#I'm posting snippets but it's worth reading in full

[afloweroutofstone]

Hannah Arendt, who fled Germany in 1933, later wrote that long before Jews, Roma, gays, Communists and others could be herded into death camps, they had to be “denationalized” — excluded from the society that guaranteed their legal rights. Enlightenment thinkers had posited that just by virtue of existing, each person has inalienable rights. Arendt, however, observed that the “right to have rights” could be guaranteed only by a political community. Without a state to claim them as their own, people have no laws, no courts and no political mechanisms for protecting rights.

Arendt once said that “the generally political became a personal fate when one emigrated.” As a stateless person, she experienced that loss of rights — unable to get papers, hiding from the police, interned as an enemy alien in France — before making it to the United States. She was lucky. Her friend Walter Benjamin committed suicide in his eighth year of exile, when the French authorities blocked him from crossing the border ahead of advancing German troops...

A country that has pushed one group out of its political community will eventually push out others. The Trump administration’s barrage of attacks on trans people can seem haphazard, but as elements of a denationalization project, they fall into place...

The message, consistent and unrelenting, is that trans people are a threat to the nation. The subtext is that we are not of this nation...

The rights the Trump administration is taking away from trans people are relatively new. Only in the past few decades, for example, have clear legal procedures existed for changing the gender marker on identity documents, and only in the past few years have federal and some state authorities made the process fairly easy. But before transgender, gender-nonconforming and intersex people were recognized as a group — or groups — of people who had rights, many could blend in, fly below the radar. Now, in their new rightlessness, they are exposed...

Living with documents that are inconsistent or at odds with your public identity is no small thing. It can keep you from opening a bank account, applying for financial aid, securing a loan, obtaining a driver’s license and traveling freely and safely inside a country or across borders. I was once detained in Russia after a routine road check because an officer thought I was a teenage boy using his mother’s driver’s license.

It’s not just American identity documents that are being scrambled. Like all things American, Trump’s denationalization campaign affects people far beyond the United States. In late February, Secretary of State Marco Rubio issued visa guidelines, ostensibly designed to keep foreign trans athletes from competing in the United States, that seem to direct consular officers to deny entry to anyone whose gender markers appear different from their sex assigned at birth.

The new regulations require visitors, when filling out the paperwork to cross the border into the United States, to indicate the sex they were assigned at birth. Lucien Lambertz, a German curator who is trans and was planning a professional trip to the United States, told me they worried that they would be denied entry if they complied, indicating a birth sex different from the gender marker in their passport, but also if they didn’t comply.

Lambertz emailed the Foreign Ministry in their country to ask for guidance. “The issue is the subject of tense discussions here at the ministry, and your concerns are absolutely understandable,” the response read, in part. Ordinarily, the Foreign Ministry would suggest asking the U.S. Embassy, but by doing so, as the letter noted, Lambertz “would then ‘out’ yourself to them.”

Trans and nonbinary Germans fear that their country’s incoming conservative government may take its cues from the Trump administration. Far-right parties, ascendant in Germany and other European countries, have made the specter of “gender ideology” a centerpiece of their politics.

“Something has changed,” Heinrich Horwitz, a German choreographer, told me. Horwitz, who is nonbinary, was recently assaulted at the main train station in Vienna. The attacker was demanding to know whether Horwitz was “a girl or a boy.” Before they could make out what the attacker was saying, Horwitz instinctively tucked the Star of David they wear around their neck inside their shirt. “I thought that would be safer.” Horwitz, who was born in Munich in 1984, is the child of a Holocaust survivor. “I grew up with this idea that I could always go to the U.S. if the Nazis came back,” they told me. That no longer seems like an option.

You know how this column is supposed to end. I rehearse all the similarities between Jews in Germany in 1933 and trans people in the United States in 2025: the tiny fraction of the population, the barrage of bureaucratic measures that strip away rights, the vilifying rhetoric. The silence on the part of ostensible allies. (Trump spent about five minutes of his recent address to Congress specifically attacking trans people and 10 minutes attacking immigrants; the Democratic rebuttal mentioned immigrants once and trans people not at all.) Then I finish with the standard exhortation: The attacks won’t stop here. If you don’t stand up for trans people or immigrants, there won’t be anyone left when they come for you.

But I find that line of argument both distasteful and disingenuous. It is undoubtedly true that the Trump administration won’t stop at denationalizing trans people, but it is also true that a majority of Americans are safe from these kinds of attacks, just as a majority of Germans were. The reason you should care about this is not that it could happen to you but that it is already happening to others. It is happening to people who, we claim, have rights just because we are human. It is happening to me, personally.

[wafywaify]

continuing the shen yuan street singer au because it's been eating my brain ever since I posted the first part. part 1 incase u missed it!

--

Okay, this could've gone a whole lot worse!! But he has some leeway here!! Look.. as long as he just keeps singing.. he cant come up to him..? Its rude to ruin a performance, everyone knows that! Surely if he just.. goes on for a few more songs the protagonist will get bored and leave!! Nobody cares that much. ..right?

Finishing off his fifth song, Written in your heart, by of course, barbie princess and the pauper, he huffs a few breaths before opening his eyes. He hadn't even realized he had closed them. He looks up to see.. Binghe.. still staring at him. Unmoving. At this point, hes unable to stop the small scowl from forming on his face. And its clear Binghe catches it, with the way he perks up an eyebrow. Why is he even still here!? He can't be that upset, can he?

A shiver runs down his spine at the imagining of.. whatever binghe wants with him. Probably some type of scathing revenge for blowing him off so easily. He looks around the crowd, just now noticing almost more than half had already left! There were really only a few stragglers and.. him. The tip jar he set on a stool was almost full.

Apparently, he'd paused for a bit too long.. the rest of his crowd were leaving!! Wait, no!! Don't leave me here with the emporer!! Oh gods, he's totally dead. Goodbye cruel world! It was fun while it lasted..

With an admittedly rushed pace, he begins packing up his things and dumping his jar of coins into his satchel before throwing it over his shoulder. With a swish, he turns back around, ready to all but sprint to the exit if he has to, before hes fully stopped with a hand to his shoulder. A very strong, very big.. very.. very handy hand. A hand that most definitely will... tear off limbs. He can feel his entire body stiffen and he winces, bracing himself before looking up.

"Yes, my lord...?"

Thank the gods his voice didn't falter! If it had he might as well have buried himself before binghe had the chance to.

It seems like time had stopped then. Binghes eyes roamed over his face for a few before smiling. A chill runs down his spine.

"You have an interesting voice."

...what?

"Ah- uh.. thank you, my lord.." He mutters out before he can stop himself. This wasn't at all what he had thought would happen. Perhaps he's just trying to get a good read on him? To see if he's even worth his time????

Binghe just hums before.. turning around and leaving? Just like that? So.. was he really not here for him, then? Did he really just want entertainment..? At a bar..? He stays still in place, watching the taller man walk towards the exit. He stops, placing a hand on the door before looking back.

"Next time, don't ignore this lord." He huffs out, voice somehow teasing yet still.. threatening. A clear undertone there. "I won't be as lenient."

Ah, there it is. He is totally fucked.

--

oki thats all for now!!! I rlly hope yall like this au as much as I do loll. I'm definitely going to continue this and post little snippets about it here and there!! If/when I start actually writing it as a fanfic, should I post chapters as I go or just wait till its fully finished to post??

[unhingedromione]

what is your favorite romione fics and what are the ones you’ve written you like the most 👀👀👀👀👀 finding fics on archive have been impossible and a girl is desperate 🌞

Oooh chileeee *rolls up sleeves*

Okay, so I'm listing my all-time favorites below (mostly on FFN since it's been YEARS since I've been plugged into this fandom).

As for my stuff *buries head* this ridiculous ass fic that I wrote when I was FOURTEEN is my main claim to fame (it's trash but also still kinda slaps?). BUT I'VE BEEN WORKING ON A TON OF NEW STUFF. I have six fics coming out this month through the @romione-trope-fest (btw the best active Romione writers are participating in that fest, so you should definitely follow it if you haven't been already! Here's the AO3 collection for the fest.).

ALSO I saw that you are a Renaissance fan. I have one that's 50% done called "Virgo's Groove" (EDIT: it's here!) and it takes place in the seventh book when Lupin announces Teddy's birth. I can share a snippet tomorrow if you'd like 🙂

Okay enough self promo lol. On to my recs!

Seven Simple Years by HalfASlug (FFN): Best Romione missing moments series ever. I think HalfASlug has the best Ron voice. Everything she's ever written for Romione is worth reading.

Moments by Armaysha (FFN): Another missing moments (I'm a sucker for those) that I feel kind of mixed about, even though it's still one of my favs. The writer has a different take on Romione than most of the fandom. It generally works IMO, but some of the choices she made I really didn't understand. But what she did well, she did really, really well.

I Must Not Tell Lies by TMBlue (FFN): I think this is the best one-shot of Romione's first fuck. TMBlue is GREAT at writing Ron and she's like the queen of Romione smut.

Six Foot of Ginger Idiot by Pinky Brown (FFN): This classic is HBP from Ron's perspective. Pinky Brown is another iconic Ron writer. You can't go wrong with anything she's written, but Biscuits (her missing moments series starting in Book 1) starts dragging in the last few chapters IMO.

Australia by MsBinns (FFN): Post-war series, arguably the greatest Romione fic of all time. To be totally honest, I didn't finish it because it does kind of drag. But I'm always meaning to get back into it. Just know that it's heavy.

Love Me Forever by Aloemilk (AO3/FFN): I JUST read this and I can't stop thinking about it. It's a post-war series that has a great mix of angst, trauma, and fluff (lighter than Australia). The slow burn from Romione's first kiss to a full-fledged adult relationship is perfect and the smut is SO GOOD. Reminds me of the time I stumbled upon porn that made me ugly cry (in a good way?)

