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viviennevermillion · 1 year

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The Sedative

✧ notes: i have a serious dan heng fic in the works too i promise, in the meantime, take this light-hearted crack fic

✧ summary: after you got hurt in the battle on the xianzhou, the doctors need to do an endoscopy on you. still under the influence of the sedative when you wake up, you think it's a wonderful idea to call dan heng and make your feelings clear to him.

✧ now playing: accidentally in love — counting crows

✧ warnings: reader is high on meds, talk of medical procedures, we're a little cringefail

Dan Heng had dedicated his afternoon to reading his newest book when the call came. Perhaps it was to distract himself from worrying about your health despite the fact that the doctor had said during the preliminary examination that you were most likely fine and that this was just a safety check-up to make sure that your organs were okay after you got wounded in your most recent fight. He knew that you had been worried about both the procedure as well as the results and he, as well as the rest of your friends from the Astral Express, had made sure to calm you down and reassure you that this was a routine examination and something that the doctors had done hundreds of times. Still, Dan Heng could only truly rest once he knew that you were awake and well.

Himeko and March had taken you to the doctor's office today for the endoscopy and he hadn't heard from them yet. He knew a little about how these procedures went; after all, he had read about them in the archives so he could rationalize any fears you might have and support you. He knew that you were likely going to suffer from short-time memory loss right after waking up as well as being a little bit out of it. So when his phone rang, he expected it to be March and Himeko; as they had promised to keep him updated on your condition and he didn't expect you to have your phone with you in the recovery room.

He picked up without looking at the screen, surprised to hear your voice instead. "Dan Heng?", you asked in a tired voice, making sure that you hadn't called the wrong number. "Yes, it's me", he confirmed in a soft tone, glad to hear from you, "how did the procedure go? Are you discharged from the hospital yet?" His heart sank because of worry when he heard your response to the question. "I need you to come here", you made it sound urgent, "I need to tell you something."

"Are you okay?", Dan Heng asked, his heart beating faster. "Can you be here soon?", you asked, "I'll explain everything then, I promise." Dan Heng asked if you were still under the influence of the sedative. You said no. You felt fine. A bit of Midazolam had nothing on you! Your thoughts were clear as day and they were telling you that it was wonderful that you were alive and well and you should appreciate every moment; especially those spent with Dan Heng! Life was too short to not confess your love to him right here and now! But that was a conversation to best be had in person.

"I'll be there in a bit", Dan Heng confirmed and rushed over to the hospital as fast as he could, calling Himeko and March on the way. They didn't pick up. When he arrived, he asked for you at the front desk. The nurse looked up to him. "Are you Dan Heng?", she asked with a sigh. "Yes?", Dan Heng responded in confusion, his voice still laced with uncertainty and worry. "They've been asking about you for the past 10 minutes", the nurse seemed so done with you but that didn't deter Dan Heng, "here I'll show you where the recovery room is; maybe you can get them to stay on the bed because they've repeatedly tried walking out of here when they're supposed to rest for at least 30 minutes after the procedure."

Dan Heng looked at the nurse in surprise. "They said they're fully awake and no longer affected by the sedative", he explained. "Oh I'm sure they think that", the nurse chuckled, opening the door to the recovery room, "sorry if they made you worry. The procedure went well, nothing to worry about." Dan Heng let out a sigh of relief and the nurse left him alone with you.

As soon as you saw him, he swore he could see your eyes light up like you had just seen fireworks explode across the night sky on your birthday. "Dan Heng!", you called out excitedly and tried to get up from the bed on your unsteady legs. Dan Heng hurried over to you. "No, no, you need to sit down and rest here for a bit", he reasoned and gently sat you back down on the bed. "What are you doing here?", you asked with so much wonder in your voice, "it's such a nice surprise to see you!" Dan Heng couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at seeing you in this state. "You called me, don't you remember?", he chuckled and sat down at your bedside. You looked surprised. "I did?", you asked and pulled out your phone, checking your call history, "wow, you're right! I don't remember that!" "I can see that", Dan Heng mumbled, shaking his head. He noticed that your voice still sounded a little slurred.

"Where are Himeko and March?", Dan Heng asked. "Went to get food for later", you yawned, "they told me to call them when I'm done!" "Well did you call them?" "I forgot", you giggled. "That's okay, I'll just send them a text...", Dan Heng sighed, wondering what he had gotten himself into, "how are you feeling?"

"Better, now that you're here", you smiled at him like a lovesick puppy, "but 'm a little cold." Dan Heng took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. "Better?", he asked. The response was you wrapping your arms around him and slouching against his body, closing your eyes with a tired yawn. Dan Heng froze. The only other time you had been this close to him was a group hug March had pulled all of you into. Still, you weren't in your right mind and Dan Heng didn't have the heart to just push you away. After all, he didn't even mind the affection. It just caught him off-guard. He supposed he'd just let you rest against his shoulder for a while until your head was clear again. Unfortunately for him, you were very talkative.

"You're so pretty", you cooed, nuzzling his neck, which made Dan Heng's cheeks flush. That was how it started. You were far from done. "I think your dragon form is so cute; you have little horns and everything", you giggled, "you're so beautiful, both on the outside and in your heart. Can I braid your hair?"

"B-braid my hair?!", Dan Heng stammered and had to blink a couple of times and gather himself to even process what was happening as you went on with your little rant. "Yeah. Your hair looks so soft. The Xianzhou doesn't know what they're missing", you exclaimed confidently, "you're the bravest person I know and you've come so far and I'm so proud of you!"

Your words sounded so confident and Dan Heng's heart was beating out of his chest. Was this really how you thought about him? Or were you just talking nonsense? Just when he thought that you were done, you decided to continue because you, according to your own words, had "a lot of thoughts about him".

"Your smile is so precious", you explained, scrolling through the gallery on your phone for evidence, showing him a picture that March took where he was actually smiling, "like, I mean, look. You're like the sun. You brighten up the day of anyone you smile at and you make me so happy." Dan Heng's face felt hot and he cringed at the awkwardness of the situation, despite the fact that you were very far from noticing it. You just looked at him with pure and unconditional love and Dan Heng didn't know what to do about it. It made his heart flutter and gave him hope there was truth to your words.

He eventually snapped out of it and held your shoulders, looking into your eyes. "I think you should rest a little... we can uh... talk about this later", he took your hand and squeezed it gently, "please rest. Can you do that for me?" You nodded.

"Okay. Please go out with me."

Dan Heng buried his flushed face in his hands, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation. I should just stop questioning this kind of stuff, he reasoned with a sigh. "I will. I promise", Dan Heng said softly as he pushed you back onto the mattress carefully and rubbed your upper arm in a reassuring motion. "Can I have a forehead kiss?", you asked with a quiet voice, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Did you have an ounce of an idea what you were doing to his poor heart? Probably not.

But Dan Heng couldn't deny that it was endearing to hear you speak about him so affectionately. He leaned over to press a light kiss on your forehead, closing his eyes and noticing how warm your skin felt under his lips. "There. Happy?", he chuckled, still holding your hand in his. You gave him a tired nod, drifting off into a short nap not soon after.

"Dan Heng?!", he heard March's surprised voice behind him not soon after. He turned around to gesture to keep her voice down. "What are you doing here?", she asked with a confused expression, looking at his flustered face, "your face looks weird." "Thanks, March", Dan Heng replied dryly.

He decided to stay by your side for a little longer and accompany you and the others to grab lunch. After all, he probably should be there to reassure you when you inevitably realized what you had said to him. Dan Heng smiled at how peaceful you looked, knowing he was close by to take care of you. There really was nothing for you to worry about. He was looking forward to your date as much as you were.

#honkai star rail #dan heng x reader #dan heng #dan heng x you #dan heng x y/n #dan heng fluff #imbibitor lunae #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #hsr #honkai star rail dan heng #honkai star rail fluff

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sagaduwyrm · 3 months

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On the Grounds Where We Feel Safe

When Tim gets a letter claiming to hold his soulmate, who he's never met, hostage, he's skeptical. It turns out pretty great though. Now if he can just make sure not to make a fool of himself.

We have your soulmate , the letter claimed. It seemed ludicrous. Tim hadn’t even met his soulmate yet, and it wasn’t like Red Robin’s mark had ever been exposed. There was no way some D-list villain could have found whoever it was. Really, he should only be going to this for the chance to catch the annoying asshole.

It just seemed like a weird lie, was the thing. If they just wanted to lure him out, there had to be more believable options. Claiming to have captured one of the other members of Young Justice or another bat would have made the most sense. His teammates went no-contact for various reasons all the time, so it’s not like he could double-check.

But no. They had his soulmate, apparently. It just seemed inane.

They were more competent than expected. Tim snuck into the facility with the ease of long practice, but they must have had magic wards because he tripped some kind of alarm barely a few minutes in. He would have noticed a technological system, but his abilities with magic were more limited, like most bats. In the immortal words of Jason Todd, ‘Just set it on fire and call Zatanna if that doesn’t work.’

Tim was eighty percent sure Jason was the only bat with any real degree of familiarity with magic, but that was neither here nor there. It just made the advice more accurate.

