logs around a brick of dry dung. Then he scraped flint, alone, to catch the core.

No one else could do this but him. 

There was a strange satisfaction in being a sole provider for two boys, but there was also a loneliness. 

He was aware of the boy moving in the corner of his vision, but still felt alone.

"Just a moment," England said. Alfred was such an impatient child. 

England smiled when the sparks caught. The small flames licked upwards, yellow gold over the edges of the brick, blackening the logs into charcoal. There... light and warmth at his fingertips. The boys would sleep well tonight, full of comfort dreams, and England could throw some lumped salted leftovers into a stewing pot to hook over the fire. Nothing fancy. Really rather medieval, actually, but the method would feed them, and because England wasn't ever a good cook, the goal was survival at minimum.

"Here we are, Alfred." England invited the boy closer. 

He came slowly, curling over to sit before raising stiffly. His shoulders inched slightly upwards, tense as his spine. 

They sat silently watching the fire glow in a dance.

"... Are you well?" England asked.

The boy stared into the fire, sitting painfully motionless.

"Is it the fire?" Possibly the boy feared fire? England understood fear of fire... fire had eaten London more than once. When Alfred had thought ghosts haunted the churchyard, he'd not said a word through any church service for fear. "The fire doesn't leave the grate. If you don't touch it, you'll always be okay."

Alfred looked up at him, round blue eyes blank disks that could reflect the moon. His mouth downturned; his hands held the hem of his shirt white knuckled, tightly together.

England's brows furrowed.

"... Alfred?" 

A tingling gnaw fizzled through his finger tips... 

The blue in his eyes, almost too silvery, began to burn cold navy. They dissolved into a fracturing stained glass window, melting into blooms of violet. Star blurs peppered through the deep pupils as if the sky reflected belly up into the universe. It unfurled lavender plumes, gold grass hair falling into loose waves--

England blinked.

The boy in front of him looked like blue-eyed Alfred again.

"... Matthew..." he murmured.

The blue vanished completely into light purple as his hair lightened into a white blond.

Matthew's mouth opened, staring up at him with a silent taint of fear; his palms and blank mask dropped to the floor; he shoved away like a springboard and darted off.

"Matthew-!"

The boy already vanished. 3.

England had no idea what he ought to do with a Changeling child.

The reality of what Matthew was kept becoming more and more real, more problematic and more regrettable.

Matthew was cursed. Matthew wasn't the same species. Both of these facts made Matthew almost impossible for him to raise. 

Certain items in the house required cloth, paper, or padding to keep Matthew from getting burned, and there were plenty of foods no longer safely allowed. No milk, no honey. Alfred cried when the honey vanished, but Arthur refused to risk a poisoned child on his hands.

And Matthew loved meat.

This made England careful more than anything else. They'd sit at the table, England watching Matthew chew through some cooked animal with his sharp, small front teeth. The vegetables and expensive fruits would be untouched at the end of his meal. 

Matthew was evidently one of the more dangerous types of Fae kind. The cold, meat hungry kind.

And the colony- his colony- had likely been ruined in some distant corner of the Otherworld. England realised Alfred might've eaten fae food a few weeks after his return... Alfred's senses were shifted. His taste for human food was inaccurate, the ability to smell fell off his table of skills altogether. When England asked, Alfred shrugged and kept eating, completely accepting that nothing had flavours anymore.

He ate everything put in front of him.

England sighed. At the least, Alfred didn't seem to mind. And, as a plus, he ate more of what England cooked without complaint.

The puzzle of why a country plagued his thoughts in the following months. Humans were easy to replace. Countries, though? The magic required to bind a fae child to a country? He didn't know how stable it could be. The only luck was that the boy would be magically inclined to the new world just as Alfred and Arthur were rooted through men and soil. Arthur was doing everything in his power to make sure the fae magic kept reflecting Alfred, but that Matthew also didn't absorb Alfred's carved out land

The Fae must have stolen from him, wanting some immortal child, ones like England himself had been for them so long ago. Fae loved children. They liked to play mean games and confuse them, because children were nïeve and agreeable. When England became old, they stopped leading him into their alcoves. The fair folk still fawned over him, but all his child-charm was long gone and England had never been replaced with a Changeling when he'd visited them.

