#he's a lot of fun on his own and could be a /great/ whump character

[picnokinesis]

plottier / character focused thirteenth doctor fic recs

Ipseity by WalkerLister (43k, 10 chapters, gen) summary: Eight months since the Doctor sacrificed herself on Gallifrey, and Yasmin Khan is still struggling to move on. However, when she comes across a familiar face who is not acting like herself, Yaz may finally get the answers she has been looking for surrounding the Doctor. However, those answers will be revealed in a way a bit more dangerous than she had been anticipating. //Okay, so no one is surprised that I like the amnesiac!divisioned!13 fic, but in my defence, it's absolutely fabulous. This one was written waaaaay back in mid-2020, so we all knew that 13 was in prison and everyone was pretty sure that Jack was coming back due to some bts detective work, but that was about it - so, for obvious reasons, it doesn't align with ROTD, but it's such a fun one, guys, I love it a lot. Also, y'know, thirteen in a leather jacket and snarling at people? What more could you want?

don't have to make it to the moon by Ymae (28k, 7 chapters, gen/thoschei) summary: After New Year's, Ryan decides to stay traveling in the TARDIS for another little while. Only, the Doctor's rarely alright, and between experiencing the wonders of the universe, Ryan wants to figure out what's happening to his friend, too. //I love Ryan so much. He's such a wonderful character and I always love it when fics focus on him, or have him as the pov character. Unfortunately, fics like that are a bit few and far between, but this is one of them, and it's absolutely fantastic. It really delves into his character, but also his dynamic with the Doctor (especially after he talks to her in ROTD and she admits that she's scared and angry), and it's just auuuuuuugh so good!! And, it's also go some great whump and psychic content, with the Master showing up to cause trouble, alongside some gorgeous world-building, so I enjoy it very very much.

Ghost War by riptheh (25k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: All the Doctor wants to do is pass the time, and help a friendly face. So when a young man with a strange tattoo and a psychic wound shows up, she dives right into the mystery - and finds herself flung far into the future, mindwiped and alone, fighting a war that by all rights, shouldn't exist at all. A war she could help end, if only she could figure out who she is. //Oof, this one. It's absolutely stunning. This author really has a way of taking some absolutely fascinating and mind-bending concepts and just running with it, and just nails it each time. I feel like the less I say about the plot of this one, the better, because it sort of unfolds as you go, but please just trust me when I say that it's absolutely fantastic.

Lifelines by Sue_Denham (40k, 11 chapters, gen, wip) summary: Lifeline: a thing on which someone or something depends, or which provides a means of escape from a difficult situation. Set just after the events of Spyfall, the Doctor has a few things to work through. //Okay this fic is one of my favourites that's been posting over the last year or so - it's a brilliant exploration of Graham and Thirteen, and how different races deal with loss, guilt and death. I honestly think the best kind of sci fi takes concepts that we sort of take for granted, and then shows them in a completely new light. That's what this fic does. Also, Graham is just wonderful for the entire thing - though, as a note, Yaz and Ryan do end up somewhat side-lined, so bear that in mind if you're particularly looking for fics about those two, but I forgive it because it's such a great look at Graham and the Doctor. It feels like a character focused tie-in novel, y'know? Also it's pretty angsty in places, naturally, but that's what I'm here for haha.

Disordered by Echo (44k, 7 chapters, jack/13) summary: Messing with memories is always a risky business. Messing with your own memories, now that's just asking for trouble. The Doctor is very good at asking for trouble. And Jack is very good at finding it. //Ohhhhh okay so. This has been one of my absolute favourite Doctor Who fics for a long while. Definitely the shippiest of this list, but it's so lovely and such an excellent look at the Doctor facing the consequences of trying to get back her Division memories in the aftermath of s12, as well as the relationship between the Doctor and Jack across multiple regenerations. It's just so so good, flowing smoothly from very angsty to very soft, and the Doctor and Jack's voices are just spot on (especially considering that we see different versions of the Doctor, this is a particularly impressive note). Highly recommend!

The Trial of the Doctor by wreckageofstars (20k, 5 chapters, gen/thasmin, wip) summary: Haven is a planet at the edge of time, on the brink of destruction. Ravaged by the Time Lords and a war that time forgot, its people are desperate for justice before it’s too late, and the Doctor might be the only being left in the universe who can provide it — because she was the one who started it. So why can't she remember doing it? //Okay okay so, this one has only recently started posting but I've known about it since about 2020 and ohhhhhhhhhhh my goodness, GUYS. If you're not following this one, you need to be. It's a mix between Doctor Who at it's finest, Kafka at it's most unsettling, and Douglas Adams at it's most absurd, and it's delightful. There's so much in this one, and as always this author is just spot on with all the characterisation - especially Thirteen, who suddenly finds herself being prosecuted for a crime that she can't remember, and is forced into a situation where she's physically incapable of telling a lie. It. Is. Marvellous. Also there's a cockroach lawyer, whom I adore HAHA