Not single fics but thesecondself and realmer06 (both on FFN, although realmer06's next gen stuff is also on AO3) are my favorite one-shot writers.

[mosylufanfic]

Lie to Me

Here it is!! I teased y'all with this story all week and decided it was time to post it. This snippet is pretty much exactly what I posted as a snippet earlier but it comes with a link to the whole story.

According to my notes, I've been working on this story since April of 2017. I kept coming back to it, and then getting distracted by some other shiny idea. But I decided I really wanted to finish it.

Lie to Me

Oklahoma, 1940

The long, rutted driveway sent up puffs of dust under his wheels. He parked under a  tree with sunburnt, scrawny leaves that offered minimal shade. Still better than none at all.

The heat burned down on his shoulders as he fished his valise out of the trunk and climbed the steps to the porch. He knocked on the wooden frame of the screen door and waited.

The woman who came up the hallway to answer was small, young, with dark hair falling in her wide green eyes and a full cupid's-bow of a mouth. The flowered print of her dress was faded almost into invisibility. "Yes? Can I help you?"

She hadn't lost her British accent, he noticed, although years in the States had softened the crisp edges of it.

He took off his hat. "Afternoon, ma'am." His voice was soft and syrupy, oozing South all over the vowels and consonants. "I saw your sign on the road. Rooms to let? I'm hoping you've got one available for a weary traveler."

She looked over his shoulder to the car, settling onto its wheels with a sigh. "For how long?"

"Just tonight. I'm headed down Austin way."

"It'll be three dollars," she said. 

His brows went up. "That's a stiff price, if you don't mind me saying so, ma'am."

She shrugged one shoulder. "It includes dinner and breakfast, and a packed lunch for the road, and it's still half what you'd pay in Tulsa."

Three dollars was exactly what you'd pay for a night at a motor hotel in Tulsa, but he felt reluctant admiration for her sheer brazenness. And who knew? The food might be worth it. He nodded. "Three dollars will be fine."

She opened the door and stood back. "Come on in, then."

"I do thank you," he said, wiping his feet on the mat and stepping inside. "Castor Willix, ma'am."

"Lianna Hallik," she said.

Keep reading on AO3

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

Corinne: "PC has been a priority for us! It’s heartening to see so many PC champions on the team working hard to make this a great experience" [source]

Corinne: "Enjoy shield-bashing and drop-kicking hurlocks off the ramparts! Don’t forget to toss that shield around too" [source]

User: "I love that they chose a no mage party to showcase. 😂 The two companions thing had me a little worried that I’d have to take a warrior and a mage into battle with my Rook rogue all the time." / Corinne: "We know players get attached to certain characters, so while there are benefits to having one of each class, it’s completely viable and intended that you can find synergies with a variety of party comps" [source]

Each Background has a specific last name, very much inspired by the approach in Origins [source]

Corinne: "We’ve put a lot of effort into ensuring our gameplay and customized difficulty options allow players to find something comfortable and engaging for themselves. I’m sure you’ll do great! It was one of the biggest challenges in designing the combat system, as we know the Dragon Age player-base has a wide range of motivations and expectations." [source]

Corinne mentioned to a user who said that they prefer a warrior/mage experience but without all the slash and spin of rogue attacks that they might enjoy the Warrior Reaper spec [source]

Hrungr noticed that it looks like you can hide your armor as well as your helmet [source]

Mary: "True fact: For the longest time, in the DA writers' pit, we had "It has been __ (usually 0) days since someone mentioned cannibalism" on the whiteboard." [source]

Gabe, posting the release date reveal trailer: "My friends, I have made an effort to avoid shilling too much here so that when I do, it'll be worth it. I love this game and the team that brought it to life so much." [source]

Bryce: "if I may workpost for a sec, I'm forever grateful for days like today when I get to gush about dragon age with the fans this community is so welcoming and my heart is so full today 💜" [source]

The ray-tracing NVIDIA video from earlier this week that showed mage combat was showing early-on mage combat [source]

Blair: "the achievement names include some personal career highlights for me." [source]

Trick on the podcast: "The [DA:TV game] writers were pretty tapped with other stuff at the time, sadly, but I think it came together great." [source]

Though neither option is wrong or evil, making Cole more human in DA:I leaves him sadder [source]

John: "honestly it’s a very strange feeling to go from a half decade of ‘dragon age? maaaaybe we’re making a new one? tee hee’ to actually being able to talk about it" [source]

John: "been busy all day so I just got to read some of the reactions to the DATV combat showcase. I am incredibly proud of this team and I’m thrilled to see people excited about it. even after spending every day with it for the last 5 years I still love playing it." [source]

John: "being creative director means i work with pretty much every single department and team on the project. everyone brings creativity and innovation to their roles and the project would be nothing without them (and it)" [source]

John: "am I playing our game for fun on a Friday night, I certainly am. romancing my own companion to do one last check to make sure all the conditionals work. folks it is a very strange thing" [source, two]

[russell-crowe]

If you want an excuse, go off about Rhod and Greg plz 🙏 I'm a Taskmaster girlie and I've seen some of Greg's comedy specials but outside of that I don't know much about him/his friendship with Rhod and I'm curious from all the little snippets you post about them 🥹

hiiiii!!!! i'm sorry i left this sitting in my inbox since thursday evening, but this honestly felt like a “buying flights” kind of big-screen commitment, and i wanted to make sure i had (1) my laptop and (2) the energy to really cook something up in response.

i think taskmaster is such a fun first introduction to rhod and greg, but it becomes even funnier once you know more about how their friendship works and where it comes from. the format of the show makes rhod come off as a bit of a meanie towards greg, but in reality, they both bicker just as much, and half the time it’s greg who goes into full Big Meanie mode first. by now, that kind of verbal jousting is basically second nature for them. :’)

mind you, i know most of this from rhod’s side of things, so i’m definitely missing some of greg’s perspective. (sorry not sorry, i have actual days worth of material to go through just with rhodtent (rhod content))

so. they actually met on a comedy course that rhod’s girlfriend at the time signed him up for. greg has talked about meeting rhod in those early days and thinking he seemed “aloof, maybe a bit rude,” which, honestly, tracks. rhod in Very Shy mode can definitely come off as a bit distant. but from that course, a friendship started to form. they ended up doing edinburgh fringe together (they shared a flat for it, which they reference to in taskmaster), performed comedy together in the uk, and did gigs abroad in places like asia (where this story is from) and australia (this story). greg says they "literally started out together" and that "rhod and I have always enjoyed what seems like a humorous, jousting relationship" ;_;

here's a pic of them and two other comedians (who i shall not drag into this post) in 2003:

one of my favourite things about watching them interact is how obvious it is that they care about each other, even if they’re not great at talking about feelings because they are Men after all (please read that with irony). like in rhod’s shyness documentary, where greg goes “i thought we were going to talk about my shyness” and rhod just stares at him like “your shyness?????” and they both look baffled.

and what really gets me is how greg clearly finds rhod’s brain delightful. he’s always laughing at his weird little tangents and poking at him to keep going. as someone with a slightly scrambled brain myself, i find that really comforting. it feels like greg provides this safe and funny space where rhod can just exist as he is without needing to explain himself. or it gives greg material to heckle him about.

they also just get to be really silly together. greg still has that grown-up-but-still-a-silly-man energy that you hear about in stories from his teacher days, and rhod is basically a full-time inner child with a comedy career. i love how they bounce off each other, just grinning like school boys. greg will come up with something oddly specific like “i couldn’t focus because your voice is annoying,” and rhod immediately tries to counter that like a 7-year-old like “well i had to look at your FACE!!” and it’s so dumb but so charming because it’s them?? you feel me??

there’s also this really sweet bit on the stand up to cancer comedy roast where rhod meets up with his two best friends, greg and barry (barry’s the one in my earlier gifset of them climbing kilimanjaro). they’re still joking around, and greg really does not hold back with the darker humour, but under the surface you can feel how relieved and grateful they all are to be there together. it’s very ;__;

and like. ok. if your brain is unhinged like mine and puts on shipping goggles:

the way they’re physically comfortable with each other is fascinating. rhod has kind of a weird relationship with touch. he’s a hugger with friends but also used to cut his own hair because he hated being touched, and he always kind of hovers just out of frame in photos with others. but with greg (and some other guys) he's very touchy and Close and silly and poking at them Quite Literally, so i love the idea of him just quietly growing closer to greg until it’s normal and unspoken and just what they do. but they never address it because of the aforementioned Inability To Talk About Feelings. :)

the old couple bickering dynamic hits different when you imagine them as an actual couple. the banter feels like second nature at this point and honestly if that isn’t love what is (i say, starving for a relationship like this)

i know it’s them being silly but when greg casually goes “strip to the waist, see what happens” or “you’ve kissed me before, i’m sure” or "you can't say rhod and greg davies, people might think we're married" or shaves rhod on camera while laughing like it’s the most normal thing in the world... the shipping part of my brain simply lights up like a christmas tree.

i think they really compliment each other’s insecurities. in my writing (which is still rotting peacefully in my google docs) i keep coming back to this idea of rhod having someone who makes him feel safe and accepted and protected. i love emotionally vulnerable rhod so much and while that is also very much There in his current real life marriage (which i truly, truly adore - they are literally perfect for each other); it's fun to explore a... different type of softness and emotions in a male relationship? but purely in fictional rpf land.

also. grumpy adopted stray and its tired handler. that’s the dynamic. that’s them.

anyway. this spiralled. but i love them so much and i’m so glad you gave me an excuse to yell about them for a while. thank you for coming to my brief ted talk! if you want to get more into them, i recommend listening to the time they were stand-ins on bbc radio 2 together (it's them at their silliest), watching their episode of world's most dangerous roads and watching ask rhod gilbert (it's... an experience). i can hook you up /w those!