It was kicking his ass now though. Usually he’d be doing this with a team, hopefully with at least one person who could have noticed wards, but he had drastically underestimated the size and threat of this operation.

Generic security guards dragged him through the halls, and he did his best to memorize the layout. He’d taken out the first few thugs, but frankly, he was only human, and he needed to save his energy for something more useful. In the meantime, he pressed the only emergency beacon he had that would eventually worm through the wards to call his family and examined the halls they were dragging him through. The atrocious minimalism and poor layout design were making it irritatingly difficult to keep them straight in his head.

There were four villains in the room he was brought to, three more than he was expecting. One wore a thick cloak she’d probably bought off Etsy and a cheap Eye of Horus necklace, and Tim instantly pegged her as responsible for his magic problems.

“Woooow. You assholes know how to make a Robin feel loved. What’s the occasion? Is it Christmas? You shouldn’t have.” Tim bared his teeth in a smile that had his guards leaning away from him. If he could just get them talking, this would be a lot easier.

One, the leader, threw back her head and cackled. “What’s the occasion? What’s the occasion? Didn’t you read our note? Meeting your soulmate is the chance of a lifetime! We're doing you a favor, don’t you think?” She grinned down at him. He tilted his head, bird-like.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I could swing a better meeting than this. Get some candles, jazz up the place a little bit. Your interior decorating is kind of shit.” Tim channeled the robin spirit of his predecessors and took a shot at annoying them. Instead, the woman’s demented grin grew wider.

“But your blood will look so pretty on the floors! Do you think we’ll kill him or you first? I can’t decide!” Her teeth had red in them, Tim noticed. She turned to the guards at the door. “Bring him in!”

Fuck. So they did have a hostage. Probably some poor civilian who’d got dragged into these assholes' lark and was going to need years of therapy after this. Fuck his life.

A few tense minutes later the guards walked back in carrying a black teenager maybe a little taller than Tim between them. He was struggling, doing his level best to kick at their ankles and jab at their kidneys, but the mercs didn’t even shift. Tim was grateful the hostage was a fighter at least, that could make it easier to evacuate him.

The lead villain strolled over to the civilian. Honestly, Tim wasn’t sure why the rest were here. They practically faded into the walls. She seized the boy’s chin and he tried to spit at her. She laughed. “Our little witch spent months divining for this! Ready?” She cackled and dragged his face over to meet Tim’s eyes. They both froze.

His eyes were green, Tim noticed, and lined thickly in black, like kohl. They dug into Tim's chest like his heart was moving to make room for another, two hearts beating as one. Everything felt more vibrant and alive. Tim couldn’t breathe.

The leader was still laughing, he noticed distantly. She had slumped back against the wall to keep from falling over, and her entire body shook with contortions. Her eyes were bright with bloodlust.

Tim was fucked. He was so completely fucked. Not only because this guy was stupid pretty and he could practically feel his higher brain functions turning off, leaving him a steaming pile of bisexual goo, but because his soulmate was barely five feet from a villain who practically dripped insanity, and he still had thirty seconds to go before he got his hands untied. Absolutely, completely, and totally fucked.

The other boy had stilled when their eyes met, but he tensed again as one of the other villains stalked towards him.

“I knew it,” the man snarled. “I knew it. I wonder, if I hurt you, will Red Robin bleed?”

The boy's eyes widened before hardening. Tim desperately hoped he didn’t do anything stupid. His call signal still needed more time to get through to his family.

“Don’t damage him just yet!” the leader called out. “Start with his fingers and toes, we want this to last .” Her grin was alarmingly demented.

The other boy finally had enough. “Yeah, let’s not.” He kicked out at the ankle of the guard holding onto him, causing the man to release him. At the same time, Tim made his move. Fuck, civilians with no sense of self-preservation were the bane of any vigilante, but it being his soulmate was somehow worse. If he could just get over there in time—

A rush of sand curled up around the boy, as if from nowhere, and launched the villain near him into a wall. His eyes glowed golden, and his stance indicated some training. Not a civilian, then.

Tim kept moving. He dumped half a dozen taser bugs on anyone in reach, leaving them keeled over on the ground, and darted forward. The guards had left the door open when they brought the other boy in. Tim grabbed him and launched out the door, practically carrying him, while the boy did something over his shoulder to hold off pursuers. The way out was blocked, but the facility was huge. They eventually managed to lose the villains, tucked up in some kind of meat locker. They curled up against the walls, catching their breath.

“You know, this was not how I expected our first meeting to go,” the other boy said.

Tim laughed, “I’ll be honest, with my luck this isn’t really a surprise.” The other boy snorted. He was beautiful when he laughed. It was an ugly sort of giggle, the kind the media would mock a person for, the kind his parents trained out of him as their heir, but it lit up his face in a way that made Tim stare. He belatedly remembered to introduce himself. “Red Robin.”

“From Gotham, right? Call me Pharaoh.”

Tim squinted at him. He was putting on a good show of confidence, but there was a tenseness to his body that couldn’t be hidden, and some of the summoned sand floating near him was curling into tight knots. “Haven’t heard that code name before. You new?”

Pharaoh waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “It’s mostly just that I stick to my hometown. We’re tiny, so we stay off the radar. And I usually manage to stay out of the news anyway.”

Tim nodded, but his eyes sharpened. Deliberately keeping out of the news wasn’t exactly a red flag, but it usually indicated something about the person in question. If you had a code name that you were clearly used to, but didn’t use for the public… There weren’t exactly any conclusions he could draw yet, but he tucked the knowledge away into the back of his brain anyway. “Do you have anyone you can call?” he asked.

The boy grimaced. “Not really. Two are out of the country, one doesn’t carry a phone, and the other is the only person back home right now and I can’t ask her to leave.”

Reasonable. The bats refuse to leave Gotham without at least one of them too. “I sent out a call, but it’s going to take a bit for it to get past the wards.”

“Can I see? I might be able to speed it up.”

Tim handed over his beacon. “You’re a magic user?” He was guessing sand-manipulating meta, but magic made sense too.

“Uh-huh. I’m not the greatest with wards, but I am a dab hand at tech,” Pharaoh said while prying open the beacon. As he held it, golden light crept from his hands into the wires, forming shapes that looked like some of the hieroglyphics his parents used to obsess over. Tim was vaguely surprised. Constantine had once mentioned that there were only a few people in the world who could do any kind of technomagic. Even the magic on his gear was secondary to the tech rather than embedded in it.

Tim got up and started looking around the room as Pharaoh worked. They couldn’t stay here for long. He moved some furniture around to block the door. It should collapse on the head of anyone who tried to get in. He shifted one of the ceiling tiles around and found there was a good amount of space between the floors. Perfect.

Pharaoh shouted in delight and Tim turned to see the connection light on the beacon turn on. Assuming there wasn’t some kind of emergency, they should have backup reasonably soon. The other boy was still grinning, “Dude, I think I’m in love with your tech. This is amazing.”

“If you like that you should see the batcomputer.”

“Can I? I do most of my stuff on a PDA I retrofitted, this is so much better it’s not even funny.”

“A PDA?” Tim blinked in confusion. How would you even—? He shook his head and gestured at the ceiling. “We need to get moving. They’ll have an easier time finding us if we stay here.”

Pharaoh nodded, still smiling from his apparent enjoyment of working with basic tech with little to no computational abilities. He clambered his way up with apparent experience. Tim wondered what kind of problems his hometown had that they needed a magic user who could do parkour.

Where Pharaoh needed a lift Tim scampered up. The sorcerer whistled quietly. “What kind of training do you even have?”

“Assasination, mostly,” Tim said as he started leading the way through the crawl space, carefully showing Pharaoh where to put his feet to make the least amount of noise.

“I thought bats didn’t kill?”

“Knowing how to kill is actually more useful in not killing people than not knowing how to kill, believe it or not.” Lady Shiva hated that.

“Huh. That sounds useful. I have to use specific spells when I want to just knock someone out, and I’m not as good at them so it’s a bit of a pain.”

“You like magic?” Data gathering, data gathering, if he was asking questions he wasn’t thinking about how nice Pharaoh’s voice was or how pretty his eyes were.

“Yeah. It’s like a puzzle, you know? There’s a lot of similarities to coding if you had to argue with the computer the whole time.”

Tim snorted.

They stilled at the sound of someone passing under them, and when they were gone Tim turned around for a second. “Hey, what do you think about picking some of these guys off?” He’d originally planned to keep them out of the fight until backup arrived, but he was getting the impression more and more that Pharaoh was competent enough to keep up for a bit.

Pharaoh grinned, and it was a sharp, unkind thing. For a moment he looked as regal as a king about to declare war, and Tim wondered if there was more to the code name than he had assumed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

+++

“Where are they?!” the leader of the villains roared. “The facility is completely locked down, they couldn’t have gotten far!”

The guards winced and opened their mouths to explain when the door slammed open and one of the other villains ran in. He was bleeding, with weeping sores up and down his arms and crush damage on his fingers. “They’re picking off the guards!”

“What? What the fuck happened to you?” The leader screamed. The witch villain, who had been melting into the wall, ran over to attempt healing magic. The others barely noticed her.