lighthouse keeper by BlueLillyBlue (57k, 12 chapters, gen) summary: The Doctor is missing, and the fam is concerned. Featuring Yaz being a badass, Ryan being a cutie, Graham being a granddad, Jack being Jack, and the Doctor's complicated moral code. Also: space prisons, galactic war, the Doctor's time war trauma, the Doctor caring about people in her own weird and repressive way, and, most importantly, Thirteen wearing Jack's coat. //Oh, this one is such a favourite of mine. It's very angsty, so if that's not your schtick then - well, then you're kinda scuppered for all of my recs, to be honest, but this one is a bit on the dark side. Oh, but it's fantastic. Again, this one feels like a tie-in novel, and this author (as I think I've said before) is just incredible at crafting these very vivid worlds and really hard-hitting stories. The situation is pretty dire and desperate, and the Doctor is often faced with the fact that not every plan works out, and sometimes the only choices are bad ones. It's just really excellent guys (also! Thirteen in Jack's coat!!)

angel ellipsis by SleepyMaddy (36k, 8 chapters, gen/thoschei) summary: When the Doctor and Yaz find a planet in ruins, they’re only half surprised to discover the Master is responsible. But when his plan backfires, suddenly they have no choice but to work with him to stop his former allies from tearing the universe apart. It goes about as well as one might expect. //OKAY SO. This one is SO much fun and SO great - in particular, if you like the Master being a tricky bastard, but also getting screwed over by his own plans? You'll love this one. Everything about it is so vibrant and brilliant, and aaaaaahh man it all comes together in such a satisfying way. As with many of the authors on this list, this author just really gets these characters and how they tick, with some absolutely beautiful prose, and it's just such a joy to read.

nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light by river_of_words (6k, 1 chapter, thasmin) summary: Two weeks since Yaz got the most confusing rejection she ever hopes to get and the Doctor seems to have decided to blame Yaz for every single one of her furiously conflicting emotions. At this point she’s sort of asking to get hit. And at this point Yaz is sort of curious to find out what the Doctor is going to say that’s going to make her meet that request. //These next two fics are a lot shorter compared to the others, but I really wanted to include both of them because they're great and SO interesting to me. With this one, it digs into the Doctor and Yaz's relationship in the aftermath of LOTSD, and the ways that the Doctor does not actually talk about anything but does also tell Yaz more than anyone else. It's about the frustration that builds between them and the way that they're still finding more comfort in each other than anyone else. It's also a little feral, which as a thoschei shipper, definitely had a lot to do with why I liked this one haha. Anyway, it's really fantastic - really quick paced and emotional, and packing a LOT of punches with mostly dialogue in a very effective way. Go read it!

we'll do it right by daring_elm (3k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: She's never really noticed Yaz's perfume before. Shoulders relaxing, nausea subsiding, the Doctor inhales again, filling her lungs with jasmine and sandalwood, steel and glowing crystals and her box out of time. She can be back with Yaz within minutes of her leaving. She can save the child, change the foundation of Gallifrey and still return to have a picnic on Soria T4.  //Okay so I loooove love love this one because I just adore it any time someone explores the Doctor's reaction to the Timeless Child stuff after the fact, and this one is just so wonderful. The characterisation is just fantastic, and then just the progressive spiral of the plot as we follow the Doctor on a mission that is doomed to fail by the nature of her own timeline. It's about how by trying to change the past, all you do is mess up your present and your future, and I love that a lot. Augh, it's a gut punch and a half - highly recommended!

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Salt & Storybook

This fic is also available on Wattpad or AO3, if you would prefer to read it elsewhere.

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@heya-there-friends and @wisteriaum Yes, the whump fic is out! And here it is!

Hopefully, if I meet your expectations, I’d be like a magician announcing an act:

Step up, one and all, Evers and Nevers, young and old—step right up to witness the death-defying struggles of one Rafal Mistral! The great Rafal, horrifically maltreated by his own Pen, tortured within an enclosure of his own “design!” After all, there is no rest for the wicked…

Anyway, have fun. I sure did. Ngl, whilst I wrote this one, it kind of became a laugh riot at Rafal’s expense. So, don’t kill me. I’ve done a lot of damage.

CONTENT WARNING:

If you do not like dark humor, graphic depictions of violence and injury, and/or do not like the thought of Rafal being physically tortured, please, do not read this fic, or read it at your own discretion. I do not want to upset anyone. So, that is why I’m telling you this now: that probably, by most standards, I’ve been really cruel to him.