Forced to give up equations, England moved into relying on actions.

He attempted care for Matthew in the best possible way while knowing too little about fae upbringing or how much fae behaviour came from nature or culture.

Marigold juice on his eyes kept Matthew from shifting their colour blue. Each day Matthew tried to get attention by disguising himself as Alfred, and England feared one out of four times he failed to catch the trick.

Boiling water in eggshells to get him to talk didn't work. Matthew only silently sat and watched him with grave attention. He watched as if wondering what England was going to do, trying to stay unattached but always so, so attentive. He never spoke. Many fae didn't speak. England considered the possibility of using a form of signing language... he'd seen these hand languages in use before and began to try to create a system of words with his fingers to encourage Matthew into speech.

Hawthorn leaves around Matthew's bed eased Matthew's aches and allergic withdrawing from the iron on every window, doorway, and mantle. Each time England made to remove the iron pieces, the blood in his hands heated up, his heart sped, look what happened last time, three nights of phantom lady slippers sweet in the air, cold in his nose, Alfred gone...

It quickly became apparent that he had no idea what he was doing.

England couldn't care for Matthew, let alone worry all day over Alfred.

He couldn't even perceive Matthew over half the time!

Matthew stayed quiet. Even when he was hungry or hurt, not a peep from him. forgetting was too easy. Matthew tried to be forgotten, sitting in his peripheral and vanishing. He would sob silently by day and England was furiously trying to remember to check on him by night. There was always a faerie spindle tugging England into spaced daydreams where he turned circles, trying to remember which room he meant to visit. 

England couldn't keep caring for him. He couldn't even hear him.

Every time he looked down on the boy, magic wrestled his mind into seeing the wrong boy or no boy at all.

It was as if miserable muffles fluffed his skull and ears and eyes and England was developing a constant lowgrade headache that grew ever stronger the longer he was exposed to the child.

Maids were off the table. England wouldn't allow the colonists to banish or hurt Matthew. He refused to return the child to the cold woods.

England's problem: he was a magical being with The Sight, and no Changeling wanted to be detected. Their instincts were at war.

His second problem: he had no friends without The Sight.

Not... well... not a consistent or trustworthy one.

England needed someone to care for the boy until he fixed a strong enough spell to erase the fae elements in his nature. 4.

On a snowstorm day, Canada discovered something weird.

The day began in self-inflicted solitude.

A snowstorm had begun sending small snow flurries, stirring a frigid wind alive... twirling to the earth in light, dancing flakes, becoming the first pioneers of the brand new year to touch the winter ground. They fell in swift and small circles, slowly building to stick another inch on the thick ground.

It was January first in North America. 

Canada had always enjoyed January firsts. Ice felt inviting, and the first snow of a new year always meant time to himself. Everyone else in the world would be hungover, and therefore, there were never meetings. The rest of the planet would leave him a good distance from hustle and social buzz.

In the isolated winter's sanctuary, Matthew recharged... the winter snow assured his comfort in remote, fire crackling calm. He felt the most alive when winter was at her thickest and most peace when closed-up from the outer world. He chalked this up to the social aspects of the season... Matthew dreaded the large parties Alfred always threw at summer, and unfortunately Matthew always felt obligated to help with them. Winter was his only alone time.

The snow continued to spin as the speckled night sponged grey-blue into the grey sky. Hot chocolate warmed his fingers and stomach.

With no internet, no one could reach him.

Dinner was stew, entertainment was a book he'd been translating from French into English, and the clock strike at midnight was the que to retire to bed.

It was around then that... The Issue...first  made itself apparent. 

He was brushing his teeth and staring himself down in the mirror when it happened.

Because... well... he stopped seeing himself in the mirror. There was a different creature there.

The purple in his eyes suddenly seemed too silvery. The colour began to lighten too cold, too strange, pale and grey. Then his eye melted into an obnoxious summer blue. Star blurs peppered through his pupils as if the sky reflected belly up into the universe, like a miniature galaxy, fizzling into a new alien-like iris. The gold of his hair shortened from loose waves that reminded him of Alfred.

Matthew blinked.