“Three-quarters of our men are unconscious, and won’t wake up. And that little ‘civilian’ soulmate tried to crush me with sand!”

The witch spoke quietly. “He must have cursed you too. This isn’t healing.” The villain looked down at his wounded arms and screamed. Golden hieroglyphs climbed their way out of the blood and up his arm, and he felt his body go numb. Within thirty seconds he had keeled over unconscious except for the occasional scream, like he was struggling with nightmares wherever his mind had gone.

“No no no no no! This was supposed to be it! Our big break! You!” The leader turned to the witch. “You said he was a civilian! This was supposed to be easy!”

Out of nowhere the ceiling above them crumbled and down came several bats and members of Young Justice. When they finally got the beacon it took them almost an hour to get to the location, leaving them tense and ready to take it out on Tim's captors.

“I hope we aren’t interrupting anything!”

The door banged open again as they finished mopping up the remaining villains and mercenaries. Red Robin and a boy in civilian clothes tumbled through the door.

“Hey! You’re late!” Tim yelled.

Robin hissed at his older brother. “You needed help to save a single civilian then?”

Tim grinned an unholy grin. “Oh, right. This is Pharaoh. He’s my soulmate.”

The room burst into yelling.

#fandom #danny phantom #fandom stuff #dpxdc #batman #dp x dc #dc #tucker foley #tim drake #technogeek #soulmates #pharaoh tucker #meet cute #this is better than the last one I promise #happy pride 🌈

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eggluverz · 1 year

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LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

PAIRING. dan heng x gn!reader

WORD COUNT. 638

SUMMARY. dan heng has an extreme fear of the dark and the astral express experiences a power outage. thankfully, you are there to help him through this.

SOF'S NOTE. thank you anon for this request!! :) i don't know anyone with nyctophobia myself so i hope i wrote it well enough! enjoy some hurt/comfort with dan heng,, i wanna craddle him gently in my arms :>

The Astral Express was known for being a fairly sturdy and reliable train. With close inspection and careful maintenance, it was natural to expect relatively smooth performance.

That was why Dan Heng was rather taken aback when a power outage took place.

The two of you were in the Archives, researching different topics of choice when he was suddenly no longer able to see the words in front of him. The room turned black and the only faint glow he could pinpoint was the small light from your phone screen.

Instantly, he felt suffocated. He looked towards the direction of his nightlight that normally brought him solace, only to see nothing but darkness due to the lack of electricity. Dan Heng’s breathing picked up as his chest grew heavy. He started to forget where he was and what he was doing— Instead being forced back to his moments in imprisonment, solitude, torture. He grew more and more panicked as his thoughts spiraled, unable to anchor himself to reality.

“Dan Heng?” he heard a faint voice, only slightly shaking him out of his thoughts. “Dan Heng…”

His name was repeated once more, but Dan Heng couldn’t process a thing with his eyes squeezed shut and his ears ringing. Everything was muffled and he felt lost.

Within moments, a gentle touch helped ground him to reality. That feeling was familiar. Warm and comforting. He knew it was you. You were here with him before the blackout, and you were still here.

“You will be okay, Dan Heng,” you said, voice soft but firm. You wrapped your arms around him in a steady embrace, rubbing circles into his back. “The power will come back soon and it won’t be dark anymore.”

He nodded, trying to calm himself down. Dan Heng knew that, rationally. Power outages were temporary and, with the quick and efficient attention from Pom-Pom, he knew the problem wouldn’t last for long. Still, it was difficult to let that knowledge be of solace.

“And while it’s still dark, just remember you aren’t alone here.” You held him closer and he allows his body to lean against yours. “You’re at the Astral Express inside the Archive room. You have me here, and Caelus and March 7th and Pom-Pom are all walking distance away.”

Dan Heng’s body, though still tense, was able to relax ever so slightly.

He wasn’t alone. And he hadn’t been transported back to imprisonment. He was here and you were right there next to him. When he finally got himself to open his eyes instead of keeping them strained shut, he was met with your concerned face faintly illuminated by your phone screen.

When his gaze met yours, you smiled.

“Look,” you said, gesturing to the small light. “I know it’s not much, but at least it’s not complete darkness now.”

Dan Heng pulled you closer into his arms. “It is enough. Thank you.”

The dark may cause him extreme anxiety, but throughout it all, at least he had you.

“I’m sure the power will come back soon,” you reassured, running your hands through his hair with a hopeful look on your face. “But in the meantime, we can go see March 7th’s candle collection! And have Caelus or Himeko light them up for us!”

Dan Heng managed to let out a small laugh at your efforts

It wasn’t just you that was here for him. You reminded him that he had a whole community—a big family to fall on. And they were all there for him, too.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Dan Heng cupped your cheek and smiled. You returned his gaze and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead, filling him with warmth.

He had people who would be there for him. But Dan Heng’s favorite little light in the darkness was always you.

#dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x you #hsr #honkai star rail #dan heng #hsr fanfiction #hsr imagines #hsr x you #hsr x y/n

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szlez · 1 year

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Stay - destiel fanfic by ani_ona and me with my fanart Feverish

Written for https://sicktember.tumblr.com prompt. Dean & Cas

Stay

It was Sam, who noticed first. Knowing every muscle of his brother's face and years of studying every one of his tiniest expressions helped, but at the end of the day it was due to that unexplainable connection between the two of them. The strange force that made his time at Stanford less enjoyable and more sleepless. So now he just knows that something is wrong with his brother. And when Dean orders his beloved chili fries and doesn't suck in every last bit in a matter of minutes, Sam and Cas exchange worried looks.

Their case is solved, dinner finished, and they are in for a 9-hour drive home. Another cue that something is not just as it should be is when Dean decides to let Sam drive after an hour and doesn't take a shotgun seat but joins Castiel in the back instead. When Sam glances in the rear mirror, he sees his brother's head resting on the angel's shoulder and the intense stare of the blue eyes.

Dean doesn't wake up the whole ride home. Cas somehow manages to arrange him into a more lying position, with his head on the angel's lap. Sam would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't focused on keeping his eyes open and on the road.

They reach the bunker at dawn, and Dean lets Castiel maneuver him out of the car and down the stairs.

“Get him to his room,” Sam says, his voice hoarse from not using and tiredness. “And I’ll bring some supplies.” Cas just nods and adjusts his grip around Dean's waist. He is taking off the hunter's shoes, when Sam comes in with water and some pills.

“Looks like he is going down with something…” Cas murmurs, letting the back of his palm touch Dean's cheek. He frowns and crouches beside the bed to lightly press his lips to Dean's forehead. “Definitely. His fever is high.” He whispers, now real concern lacing his voice.

The gesture looks a lot like a kiss. Dean would undoubtedly freak out if he was awake. But now Sam is too tired to analyze it further.

“Make sure he drinks a lot. And takes these once he is conscious enough.” he points to the meds. “Want me to stay with you?”

“No, Sam, I got this, you drove the whole night, go get some sleep.”

Sam nods and leaves, though he feels strange. He's never left his brother's side during an illness. Even as a child, he used to cling to his brother when any of them was unwell. Perhaps it had something to do with losing the only source of safety and care. Now Dean has his angel, Sam tells himself, lowering his pounding head onto the pillow. He is out in a few minutes.

In the meantime, Castiel frees Dean of most of his clothing, careful with every movement, expecting the hunter to shove him away and yell. But he doesn't react more than with a quiet sigh, and feeling his skin radiating unnatural heat makes Castiel worry even more. He tries to wake Dean up, but only succeeds in making him swallow some pills without choking. When the fever is still high, regardless of the meds, Castiel's anxiety reaches a dangerous level bordering panic. What if he is doing something wrong? Or not doing enough? He stares at the pale face of his friend, thinking. Dean would know what to do. He always does. Dean dealt with countless of Sam's childhood illnesses, even more wounds requiring various types of stitches, his father's drunken fits and hangovers. But now it's Dean who needs help, and Cas feels uncertain and incompetent. Afraid that he could make things worse. What is he supposed to do? Should he go get Sam?

Dean stirs in his sleep, and Castiel's train of thoughts is interrupted. He focuses on his friend, whose brow frowns, and his whole body tenses under the covers. Hands grip the sheets tightly and suddenly he opens his eyes wide, staring terrified and unseeing through the ceiling, breathing shallow, quick breaths. What is he seeing, Cas can only guess, but he is afraid he can guess correctly.

“Hey… Easy…” Cas reaches for Dean's hand and feels fingers clutching his wrist like a lifeline. “Whatever you see, it's not real. You are safe here, with me. It's just a dream. It's not real.” Cas whispers over and over again until Dean rests his head on the pillow and falls asleep, not letting go of his angel’s hand.

So until he loosens his grip, Castiel has no other option but to sit down on the floor by the bed and try to make himself comfortable. He feels Dean’s quick pulse under his fingertips and watches an unhealthy blush coloring hunter's cheeks. After what feels like hours the idea pops into Cas’ mind, and he makes a quick run to the sink with a handful of handkerchiefs. As soon as the wet cloth touches hot skin, Dean shudders violently and makes a little sound close to whimper. Cas's heart tightens. He puts his hand on Dean's cheek to calm him down, and the hunter leans into the touch as if trying to find some relief. The angel sits on the bed and cradles Dean's head, wanting to absorb the heat, illness, and pain.