The fic contains the following:

Alcohol, vandalism, book burning, physical assault and punishment (by the Pen), disproportionate retribution as revenge, some swearing on the milder side, depiction of injuries.

Thus, potential for violence in my TOTSMOV41 WIP aside, this is literally the absolute meanest I’ve ever been to Rafal.

And, Rafal is a bit of a silly goose (not in a good way) due to his impaired judgment. Though, I tried to keep him in character. Rhian should’ve grounded him in the absence of their parents. But it was too late.

Summary:

Rafal does some much needed “spring cleaning” to remove every trace of Vulcan from his tower and gets far more pain than he bargained for in return.

Or

Rafal has an idiotic episode after the resolution to the Vulcan fiasco while Rhian is oblivious.

Context:

This fic takes place during Rise, shortly after Vulcan’s murder and slightly before Rafal’s renovations to Evil and his torture of the Never students.

It is also somewhat plotless, so I could call it a character study. The exposition part towards the beginning was essentially my premise for writing the whump in the first place, which is why there is some lead-up prior to the action.

⸻

With an impish gleam in his eyes, Rafal blasted the glass display cases Vulcan had left behind to smithereens, spraying the stone walls and floors of his tower with razor-edged shards and splinters of glass.

Then, from Vulcan’s black desk, he dashed a cluster of black crystals to the floor for good measure.

The floor crunched underfoot with every step he took, a mosaic of inedible salt and pepper, as he whistled the shanty he’d composed, mentally gliding through the lyrics:

I asked the queen. . .

What is more pathetic than a Vulcan?

She said: Nothing I’ve seen!

He ground the shards into the grooves between the stone tiles, pulverizing most of what remained. The coarser flecks of glass dust caught in the traction of his boots, and it struck Rafal that he’d have to sweep up his mess before Rhian accused it of being a hazard to their eyes or lungs. Ah well. One more task to add to his steadily growing list. But it was all worthwhile.

No longer would his chambers be a stultifying “museum,” dedicated to the past exploits and conquests of that vile man. It was first and foremost his study.

Rafal sunk into one of the leftover black leather chairs, the one by the desk, and picked up the wineglass he hadn’t been attending to, swilling the garnet liquid around before taking another sip.

Just yesterday, when the brothers had supped together for the first time in six months, Rafal had gotten into an argument with Rhian about the restorations to be made to the silver tower and all the changes he’d already enacted in his School and its curriculum.

He would rather have lived in a bare cell than spend a minute longer in the company of Vulcan’s things, but Rhian had objected, saying the enemy’s furnishings were better than none at all.

And Rhian had further countered Rafal’s calls for immediate action, claiming they had all the time in the world, and to not be childish and impatient. With time, Rhian had said, he could devise a tasteful, new decorating scheme and between the two of them, they could even enjoy all the odds and ends Vulcan had left lying about in his wake.

Yet Rafal was having none of that. Their first order of business was not mindlessly pleasuring themselves but removal—no, it was the complete erasure and sterilization of the premises. That’s what would be done with the remains. Not the human ones though.

Rafal had eventually relented on that matter as Rhian had staunchly drawn the line at Rafal mounting Vulcan’s severed head on a wall as he’d once said. Thus, the head was discarded before it ever had the chance to rot.

Aside from Rafal’s efforts to claim a mortal trophy to no avail, everything else was proceeding smoothly—contrary to Rhian’s wishes. Rafal was still adamant that everything which so much as stunk of Vulcan’s musky cologne vanished from their sight as soon as possible. After all he’d endured to retake their School, he deserved to have his way, that much Rhian owed him.

Glancing out the window, he observed phase one of his plan already coming to a close as his chest swole with heady, vinous pride.

That very moment, thick, churning smoke laden with ash clogged the skies overhead, curling around Evil’s spires—physical proof he had retaken his School.

He stood up and inhaled the noxious fumes and drained the rest of his glass before setting it down again. He was recommitted all right. Here, he’d remain, ’til the end of time.

The spectacle far below was truly a sight to behold. Rafal had burnt the entirety of Vulcan’s life’s work in a great, purging pyre.

Gone now were the steaming, taxidermied bats, the mirror of molten, incandescent glass, the barechested portrait, warped and discolored, and more grotesque than ever, the deformed periscope Rafal had knocked the lenses out of, and the desiccated roses with their petals flaking off into the ether—it was all worthless memorabilia, everything, transformed into a charred, lifeless, amorphous mass that still smoldered this very hour, the objects caving in on themselves, the dying embers retreating into the disordered miscellany.

Rafal set his glass down, hesitated, and poured another up to the brim in celebration. The rising heat was hellish.

All that was left to do was buff away the gilded bats carved into the stairs and he would be rid of that loathsome viper forever. Then, his chosen renovations and agenda would commence, carried out by Humburg, his Stymphs, and the Man-Wolves.