His reflection looked like his regular self again.

"Weird." Matthew shrugged and retired to bed.

He didn't think of it again until a few months later. 5.

A few months later. Stuff started getting weird weird. It got too weird. Too many things to be coincidental but not enough to drive him to bother a doctor.

His reflection stole his attention once or twice, until it stopped being coincidental and started being... a thing. He couldn't really make sense of this—no one could and especially not the internet. The doctor would tell him he was crazy. The weird stuff got worse until the weird stuff got stuck on him, and kept progressing until he had days where every reflection looked like Alfred.

The disease spread into photos, sometimes. That's what really freaked him out.

He'd flipped through his photo gallery and stopped. Flipped back. Stared, narrowed his eyes, zoomed in on Alfred's face with his thumb, and frowned. 

He swore Alfred wasn't with him and Prussia that day. He swore he stood on that fence post in that photo, not Alfred. That shouldn't be Alfred. Why was that Alfred? He felt his mind circling to the reflections and his palms sweating.

It kept happening to his photos. Even the printed ones.

It had to be some advanced and freakish AI... 

In his mirrors, too?

Maybe the doctor would have medication to fix it... he was too afraid to be diagnosed with insanity.

Waking up in the middle of the forest after going to bed under a roof was the last nail in the coffin. 

No one could live like this.

His head hit his pillow, his mind fell into dreams, and the perfect temperature softly cozed around him. The edges of his mind fluttered, dreaming of  a night walk through the woods under a black abyss of stars.

Then he woke outside.

In the forest.

In the snow.

The ice didn't melt or burn on his skin. He felt fine, actually. That was the worst part.

Anybody sleeping in Canada's January snow should transform into a popsicle overnight, but when Matthew had woken, his first thought was: "best sleep in ages." But upon realising where he was, he thought directly after: "I'm not insane. I'm not. I can't be insane."

Superstitions or conspiracies were Alfred and Arthur's things, not his, but he... was starting go be willing to embrace fully that magic and aliens existed. And he really, truly hoped that, every once in a while, the craziest option was the one that would be true. 

So it had to be aliens. If it was aliens, he could pretend everything was fine and ignore potential insanity. But then it might be an alien parasite.

Canada became paranoid.

For the next week, Matthew glitched in his mirror. It took him a while to put his finger on it, but only a few times did his eye colour return proper and he realised his likeness was getting closer to Alfred's. Matthew couldn't drink milk anymore without getting dizzy--it was like he'd become allergic or something, which wasn't good for his diet. He really didn't want to give up ice cream.

The tools in the garage also changed. They felt hot... weirdly hot. It was winter. His tools should feel like ice, not fire.

The symptoms only got worse.

It was when the window latch burned him that he couldn't ignore it anymore. His fingers grabbed the latch and immediately he flinched and yelled. His hand retracted, tears pricked his eyes and he put his finger in his mouth. He tasted an unpleasant liquid.

A blister? Blood.

After that day, he stopped touching any metal without an oven mitt.

After two more weeks, Matthew walked deep into the snowy forest, bothered by his unbotheredness, and called Francis with a satellite phone instead of calling a doctor.

He nervously dialled an expensive satellite call for hopes of finding Francis still awake on the other side of the globe.

The call picked up.

"Ah...? How are you?" Francis sounded pleased to speak, though groggy. 

"I, uh, need help."

"And you called me? Are you okay Alfred?" Francis was suddenly alert.

He could cry.

"W-wha, no, I'm Matthew."

"...oh... oh? Mathieu. You... sound different. Are you pranking me?"

"Am I not crazy, then? I sound like him too?" He whispered. This was worse and better. He wasn't insane? He was legit turning into Alfred. Oh, no. Even his voice was getting ruined, he was vanishing from the face of the earth.

This was worse.

"Is this a prank?" Francis asked again.

"No!"

He sounded too dejected to be Alfred. Alfred would never cry if vanishing, he'd go punch some people and throw the world's largest tantrum.

"Please help me, I don't know what's happening," he was getting panicky, blubbering in a difficult way to understand.

"Okay, okay. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. This... i-it just happened one day," he lowered his voice, "Francis, I think I'm cursed."