[seaglassmelody]

Shameless Self Promotion Saturday

Thank you for the tag @rookamell!! I'm so happy you posted your doodles again they are amazing and I love them so much

The idea: We make a post and show off, what cool stuff we created over the past week. Art, Screenshots, writing (anything from a questionnaire about your OC to the 100K epos...) anything we do is worth to be seen and to be promoted. And by tagging people, commenting, and reblogging, we share the love and boost ourselves, and other's confidence. No matter what form you choose, whether you reblog your initial post, or create a new one with teasers, you decide!

Got some stuff bubbling in the background right now, but I had a big week this week by posting my (finally finished) oneshot, A Pie for Lace Harding! Thank you to everyone who has read so far <3 And especially thank you for all the sweet comments you guys are amazing ;A;

(and if you're interested you could also check out my other fic, I'd Give Everything (And More), a oneshot focused on Neve and Rook's tough feelings on friendship!)

I also threw a couple little snippets into the mix with A Word With Friends (featuring love of my life Johanna Hezenkoss) and my last Bellara week post (which honestly I might slowly be converting to shipping Bellara and Davrin haha oops)

And finally! I posted this already but you will see it again! It's Sabi's moodboard (and a bonus Sabi from me experimenting with photo mode)!

Bellara Week was full of such great ideas and cool works! Can't wait for Davrin Week coming up soon :D

Tagging @thedissonantverses, @hedwigoprah, @lgvalenzuela, @davrinsleftpectoral, @antivan-sprig, @mythals-whore, @himluv, @woundedsoul12, aaand @bronzeagelove if you guys wanna share!! And anyone else who wants to, I want to see!!

[pistatsia]

My first book is out!

HI HELLO EVERYONE, my debut book is finally out and available for purchase!

The exact way I (and you, hopefully) like it: not actually that bad traumatised young people making terrible decisions and then dealing with the consequences while digging up through their entire mentality and life patterns in parallel. This time in a mystery wrapper. Also there's football, because of course there's football. I didn't write the stupid kids kicking the ball these past two years in order to just cast those skills off.

Of course, this is not everything - I love to think that this book is about the need of overcoming yourself, the right of a human for their own fight, impossibility for a child to harm an adult on an equal level, understanding of responsibility, and, most importantly, acceptance of oneself and one's past even in those things that cannot be undone or fixed, - but let me be funny for once.

Once upon a time, a boy meets a girl… And then one of them kills her father. Thirteen years later they both confess to the murder. Who exactly is the real killer? That's a good question, and you have the unique chance to acquire that sacred knowledge for only 3 euro 83 cents. A deal of a lifetime, if you ask me.

So, come read “Louder Than Lies”. In addition to the little hell of psychological themes highlighted, here we have:

Heterobaiting (should be impossible to write but here we are);

Psychopath character study (I wish I was joking);

Childhood friends trope gone WRONG.

And, of course, the main cast, starring:

The gem of all annoying character archetypes, literal wiki trope thinking he's the hell of originality, born to slay but forced to take antipsychotics, crime suspect in reality but an actor in heart. That actually says the truth but only after blabbering on about his stupid life for two hours (And is also wittingly manipulating the investigation)

His childhood friend, unreliable narrator of her own life, waiting for the aforementioned disgrace of a humankind to ruin the rest of what's left of her already ruined life. A suspect in killing, but POLITE because hypercomensation does wonders to a human being (And is also unwittingly manipulating the investigation)

“Holy hell, call the police! Fuck, wdym I'm the police” main character guy trying to uncover this mess, extraordinare Kai "no my mommy issues absolutely DO NOT interfere with the investigation please trust" Laas

If my reputation as a ficwriter matters to you in any way, I'm betting it all on this book. Seriously. I realise that even for someone whose work you know, it can be uncomfortable to throw money away like that. That's why I'm opening up asks again, and will periodically post book-related stuff on my blog, as well as the fragments from the book - so you'll have a chance to ask, rate, giggle, cry, and decide. In addition, a preview snippet should be available on Amazon - you can also give the idea of reading the book a shot after reading it. I will also upload some extra stories on ao3.

On top of that, since I'm not promoting the book in full mode yet because I want to finish the second part first, in comparison to future readers you have a unique opportunity to build on your theories, solve the few lines remaining before I'll publish. And even rant about it with me, so who knows? Maybe you'll influence the way the plot would be embodied. I'd say it's worth the stakes.

Obviously, buying my book will mean a lot to me (especially if you've also read some of the 270k ao3 words I posted in all this time). Thank you for your trust and for reaching the end this post; I really do hope all those hairs lost from nerves in the process of writing it will tip the scales of the decision in my favour.

GET THE BOOK

Cover artist

[emmalostinwonderland]

oH ITS NOT WEDNESDAY? Yeah im like super late for... weeks worth of these. And 7 sentence sundays. So I'm gonna give you a couple disjointed snippets here - enjoy the long post! Thank you to the people who tend to tag me in these, plus the first 4 I see in my notifs: @dizzymisslizzie @onthewaytosomewhere @suseagull5914 @cactusdragon517

This one is from my FirstPrince sense share au that should've been finished back in december, Butterflies and Tummy Aches:

A, You asked me once if I cook for myself. I wasn’t lying when I said I rarely do and with little success, but my father used to cook for our family on occasion. He’d let me sit on the counter beside the stove while he prepared the meal, humming whatever tune was stuck in his head and feeding me bits of vegetables and seasoned meats. He called me his royal taste-tester, said I had a real appreciation for the parts that make up the whole. (On reflection, you may even recall some of these moments — it would’ve been early afternoon for you, most likely. And on further reflection, I’m more certain he wasn’t just referring to cooking a meal with that last bit.) When he was first diagnosed, before his energy started to go, I asked him to teach me to make his favorite. I’ve never been able to make it just the way he did, but I’ve included the recipe in this email if you’d like to try. I warn you, my penmanship was much sloppier then — please call if you can’t make out a word or six along the way. Or perhaps call anyway. It’s raining here again, and I miss your silly jokes in your gorgeous voice. Love, H

Below the cut I have FirstPrince Star Wars AU, and Merrical (Jedi Survivor) Cold War AU for those who may be interested in that

FirstPrince SW:

Henry breathes in deeply, trembling with the pain echoing out through the Force all around him. “By now… by now the Republic has fallen.” “What?” Pez sinks onto the other end of the sofa Henry is curled up on. “What does that even mean?” “The Supreme Chancellor has named himself Emperor of the galaxy. An order went out amongst the clones… they’ve turned their blasters to the Jedi fighting alongside them. I—“ he stops abruptly, suddenly choked up. Pez rests a hand on his ankle, and Henry presses on, tears streaking down his cheeks. “I may be the last one.” “That can’t be… no, what of Alexander? Surely—“ “I couldn’t warn him. He’s leading a clone platoon; he’s surrounded.”

aaaand MerrinXCal (holy shit it's been ages since I wrote het fic, who even am I):

Finally, the door swings open again, and Merrin opens her eyes, trading the mental image of her dear Ilyana for the very real sight of the red-headed man from before. "Hello again," he says softly in accented Russian. "I brought you some coffee." "Thank you," she replies in equally accented English. His surprise, written all over his face, amuses her, and she reaches for the styrofoam cup of dark liquid. "It's decaf," he says, in English this time, "I'm sure you don't want to be kept up much longer. We've all been running around too long without sleep at this point." She hums noncommittally, understanding just enough to not need to refute it. "Speaking of which," he continues, "Bode and I managed to work something out with the Director, but I wanted to see how you feel about it too." "I am listening." He nods and scratches the side of his face. He is nervous, hesitant. "They wanted you under full surveillance, but it just didn't sit right with me. The best we could manage was sending you home with an agent." Merrin nods. "I will go with you, Agent Kestis." "Just Cal, please, I- wait, me?" "Is that not what you said?" "Oh, well, um..." Whatever is going through his mind runs its course quickly, and he snaps his jaw shut with a single nod. "If that's where you'll be comfortable, that's where you'll go."

if anyone's still reading and wants a tag... uh sure. Open tag. Go forth. Also thanks for sticking around - you're pretty cool.

[dieasthedevilwp]

hey! i remember you saying before that there were a lot of different versions of future ghosts that existed before the real future ghosts ™️ was published, and i'm curious to hear about those versions 😊 were they all called future ghosts? was rosie always rosie??

i have secretly been waiting for this question 😈

i actually still have all of the fics i never published! i have four twd ones, but i can only consider one of them an early version of future ghosts. the rest are just twd fics i wrote chapters for and never published.

• The Trail of the Dead: this fic is the one i would consider an early version of future ghosts. it has 50k words (for reference, junebug currently has around 200k, and future ghosts finished with 560k words), and three oc's. the main character is basically rosie, but her name is phoebe (her faceclaim was abby white). she has her fraser, too, but her fraser is called milo (his faceclaim was charlie plummer). the big difference, though, is that phoebe has a younger sister called rory (her faceclaim was aryana engineer). the book starts of with rory finding rick, daryl, and shane in the woods when running to try and find someone to help her save phoebe's life.

• Dead Man's Bones: this fic is closer to junebug than it is to future ghosts. it only has 11k words, and the main oc is daryl and merle's younger sister, ophelia. the only thing written is little snippets of ophelia's life leading up to the apocalypse, and then the first episode of twd.