But, he couldn’t get ahead of himself. He sipped from his glass, savoring the bitterness of the red wine, and set it down firmly.

Then he set to work, freeing the storybooks.

The benighted Vulcan had stowed the tales away in massive, black leather chests that had been ignorantly shoved aside, stacked slantedly like a slag heap in half-shadowed corners.

Coarse, drunken pirate. The imbecile was wholly unfit to direct the course of Evil’s future. Only Rafal could be capable of manning such an operation, charting such a course for the students once again under his eminent tutelage.

Hand aglow with black, he whisked his glass off the desk again, floating it over to himself, and took another swig before setting it on the floor beside him. He’d cleared away a small oasis for himself to sit in, until he swept up the shards decking the floors all around him.

The alcohol burned his throat, matching his surfacing rage as his head clouded.

No one would replace the storybooks on the tower’s shelves if he didn’t, he thought resentfully.

His brother had done enough damage already. Enough was enough. He wasn’t Rhian’s personal manservant. What a degrading role that would be.

But Rhian never remembered to clean up after himself, and the books had to get onto the shelves in some way or another.

Rafal exhaled. His brother was in dire need of a lecture, but first, Rafal carped to himself, the task of cleaning up lay before him.

He and he alone would restore the storybooks to their former, casual glory in their places of honor, just as the brothers themselves had been restored by the Pen.

Naturally, Rafal stacked all of Evil’s tales at the top of the tower’s shelves, for his own reference. Rhian surely wouldn’t quarrel with him after all the work was done.

Besides, it was true. Rafal was the only one willing to do it all. To forge order out of inscrutable chaos, mogrify the failed students at every class’ graduation, attend to the Stymphs, clean up the rubble, execute invaders, burn up the corpses—he took on all sins, all so his Ever brother wouldn’t have to lift a finger and stain his hands.

All for naught, was it?

No, Rafal consoled himself. Definitely not. Rhian couldn’t be trusted to do a thing.

Rhian was too cowardly and weak to handle the more gruesome chores on Rafal’s roster. He’d invited a numbskull substitute in, to replace his own brother with.

That batty substitute had no place in his School. Vulcan hadn’t even been a true Never. Not in name or in memory.

Rafal lifted his glass to his lips and tossed back more of his jewel-toned drink, blood and heat and vigor rushing to the surface of his alabaster skin.

If he had missed anything, every piece of evidence, every last little shred of a reminder would be burnt to the ground, even if it took both castles down with it, he decided right then and there. He would will it to happen.

He set his glass down on a stone tile.

No matter if the taxidermied bats could’ve raked in a tidy profit. He didn’t need material wealth when he had sorcery. The usurper’s mere presence had overstayed its welcome and Rafal intended to do something about it.

He picked up his drink again and downed half of it, swallowing the wine quickly as the rest sloshed onto the floor, glinting a deep ruby in the dim, afternoon light.

He scowled. More mess to clean up.

Rafal squeezed the fine, crystal stem of his wineglass with a vise-like grip. It snapped in two—just like how he would snap Vulcan’s spine in two, if the man ever dared return from the dead.

The glass had splintered under the pressure he’d applied, needly slivers sticking into his fingers, pricking his palm, until his pale hand was dotted with pinpricks of blood.

As always, the blood suctioned itself right in, drawn back by an invisible force, and the pinpricks sealed themselves up.

Rafal tended to cast off pain with ease, like it was just another one of his overcoats. By now, he was numb to little cuts like these, unlike his foolhardy yet absurdly delicate brother.

He scraped himself off the floor, up to his feet again, and staggered over to the last chest.

Then, he thrust the chest’s weighty lid back, and lifted out the first stack of storybooks.

His fingers grazed the gold-foiled title of the first book in the stack.

In a glaring, grandiose script, the tale’s cover read: THE UGLY DUCKLING.

Duckling.

Rafal grimaced as his temper flared, revulsion climbing up his throat. Then, his resolve hardened. He’d vowed to strip this place of Vulcan, and he would.

The other storybooks fell out of his grasp and clattered to the floor, face up at the one still locked in his grasp.

Duckling indeed.

Rafal flipped the front cover of the storybook open and tore out a single page.

The page sailed down and landed at his feet, settling lightly atop the broken display glass and fragments of wineglass.

Then, he grasped a stiff handful of pages, the heavy paper twisting, warping only slightly, and finally bending in on itself as he wrenched it apart from the book’s spine.

The paper’s edges sliced into his hand, drawing blood from cuts that vanished as soon as they appeared.

He let the handful he’d ripped out scatter to the wind.

Some pages flew out the window. Others dropped into the greedy, licking flames of the fireplace, curling in on themselves, blackening, joining the soot.