“You are going to be ok, I'll take care of you.” He whispers to the unconscious man and feels Dean's chaotic fear and suffering flooding him, leaving him breathless. He has to do something, anything, to help, and fast. The echo of Dean's headache pounding in his own skull.

Dean is drifting in and out of consciousness, never lucid enough to hold a real conversation, just searching the space with glassy eyes that close with relief once he makes sure Castiel is with him.

“You are not alone,” Castiel tells him, knowing very well that Dean won't remember anything. “You won't be anymore.”

Hours go by and Castiel fills his time with wiping Dean's face, trying to get some water into him, changing cold compresses, and constantly checking the temperature. With zero improvement so far. Why is nothing working?

Finally, Cas knows he can't delay it anymore and a decision has to be made now. It's been hours and they haven't made any progress. Dean is exhausted and completely out of it from pain and fever, and Cas can't look at his dry lips and glistering, unseeing eyes any longer. It's time to take serious steps.

Dean is heavy. The dead weight of his nearly unconscious body is hard to carry. But not for the angel, who lifts him with ease, just like all these years before when they were leaving Hell. Castiel carefully lowers his trembling burden into the tube, and Dean immediately curls into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. Cas starts the lukewarm water and strokes Dean’s chest and back,

“Easy… try to relax” he murmurs, enfolding the hunter's arms. “This is going to help, you will feel better soon, just relax.” And finally, Dean does. Once the tube is filled, he straightens his legs and seems to be drifting off again. He slides a little and would go under if it weren't for Castiel’s grip.

“I’ve got you,” the angel sighs softly. “Don't worry, just relax and rest” he whispers, gently rubbing his chest and stomach in a slow circular motion.

This could be so much fun in different circumstances, Castiel thinks to himself, taking in his lover’s slim, muscular figure under the clear surface… What is he thinking about?!, he scolds himself immediately. It's definitely not a good time for such things. He has to admit to himself that he appreciates the sight before his eyes, though.

Returning to the bedroom is surprisingly difficult because Dean, now somewhat conscious and wrapped tightly in the biggest towel the bunker can offer, insists on going on his own. This proves to be not the best idea when after a few steps his legs fail to support him, and he is forced to accept Castiel's outstretched arm reluctantly.

The angel doesn't speak much now when Dean is able to comprehend what is being said to him. Helping Dean change into fresh clothes, and passing him pills and a glass of water, Cas carefully observes his patient, not daring to think that the worst is over now. Once Dean dozes off again, his fever rises a few degrees but only to break after a few hours, leaving the hunter drenched in sweat, weak and tired but finally fully awake and aware of his surroundings.

Seeing Dean putting on his T-shirt without help convinces Cas that his job is finished. He stands up slowly, mutters some “I’d be going” and turns to leave. That's when his hand is gripped one more time this night.

Cas catches Dean’s gaze lucid at last and though the man doesn’t utter a sound, the angel can hear one word, clear as a bell: Stay.

#destiel #spn #sicktember 2023 #sickfic #spn fanart #my art #supernatural fanart #deancas #destiel fanart #sickness #dean winchester fanart #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #castiel fanart #dean and cas #writing prompt #prompt event #hurt/comfort #supernatural fanfic

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grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks · 26 days

Text

I am once again posting a oneshot instead of updating my WIPs. Really sorry about that, but I promise I will get to them eventually. In the meantime, enjoy some Somewhere Else/Upton House fluff!

Content Warnings for this work:

memory loss

“I love you.”

It was a rainy Sunday morning, threatening to turn into a rainy Sunday afternoon as they lazed in bed in a cottage very much, though not exactly, like Daisy’s, in a Scotland very much, though not exactly, like their own. Jon lay with his head on Martin’s chest while Martin played absentmindedly with the long, sleep-tangled curls of Jon’s hair. In response to Jon’s admission, he gave a warm, contented hum.

“I know it’s bad form to say that before we’ve had our first date, but–” Jon said with a soft chuckle. The absurdity of their situation always struck him at odd times.

“Jon, we live together,” Martin laughed, before Jon’s words fully hit him. “Wait, what do you mean? Yes, we did. Remember? At– Oh, right.”

“Hmm?” Jon rolled over so that he could see Martin, and so that Martin could see his puzzled frown.

“At Upton House,” he explained in a quiet murmur, voice suddenly soft and mournful. “I always forget you don’t remember.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Sure.” Martin shifted, pulling Jon slightly closer. When he spoke, he addressed the ceiling, eyes glazing over with memory. “We had a picnic. You made scones.”

Jon laid his head back down as he listened. He could feel as well as hear Matin speaking, like this – the pleasant rumble of breath and vocal chords hummed from Martin’s chest into Jon’s, and he savored the sensation.

“You insisted it wouldn’t be romantic if I helped – which I vehemently disagree with, by the way – so you shooed me out of the kitchen while you baked. Which meant a couple hours wandering aimlessly around Upton House, waiting for Annabelle Cane to pop out and say something cryptic.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was cute,” Martin said. “You always get so focused when you have a plan, and it’s adorable.”

“Hmm.” Jon was fairly sure Martin used the word ‘adorable’ specifically because he knew Jon objected, so he grumbled dutifully at the descriptor. “If you say so.”

“After that, we found a nice spot by the lake and laid down a blanket. It was gorgeous – all water lilies and dragonflies. You should have seen it. Well, I mean, you did see it, but– b-but you know what I–”

“I know what you mean,” Jon said.

“Honestly, I would have written a poem about it if I’d been in the right headspace. But the– y’know, the apocalypse sort of put me off it for a while there.”

Jon traced his finger in fond loops across Martin’s arm. “Do you think you’re in the right headspace now? Now that we’re here?” In their Scotland, Martin had left snatches of poems scribbled on every available scrap of paper in the safehouse, and Jon had noticed, but not mentioned, its absence in their new home.

“I don’t know,” Martin whispered. “I think I just need some more time.”

Jon brought Martin’s hand up to his lips and gave it a quick and hopefully reassuring kiss. “What did we do next?”

“Oh, you know, just ate, really. We had the scones and some sandwiches, and, heh, and a bottle of champagne.” Jon raised his eyebrows, and Martin flushed. “Well, Salesa wasn’t going to miss it! Believe me, he had plenty to spare.”

“So we just ate?” Jon asked. “Well, and drank, I suppose.”

“And talked.”

“What about?”

Martin’s face clouded. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Oh.” It was precisely the sort of thing to awaken that old, disastrous curiosity in Jon, but he had learned, since losing his connection to the eye, to resist temptation, so he said. “Alright. You don’t have to–”

“Sorry, it’s just– we talked a lot about… y’know, the state of things, and it’s– I know it’s stupid, I mean, we’re fine now, but I– I don’t like to think about how I felt back then. Just so completely helpless. The whole world was broken, and we didn’t even know if there was any fixing it, let alone if we could manage it, and you–” His voice broke. He looked at Jon with a terrible sort of sincerity painted across his face. “You’re the only thing that kept me going. You know that, right? I would have fallen apart without you.”

Jon lifted Martin’s hand to his lips again. This time he lingered, pressing a long, purposeful kiss to his knuckle.

“I can’t say that I agree, but–”

Martin gave a wet, startled laugh. “What?”

“Mr. ‘I’ve already packed our bags; I found some tea under the sink?’ You would have made it to London in record time and defeated Jonah yourself. I only slowed you down.”

“I would have gone insane on day one.”

“You–”

This time it was Jon’s turn to be kissed. Martin lifted himself up to press a kiss to the corner of Jon’s mouth. “You were my reason, Jon.” He flushed, just a bit more, before he confessed, “Still are.”

Jon swallowed.

They’d been in an odd place, since coming here. They still hadn’t talked about everything, not really – it was all too fragile and too fresh – and Jon knew that eventually they were going to have to have a long discussion about everything that had happened in the Panopticon. It felt like they’d spent the last few weeks in the eye of a terrible storm, waiting for it to wreck everything they’d built, but this grounded Jon. Martin was his reason, his anchor, and, despite everything, he was still those things for Martin. Whatever happened next, that wouldn’t change. They could handle this.

In the long silence that followed that admission, Jon pressed his ear to Martin’s chest so he could hear the reassuring pumping of his heart.

“Anyway,” Martin said after a moment. “What I’m trying to say is, it was hard, at Upton House. You were the one thing I could count on, and without the Eye, you were… fading.”

Jon took Martin’s hand and laced their fingers together, reassuring him that he was here. They were safe.

“Tell me more about the scones,” he murmured. “What did we have them with?”

Martin’s lips twitched. It wasn’t quite a full smile, but it was on the way to one. “Strawberry jam,” he said. “We couldn’t find any clotted cream, so we had to make do with jam and butter, but it was good. You definitely used too much baking powder, which wouldn’t have happened if you’d let me help, but–”

“Bold words.”

“But they were– they were nice. Really nice.” His voice was wistful, and more than a little sad. Jon squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything?” Jon offered. It was always his instinct.

But Martin sighed, “Not helpful, Jon,” so he tried again.