• Fears: this fic has 25k words written and is about shane's daughter, riley. it starts off with riley leaving school on the day of the breakout, and then it goes into season one of twd. riley's mom died of cancer when she was eight, and she's had a tumultuous relationship with her dad ever since. she's sweet, but she also causes a lot of trouble.

• Young & Tragic: this fic has about 17k words written. it's another junebug-esque one, but a lot more complicated. the oc was called dakota, but the name dakota has since been claimed, so now i supposed i will call her auggie. so auggie is daryl dixon's daughter, but in this fic, daryl lives with auggie and her mom in chicago (i was deep into my white sox obsession when writing this, so i had an emotional attachment to chicago😭), and when the outbreak happens, daryl leaves to go get merle from georgia. says he'll be back in a few days, but he never comes back. one day, auggie's mom gets bit and she pulls a fraser, thinking it will stop her from turning, but it doesn't and auggie has to put her down (no one is safe from dieasthedevil trauma). then, auggie spends months trying to make her way to georgia to find her dad, with only a map, a compass, a backpack full of food, and a few weapons. any normal kid her age would get lost pretty quickly, but auggie is smart and she knows what she's doing. eventually, she finds herself hiding in a cabin in the woods. rick and shane just so happen to search that cabin for missing sophia. they take auggie back to the farm, she reunites with her dad—who full on thought she was long dead—and twd pursues.

i also have 11k words worth of random fragments of an outer banks, jj's little sister fic i wrote wayyy back when i was fifteen, 15k words of an unnamed stranger things fic i wrote when i was thirteen, and 41k words of a steve harrington's little sister x max mayfield fic i wrote when i was fourteen. so lots of abandoned ocs! my poor children.

anyway! if anyone is ever interested in reading what i have of these unfinished fics, let me know and i can post them under across the aniverse !!! i can't say they're very good considering i wrote them ages ago, but they do exist!

[myloveforhergoeson]

celebrate good times (come on!!!!!!)

hi loves... needing a reason to celebrate today? so am i!!!!!!!!!

you know that thing you've been putting off forever that you really want to do but haven't? today's the day to make it happen!

saving a nice candle to burn, soap to use, sweet treat to enjoy after dinner? now's the time :)

make some time to listen to your favorite song, album, or podcast! even just a snippet! or maybe the entire thing!!!!!!

allow yourself some time to rest! five minutes here, five minutes there, the rest of the afternoon, your entire evening - whatever you can afford! you deserve it!!!!!!

congraduate yourself on the little things this week, even small victories are victories worth celebrating!!!!!!!!

if you're celebrating for the same reason i am... the SECOND year anniversary of my fic That's All She Wrote... like last year, i have a list of some things we can do together! (those with good eyes might notice this list looks familiar....) (i'm not that creative)

go back and read your favorite parts or chapters! then come back and tell me about them and i might have some juicy bts info for you... as you know my mind runs WILD! many things almost happened, so lets chat about it

make sure to comment/like/kudos if you haven't already on your preferred reading platform, (tumblr, wattpad, or ao3!)

share with your friends if you're comfortable! if they like oc fics, big time rush, and long fics! tasw is fandom-blind friendly, has an achingly long slowburn, and has a strong female lead character if those are selling points!

make a post if you're comfortable, thoughts and rambles about the story, your own interpretations of scenes, drabbles, whatever! and tag me!

questions? i got answers. you KNOW i do love to yap, so lets do it!!!!!!

but wait! that's not all! i have questions for you!

share with me your future predictions or theories for the next few chapters to the end of the story!

favorite characters? tell me why! lets talk about them!

any burning questions not answered by the narrative or parts that seem vague and you'd like more clarification on? let me know! i'm a yapping machine!

anything i left out you're missing? let me tell you how i'd include it, why i didn't, or how it might pop up in the future!

what got you reading, what kept you around? regardless of the answer i'm so appreciative for your support <3

so many things have happened in my life since the publishing of that's all she wrote... i know that i've really slowed down recently, but knowing that so many of you have stuck around and still let me ramble about my sweet little characters on this blog means the world to me. since last anniversary, i've graduated college, i'm working full time now in a job that will get me one step closer to my dream job, i've travelled to so many places i'd never even dreamed of seeing and augh... it makes me so grateful to have all yall still in my phone supporting the content that i make :3 i cannot thank you enough, for reading tasw - the whole thing, half, one word... like.... god thank you for making it such a fun project <33 here's to another great year!!!!

[astra-aeterna]

aced it - chapter 7

chapter 7 - starry eyes sparking up my darkest nights

two new chapters in one week? who is she????

i've been making lots of progress on the later chapters of this fic so i'm giving us all a little treat by posting this now <3

read a snippet under the cut or catch the whole chapter on ao3

Feyre had expected that the first day of her internship would be a good day. 

Unfortunately, it was also the day after their molecular genetics professor posted their final grades— and somehow, Rhys had gotten the higher score. They hadn’t discussed it until that morning, unfortunately, meaning she started her day on a low note: losing to Rhys. Not by much, she complained— a 97.4 versus a 96.9 wasn’t exactly a grade difference worth bragging about— but he just smirked and said “but it is higher, which means I win, doesn’t it?”

She wrinkled her nose at him and brought her coffee mug to her lips for a long drink. It was far too early and she was nowhere near caffeinated enough to deal with his attitude.

At least the day could only go up from there, Feyre thought. Sure, she’d have to deal with Rhys and his bragging and incessant smirks the entire time they were at the hospital, but they’d be at the hospital, doing real, actual, medical work. It sent a thrill through her, knowing that she was finally going to get hands-on experience. 

Walking into the hospital felt transformative. She’d been in hospitals before, of course, but always as a visitor, never as a member of the staff, and it was a vastly different experience. Even walking beside Rhys, who had made some remark about a half point lead still counting as a lead, couldn’t sink her spirits. Surrounded by bustling staff and family members in the lobby, Feyre couldn’t take a proper moment to stand and admire the architecture of the main floor with its glass-domed ceiling and stained glass hanging fixtures that cast mesmerizing patterns across the blue-tiled floor. 

The paintings on the walls, largely pastorals and still lifes, made the space feel less clinical. Good for visitors and patients who didn’t want to be stressed out immediately upon entering, but Feyre longed for the harsh fluorescent lighting and sterile smell that permeated the halls of the hospital proper.

It wasn’t long before she got what she had been looking for. Once they’d checked in at the front desk, a kind older woman (“Dr. Chirus, officially, but please call me Madja”) led them to the locker rooms where they changed into scrubs. The sharp smell of antiseptic got stronger the further they got away from the lobby on the tour Madja took them on, invigorating Feyre a ridiculous amount. Was it weird? Maybe, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when she was riding the high of the successes that brought her to the position. 

That first day was relatively boring— full of onboarding procedures, online trainings to make sure they knew how to properly wash their hands and avoid contracting bloodborne pathogens, badging paperwork, and explanations of how the rest of the summer would go. She hung onto Madja’s every word as she explained that since they weren’t licensed, they’d be doing transport and support staff duties, but they would rotate through a few different services to get a taste of the broad spectrum of the medical field. Surgery, labor and delivery, oncology, psychiatry (Feyre was looking forward to that one the most), radiology, and infectious disease. Apparently they usually had interns do an emergency medicine rotation, but since she and Rhys were certified and practiced EMTs, Madja had managed to secure them the infectious rotation instead.

By the end of the day, Feyre’s feet should have been sore from the insane amount of walking they did through the massive hospital complex, but she was floating on cloud nine, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, too elated to let anything like the physical limitations of her still-frail body stop her.

Rhys had looked over to her once they slid into his car, a fond expression on his face, and told her that her excitement was infectious. How he wasn’t positively thrilled to be there baffled Feyre momentarily, but once they emerged from the dim light of the parking garage, she remembered that he was rich and probably hadn’t felt like the application for the program was the fight of his life. A fight against her, sure, but not something that would determine the course of his future. Feyre figured with his attitude and grades, he wouldn’t have to think twice about whether he’d get into med school or how he’d be able to afford it— not like she had.

She didn’t hold it against him, though, like she might have even six months prior. Living with him had changed her perspective a lot. Don’t get her wrong, she still thought he was an annoying prick who she needed to out-score in their shared classes, but he wasn’t as much of an asshole as she had initially assumed. The fact that she was living with him at all said more than enough. (The fact that he would be at her side when her nightmares got bad enough to turn her stomach said even more, but she hadn’t quite figured out what to make of that yet). 

The rest of that first week was largely the same, though after two days, Feyre earned bragging rights for her superior grade in statistics. Rhys sighed dramatically and then bestowed a horrifically shaped paper ‘crown’ upon her and then bowed, because the impertinent bastard said “We all must bow before the queen of basic statistics.” As ridiculous as it was, it did make her giggle, and he seemed to claim that as a win for him.

When they came home that Friday, feet sore and ready for a weekend of rest, Cassian greeted them at the door with a bottle of rum in his hand. 

Feyre furrowed her brows in confusion, waiting silently for an explanation.

“We’ve gotta celebrate the first week of you guys being fancy-ass doctor types!” 

From beside her, Rhys laughed, shoving Cass further into the house. “Fine, fine, go set up for whatever shenanigans you and Mor planned. We’ll be there in a few.”

With that, Cass ambled off, calling loudly for Mor’s help and a bottle opener. She had no clue what was in store for them, but hey— a night of drinking and laughing with the people that she’s starting to consider her friends? Sign her up. There hadn’t been a night like this for her in… well, maybe ever, actually. Giddy anticipation, bubbly and bright, swirled in her gut as she dropped her backpack off in her room and took the time to change into soft, comfortable clothes— ones she could sleep in, if she ended up drunk enough to stumble straight to bed at the end of the night. Clad in a pair of tiny cotton shorts and an oversized VU t-shirt, she made her entrance into the living room, where she was apparently the last to arrive. 