The rest of the pages, he extracted one by one, methodical in his process, tearing each painstakingly lettered sheet from its seams, which had been sewn together with care, as if he were plucking feathers from a wild fowl to be cooked—now, just a hollow, pageless shell of binding left in his hands.

Without a second thought, Rafal slung the storybook’s empty binding into the bright, steadily burning fire.

It caught on the fireplace’s grate, angled like a broken bird.

Rafal heaved a great sigh of relief. Gone. At last.

Then, fully satisfied with himself, he surveyed his efforts at cleaning up, even if the room looked worse than how it had begun this morning. Still, he cast his gaze over the terrain of reshelved tales, spilt wine, scattered glass and black crystal, and the few, loose pages pinned to the floor, wedged underneath the broken glass, fluttering in the breeze.

Despite everything, he felt accomplished.

It was only when he caught sight of the Pen, suspended and still, that he remembered he wasn’t alone. He was being watched.

Not long before, the Pen had stood, vertically suspended in the air over its lectern, its gleaming metal cool, but now, it scalded hotter and hotter, angrily searing hot as a branding iron. Then, it tilted, tip glowing red like a reproachful eye.

Rafal simply stared back, waiting for the Pen’s response. Yet, it did not move, a fact which puzzled him.

The Pen’s tip brightened to a blinding, radiant, white pinprick, as if it were readying itself to defend its tales from the scourge of Evil it had allowed to take up residence in its tower.

Rafal squinted at the light. What was it up to?

That was when he glimpsed something launching out of the fireplace in his peripheral vision.

The storybook’s binding rocketed out from its resting place, where it had nested in the grate, flying at him like a missile, sizzling through the air, like a shot bird with its flaming wingspan spread, its front and back covers open, its spine cracked.

A corner of the binding struck Rafal square in the eye. Hard.

Only one foggish, halfway lucid thought flashed through Rafal’s mind as he squinched his eyes shut: It was taunting him. Mocking his flight.

His face gnarled in pain as he doubled over before crumpling to the floor like an ungainly egret.

Splayed on the floor, Rafal hissed, clawing at his eye, knocking the smoldering mass away from his face. Then, he drew himself up into a crouch, his torso supported by shaking forearms, his hands pressed against the glass-strewn floor, jagged edges cutting through the fabric of his slacks at the knees and into his palms as he tried to sweep some of the fragments away.

Hell. Just Hell. He should’ve cleaned up sooner.

He supposed he was done with cleaning today, come what may, and that he should get started on the glass.

Yet first, Rafal strained his neck and examined his distorted, many-eyed reflections in the shards beneath him, prodding the skin near his wounded eye. His fingertips came away with bright blood.

A few areas of his face still bled slightly, gradually mending themselves, thin rivulets of blood trickling down his neck, criss-crossing in a fine, thorny latticework, ultimately staining his starched, white shirt collar.

He rose to his feet slowly and latched onto a shelf as he faltered for a moment, attempting to regain his balance. Then, he drew himself fully upright again, as if nothing had happened. And, with one hand still gripping the shelf’s edges, he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, the one, restrictive one that always pressed against the base of his throat, so he could breathe properly and catch his breath.

Rafal sighed in relief. He’d served the absurd, seemingly arbitrary punishment the Pen had dealt him and it was now well over with.

Then, the Storian moved.

His every muscle tensing, Rafal clutched the shelf harder as it creaked under his death grip, his knuckles white as bone. About to bolt for the open window, he realized his legs were stiff and cold, a cramp shooting through his side from his last fall.

Straight as an arrow, the Storian tore through the air toward Rafal, dead set on harming him.

By some miracle, Rafal caught the Pen, letting go of the shelf as he dropped to the floor, not without taking the entire floor-to-ceiling bookcase down with him.

Rafal willed himself not to scream as his eyes widened in horror at a great shadow looming over him, deepening seconds before the crash as vertigo overtook his senses.

Were the pages whirling around him? It couldn’t be bats amid those ink-hatched illustrations. It couldn’t! Not when Vulcan was gone. Not when Vulcan was dead.

As it neared, the bookcase grew larger and larger in Rafal’s sightline, rushing forward rapidly, encroaching on him, almost eclipsing him. Blood roared in his ears and rushed to his head tossed back at a perilous angle, right before he shunted himself back, turning, his back towards the storybooks’ spines, as books fell out at random, several hardcovers hitting his flailing extremities as they poured out and passed him by en route to the floor, one solid thud after another.

The bookcase had narrowly missed his core, but it had trapped his legs, pinning him to the floor, slowly leaching away his vitality as his head swum and his vision dimmed, turning to a feathery blur.