Francis paused on his end of the phone for a moment. "Why... do you think this...?"

"I can't see myself in the mirror. And I wake up in weird places."

"Are you a vampire?" Francis chuckled.

Oh... he didn't like that suggestion. Matthew had the madness of an utterly desperate man— anything remotely similar to his condition seemed to properly fit. 

The sun had driven him off lately. He far preferred the dark cold, the sun was beginning to irritate him. His skin was also slightly icy to touch and on appearance it seemed even whiter than usual. Metal burned Vampires, too right? What if he was turning into a vampire? 

"I don't want to be a vampire," he said.

"Mathieu! Or- oh, so what. You will not be a vampire, I am teasing. Mon Dieu, and you believed me. No, no don't be like Angleterre and get into anxious spirals over curses and spells. I thought I taught you better than this, thinking how Arthur thinks! He may be convinced you are cursed, but I am not."

Arthur was convinced he was cursed?

This was the first he'd heard that Arthur knew what was happening.

"Arthur's right, when did he say that?" Maybe the Kirkland family was behind this terrible situation. They had odd prank wars, Arthur said they sometimes involved curses. He had become paranoid.

"Since he first found you he has been nothing but wrong. The man told me to throw all the iron and milk out of the house when you first fell into my custody!"

Matthew fell quiet. 

That long ago was moot, this issue had begun recently, not... when he was a child. Except... 

That fit everything that was wrong with him.

And he was desperate.

"Why did he say that?"

"Beyond me, and beyond me you believe him! It was so silly. I will tell you how it went..."

"You cannot see him?" Francis raised a skeptical brow.

"... No. I can't see him..." Arthur refused to look at him.

"How can you not see him? You are holding him."

"It's complicated. Take him."

"No! What is wrong with it?! What is the trick?"

"There's no trick! Just take him! Temporarily!"

Francis's lip curled when Arthur shoved the thing near. He leaned as far as possible from the child in Arthur's arms, treating it as if he were a sweaty dish of greased English mutton and Francis couldn't judge or leave it fast enough. Why would Arthur give him anything? Obviously he shouldn't accept it. "If you are giving it to me freely, it is poisonous somehow-"

England shoved the child at him again with a turned, deeply ashamed face. That was... interesting. And new. "He's a child Francis! He can't be poisonous— I don't— think. Ack, you've mixed up venomous and poisonous again. Just take him, will you? You love taking my things. Plus I'll be back for him, I just need to fix something, I'll be back and you won't even notice."

Francis would notice. Children were annoyingly noticeable.

"Go to Spain." Francis flicked his fingers to shoo Arthur away. "He is also in the New World and collecting colonies-"

"I'd rather be fed alive to a toothless pig!"

"Yet you would give this child to me!"

"He's Canada, you're controlling some coastal regions up North, aren't you? This should've been your job in the first place." It was like he thought Francis should be invested, happy, even. 

Francis was never happy when children were involved. Plus, unlike Arthur, Francis didn't make a heavy habit of collecting personifications or colonising in a settlement manner. Francis's goal was trade, not... creating miniature versions of himself. This one looked rather European... Francis didn't know how it could manifest in Kanada. He didn't have colonies how Arthur made them.

No mind that Kanada wasn't even a thing, that hundreds of older established personifications were already rooted into the northern lands Francis traded in, that England was fighting tooth and nail to carve space for his own colony on a lower coast and he he'd yet to establish any with lasting or stable success that Francis knew of.

Where on earth had this one come from, then? 

The effort to make a colony was immense.

"If it is Kanada, how did you find him before me?" Francis asked.

"That's not your business—"

"What has to be fixed?"

"I'll give you money to watch him."

Money? From Arthur?

"You will pay me? Such desperation is unattractive on you, Arthur. I am worried about what you have done to want to get rid of this child so fast."

Arthur looked regretful, looking around on the earth because he couldn't find any words in his head. The guilty, pride-damaged way he stood silent was terrible. So horribly boring. Francis didn't like it, he enjoyed banter and fights. Arthur begging him for anything gave him a sick sense of superiority until he realised it wasn't done properly begrudging enough, it was too genuine, and then Arthur's weak behaviour activated Francis's gag reflex.