Mor grinned and gestured her over, but Feyre could feel Rhys’s eyes on her as she made her way to one of the sofas and collapsed into the plush material. His gaze was searing hot, and she could see, out of the corner of her eye, the way it stuck on the hem of her shorts that sat just at the top of her thighs. Despite herself, a blush spread bright across her cheeks, and she turned to Mor, desperate for a distraction from the heat in his eyes. “So, how was your day?”

“Oh, y’know, the usual. Tiring enough to want to drink about it.” She sighed, shrugging elegantly. As she pulled her blonde curls back into a low ponytail, her eyes brightened. “Plain old drinking is boring, though. We should play drinking games!”

She thought the groan from across the coffee table was from Azriel, but couldn’t be sure— either way, the immediate reluctancy sent her into a fit of quiet giggles. “What do you have against drinking games?”

“Mor gets really competitive,” Cassian explained, but he didn’t look apprehensive in the least. “Actually, we all do, but it eventually devolves.”

“Can I just beg that we don’t play beer pong?” Azriel sighed, resigned to his fate. 

“Ew, are we in a frat house? No, we’re playing fun drinking games. Oh my god, we can finally use that ‘Truth or Drink’ card game I got for my birthday! I’ll go get it.”

[kiwisfics]

A/N: Don't read this if you don't like dark fics! Don't come at me if you don't like the content. Triggers are listed and the only non-"constructive" comments I'll take are about any triggers that need to be added. I said I was gonna post this like... three days ago but I kept going over it again so if I don't post it now I'm not gonna. JUST TAKE THIS! Let me know if I missed any uses of my SI's name when I was editing.

Context Needed: I normally keep the fics I write that are lore-heavy to myself, but since people said they wanted the dark fic… Reader is a rifter, which basically means that she’s capable of traveling dimensions, and is conditionally immortal. Reader goes by Black Robin and is implied to have a suit that shows a lot of skin and to have a flirty persona as a vigilante.

TWs under the cut because there's... a lot.

Light TWs: Self-loathing, reader diminishes her own worth, reader has past trauma with being left behind by people she cares about, Dick is giving reader the silent treatment at the beginning but it’s mostly pre-setting, canon-typical violence/blood mentions. “Good girl” gets used condescendingly.

Heavy TWs: Do NOT read this if you have any triggers related to rape/non-con. Nothing actually happens, but it heavily revolves around reader believing that it's going to. Seriously, don't read this if you don't like whumpy stuff, because you're not gonna like it. My love of whumper to caretaker shows through here. Lots of mentions of trafficking, reader is kidnapped by said traffickers, fear of rape/non-con, Dick is very mean. Like, seriously, he’s very OOC for the majority of this fic. Threats/implications of rape/non-con, inappropriate use of one of his escrima sticks (just in the mouth) reader has a spiral at the end where she’d convinced that Nightwing and Red Hood are going to rape her.

If it’s any consolation, this is technically hurt/comfort, so it isn’t all horrible. Just… most of it. Reader also forgives him far too fast in the end, but I can gladly share some more snippets of how this affects the reader character in the future. I’ve already got ideas for some short scenes that I’m gonna write.

-

Nightwing was going to kill her.

He’d been explicitly clear: he didn’t want to see Black Robin out ever again. She’d nearly gotten herself killed, but she knew that wasn’t why he was so angry. He couldn’t have cared less about that, after all, she was a rifter and that meant that she was built to take pain and that death was a moot point. He was angry because she’d risked the mission, nearly let a trafficker that they’d all been hunting for weeks get away because she got too confident for her own good.

She’d snapped back at him when he told her that she wasn’t to wear the suit again, told him that he was just like Batman. That was the wrong thing to say.

He hadn’t talked to her since.

So, maybe she was trying to bait him a little by coming into Blüdhaven in her suit, maybe she was trying to get his attention back because she couldn’t stand being punished with the silent treatment. Maybe this was her fault.

Well, it was definitely her fault, but in her defense, she was thinking with her heart and not her head. She didn’t want to lose him, and in some twisted way, having him level her with lecturing and anger was still better than the radio silence.

She would have been fine. Nightwing would never actually hurt her. That wasn’t what went wrong.

Her suit didn’t have a panic button. It didn’t need one because she was forbidden from going out on her own even before she’d wrecked a mission and been benched. So, when she’d stolen a bike and made her way to Blüdhaven in costume while Bruce was off-world, Tim was with the Titans, Jason was off on a no contact mission, and Alfred was distracted with keeping Damian from abandoning his studies in favor of full-time vigilantism, no one knew where she was going.

She’d even been stupid enough to leave a note saying that she was heading home to visit family, and she wouldn’t be back for a while.

Alfred would have already found the note. Bruce wouldn’t start worrying for at least forty-eight hours with no word.

By then, it might be too late. Too late for her pride and her self-respect at least.

For now, she contented herself with growling and spitting at the traffickers, fighting the urge to be sick over the taste of her own blood soaking the rag in her mouth. She had no chance of picking the locks on the handcuffs, because she’d never gotten the hang of it while Bruce was teaching her, so she didn’t bother fiddling with them, instead preserving her energy.

If no one found her, she’d need her energy if she got the chance to run. They’d have to uncuff her from the chair if they wanted to-

She gulped, pushing down the thought.

Nightwing was going to kill her, but he was also the only chance she had of getting out of this without something worse than torture occurring.

She could see the leering. She could read the expressions. She promised herself that if she got out of this, then she was going to change the layout of her suit. She needed to cover more skin. She needed to flirt less with enemies too, apparently, because the men that had grabbed her had parroted some of her own lines back at her while they gagged her and dragged her back to this warehouse.

It was always warehouses. For once, she wanted to get dragged to a penthouse suite and get threatened and tortured by a classy villain.

Nightwing was going to kill her, but she couldn’t help the way that her chest lurched with relief and happiness upon seeing his form drop to the floor from one of the open skylights.

At once, all of the guns were on him, but, as suspected, he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Here to save your little friend? Awful bold to jump right in the middle of the warehouse full of men with guns, even for you, Nightwing.”

He tilted his head, the clench in his jaw speaking of rage.

She was sure she was saved, because even if he was mad at her and was going to give her a lecture that might have her in tears by the end of it, Nightwing wouldn’t hurt her. Dick wouldn’t hurt her.

“Save her? No. She’s just getting exactly what she asked for.”

Her stomach lurched this time, but it was with fear and a sickly cold feeling that crawled up her throat like it was being swarmed by ants.

Was she wrong? There was no way he would just leave her to her fate. He’d saved genuinely terrible people from situations that weren’t even as bad as the one that she’d found herself in, so there was no way he was going to leave her here, just because they’d had a fight.

Right?

The men’s guns all seemed to lower in the slightest bit, but they didn’t leave his form, “You expect us to believe you’re going to just leave her here? That you just dropped in for a friendly chat?”

“Oh, no. I don’t plan to leave her here. You just saved me the trouble of getting her pinned down is all.” He twirled one of his escrima in his hand, like it was a fidget toy instead of a dangerous weapon. “I appreciate you making my night easier, but I’m going to be taking her off of your hands now.”

So, he was saving her, right? He was contradicting himself, but she didn’t care what he said if he got her out of this.

“Thought you weren’t saving her,” the guns raised back to their full height, the leader scoffed, “you go play hero somewhere else for the night and maybe will give her back when she’s nice and broken in. Might not even charge you the full rate.”

She didn’t like having her suspicions confirmed about what they planned to do with her, but that was fine. She had guessed that, and it didn’t matter anymore, because Nightwing was here and that meant that these idiots were just delaying the inevitable rescue he’d come to pull off.

“Well, I guess you could consider it saving. After all, I might not be quite as into pain as some of your clients are, but you shouldn’t worry, I plan to make good use of her.”

What?

No, no, that wasn’t right. He was not actually implying that he was going to use her exactly how these men planned to. There was no way. He was Nightwing. He was-

They’d been flirting since they’d met, the kind of flirting that made everyone that didn’t know better think they were already an item. Even she knew that he was attracted to her, but… had she really pushed her luck this far? Had she really made him hate her so much that the only way he wanted to make a move on that attraction was like this?

She was having more and more trouble holding back on throwing up the meal she’d had before leaving Gotham.

“Yeah, right. You expect us to believe you want her as a toy?” The leader scoffed.

She wished she was that certain that he was lying about it.

Dick- Nightwing walked forward, still twirling his escrima as he approached her. The men parted for him despite keeping their weapons squarely aimed.

“Who could blame me?”

She could feel his eyes burning into hers even behind his mask. Her own mask was long gone, leaving him an unabated view of her frightened eyes. She was sure there was betrayal there too.

His escrima rested beneath her chin, and she forced her head back, trying to put distance between her skin and the weapon that she knew could easily shock her, “Look how pretty she is when she’s scared.”

She tried to muffle the whine that escaped her throat, but there was no way that he didn’t hear it.

What was going on? This was wrong. Was this- was someone wearing his face?

No, she couldn’t pin it on that, because no one knew about the way he’d yelled at her about never wearing the suit again, and there was no denying that was what he meant when he’d said she was getting what she asked for.

He really did hate her, then. She’d really, really messed up, and now he hated her, and for some reason the sting that knowledge made bite at her heart was worse than the fear at what he planned to do to her.

“And what kind of payment are we getting out of this? We could make hundreds at least by selling a vigilante, especially if we only rent her out. And this one can break over and over again, just to heal back up. She’d a goldmine of opportunities. Why would we just hand her over to you?”