All the bones in Rafal’s legs had shattered upon impact, when he made contact with the stone, bone spearing through his split skin, drenching his pant legs in hot, rapidly clotting blood as he choked aridly on what little spittle he had, too parched to scream, blinking away the blackness at the edges of his vision.

His bones immediately started to knit themselves back together, but refused to heal completely, for, the soul-crushing force of the bookcase still bore down on him, mincing all the unrepaired fragments in his legs.

Leaning on his elbows, Pen still clasped tight his grip, Rafal set his jaw, soldiered through his faintness, and tried to drag himself forward, out from underneath the suffocating weight of history, scraping slowly over the flagstones still littered with glass.

Suppose his bones joined the shards. Then what?

He freed his hips and one of his legs, struggling further, but found he was effectively immobilized for the time being. Only his ankle was caught now, but it would’ve been unwise to dislocate his leg from its socket by yanking it any harder than he was already.

The structure of the shelf collapsed further, the more he struggled beneath it, like a snare closing in on a bird, threatening to cut off its circulation—but if he could just loosen his foot from these damn planks, it…

It was like the Pen wished to teach him a lesson by entombing him, entombing him here, under the weight of every fairy tale he’d ever taught.

Rafal’s face burned.

EVIL SCHOOL MASTER ENCASED AMONG MANUSCRIPTS—he could picture the words emblazoned atop every paper in the Woods, documenting this final humiliation, all the next day’s headlines shouting and blaring in Rhian’s face.

The Evers would pop champagne bottles. His students would dance over his grave—dancing in the chequer’d shade… come forth to play, on a sunshine holiday—how’d that line go? And which tale was it from?

Wrapped in a delirium, he thought of the sprawling tale of Satan’s fall. Demon, chastened and exiled. Hell. What had he gotten himself into? Hell.

At least Rhian would mourn him, he thought grimly, and shook his head, his rage simmering. The boards wouldn’t loosen around his foot!

Rafal swallowed a heaving breath and let it settle in his chest like a stone. There he lay on his bed of glass, still holding the Pen, now hoisting it aloft, over his stone-abraded face, as it glinted in the light, his arms outstretched in a perverse kind of victory, absolutely sloshed and nearly slain, by his own shelf, by his own Pen, by his own hand.

Another thought surfaced suddenly, unbidden: He could lift it all with his sorcery.

But at that thought, the Storian sparked to life.

Hell. That Pen. To Hell with it.

The ancient script running down the side of the Pen glowed and cast shadowy glyphs across the floor, refracted light catching in the glass, piercing Rafal’s eyes, and the strange markings heated, the Pen’s shaft scorching against his palms, causing Rafal to loosen his grip slightly as he tried not to let go.

Yet, the Storian prevailed and wrested itself from Rafal’s grip, slipping out from his fingers with ease, likely readying itself for a second wave.

Gritting his teeth, Rafal steeled himself for action, both hands alit as he at once summoned the last of his magic, drawing from his deepest reserves, from his lifeblood.

Working through his total exhaustion, he managed to lift the bookcase up at a modest tilt, by only a few hairs’ widths—yet that was enough for him to crawl out from underneath it.

He hauled himself up onto his feet again with most of his weight distributed on his better-healed leg, thinking about slaking his thirst, punishment presumed to be over.

Just then, a cool gust of wind blew in, battering the diaphanous, silver curtains Rhian had put up, as if it meant to revive him, and Rafal turned away from the Pen to the window.

That was the moment the Storian chose to attack with a new vengeance, redoubling its efforts against Evil incarnate.

Some unseen force from within the tower flung Rafal across the chamber, casting him onto his side as he skid across the dining table, long limbs catching in the folds of the tablecloth, his obtruding form sending Rhian’s once deftly arranged table settings—now clashing utensils and dishes and glasses—flying before they smashed against the far wall along with Rafal’s skull as he clenched his teeth at the sheer percussive force of the collision.

To wit, it had to be the Pen. What else? Rafal griped. A fairy-tale punishment fit for a fairy-tale villain?

His ears rang with the strident sounds of shattering bone china and clanging metal, ricocheting off the wall as plate shards rained down on him, the whole tumult reverberating like he was trapped in an echo chamber with a cavalcade.

The din resounded as his side throbbed and he kicked blindly at the bonds of tangled tablecloth wound around his legs. Part of the white cloth had settled over his head, draping like a sheet, and he couldn’t see anything, couldn’t see any of the ruins about him, much less sit up.

Finally, he tore the cloth back viciously, reclaiming his sight in a huff. Apparently, a singular knife had skimmed past his heart and had instead lanced through the flaccid fabric of his shirt, burying itself between the stone tiles.