There was no glorious tension or rivalry to fight.

Every time he looked down on the boy, Francis got a sour taste in his mouth. What was Angleterre trying to get rid of? What thing had ruined his best rival?

Whatever it was, Francis might gain some leverage over Arthur.

Francis specifically sighed, dramatically 'giving in.'

"Fine... I will take Matthieu and raise him as a Frenchman. Fix your life slowly, mon gars, or he'll never have a chance to shake off your vulgar  culture."

"Thank you-"

"Do not bother. You are not attractive like this."

"And that was it! At least, until he took you back. The two-faced snake of Europe waited for me to get attached, then exacted his plans. An awful man."

If Matthew remembered correctly, Francis had been given the option to keep Canada or his sugar colonies in central America after the great war for Empire. He'd chosen the sugar.

"Maybe I should talk to Arthur..."

"He's a lying Anglais, don't listen to him," Francis advised.

The call hung up.

Matthew stared at the blank sky, worrying to himself.

A minute later he dialled Arthur.

Arthur didn't pick up.

He resigned to sleep restless that night, and to try again in the morning. 6.

The next morning, Matthew listened to a dial twice and Arthur picked it up on the third.

"I'll be there immediately," Arthur said. The dial hung, and Arthur killed the call.

The speed at which Arthur responded alarmed Matthew, because he felt it confirmed that Arthur knew what was happening, or that Francis was right and that his former mentor was insane. Slightly more insane than already diagnosed. The Kirkland brothers were all different flavours of insane. And if Francis was right, Matthew had inherited that insanity.

What was even more shocking was, ten minutes later—

A man fell into his living room.

Literally. As if spat down from the sky.

One sharp, crackling pop fuzzed through the entire house and every hair on Matthew's body raised on end. The overpowering smell of ozone and seawater sent a shiver up his spine and made him mildly sick.

The man fell flat on his face and let out a small 'oof.'

One Arthur Kirkland popped onto his feet like a spring daisy and dizzily tried to stay there on his feet. 

Matthew stared.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes from the time of the call. Arthur had gotten to his house in ten minutes? He'd appeared in the living room, that fast. No flight, door, or anything.

Was he growing further insane? He rubbed his head and stepped away from the potential hallucination of a disgruntled pale Arthur in his house. Or was time going bendy now? What was happening in his life?

The man in question, finding his feet firm, stared back at him.

Arthur's eyes went wide.

"Oh... oh. Christ..." he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stick with a star on the end. "Should have called sooner..." he muttered. His scowl all but vanished into focus and he blinked as if staring at a sun that was too bright for his eyes.

In the moment, it didn't matter if Arthur was a hallucination, or time had gone bendy, or Arthur really could just pop into his house whenever he wanted.

"You can fix this?" He asked.

Arthur nodded and pulled a sack off his back. The thing unzipped to show a plethora of random things Matthew had never seen before or considered pointless at best.

This was it.

Matthew was insane, and Matthew was hallucinating Arthur Kirkland in his living room.

"Where do you have a hard floor without cracks? The boards can't be warped— no tiles either. I need a floor I can ruin," Arthur demanded. He had the look of a sea captain— authoritarian with an urgently crazed edge.

Matthew dumbly led him to his dinning room, where Arthur began to diligently shove everything out, chairs, tables, cabinets and all, noisily scraping and thunking the floor until the centre was quickly made clear. He pulled a chalk stick from the bag on his back and tossed the rest of the sack aside without a second care.

"Circles, radius, oh, hm, how tall are you, Matthew?" He twirled the chalk. "Never mind I can estimate. Oh but your age... must've been ante diem twelve, Kalendras Maias Em Dee Cee Cee Vee, anno domini, of course. Have you heard of the buried giant Antero Vipunen? He spits up luotes, powerful aid for us. Do you speak Finnish? No, of course you do." He fell to the floor and began humming as he drew measurements. Every so often an equation of to the side got scribbled, and the answer mysteriously translated into a line in the centre of the room. 

Matthew didn't entirely rule out the possibility that he was hallucinating... but he got the fresh feeling that he wasn't... Arthur's world of magic bordered insanity, Matthew hadn't been taught any since France held him back and Arthur never tried, but he'd observed some weird things from a distance.