Dick’s—no, no, she couldn’t think of him as anything other than Nightwing, because if she thought of him as Dick, then she was going to breakdown for sure; Dick didn’t hate her, Dick cuddled her during movie nights and carried her to bed when she fell asleep—Nightwing’s jaw ticked with irritation. Apparently, he hadn’t expected them to be so unwilling to give her up just because he wanted her to himself.

Was he waiting for this? Did he know what he was going to do as soon as he’d told her to never put the suit on again? Was he hoping that she would, just so he could use it to justify punishing her like this?

His empty hand trailed up her chest, just barely brushing her shirt, but it was enough to make a jolt go down her spine. He grabbed her jaw, the escrima stick brushing lightly against her cheekbone, “You’re going to let me take her without causing me any more trouble, because otherwise, I’ll be telling the Bat about your outposts in Gotham.”

Angry muttering began among the traffickers, but the leader remained silent, “That’s not much of a payment.” He hummed, like he was considering the offer, but anyone could tell that he already planned to ask for more, “Tell you what, you can take her out of here, no problem. I’m not interested in getting caught by a stray bullet in a firefight, and, honestly, keeping one of the Bat’s things seems like asking for trouble. She didn’t put up much of a fight, so you can walk out with her, after you give us a show.”

She gagged audibly on the rag in her mouth, tears finally escaping her eyes while she put renewed effort into forcing the rag out of her mouth. She wanted to beg and plead and cry. If he was going to do anything to her, at the very least she didn’t want an audience.

For his part, she could see his eyes widen just a fraction behind his mask, but the surprise quickly seemed to settle, and he flashed a smirk to the men that made her feel like she was about to start hyperventilating.

“Fine.”

No, no, no, no, no.

He pulled the gag from her mouth with the hand that had been against her chin, and she instantly opened her mouth to beg, but snapped it shut a millisecond later, her teeth clacking together almost painfully.

His escrima stick was resting against her lips, and his free hand was holding her jaw again, fingers squeezing against her cheeks in an attempt to make her open her mouth, but she wasn’t budging. She wasn’t stupid, and maybe cooperation would make things better in the long run, but she wasn’t letting him put his weapon in her mouth.

“Unless you want this to hurt a lot more later, you should cooperate right now. I’d hate to use this somewhere-“

Her mouth shot open before he could finish, fast enough that her jaw popped.

Okay, so she was letting him put his weapon in her mouth. She’d take the loss.

“Good girl.”

She hated that the praise stroked something in her, making her heart flutter even while he shoved the escrima stick past her lips and far enough into her mouth to hit her throat and make her gag.

Blood. Steel. An iron tang that made her brain go blank for long enough that she missed what he said next.

He didn’t appreciate that.

“Am I boring you?” He growled the words as his free hand tangled in her hair and pulled her head forward, making the escrima stick hit the back of her throat again with what was almost a bruising force. “I asked if you were going to behave, or if I was going to need to make you deepthroat this while it was on, but I guess I have my answer.”

Cold terror battered against her ribcage in place of her heart. All that was left in her chest was a black hole of absolute horror and fear that could hardly classify as a heart.

She didn’t realize that the sobbing in her ears was her own at first, too far into her own head and too tense while waiting for him to flick the switch to make this humiliation painful to know what was going on around her.

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe!

And suddenly everything around her stopped and went deathly silent before gunfire began and the yelling of the traffickers became frantic and chaotic. The only words she picked up were “it’s the Hood!” and what normally would have made her think she was saved only made her panic more, because if Nightwing—the one that had held her while she cried and always agreed to musicals just because he knew she loved them—was going to use her as a toy, than that meant that Red Hood would too. She was sure he hated her too. She’d thought the way they bantered was fun and games, but she’d also thought that Nightwing cared about her and clearly, she was wrong about that. Nightwing had probably called him here so he could take out the frustration he had with her on her.

And then they’d tell Batman that they’d found evidence that she’d been trafficked and then they’d keep her locked up somewhere and- and- and- and- she couldn’t-

“Breathe.” A familiar hand fanned across her cheek, fingers brushing away tears that were immediately replaced with more, “Breathe for me, bird. It’s alright. It’s okay.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t catch her breath, but the escrima stick wasn’t between her teeth anymore, so she could beg now. She could plead and promise to behave and maybe if she asked nice enough and they believed her then they’d let her go after they were done with her instead of keeping her.

“Please, please, I’m- I’m sorry, I-I’ll never wear the suit again, I promise. I promise.  I’ll be good. I won’t fight, I’ll-“

“Hey, hey, stop.” He pressed his hand against her mouth, not hard enough to force her to be quiet or to muffle her voice if she did continue to beg, but she silenced herself instantly regardless. “You’re okay, bird. Just breathe. I’d never hurt you. Never. There wasn’t a way to warn you about what was going on without cluing them in. I’m so sorry, bird. I really am.”

He sounded like he was about to cry, and the way he was holding her face in his hands certainly didn’t give her the idea that he was going to hurt her or force her down to her knees so he could-

“I could think of a hundred better ways to have gone about that, ‘wing.” Hood’s voice made her flinch and sink farther down in the chair she was tied to. She didn’t even move her legs or arms when he’d gotten the cuffs undone.

“I needed to distract them so you could get the files and I’m still injured. I wouldn’t even be out tonight if you hadn’t told me that they’d gotten their hands on her. If I’d tried to fight them, then they would have taken me out before finding you, so I don’t want to hear it. Don’t act like I wanted to do or say any of that.”

That was… fair. It wasn’t fair to her, but she had gotten herself into this situation and- she would forgive everything if it meant that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Actually, she’d let him hurt her if it meant that he wasn’t going to use her.

“Dick?” She whined out his name like a kicked puppy, tilting her face against one of his hands in a placating gesture.

“Yeah, bird. I’m here. It’s me. That wasn’t real. None of it was real, and you’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you, especially not me.”

Another sob tore from her throat, and she threw herself forward, into his arms. She was trembling and sobbing harder than he’d ever heard, and she was almost positive it was harder than she ever had in her life. His form wrapped around her, tucking her against his chest as he pressed his face against the top of her head and placed comforting kisses.

Jason sat on the ground behind her, one of his hands running circles against her back in an effort to assist in calming her, and it worked.

After her sobbing began to slow, Dick spoke up hesitantly, “I thought you would know. I never meant- I thought you would know that it wasn’t real. I thought you knew I’d never hurt you.” His breaths shuddered, “I thought you knew that I love you.”

“But you- you were mad at me. You told me- told me I could never wear the suit again and- and then you didn’t talk to me all week and I thought- I thought you hated me. And- and I came here to get your attention because you were ignoring me, so- so I would have deserved-“

“Hey, no. Don’t even finish that sentence.” His hold on her tightened and his voice turned even more tense, edged with anger, “No one deserves to be taken advantage of and you know that.”

She sniffled, tucking her face tight against his neck, and breathing in the scent of his suit and sweat. “You said you love me.”

There was a long pause, and Jason took it as his cue to leave, ruffling [Name]’s hair as he stood and headed out of the warehouse. He landed a boot against the ribcage of the leader of the traffickers as he passed by.

“I’m going to alert Blüdhaven PD. Half of their guys are probably on this group’s payroll though, so I’d get out of here before they show up. They’re probably hoping whoever shut down this location sticks around so they can fill them with lead.”

“We’re headed out now.” Dick stood as he said it, taking [Name] with him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung onto him.

“You said you love me.”

“I did,” he finally confirmed, “but I don’t think now is the time to talk about-“

“I love you too. So much.”

He went quiet again, feet still carrying them away from the nightmare that she’d just gone through, “I don’t expect you to forgive me for that.”

She tightened her hold around him, burrowing against him as a sign that she wasn’t holding any grudges, but also in an attempt to hide from the could Blüdhaven night.

“I knew you were after them. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in it. I just… I wanted you to talk to me again. Even if you were angry. I… I don’t handle the silent treatment well and… it felt like you were leaving me behind, just like everyone else always does. It felt like you had decided I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.”

“Never. I’ll never leave you behind, okay? I know that me saying that isn’t going to make you stop thinking that I might, but I’ll prove it, alright? I’ll never leave you behind.” He brushed his lips against her neck, and she couldn’t fight the light laugh that escaped as the gentle touch tickled her skin.

“Okay. I, uh, just… one thing though.”

“Anything.”

“Please keep the escrima sticks away from me for a while?”

 She could feel him cringe, but he nodded, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

[theorganasolo]

Happy New Year's Eve!

Tagging some amazing fics I enjoyed this year ✨

Learning to Live by @wheresarizona- Bestie I'm so proud to call you my friend and I have loved seeing this story grow to what it is now and of course seeing Javi get the softness he deserves - you write Javi so well and I can't wait to see the adventures he and Cielito get up to in the New Year!

It's Never Too Late by @javierpena-inatacvest - I was late starting this story this year and I'm so glad I discovered it when I did! It's chock full of Javi getting the peace he needs post- Narcos and of course, some girl dad Javi snippets! Looking forward to seeing what happens in the New Year!

Worth the Wait (linking the most recent update) by @kteague- What can I say? I loved this story when you first posted and I love it even more now! I'm so happy you decided to keep writing it, each chapter sucks me in even more!

Because of You by @kteague - Gosh what can I say about this that I haven't already? You write Frankie so so well! I love seeing him with his Girasol and two little girls!

Sweet Creature by @wildemaven - I loved this so much!! You write Dieter incredibly well and I got so happy when I saw a new update cross my dash each time - It was nice to see him settle down and find peace (seems to be a common theme of what I like haha)

Until Now, Until You by @wildemaven- Really looking forward to seeing this update in the New Year! You had me hooked with the summary and the first part of this!