“I’m sorry I forgot? I’m sorry I ended the world. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“Okay, in order: you didn’t choose to forget, you didn’t choose to end the world, and I just told you you were the only thing that made going through all that at all bearable.”

“Well,” Jon muttered, not quite willing to give up on his apologies. “I’m also sorry for putting too much baking powder in the scones.”

Martin smiled, still a bit sadly. “That one I can’t forgive.”

They laughed, and for a moment, all was well.

Sunday was the only day they both had off. Martin Blackwood, king of lying on his CV, had put his skills to good use finding them new identities and new jobs, but their options had still been limited, and their schedules left plenty to be desired. Some weeks they hardly saw each other at all, communicating almost exclusively through sticky-note love letters and post-nightmare soothing.

This week was different, though. Jon’s rotating one day off per week, given to him in compensation for working Saturdays, fell on a Friday this week, and he knew that Martin was in the habit of leaving early at the end of the week. (It was a habit that had irritated him to no end as Martin’s manager, but as Martin’s boyfriend, he was grateful for it.) Which, conveniently, gave them the better part of the afternoon for Jon to enact his plan.

By the time Martin returned from work, he had cleaned the kitchen thoroughly, scrubbing it free of dirty dishes or any incriminating flour stains. The only remaining evidence of Jon’s machinations was the overstuffed grocery bag sitting by the door.

When Martin opened the door, Jon stepped up to greet him.

“Hi, love,” Martin murmured, kissing Jon first on the cheek, and then on the lips – a habit they’d developed from two parts love and one part indecisiveness.

“How was work?”

“Ugh,” Martin groaned. “I’m just glad it’s the weekend.” He set down his messenger bag at the kitchen table and began massaging his shoulder.

“Are you too tired to go out? I was thinking maybe we could take a walk.”

“That sounds nice,” Martin said. “Just give me a minute to change out of these bloody shoes.”

Martin shot him an odd look when he picked up the grocery bag.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Jon lied. “Just some things for the walk.”

Martin’s face betrayed precisely how much he believed that, but he didn’t argue.

It was a beautiful day. They seemed to have arrived in this new world only a few days after their own had ended, and a balmy September had given way to a chill and pleasant October. The air was crisp and cool, scented with heather and rich, fertile earth.

“How was your day off?” Martin asked him.

“Not very eventful,” he reported. “Naomi did try to get me to come into the office – I know this will shock you, but they’re short-staffed again today – but I declined. This has been on the schedule for more than a week now.”

Martin shook his head fondly. “Jonathan Sims taking an actual day off. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Jon brushed him off. “But it’s hard to be a workaholic when the work is this dull.”

“As opposed to the archives, which were so very thrilling.” Jon opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Martin specified, “Before the Horrors started. Obviously things did pick up a bit eventually,” he said, in a bit of an understatement, “But you were working weekends when we were basically still just filing things.”

“Well, yes, but the mystery! There’s no mystery at this job!”

“Look on the bright side,” Martin said. “Maybe your new boss will turn out to be possessed, too.”

“Maybe...” Jon sighed.

They reached a fork in the path. Martin, out of habit, started down the left fork, the one they always took, but Jon tugged his hand toward the right.

“Are you sure? I thought the hills played havoc on your legs.”

“I can manage.”

And he could. He wasn’t going to make a habit of it – the worms had done a number on his calves in a way he’d never quite recovered from, and he didn’t enjoy walking on an incline – but just this once wouldn’t do any harm.

“At least let me take the bag–”

“I’ll be fine.”

And he was. A bit out of breath, by the time they reached the spot, but fine.

The spot in question was a little patch of grass on the lee side of the hill, sheltered from the wind but not yet cast into shadow. The earth spread out below them in a sharp tangle of heather and thistle and wildflower before rising again, and again, a series of rolling hills that seemed to go on forever.

Jon grabbed the blanket he’d stuffed into the bag and spread it out on the soft grass.

“It’s not exactly Upton House, but–”

“It’s beautiful.” Martin stared at him, amusement battling with wonder on his face.

Jon gestured to the blanket, and they both sat down. It was a bit chilly on the hillside, even without the wind, but Jon had prepared for that eventuality. He’d packed a second blanket, this one a bit less ratty, and he pulled it around both their shoulders.

Martin’s expression kept shifting – pleased one moment, uncomfortable the next. Jon knew he had a hard time being on the receiving end of, well, anything – attention, affection, assistance. He could hardly let Jon make him soup when he was ill, so it wasn’t exactly surprising that surprise romantic gestures caught him off-balance. Jon must have learned that firsthand at Upton House, but the memory was gone. Still, he had said that it was nice, that first time around, so Jon plowed on. He reached into the bag again and pulled out a bottle and a pair of plastic cups.

“You actually bought champagne?” Martin’s face was a battleground again, but this time amusement won.

“Well, it is a special occasion,” Jon said, removing the foil and setting to work twisting the metal cage around the cork. “It’s our first date.”

“Second,” Martin corrected.

“Second for you, maybe.”

“I mean, you were there! It’s not like I went on that date on my own!”

“Fine,” Jon said with a faux-irritation that couldn’t have been even the slightest bit convincing. “Second. Still a special occasion, though.”

He popped the cork, and a stream of bubbles fizzed out over the neck of the bottle and down his wrist. He always hated that, both for the waste and for the way it left his hand sticky and wet, but today he couldn’t find it in himself to mind. He poured them both a glass and raised his own in a toast.

“To second chances.”

They both drank to that.

“Now for the main event,” he said, reaching into the bag one last time and pulling out a series of tupperware containers, plus plates, knives, and a jar of strawberry jam.

Martin’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You didn’t.”

“I had to,” Jon said, grabbing himself a scone. “I take this seriously. And my baking ability has been impugned, if memory serves.”

Martin shook his head. “Petty, petty man,” he muttered with a fond laugh.

“I managed to get some clotted cream this time, so this is already an improvement.”

He sliced his scone in half and spread on a thick smear of jam and a dollop of cream.

It was delicious, in his perfectly impartial opinion. Martin should never have doubted him.

He watched as Martin took a bite.

“What do you think? Too much baking powder again?”

Martin wiped a smear of jam from the corner of his mouth. “The baking powder is good,” he said, and Jon had the feeling that there was a ‘but’ attached to that statement.

“But…?”

Martin bit his lip. “But you may have overmixed them just a bit.”

“Slander!”

“Just a bit!” Martin threw up his hands defensively. “I’m just saying, if you’d let me help…”

Jon sighed.

“I don’t know why you’re always fighting me on this!”

“Martin, you've seen me in the kitchen. It’s–”

“Adorable,” Martin finished for him, and Jon pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Intense,” he said instead. “I don’t know why you think adding another person to the mix will make things less frantic.”

“Because that other person happens to be your boyfriend who, a) loves you very much, and b) is a very good baker!” Martin picked up another scone before muttering, not quite under his breath, “And knows how to measure dry ingredients correctly…”

“Slander,” Jon muttered again. “Unfounded, unprovoked–”

And then, just as petulantly but a great deal more honest:

“I love you, too.”

#tma fanfic #tma fic #jonmartin fic #jmart fic #jonmartin fanfic #do not archive #jonmartin #upton house fic #sort of #post canon #jonmartin fluff #jmart fluff

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transmutationisms · 6 months

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not that other person (lol) but interested in your euphoria thoughts and don't see a tag for them in your archive - i couldn't really get into it myself, and from what i've heard it kind of goes off the rails in the second season, but what was your experience like?

i think sam levinson is a hack in a similar way to like sofia coppola and i would compare euphoria's sensibilities to the bling ring: lurid, shallow, pitying but also fearful of the teenage subjectivities it tries to depict. levinson's work is consistently motivated by an obsession with self-obsession and image; often his direction & marcell rev's cinematography use the camera to present the characters presenting themselves to each other, which allows him to double-dip insofar as he can condemn as shallow and self-centred the same visual language that gives his shows and films their appeal. he's bad at character writing but also flagrantly self-interested, which occasionally results in some flash of genuine intrigue like nate's subconscious fear of his father's sexual interest, and his subsequent interest in and abuse of jules and maddy. ultimately euphoria is at its least fun when it's an anti-drug psa or bemoaning the effect of the internet on teen sexuality (see also assassination nation) but these types of moralisation are pretty par for the course in the genre of "nominally teen drama" and having hbo money means it has some genuinely delightful cinematography, lighting, camera tricks, &c. everyone responsible for these aspects should probably get work with a director who's not a dipshit and levinson should probably be directing music videos or like pitching the daddy masculinity plot in the next paul thomas anderson film. in the meantime i do think euphoria hits highs sometimes: the carnival shots, the extremely self-indulgent conceit of lexie's play, the sequence of nate's dream about his father raping him, &c. like, sometimes tv being bad just rules you either see it or you don't

#hbo euphoria

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skyeoak · 15 days

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Tmagp 29 thoughts

Late on the post, I am now edentulous in the far back and had a packed week because of it. Here we go:

Consistently good decision maker, Samama Khalid, here to make another important decision based on what he feels is happening. But before that, a case file!

I. Liked. This story.

It really reminds me plot-wise of a Man Called Ove, if it careened off the rails and became a horror.