Arthur was very fleshy at this moment and not very hallucinate-y, rattle thump-thumping across the floor, chalking his wood, then pulling out a sharpie to finalise the lines. 

Other items began to come from the sack— odd and miscellaneous. Feathers, vials of blood, a plastic goblet, two swatches, an old beehive comb, a stuffed goose...

"This should fix what you are for another few hundred years." Arthur muttered. He shook the goose, now in his hand.

Fix what he is?

Arthur very casually strode around the circle, laying the swatches on either side, winding them strangely. As if he'd not just dropped a very unnerving and unusual comment. "We have to address this quickly—"

"Wait, what am I?" Matthew asked. "What do you think I am?"

Because that was the most important question, all else felt... lessened compared to it. What did Arthur think he was? Matthew was freaking out, losing his face and voice and Arthur was acting like he expected this, like Matthew was the same as this.

What was Matthew that Arthur wanted to fix?

"You're Canada, don't be silly," Arthur backtracked. Matthew nodded, relieved. "You're like the rest of us, you just need a magic patching. You'll be normal in a minute. Give me a minute." He became un-relieved almost immediately.

Arthur busied, putting the plastic cup out and using a ruler to measure where to place it.

It was strange, that Arthur said he'd be normal after magic. That he saw Matthew's bizarre troubles and didn't even ask. That he'd mentioned all the symptoms Matthew was experiencing now to Francis when he was no more than a child.

If he recalled, on nights in the long past, a distant, murky childhood to mind, he would get sensations. Cold, lost moments were he felt an emptiness, as if something were missing from him.

"I shouldn't need magic to be normal," he observed.

Matthew stepped out of the circle.

Arthur snapped from his work with a wrinkled scowl. The stuffed goose dropped from his hand and he pulled himself from drawing on the floor to his feet. "Life promises that people don't need walking canes or medicine or prosthetic limbs to function but that's how life's lottery spits us out. Now go back and let me fix you before the spell unravels too much!"

"Spell!? Unravelling?! What? Do I have a magical disease?!"

He couldn't think of anything else that could warrant this behaviour.

"Yes! Now get here!" He pulled Matthew to the centre of the room back over the circle. "I wondered why the faerie fog was acting up these last few decades. Should've seen this sooner, something must've nicked my old spell on you."

"Nicked- what- why didn't you tell me about this before? If I have a weird magic disease, this would be important to know! I thought I was going insane!"

"Because as soon as it started degrading I couldn't remember it anymore. Another clue I should've known." He knocked his own head. "Stupid! Oh you're too good."

"What?!" 

Arthur might actually be, fully, clinically insane.

Matthew had already considered this before. When Arthur ranted too long on one small detail... when he spoke to the air... the light in his eyes when he got too thrilled on war. His cunning mind always solved who he could conceal his instability to and who he could fly off the rocker for. This wasn't proof against Matthew's case. The most unnerving part of insanity was that keen, hyper-intense intelligence poured unhealthy into one painfully unbalanced point. Arthur's entire wild mind could obsess over one or two things and forget the rest of the world. 

"As soon as you start blending into your environment, anyone and anything with The Sight starts forgetting about you." Arthur waved his hand around his head, but spoke as if to himself, and Matthew were gone. "It's an extra instinctual fail-safe. A very clever one. You can fool most people's ears and eyes, but when you meet the rare few who have those extra senses? Well, simply sponge their memory away! It takes far more energy to accomplish, but you're good, you have so much unused magic, you've not used any in over a hundred years you can throw all of it into simply vanishing from my memory."

He paused, blinked, and shook his head slightly.

"But I'm better." He looked back at Matthew, straight on, and cold. "I've got charms, I can hold out. You can't toss me out that easily."

Matthew didn't want to 'toss him out' ! The air was changing, or Matthew was noticing it, that Arthur wasn't acting normal even for himself.

"Arthur..."

"You're not him."

"I'm Matthew..."

"Yes, and you'll stay that way. Perfectly human Matthew." 

Arthur snapped his fingers and a drop of crimson spindled a drop to the floor. It fizzled to smoke, plumming quick from the floor. A murmured word sparked the circle to blue unearthly light.