Away by @cool-iguana - I just LOVE seeing Javi in love and in domesticity with his wife it's just so incredibly sweet!

Vampire Waltz (linking most recent update) by @wardenparker - I absolutely adore your soulmate sunday fics and this is such a exciting read - you always have the best AUs!

Stuffing by @palioom - My weakness is husband!javi with his pregnant wife so this was absolutely everything to me!

The Married Javier Peña Masterlist by @lokischocolatefountain - GOSH I love this universe so so much! Every update makes me smile

Home by @liltangerineart- I come back to this story so many times and it always puts a smile on my face!

Honey-Do by @kiwisbell - GOSH I can't tell you how many times I have re-read this Joel fic with the TOP TIER BREEDING KINK

Good to Me by @swiftispunk - The AU I didn't know I needed of Joel as a gynecologist - it's SO FILTHY IN THE BEST OF WAYS

Stripped Down Love by @absurdthirst - I love the trope of reader having a crush on Javi when they were younger and then them getting together when they're older!

The Big Day by @mellowswriting - I love how you write Javi having the biggest wife kink in your fics and seeing the day you became is wife is everything to me!

A Good Man Universe by @forever-rogue- I LOVE LOVE this Javi universe so much! I'm really happy that you updated this year :)

I'm sure I'm missing a lot of amazing fics so please know if I ever reblogged a fic I loved it!

[a-large-orange-cat]

Hello! I absolutely adore your Blackbird au, I've recommended it to all my friends and reread it dozens of times. I saw your answer on an ask where you said you might not be adding new installments, which, though I'm a little sad to hear it, I definitely understand and support you doing what works for you. I'm grateful for what you've shared with us as is. That being said, if you have any snippets or ideas of how the story was going to continue, I'd be thrilled to read it (if you're willing to share). Thanks!

anon you are a gift and a blessing. my greatest regret with stopping was that the third fic was the one where I was actually going to justify why the whole thing is called the blackbird AU. the third fic was going to have victor zsasz as its villain, with Tim balancing working with Jason, playing keep-away with the Bats, and not getting murdered. he was going to move more fully into the vigilante sphere in Gotham and cement his existence as a player and his relationship to the others.

with that in mind, i'm going to share 2 different scenes regarding Tim preparing for his debut (long post under the cut):

Tim takes his time putting on the layers Jason left strewn across the dining table. The underlayers cling to him in a way he’s not used to, tight against his joints. The Kevlar vest and titanium plate inserts sit more naturally, but they’re heavier than suit jackets or sweatshirts, and Tim has to shift the way he holds his shoulders to balance the weight a little better. The Teflon layers for the exterior of the outfit help hide the bulk; Tim looks like a bigger person than he is, but not an armored one.

There’s an almost-full-size mirror in the safehouse’s bathroom, with a single long crack running through a third of it. Tim stares at himself.

He looks—unremarkable. Nondescript. The majority of the suit is blacks and grays; enough variation to not stand out as a suspicious figure in a daytime crowd, but easy to melt into the shadows of Gotham’s hazy gray darkness. There are no distinguishing features, no emblems, no colors. The jacket looks like a lightly-insulated raincoat; the collar of the armored vest looks like a sweater, and the high collar of the undershirt is just that: a high-collared shirt. The pants are bulky, but still follow the line of his legs. Heavy boots.

Tim’s hair isn’t that long; his entire adolescence, it was whatever length Black Mask’s men decided to cut it when he asked them. He still has to push strands out of the way, shake his head back, to put the mask on.

It covers above his eyebrows to the line of his cheekbones. A reinforced structure runs along the line of the nose to protect it if he gets punched in the face.

He stares at himself through the white lenses.

When Tim was eleven, he dreamed of being Robin.

He’s not dressed like a vigilante. There’s too much practicality in the armor Jason got for him; no emblems, no declarations of intention. The design is meant to protect him, not to let him protect others. Tim looks like part of a strike team, not a superhero.

This isn’t a childhood fantasy. It’s an inevitability, a consequence of the person Tim was made into.

There’s no point in lingering. Tim takes the mask off and pulls himself away from the mirror, from his own reflection. He isn’t going to overthink this—to leave himself the opportunity to be convinced that this is a bad idea. Or even that it’s a good one.

It’s—it’s a purpose. It’s not a sentimental thing. Tim manipulated Red Hood into having a spare set of armor for him. Manipulated Red Hood into agreeing to help him. It’s for his own purpose, his own agenda.

He pushes aside the tangled knot in his chest; it’s not worth dealing with, not right now, not while Zsasz has just started the timer until he tries to kill Tim.

On the kitchen counter, next to the phone and the address, is a holster and a handgun.

A few trips to one of the firing ranges in Gotham had been one of those inevitable things Tim added onto his schedule, after his run-ins with Red Hood. Mostly to have a minimum cover of his bases; he knows how to load a pistol, take the safety off, and hit a still target from twenty feet away. That’s all he thought he’d need.

The gun’s heavy when he picks it up.

Tim makes himself ignore the weight of it. It’s another practicality. Another tool to remind himself that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a superhero.

The holster is intended to conceal the pistol under his jacket. Tim buckles it on and checks the safety before he slots the pistol into place against his ribs.

There’s no point in overthinking it. It’s basic self-defense; a weapon that Tim can use with minimal training.

It’s not like Tim can’t make the call whether or not someone needs to die. He’s done it before. Jason pulled the trigger, but Tim’s the one who killed Roman Sionis.

It’s not like Tim’s intending to let Victor Zsasz live. He grabs a dark green jacket off the back of a chair, stuffs the spare phone and printed-out police photographs in his pocket, and leaves the safehouse.

Tim double-checks for cameras – very few in Crime Alley, he knows from the police’s complaints – and slips into a back alley to put his mask on. From there, it’s up the fire escape to the second-floor windows.

There’s two windows next to the fire escape landing on this floor; the first is a dark hallway. Tim spares a glance at the lock on the inside. Unlocked, if he needs to open it. Might be how Jason got into the building in the first place.

The one next to it has a light on. Tim stays low, moving forward just enough to peer around the edge of the window frame.

The scene inside is familiar. A table in the center of the room, covered in notes, markers, maps; the men that surround it, nearly half visibly armed; the single individual at the head of the table as the immediate threat in the room.

Except this is Red Hood, not Black Mask.

Tim looks over the others in the room. They’re varying states of attentive; it seems like four are actively engaged in discussion at the moment, and the rest are hanging back for now.

The ones hanging back aren’t even really paying attention to the proceedings. From what Tim can hear of the muffled voices, it sounds like Red Hood’s working something out with the ones he’s talking to.

Some part of Tim wants to wedge the window open and slip inside. He wants—

Oh.

He wants to be in this room.

The desire sits at the front of his breastbone like a thread drawn taut. Tim wants to hear what Red Hood’s saying. How he determines orders, how he distributes them. How crime works on this smaller scale, where Jason cares about individual people.

It’s not—the desire isn’t totally unreasonable. These would all be useful things to know. Things Tim could justify knowing, things that would make it easier for him to help Jason, to make use of him, to plan around him for other parts of Gotham.

Except Tim’s not sure this want is about any of those things.

He’s been hesitating outside the window too long. He’s too visible, and Red Hood’s helmet turns sharply, facing directly towards him.

Tim takes a step back, but not fast enough. He sees the posture of the men in the room react; sees a few reach for weapons. The muffled sound of conversation stops, and then the bottom half of the window slides up.

Red Hood sticks his helmet out. “We’re running late,” he says, tone flat through the filter. “Get in here.”

He moves back out of sight, further into the room. Tim approaches slowly, apprehension mixing with the desire in his chest into something sharp and uncertain.

Every face in the room is turned towards him. He slips through the window, privately relieved that he’s not large enough to make it an awkward fit.

Tim stands with his shoulders set, confident in the way he learned through blood and mistakes. Confident in a way that gives away nothing of the ache in his chest, the way Tim desperately wants to move to the planning table, to see and assess and maximize Red Hood’s resources, give the orders and watch Gotham reform under his guidance.

Confident in a way that gives away none of the reasons Tim isn’t going anywhere near Batman.

Inside the room, he can make out that this is about a dozen men, plus Red Hood. Somewhere from half to a third of the people in Jason’s employ, then; Tim’s not positive about the exact number, but it’s at minimum twenty-six, based off what Red Hood can do in a single night.

“This is a friend of mine,” Red Hood says, turning away from Tim to move back towards the central table. “And he’s good at what we do. He’s free to know anything you’d tell me.”

There’s deliberate undertone to that introduction that Tim’s not nearly skilled enough to start to unpick. But he can watch the reaction to it—the relaxing of bodies, hands moving another inch or two away from the visible weapons.

It’s easier to gauge the room’s reactions than to try and figure out why Jason just gave Tim, known criminal schemer, free reign to ask questions. Even maybe, implicitly, permission to ask questions when Jason isn’t around.

And fuck if Tim doesn’t want it.

Tim can’t be what Roman Sionis made of him. But Jason isn’t thinking about that, isn’t thinking about anything beyond his inexplicable attempt to gain Tim’s trust, and the casual extension of control in his organization makes all the sensible parts of Tim want to turn and start running.

He can’t show it. Tim rolls his shoulders back, shifts his weight deliberately. He’s the shortest and the youngest and the newest in the room, but he has no intention of letting any of that make him a target to these people.

Tim moves further into the room with no hint of hesitation. He circles behind the people standing around the table to fill the empty space of the room at Red Hood’s back, close enough to see what’s on the table but keeping Red Hood well out of his personal space. Keeping everyone in the room within his line of sight.