I don’t super love the prose here as much as in other cases—mostly a personal preference, it uses repetition in a way that felt too hand-of-the-author to me. Not as egregious as the repetition in The Blade Itself’s prose, though.

The initial diary entries did a great job of setting up the scene and the characters, while also making me wonder when the other shoe would drop. And it did!

The bridge was definitely where I realized this cute marriage was about to get fucked up. But my “don’t go in there” moment was them walking down below the bridge. For some reason that description got me, probably because… WATER. WATER IS BELOW THE BRIDGE (another water-based spook, actually?)

Even their bumbling tourist attitude in getting into the lock museum was great. As was Viola’s cognitive dissonance as she describes and redescribes what happened, not quite wanting to admit that she left her husband to die.

And uh. Locke darling can you tell me where exactly that crack in the wall you unlocked was? Because I’ll bet £100 that I know where it was and the street name started with a Hill and ended in Top. Also who has the ivory key now.

But ~paraphrasing~ “How horrible to be locked together for fifty years?” “I abandoned him to save myself”? Chester u good?

Also love the flavor of Chester just starting to talk on his own while Gwen is alone in the office. I’m sure this is not setup for the finale in anyway and will in fact work out fine and not make Gwen feel any emotions about any of her previous actions!

It’s on the train 🥲 oh god, the helplessness Alice must be feeling right now. I really want to see what she does. Takes the next train to a crime scene? Takes an uber and arrives at Hilltop first? Some other third option? I have a bad feeling the archivist might statement Celia to death in the meantime.

Very much looking forward to the season finale. I think it’s fun how the archivist has ended up being the initial threat of TMAGP, considering how much of a foil Archives Jon was to Jane Prentiss by the end of TMA.

#tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #tmagp 29 #skyeoak’s episode notes

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justkissmewip · 23 days

Note

I read the intro post about this project and I was so curious, but before jumping in and reading the demo I decided to see the character post for A. And my excitement immediately died.

AI? Really?

I'm not opposed to the concept of AI alone, but right now it's just so deeply unethical. The ecological impact, the thousands and thousands of artists whose work was stolen and used to train those algorithms, sometimes leading to almost 1:1 copies of their creative work being produced and used for profit by someone else - those are all issues that are often discussed in creative spaces.

And even if you don't care about all that - how are your readers supposed to trust you? How are they supposed to trust that you're actually making what you're saying you're making instead of just feeding prompts to AI?

There are just so many ethical alternatives and some of them are even free. You could commission an artist. You could look through some archives for free use vintage illustrations of schools like the one you have in your header. You could use picrew for the character portraits to have that visualisation without reaching for AI. Some IF authors just find face claims among actors and celebrities.

It's just disappointing to see someone who's a part of this beautiful, vibrant, and creative group that is the IF writing community, use inventions that currently hurt artists all over the world.

Hmm, okay, this is a heavy one! Ha-ha, a post like this is definitely a good way to wake me up in the morning.

I want to apologize to artists on this forum (well, and all artists everywhere) for using AI art. I did it with no ill-will; I simply wanted a placeholder in the meantime so that readers could get an idea of what these characters look like. AI is a great tool for people who do not have the funds or access to other materials. But, this person makes some great points - there is a lot of uncertainty around AI, such as legality, and particularly the point about AI chatbots being trained using artists work without their permission. I really don't want to cause anyone harm, nor do I want to get into trouble honestly, so I'm going to stop using AI images from now on.

However, I do not appreciate the implication that using AI art is an automatic indication that I am using AI to generate my story and am no longer trustworthy. Writing interactive fiction is a lot of work, as I'm sure many of you know, and I take it very seriously. I want to produce the best product possible of course! So, rest assured that ChatGPT isn't currently churning out the next chapter of JKM. It wouldn't write Sawyer right anyways ;)

Art is not cheap, which makes a lot of sense, because artists deserve to be paid adequately for their work. So, I'm not going to look into art assets too much now until JKM is close to being finished, which is probably not any time soon if I'm being honest. I would rather wait and get some quality work that I think suits the characters then use anything else, especially since I personally imagine the characters in a more comic-book/anime style anyways. I apologize for that! But, the imagination is much better than any AI images I would have uploaded anyways.

To all artists, again, I am sorry! I appreciate and respect your hard work and efforts. I look forward to working with some of you as JKM progresses and I need to commission some art. Because trust me when I say I am not artistically inclined at all :).

To the person who wrote this, thank you for your great points. I can appreciate your passion about protecting artists. Hopefully you can give JKM another chance despite this setback.

Cheers,

Lucky

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doodlemancy · 7 months

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uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhh

so here's the deal re: this fucking horseshit. god i hate this.

i, personally, have mostly given up on trying to dodge inclusion in AI datasets. the stuff i make generally isn't what they're looking for anyway and there's no real way to 100% avoid being scraped short of becoming entirely invisible online, which would um, lead to me having no money and dying. that's part of the cruelty of all this, but also, in a way, it's the same risk artists online have always taken; if you want people to see your work, you have to post it knowing that some of those people are fucking lowlife piece of shit scumbags who will try to resell it on redbubble or something for a quick buck. AI is just a new and exhausting way for garbagey people to stink worse. i am not in any way excusing that behavior or trying to imply people should not be mad about it or that we shouldn't condemn this move and fight back. "if you don't want your work stolen, don't put it online" is the kind of shitty Internet Tough Guy talk i've always hated since my dA days. it's as useless and heartless as telling people that if they don't want their bikes stolen, they shouldn't leave them at the bike rack. i'm saying that i, personally, will not let a bunch of soulless thieving shitheads drive me offline. i belong here. they belong in a wifi-proof dumpster.

nightshade and glaze eat my artwork alive. they make it look terrible. when you have to sell things on the basis that they look nice, it's a big problem when protective measures make them look like dogshit. my work is not a good candidate for these processes. even if that weren't the case, i don't have the stamina, especially right now while my chronic pain is flaring for the third month in a row and my adhd meds are scarce, to go back and shade/glaze everything, and it wouldn't work on reblogs anyway. given the way midjourney and its equally stinky siblings have already scraped years and terabytes' worth of image data from popular websites, it doesn't seem worth my time. if you think it is worth yours i am not going to like, yell at you. i am just one person. but i want to be clear about the kind of situations some of us are being forced into.

i think some of the doomsaying about AI and what it will do to us has been overblown-- they need you, for marketing purposes, to believe that someday their shitty robot will be as good at "drawing" and as practical to work with as a human-- but the consequences of "AI" (which is not even actually AI) are already real and visible and obvious to anyone paying attention. i unfortunately am not infinitely wise and powerful and therefore do not have an ideal all-encompassing solution to this deeply stupid problem that the Most Unlikeable Manbabies On Earth have imposed on us after NFTs fizzled out.

what i do have is a very large repository of nice anime and game screenshots i've taken, knowledge of many archives of nice public domain images, a computer that can run nightshade overnight or while i'm off doing other things, and, most importantly, near-infinite capacity for pettiness. i do kinda feel like the jury is still out on how well nightshade/glaze will work in the long run, but in the meantime, i suppose it wouldn't cost me a lot to... perhaps... every time i get Mad About AI™, channel that anger into dumping some thoroughly-but-not-spammily-tagged, high-quality, inconspicuous poison onto this godforsaken hellsite via a secret side blog. i could make a batch of poison ahead of time, keep it on my phone, use my Toilet Scrolling Time or my Public Transit Time to post and tag up an image here and there. it could be a fun challenge to try to make some pretty robot poison that some humans will still enjoy.

the other thing we need to poison at this point, IMO, is the word "AI" itself, by being loudly and mercilessly critical of any company that dabbles in it, the same way we all clowned on any company that pushed their luck with NFT/crypto shit a couple of years ago. we need to have every corporation terrified that association with AI will tank their sales and hurt their brand. AI must = number go down and lots of people screaming at you. companies will fuck around. we must provide the finding-out. we shouldn't have to. but we can!

so make sure to let tumblr know you hate this. maybe you could include this interesting link (tw child abuse) about how Stable Diffusion was trained on some extremely serious crime. or these screenshots of Midjourney devs just sort of admitting what their whole thing is, which i got here but which have kinda been spread all over since January.

spite and anger can be forms of hope. that's all i have to say, or at least all i'm willing to type with my left hand tonight.

#long post #big long sigh

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slytheringlambert91 · 14 days

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New Fic!

Title: “Emergency”? FUCK

Fandom: Batman

relationships: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd

tags: chronic pain, hurt/comfort, Jason Todd is a dumbass

Summary: my vent fic bc chronic pain sucks ass. So I gave it to Jason and his family convinces him to accept help

Gotham is trying to kill him.

Well, in a different way than usual.

This time it’s not brightly colored villains with stupid fuckin’ themes.

Or supposedly well-meaning, but nosy as fuck family members.

Or any other physical means of actually taking his life.

Nope.

It’s the fuckin’ weather.

Stupid fucking changing seasons and rain.

And the new armor Bruce made for him, lacking the extra padding his has.

Surprise, death and resurrection doesn’t agree with him.