Rafal groaned and turned over rigidly, his shirt tearing around the knife blade as he settled for lying prone, bloodied cheek to the floor, small cuts abound, droplets of blood blooming across his shirt and the tablecloth.

Then, Rafal rolled his eyes back to the ceiling and noticed the Pen hovering above him. He dealt it a withering glare from below, not yet beaten into submission, and reached upwards with tremorous arms to grasp at it.

The Storian appeared to glare back as it flitted out of his reach, darting back and forth archly as if to tease him, rendering all his exertion futile.

That was when the Storian made to invoke a final crescendo to complete Rafal’s torture. It descended on Rafal with an exhilarating swoop as the School Master shielded his eyes, burying his face in his shuddering arms, bracing himself for excruciating pain, fervid blood coursing through him as he tried to propel himself onto his feet and act, but he felt as if he’d sunken into the floor. He couldn’t move!

And the Storian didn’t hold back.

Its nib ripped through the back of his shirt, tip to flesh, sharp as a spindle, glowing with white-hot ire. It then raked over his exposed back, his neck, and the back of his arms.

Eyes watering insanely, Rafal hissed and rasped for breath, abject fury surging through his veins. A strangled gasp left his lips—he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been choked to death by his own slit throat.

One stroke after another, the Storian lashed across his skin, slashing with a capricious flourish.

He was sure that it intended to flay him alive, and he’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye to Rhian, he thought morosely, head dulling.

These cuts were worse than the time the vampiric, literal blood-sucking, ruby-throated hummingbirds of Akgul had swarmed him. The Never mining kingdom bred them specifically to flit around, slit the throats and tear to shreds the clothes of any passerby who ventured too close to the vaults which were filled to the brim with riches.

Those cuts had been shallow, mere scratches that had closed in a matter of seconds. These lacerations were flesh-deep.

And the Storian didn’t cease moving. Again and again, it slit open his flesh.

Rafal choked out another gasp and pressed himself into the serrated glass and crockery below him as if he could escape the terror above, and shifted onto his side, realizing his mistake immediately as he remembered.

The salt.

The night before, his routine dinner argument with Rhian had culminated in his act of hurling a glass salt shaker at his brother’s swollen head, for being pompous and self-righteous that day.

Naturally, Rhian had become upset last night—not just because he’d been clocked in the head and not just because Rafal had obstinately accused him of being an aesthetic-obsessed egomaniac—but because, of course, this all had happened after Rafal had already swept three dishes onto the floor that selfsame week and broken them.

Smashing the fine china had started to convert itself into a regular dinnertime event, much like an extravagant, exceedingly costly, burlesque sideshow. Predictably, Rhian had insisted that bone china plates were a rank pain to replace. And then, he proclaimed that if this, this breach, this delinquent conduct, continued, he would never dine with Rafal again. In sum, this was his tirade directed towards an unresponsive audience of one, one thick-skulled, unsympathetically glacial brother, all the while dramatically bemoaning Rafal’s dramatic tendencies.

Shortly after, both brothers had refused to clean up, each claiming the mess was the other’s fault, Rafal alleging that Rhian was the source of his provocation, that Rhian drove him up the wall and had thereby caused him to lose the plot—and break his tenuous accord with the Pen since it had last resisted his will over the matter of Aladdin’s placement.

And, the miserable result of these acts was that the salt shaker had cracked open and emptied all its contents—all over the very tract of tower floor Rafal had just rolled over onto. All due to the Pen.

Damn the little devil! Rafal fumed, writhing as his flesh was stuck by glass shards and the spilt salt needled its way into his fresh cuts, aggravating them. And his cuts weren’t healing! Instead they stung. Even the shallower scratches hadn’t closed.

The Storian sliced his front, nearing his throat, as he tried to suppress the feeling in his every nerve, awash with a sense of mounting dread as his own movements repeatedly caused him to be pricked by splinters of glass and the rough, tearing grit of the salt, recurrently entering his open wounds.

Why had he thrown the salt at Rhian when Rhian had simply asked him to pass it?

And now, he was paying for his deed. He’d only compounded this, this agony, and the Storian was making sure he knew it.

How much of an absolute sodding fool he was!

Rafal thrashed further, and spat blood in protest once more at the infernal Pen, choking on nothing but air as his tongue went dry and his voice died in his throat.

His eyes turned bleary and itched. It was as if he could feel his nerves drying out and dying with every passing second as the salt absorbed his blood, the skin around his cuts shriveling, even if the cuts themselves widened, rubbed, and stretched open by the salt and debris, which irritated him like sand would’ve, if not for the chemical burn—the prickling, electric flares of sharp, white-hot pain.

And yet, the corroding burn shocked him awake with a revelation, shearing through his senses that had been suffused with the duller pain’s veil.