There’s a stilted pause, where Red Hood’s men are clearly hesitant to continue the conversation in front of an audience. But Jason starts them up again, leaning down to tap his fingers against a specific building on the map of Crime Alley spread out on the table.

“Li Wei, you’re doing inspection on our manufacturers in two days, aren’t you?” Red Hood asks.

Li Wei pulls his gaze away from Tim, to look towards Red Hood’s helmet. He glances down to the map, and says, voice accented, “Yes. Three labs heroin, one lab crystal. Also, we have three-man team doing quiet check on new interested parties.”

“Don’t bother,” Jason says. “I’m gonna be too busy to meet new suppliers for a bit. Reassign ‘em to run last minute inspection on a few of our currents. At least one’s selling whatever is mixing badly.”

“You’re investigating the speedball deaths,” Tim says.

The few people in the room who’d let their guards down snap back to attention. Tim makes himself take a couple steps forward, moving away from the back wall to put himself in Jason’s periphery.

There have been a few reports he’s seen in the police database: an uptick in deaths of drug addicts. Higher presence of both cocaine and heroin in the blood; speedball is the common name for the mixed drugs.

“Yes,” Red Hood says, turning just enough to see him. The mild, business-like tone falls away, replaced with something harsher. “One of my suppliers sold us coke cut with something that reacts with heroin. Killed nearly half the people who mixed ‘em.” Low and lethal: “Motherfucker’s gonna die painfully.”

Drug dealing is the main profit area that Red Hood makes. Tim’s managed to narrow down that he doesn’t technically manufacture anything himself, but his men throttle suppliers and keep track of dealers and drug dens in Crime Alley. They provide some oversight in an attempt to minimize overdoses, make sure what they’re selling isn’t laced or cut with anything, and try to support rehab attempts.

It’d be a terrible business model if Red Hood was in it to make money.

Tim pulls his gaze from the impassive surface of Red Hood’s helmet to look down at the map. Individual buildings marked out, a zoomed-in snapshot of the parts of Crime Alley that Red Hood manipulates.

There’s an offer on the tip of his tongue. Tell me who you buy from, and I can tell you who’s doing it. Because Tim could, he knows it. He knows enough about drug manufacturing – about both the pharmaceutical and the criminal aspects – to be able to pinpoint who’s weak enough to be used as an entry point to hit the people under the protection of Red Hood.

Because there’s no point in a single drug manufacturer lashing out at Red Hood. There’s simply not enough incentive in it; Red Hood holds them to slightly higher standards, but it’s hardly guesswork at all to figure out that he pays them appropriately for their conscientious effort to avoid low-quality product. A single manufacturer is just an avenue to hit Red Hood where it hurts.

The anger in Jason’s voice, the threat towards the manufacturer—he hasn’t realized that yet, has he?

Who are Red Hood’s competitors in the drug market? Who is he taking customers away from?

Tim asks, tone mild as anything, “You took a team against a tong’s incoming shipments a few weeks ago, didn’t you?”

The Xingyun Shou tong – officially recorded by the police as the Lucky Hand gang – has been scrambling for power in the last few months, ever since they had several large-scale issues with their drug trafficking. A mostly-unintentional side effect of some of the plans Tim implemented after he’d gotten the Drake Industries CEO position. It does set them up to act desperately, without considering Red Hood’s penchant for revenge.

Red Hood says slowly, “We took the Lucky Hand’s narcotics shipment, yeah.”

Ah. He needs more detail.

“Which of your manufacturers might respond to coercion from one of the tongs?” Tim asks.

He watches the anger roll slowly into Jason’s body. The slight drawing back of his neck, the set of the shoulders. The gloved hands that flex and curl into fists.

Tim’s closer to Red Hood than he wants to be, watching the anger build, but moving backwards out of Jason’s space would be too obvious. There’s too many eyes in the room, and Tim holds himself still, waiting patiently for the response. Waiting to see if he needs to duck.

Even through the distortion, the finely-held rage is clear in Jason’s voice. “Li Wei. That quiet team?”

Li Wei’s response is immediate. “Reassigned.”

“Good.” The deep breaths are visible, the rise and fall of Jason’s shoulders.

There’s a slow loosening of tension in the room, as Red Hood keeps holding himself still, keeps breathing, slow and silent under the helmet. Tim can finally tear his gaze from Red Hood, looking out around the room, at the faces of Red Hood’s men.

They’re—apprehensive, but none of them seem actively afraid. This is an acknowledged part of working for Red Hood. They’re waiting for the rage to pass before they move on.

It’s probably easier to be less scared when Red Hood doesn’t kill his own lackeys. Roman Sionis in a similar mood would’ve already killed at least one person here.

Red Hood stretches his hands, uncurls them forcibly. Turns back to the table, places his palms down over it and looks over the scattered documents.

“Was that the last of our business?” he asks.

No one speaks up.

“Great.” He spends a few long moments looking down at the table before he straightens back up, the last of the anger sliding off him like snow off a roof. There’s the hint of something like warm familiarity in his voice, Tim’s pretty sure, when he adds, “You should come by more often, birdie.”

“Blackbird.”

The name is out before Tim can swallow it back. He makes his body perfectly neutral—doesn’t allow a flinch, a flicker of an expression, an inhale or exhale too deep.

It’s too telling. Jason hears more than Tim ever intends to say, and this—Tim didn’t intend to say it in the first place. He has no way of knowing what Jason will find in it.

Except that people who don’t want to be superheroes don’t pick out superhero names.

And good people don’t name themselves after supervillains.

“Blackbird,” the Red Hood repeats.

Then again, Jason knows that last part already.

Tim thinks there’s more Jason wants to say. But this isn’t the place, it isn’t the time, not with a dozen career mobsters watching the two of them, trying to figure out if the tension in Red Hood’s body is the signal for an upcoming fight.

“Let’s get moving,” Red Hood says instead, and heads for the window.

[theravenchild]

What started out as a simple headcanon post has evolved into a full on fic snippet that I hope you all will enjoy!

So, I was thinking about how the game gives us no background for the thestral mount, Sepulchria, and how Hellendil just adores her. I head canon that she is one of the thestrals pulling the carriage during the dragon attack at the beginning of the game. She managed to survive the attack, but not without injury. Because thestrals are so intelligent, she remembers her destination was Hogwarts and continues on, showing up there a few days afterward.

Professor Howin finds her wandering the grounds and in need of care. After assessing the wounds and recalling Professor Fig's recounting of the dragon attack a few days before, she consults with him regarding the lost thestral. She puts the creature up in the stables with the others while they send a letter to the carriage driver, alerting him of the thestral's whereabouts and condition.

Hellendil enters Fig's office as he's reading the reply.

"Pity. She's quite a gentle creature." "Who do you mean, Professor?" the curious fifth year asks. "Ah, good to see you Hellendil," Fig answers as he looks up from the letter in front of him. "To answer your question, one of the thestral's drawing our carriage that fateful day. She found her way to the castle in spite of her injuries. Professor Howin has been keeping her with the others while we contacted the driver. It appears he's not interested in keeping a lame creature and has asked us to end her suffering." The fifth year's eyes widen and his jaw drops open, "But why? Surely someone knows how to treat her injuries? Won't a healing spell or draught help?" Fig moves around the desk to place a comforting hand on the tall Ravenclaw's shoulder, "Horses and thestrals are notoriously difficult to heal of such injuries. I'm no expert on the matter, but it's often kinder in the end to do just as her owner suggests." He bows his head and closes his eyes, "Even if she does recover, it's unlikely that she'll ever be able to perform her duties again."

"We have to give her a chance, Professor!" comes the impassioned reply, his brows pressed together in worried, begging expression. "What did Professor Howin say? Do we know that she won't heal? What if I take care of her myself!?" The professor chuckles, a soft smile forming on his face, "I must say, I admire your spirit, young man. You've not been here more than a week and already you're willing to take on tasks well above your current training, not to mention how well you did during our adventure at Gringots. Why don't we talk to Professor Howin about your request together? She's better equipped to know what kind of challenge we face. If she believes it is worth the effort, then I shall see what I can do to get the thestral signed over to our care." "Thank you, professor," Hellendil answers, a look of relief in his kind blue eyes. "I am curious though, as to why you're so passionate about this. It could come at great cost to heal the creature with no guarantees of success." "I like thestrals quite a lot, sir. There's a comfort in being able to see them." His eyes are a bit distant as he responds, as if there's something more on his mind. He doesn't elaborate and Fig respects his privacy. After a moment, he looks back at Professor Fig, "I just think we ought to give her a chance, professor. She made her way to us after our ordeal, and I think she deserves that much. If she's unable to bear the weight of a carriage, it doesn't make her any less deserving of a chance at life." Fig smiles at the young brunet, "You've quite a bit of compassion for someone your age. I hope you'll continue to nurture that side of yourself. The world could always use more people who are willing to give of themselves for others. Come, let's take a stroll down to Professor Howin's office and have a chat." Hellendil nods, "Of course, professor. After you," he gestures for Fig to lead the way and falls in step behind him.

After speaking with Professor Howin they decide to continue to treat the thestral. Even if she is unable to recover completely, her good nature makes her an ideal candidate to be a teaching specimen. Howin agrees to teach and supervise Hellendil as they care for the injured beast. The Ravenclaw grows ever more attached to the creature, somehow finding time nearly every day to visit and tend to her at the stables. Eventually she becomes strong enough to carry a passenger again.

Recognizing the care the new fifth year had taken throughout the healing process and his closeness with the creature, Professor Howin releases her into his custody, with the caveat that if he is ever unable or unwilling to care for her anymore, he would return her to the school and she would live out her days as an animal ambassador for teaching Hogwarts students.