The chiming of his phone interrupts his wallowing. He groans, and stiffly rolls over to grab it, although the action dislodges the heating pad spread under him.

He coulda sworn he’d turned his phone on silent, and after checking, it shows he did. Which means the ringing was coming from his Bat phone.

/Fuck/.

Not today, he can’t deal with them today.

He grabs the other phone, and barely refrains from tossing it across the room when he reads the message.

/Emergency. Report to the cave immediately./

Pain lances through him as he levers himself up to sitting position. He moves slowly, trying to minimize sharp motions that would only make the pain worse, but that only helps slightly.

At least his armor has extra support built in, made to press on certain pressure points and dull some of the pain.

He pulled on his armor painstakingly slowly, ignoring the other suit in its case. That one was why he was in the middle of one of his worst flare ups in months. Bruce had ordered it made after noticing his current one was getting worn down, but it didn’t have the extra support in it, Jason wore it 3 days in a row and now he’s suffering for it.

It’s not Bruce’s fault—for once—since Jason had never told any of them about this. Which was yet another reason he doesn’t want to go to the cave today.

He doesn’t have the capacity to hide how much pain he’s in, and their stupid nosy, detective asses will figure it out.

But he can’t ignore an emergency call to the cave.

Pain radiates through his legs with every step, and the goddamn stairs are his worst enemy.

Regardless, he makes it to the cave.

…eventually and with a lot of stifling grimaces.

He promptly decides he’d like to be anywhere but here.

Well, preferably in his bed with heating pads and soft blankets, but the point stands.

Fuckin’ Bruce had to call him here for an ‘emergency’.

Fuck that.

When he walks into the cave—forcing himself not to limp, might he add—the only people he sees are Dick and Damian, and he almost turns around leaves immediately.

“Jaybird!” Dick chirps.

Jason groans, he is so not in the mood to deal with Dick.

“Father is upstairs, he wants to speak with you.” Damian calls out from his position on the med bay cot.

“Is this not a bat emergency? Why /the fuck/ did he call me in the work line? Also, the fuck happened to you?”

Damian’s face screwed up in displeasure, and Dick jumped in to answer. “Someone thought it would be an amazing idea to take on Croc by himself.” He shoots a pointed look at Damian. “Broken ribs and possible concussion, but he’ll be fine. B texted the Batphone because you weren’t answering your regular phone.”

“Oh so he made up an emergency just because I wasn’t answering my texts? Fuck this. I’m going home.” Something clouds Dick’s face—Sadness or disappointment, maybe?—but Jason can’t be bothered with that right now.

“Wait! It is, kind of, an emergency. Just not a vigilante one. He’s dealing with something upstairs, but he’ll be down soon. Why don’t we spar in the meantime?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

/No/. He can’t spar Dick, he can barely fuckin’ move without wanting to scream.

“No.”

“C’mon, Jay! It’ll be fun! We haven’t sparred together in a while.”

“Not today, Dickhead.”

“Jayyyyyyyy.”

This isn’t gonna go well.

“Fine, one round.”

“Yes!”

They head over to the mats, and Dick gestures at Jason’s armor. “Wanna change out of that?”

“I’m good.” No way in hell is he sparring without his armor, if he tries he might collapse.

“C’mon, scared I’ll hit you too hard? Fight me on equal terms.”

“We both know it’s still not equal terms, I can beat you any day, /Boy Wonder/.”

Jason sheds his armor, gritting his teeth as he does.

Why is he fuckin’ doing this?

Jason’s gonna regret this. His last piece of armor hits the ground, and Jason steps on the mats.

“Weapons?”

Dick tosses him two rattan Kali sticks in response, and then grabs two for himself.

Jason exhales slowly, preparing himself for the eventuality of exacerbating his pain.

”Ready?” Dick shoots Jason a wide grin, bouncing eagerly on his toes.

Jason nods sharply, tapping Dick’s sticks with his own.

The second Jason is in ready position, Dick is lunging forward. Jason ducks, swinging at Dick’s knees.

Dick jumps, and the fight picks up.

The ringing of their sticks hitting each other resounds through the cave.

Jason is gritting his teeth against the ache radiating through his body, made sharper with every clash of the Kali sticks.

Dick lands a sharp hit on Jason’s ribs. Jason jumps back, but not fast enough.

Jason kicks at Dick’s chest. Dick retaliates with his own, aimed at Jason’s hips.

Jason steps forward, sticks aimed at Dick’s own ribs, and then tosses his elbow back into Dick’s face.

They trade blows for a while.

Blocking, evading, and attacking.

The fight stretches on, a flurry of movement and the clashing of the sticks. Fatigue weighs on Jason, pain lances through him—sharper and sharper with every movement.

Dick lands a sharp kick on Jason’s hip, and Jason collapses with a stifled scream.

His hip was one of his weakest points, the crowbar had shattered it, and there was only so much the Lazarus pit could repair.

Dick hits his knees next to Jason, “Jase? What’s wrong?”

Damian comes over as well, leaving the med cot from which he’d been watching.

Jason just groans, twisting awkwardly to try and get away. Dick stops him with hands on his shoulder, “Stay still, Jaybird, we don’t know if it’s safe to move yet.” Jason rolls his eyes.

“I fuckin’ do, and if you don’t get your fuckin’ hands off me, you’re gonna lose them.” Jason ground out. It’s an empty threat and they all know it. Jason couldn’t do shit right now.

He weakly shoves at Dick’s hands until they move, and Jason shoves himself up. He vaguely hears Dick telling Damian to call Bruce, but he’s not listening. He stumbles forward, nearly smacking his head on the wall in front of him.

“Jay!” Dick rushes over again, trying to steady him. “Settle down, ok? We can wait in the med bay.”

“Fuck off,” Jason grits his teeth. His leg still isn’t steady—well, even less steady than it was to begin with.

”Jace, please.”

Jason glares, and limps past him to the pile of armor just beyond the training mats. He starts putting it back on, getting ready to leave.

Just as he starts stalking (limping very slowly) to his bike, Bruce stops him with a hand on his elbow.

“I can’t let you leave, Jason.”

He’s dimly aware of Dick guiding Damian upstairs.

”Oh yeah? Fuckin’ watch me.” He shoves Bruce’s hand off and makes it all 3 steps before Bruce stops him again. This time, Bruce just scoops him up in a fireman’s carry—and boy if that doesn’t make his whole body just /scream/—and carries him to the med bay. “Fuck you, Old Man.” He growls.

Bruce sets him as gently as possible on the cot.

“Will you just cooperate, please? We can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

”Maybe I don’t want your help.” Jason crosses his arms, then immediately regrets it when it twists his wrists in a weird way.

”Jason, please.”

”Why the fuck did you call me here.”

”I needed you to look after your siblings for a few days while I fly out on a business trip. Dick is needed in Bludhaven, Damian’s injured, and I don’t fully trust them alone together. Alfred is on a very rare vacation.”

”Fuck no. I was comfortable in bed, and you called me out here for a stupid ass reason.” Jason moves to hop off the cot. “I’m going home. You wanna stop me? You’re gonna have to fight.” Jason knows he wouldn’t win in that situation, but he’s banking on Bruce refusing to fight him while he’s ‘injured’.

Jason’s not injured. He’s just in pain.

…There’s a difference.

”I’m not fighting you, you can barely walk without limping.”

”Then I’m leaving.”

”No.”

”Fuckin’ stop me then.”

Bruce grabs him around the waist and pushes him back on the cot. Jason is powerless to stop him.

”Jason…”

”Fine! If I promise it’s not a big deal and this just happens sometimes will you let me go?”

”No.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

”Tell me what’s wrong.”

”It’s not a big deal.”

”Tell me anyway.”

Jason glares defiantly, but Bruce just waits.

”Fine. I have chronic pain, both from being a vigilante since before my bones and joints were fully developed and the whole, y’know, crowbar broke almost every bone in my body thing.” Jason is not pouting. At all. He’s not at all affected by the fact his family knows how much he struggles now, which is exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

Bruce’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to speak.

Before he does, Jason rushes to speak first. “C’mon, you can’t tell me none of you experience chronic pain. You and Dickhead have been vigilantes longer than I have.”

“Of course we do, but this seems incapacitating for you.”

Jason shrugs, “Only during flare ups. Usually it’s manageable.”

“Do you know what caused it?”

Jason nods but doesn’t elaborate.

”Are you going to tell me?”

”Are you gonna let me leave?”

”Jason…”

Jason stubbornly crosses his arms again and leans against the wall. The position makes his back spike with pain, but the only way to fix that is to lay down on the hard cot, and like hell is he putting himself in a more vulnerable position.

Besides, he’s not entirely sure he could sit back up if he does. He used most of his energy getting up after he collapsed during sparring.

That was embarrassing.

Bruce is clearly thinking over what’s happened in the last couple days, trying to figure out what Jason’s not telling him.

Normally he would have told Bruce, just to see the guilt spiral when he realizes it was something he did, but Jason really doesn’t have the energy to deal with mopey Bruce. Or Hyperfixated Bruce who has to fix the problem and won’t sleep or eat until he does.

Alfred’s the only one that can effectively pull Bruce from either spiral.