Matthew's vision blacked. It was like a rubber-band snap. Quick, sudden, fading at the edges, unable to remember where he was. He didn't see the glow anymore. He didn't hear anything.

Only the smell of sudden smoke and and seawater filled his nose, burning copper and dusty ashwood.

His body felt constrained, packed tight. Wrapped in gauze and cotton. Unable to process.

Seconds later the world snapped back into place. 

Matthew yelped, head spinning, and he tried to get his arms under himself to regain his feet. The floor felt charcoal-like and dry against his fingers, cracking soft under the pressure of his weight. He shuffled a struggle unable to get up immediately as his head swam.

"Wha..." his voice sounded hazy to his own ears.

What was that?!

His body tingled. He couldn't feel his fingertips, and he felt buzzingly warm. But, he also felt an odd, pleasant surprise in finding himself alive and not in any pain...?

Though he was very, very tired.

Matthew gave up on getting to his feet and stared to the side at the dull grey ceiling, struggling to recall what he'd experienced.

Arthur popped into his tired line of sight above.

His briefly inspecting, troubled face stared intently down with his hands folded neatly behind his back. 

"Oh, good. That worked." He sounded partially surprised with himself. "Matthew...?"

Matthew nodded. His jumbled mind spun, nodding attention but mildly scattered as for what he'd actually nodded for. 

A question hadn't been proposed...

England frowned.

He kneeled down.

"Are you cognisant?" 

Yes, but he was aware enough to know he was uncoordinated.

He shrugged.

"Good. You're back. Very good." Arthur pat his head. "You're one of us, the Otherworld will never have you."

Arthur left after that. 

At least, at some point he left. When Matthew came fully to himself, it was inside a perfect circle of burnt black wood on the floor. The dust stuck to his clothes and skin.

A plastic cup of water had been left out, sitting on the counter next to a box of shortbread.

Matthew munched on them numbly.

About an hour later he called Alfred.

"Hey Al, I've got a really bizarre stuff to tell you today."

He could hear Alfred moving the mobile device. "Communists, Europeans, both guys, or my guys?" He asked.

"None of the above. You're into occult and aliens and all that... and I think you might've been on to something that time you accused me of being an alien."

[ripplestitchskein]

I decided to kill two birds with one stone (strangely appropriate considering) and make my fanfic into a comic! I think I’ll be doing both, a traditional fanfic on Ao3 and a comic version to go along with it since I have a lot written more traditionally already.

I’m trying to take any opportunity I have to practice art for my own original web toon and while I’ve been doing some characters from my regular DND game in addition to the character designs for Thrash and Yuri I can’t let go of this idea of doing a Stolitz one. I’m going to share my OG comic work and my DND stuff here too ofc but I’m super excited about playing around in this universe in a way I haven’t in my previous fandoms. I have never made fanart before that first piece, which while it wasn’t received as I hoped I super enjoyed making it and learning from it so I see this as another opportunity to do more of that.

One of the things I’ve loved most about joining this fandom, in addition to meeting some lovely and super smart people, is seeing the journey of an independent artist. I watched a video on a relatively small channel of an art teacher at the school she went to of baby VivziePop showing her sketchbook in college like 10 years ago and it was so lovely to see Angel and Alastor featured there and see how long she has spent working on these characters. As an older person who firmly believes you can do new things at any age (see roller derby, see art journey, etc) seeing a creator really find such a huge level of success in their 30’s is just super validating? You can get caught up in the “I should I have done this when I was younger, what’s the point now” mindset and that just ain’t it fam.

I struggle a lot with wanting things to be exact and drawing humans is so hard so it’s been really freeing to play around with someone else’s character designs, translate their style into my own, and practice drawing from reference in a more simplistic and forgiving medium like a cartoon show. It’s teaching me to simplify my own work, it doesn’t have to be this elaborate semi-realistic thing. I think I’m mostly learning the art of simplifying more than anything else with this.

I also want to play around with animation a bit in future too but that’s a project for another day. But here’s some non-rendered initial panels I did last night based on the Full Moon gif and I’m excited to share the first couple pages in the coming weeks.