“The new armor…?” Bruce trails off with a questioning glance at him. ”That’s the only thing I can think of that was different, unless something else happened that you’re not telling me. But why would that cause a flare up?”

Jason sighs heavily, “My armor has a lot of extra support in it. I designed it specifically so it would brace my joints and help manage pain.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

”Because it’s my problem! You shouldn’t have to accommodate me.”

“Jay…regardless, that’s something I should know. If not for the fact I am your father, I am also the leader of this team. I can’t make sure you're safe in the field if you don’t tell me you need accommodations.” Bruce sighs again, “Is there anything I can do that will help? I’m not comfortable with you going home alone when it’s this bad.”

Jason pouts but gives in. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to get up and go all the way back to his apartment in Crime Alley. “Heating pads are the only thing that really help.”

“Ok. You want to go upstairs or stay down here?”

“Upstairs, I need a real bed.” He pushes himself off the wall, gritting his teeth against sharp pain.

Bruce grabs his elbow and helps him off the bed and over to the elevator. He tugs Jason into his side, “You’re not alone, Jason, you don’t have to hide things like this.”

When they get upstairs—they took the elevator all the way to the second floor—Bruce leads them to his room. Jason hesitates for a second.

“If it makes you uncomfortable I can set you up in one of the other rooms. My bed has the best mattress.”

Jason nods, and limps the rest of the way into the room. Bruce grabs several heating pads—apparently they were conveniently located in Bruce’s bathroom—and starts plugging them in and setting up. He gets Jason situated on the bed, rearranging the pillows for more support, then steps back “You good? I’m going to grab water and snacks from the kitchen and then I’ll be back.”

Jason settles against the heat pads, wanting to sigh in relief. Finally, some of the pain is dulled. His eyes close and he loses all track of time.

Soon, Bruce comes back in and Jason cracks an eye open. Ace follows Bruce in, and after the man sets the tray of snacks on the nightstand, he signals Ace to jump up. Bruce slides in next to him, holding Jason the best he can without dislodging the heating pads or pillow mountain.

“What ‘bout your trip?” Jason murmurs.

“It doesn’t matter, I can go another time. You’re not alone, Jaylad, I love you.” Bruce whispers against his hair, and Jason lets himself drift off.

“Love you too,” Jason’s words come out slurred and muffled, but Bruce clearly hears him and acknowledges him with a soft squeeze.

He’s floating somewhere between sleep and awake when he becomes aware of his other brothers joining them. Dick is talking quietly with Bruce above his head, but Jason can’t focus enough to decipher the words.

Everyone settles in, and Jason finally falls asleep.

He’s safe, surrounded by his family.

#jason todd #batfam #batman #my fics #jason todd fic #bruce wayne #fic writing #fics #and sweet jason

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moonlight-tmd · 5 months

Note

Oh? God Bee?? Please tell us more.

OOOH BOY I WILL TELL YOU MORE AND BEYOND-

SO- In this AU, Bumblebee is secretly a lesser deity (more known as celestial lords). One of many that guard and sometimes interact with the mortal world for fun. Nobody knows about the lesser gods anymore because their cults have died out and worship was forgotten long ago and the knowledge about religions is only kept in deep archives for the sake of keeping track of history. The only knowledge about gods that survived to this day is about Primus and Unicron- the "good" and the "evil" halves that function and fight with each other to maintain balance, kind of like Yin Yang.

Bumblebee's god name is Beisilan, he's a Celestial Lord of Dreams and Wishes, Patron of misfits and all things out-of-place. His domain is Dream Realm and his duty is to make and keep guard of dreams and nightmares. He is also the one the mortals summon to make their wishes come true- signing pacts, deals, etc. He's the most social of the deities, per se.

He's known to be mischevious, curious and playful (and deranged) but also dangerous- he's the one that tugs at the strings of luck and steers the wind that pushes you in certain directions in life.

I've allowed myself to sketch a little something for the reference-

In his god form he's a tad bigger than his mortal frame (although he can change size at will), he has additional arms and 5 eyes cuz as stated previously, he's with misfits (plus he likes to be the odd one out). He also has 6 glowing ribbons that he can control like tentacles sticking from his back. He's levitating most of the time because why should he be restricted to ground. He also has that godly glow to him, you ever seen Disney's Hercules? Kind of like the gods there have.

So- I imagine he comes down to mortal realm and gives himself a mortal frame to posses until it dies. And this continues on, with some neons of breaktime between each lifetime, and currently he's Bumblebee-

The way he met Team Prime is very much different from the original events- it was Optimus, Ratchet, Bulkhead and freshly picked up and intergrated Prowl on the team. Their ship was drifting in space so theu could do some stuff and something hit the wing, Bulk and Prowl were send to check and maybe fix the damage but instead of an asteroid they saw a little yellow bot, frosted over and greyish in color limply hanging from the wing. Of course they pulled it into the ship and got it to the ship's medbay immediately. When the bot woke up few joors later they got to learn his name was Bumblebee. He didn't remember what happened, only that he was thrown out of the ship and left to die. The team kept him, Bee was very adamant on staying with them and from what he said his skills could come in handy for them.

They become closer and end up on Earth afterwards. Everything is quite normal no once but them is on the planet yet,... until one day Team Prime goes to investigate some strange activity and find a group of stray mechs trying to do a ritual of some sorts- turns out they weren't the only ones on the planet, just the area. And that group is seemingly trying to do some cult stuff. They have few encounters before the cult group captured Team Prime to use in the sacrifice to summon something. And so coincidentally, the leader chose Bee to sacrifice. (Inspired by Bad Feeling by Jagwar Twin)

They place him in the ritual circle with all the sigils n stuff and do the rites. Team Prime tries their best to get themselves free while Bee seems more awkward than scared- then teh whole area inside the circle dills with white fire... nothing happens. The leader glances at the other cult folks and tries to figure something out. In the meantime- Bee pokes his helm up from the fire and stands up while shaking his wrist free off molten metal that used to be stasis cuffs. "Yeah, this sacrificial ritual really lacks the 'sacrificial' part..."

He bickers with the leader who tries to go near and grab him, thinking the fire is safe. But the moment he sticks his servo inside the circle the flames burn and melt half of it off. Everyone just stares shocked and quite alarmed as to why the fire harmed the cult folk and is not harming Bee- a minute later Bee snickers and burst out laughing... but then the laugh glitches a bit and he sounds like he's laughing his insanity out. He throws his servos up and falls back, after he submerged in fire there is just silence. The same leader cult folk that tried to grab him goes near, carefully looking if the bot is dead already- but the moment he gets too close some yellow figure launches out, grabs him and pulls him into the fire with it.

The fire that was once white turns vibrant yellow and with a small explosion, a figure emerges... at brief glance it looked normal but no... the figue stretched, its 4 arms making sure they were seen. Then 2 of its eyes blink open before the other 3 open as well. Its mouth forms a big almost-painful-to-look-at grin, sharp teeth glaring at them. The thing's build was odd, almost resembling a build of someone starving. But most noticable detail- the one that told them this somehow was Bee- was the voice; it was choir-like, few tones of similar voices speaking at once but one tone prominent the most, the tone of Bumblebee's voice. "It feels good~... Been a long while since I done this."

The creature didn't introduce itself, only seemed curious and kept guessing what the summoners might want- which resulted in a rather annoying and disappointed moment when the summoners had no idea who they summoned instead of whoever they tried to summon. So obviously, it had to explain. And what a better way to explain that a musical! (Alastor's Game by The Living Tombstone. The song is exactly the same with exception of few words; "-give mr. Alastor Beisilan a call."-be your sweet, radio mischevious demon.")

As the song goes on Beisilan show different aspect of himself- from proposing a pact scroll to the cultist folks to making everyone delve into the odd nightmareish plane for brief seconds before pulling them to a side and showing them all the things they want. Team Prime has a brief moment of seeing their perfect world before it turns to dust and flees to the cultist who do their things and then they see them 'get posessed'. ("did i mention that you're cursed?")

Then they have a brief flashes of places that match the lyrics and at the end, Team Prime is not chained up near the ritual site but instead standing free some distance away from the summoning ring and watches as the mindless cultists stand around the circle and have stringst wrapped around their necks as to show they are bound. The creature finished singing and bows and then just like it appeared, it disappeared in a burst of flames along with the cultists...

Team Prime had a short moment to recollect and try to think what happened before, even when it said its leaving, the same creature that sang comments something from behind them. The reactions are amusing to it. After a bit of wordplay and insane giggles, the creature introduces itself as Beisilan. He explains that he's Bee and not Bee and all that confusing stuff but he does like the bunch so he is their friend and they are stuck with him. He doesn't say what happened to the cultists, only that "they paid the price a little early" and that they shouldn't worry about them. Team Primes leaves as told so Bei can 'clean up' the ritual site, he also tells them to not speak of it again. They only see Bee again next morning.

Sari wasn't there so she never knew. Or at least until some other events in the future that i will save for another post cuz this one is fucking long. I still kept it as short and on point as possible.

Hope you enjoyed reading my nonsense. Expect it to be added to the AU list now that you made me write about it.

#maccadam #tfa #ask box #tfa bumblebee #tfa au #celestial!bee au #long post #moon derg art

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