What if this torment wasn’t just punishment for desecrating a storybook? It was a petty, Evil act, to be sure. But wasn’t that to be expected from him? Why would the Pen retaliate like this then?

And what if it wasn’t just punishment for vandalizing the Pen’s tower? What if he was expected to apologize to Rhian?

Never. What an indignity that would be, he rejected the idea like a foreign body, then stiffened at his first instinct.

But could apologizing be any worse than where he lay now? Perhaps, he should. If he lived through the Pen’s torment, he probably ought to.

In that instant, his vision whirled, reddening, and his body betrayed him, surrendering to the Pen as he blacked out.

⸻

Rafal’s breath hitched as he returned to consciousness. Had the Pen yielded?

He fought to turn his head as he glanced over at the Pen, watching him from across the chamber at a tilt.

Then, the Storian righted itself, stationed back over its lectern, dormant, as if nothing had befallen its master, once again turning a blind eye to Man’s treachery when doing so suited it, as it always did…

A fairy-tale punishment fit for a fairy-tale villain.

What scraps remained of Rafal’s shredded shirt clung to his lean frame. The fabric was soaked through with blood. He shut his eyes for a moment and inhaled. He’d have to peel it off in the bath, likely.

As he sat up, the muscles in his back twisted, exacerbating the pain of the gashes crossing his back, which still stung, continuing to bleed.

The blood loss wouldn’t be fatal, Rafal knew. But, he wondered whether the Pen would let it go on until he fell unconscious again.

His blood wasn’t clotting regularly and it was all the Pen’s fault, for its magical interference, preventing him from healing any quicker than he usually did.

At this rate, he couldn’t foresee the Pen granting him relief from these wounds—not when it believed he deserved to live so he could suffer. All he could do was staunch the bleeding.

Rafal clambered to his feet for what he hoped would be the last time, stumbling forward before he thrust out his arms to hold onto the edge of Vulcan’s desk and keep himself from falling.

He decided to seek out bandages, or rather, any strip of fabric he could tear, save for the tatters of his grimy, thoroughly bloodstained and oxidized shirt, which looked a rusted brown, far from its former, crisp, white state.

The curtains. The curtains would serve well enough. He hobbled over to them, lit his fingerglow to assist himself, and tore away a strip from the gauzy swaths of fabric, shooting the Pen another glare as he trod, breathless, towards the bathroom.

Once within the bathroom, he planned to run himself an ice-cold bath, but first, he’d run the cuts on his arms under the water for a while, to numb himself, so he could recover a greater range of motion.

No need to undress. His clothes were unsalvageable at this point, and he was certain his brother would agree.

Then, anticipating the reprieve of the biting chill, he bent over to turn on the tap, and did not realize that he’d overcorrected himself, headrush returning, knees buckling, as he pitched forward and slammed face-first into the faucet, passing out.

The bathwater continued to gush and his blood continued to flow forth, mottled bruises already forming across his severe pallor.

Rafal’s body slid partway into the tub, and he awoke minutes later, wracked with a dull ache, half his frame slung over the side of the tub, smeared with blood. His head jolted up, hit by the faucet a second time, as shock permeated his body, which was half-submerged in the frigid, faintly pink water. Not that he could truly sense the cold.

He tried to collect his bearings, but found he didn’t want to move any longer. Nor could he. But he figured he’d wait out the pain, or numb it. Whichever came first.

Albeit, when he sat up, extraneous heat still streamed through his body, radiating outward from his core to his extremities, and he doubted the swelling about his cuts would recede that soon.

Fortunately, he couldn’t catch a fever. He was immune to all illnesses… unless the Pen revoked his immortality. Though, he’d be fine alone. And besides, he had no time to brood.

Rafal stared down at the lacerations lining his forearms. New, youthful skin was already beginning to pave over his cuts, at an imperceptibly slow rate, even if the process hurt like Hell.

To pass the time and staunch the blood, he conjured up strands of gauze bandages that unspooled in midair, allowing them to turn rounds, to twirl and spin before his eyes for an infinitesimal moment before he seized them.

Then, he wound the bandages loosely around his arms, making a poorly-executed, overall hack job of it as his stiff, frozen fingers lacked the dexterity required to tighten them any further.

Well, that would have to suffice for his purposes.

But, no sooner than when he tied the last bandage did he realize the gauze on his other arm had to be replaced since it had leaked through, sopping red once again.

Nevermind.

A copious number of bandages dangled from his outstretched arms as he shuffled back into the main chamber of the tower like one of the undead.

There he sat as the day turned to dusk, stewing silently, tending to the rest of his wounds, awaiting Rhian’s return, applying layer after layer of rapidly reddening gauze.

At last, when he was partly wrapped up, he resembled a dehydrated corpse that would be preserved for the rest of time, forever bound to his duties, like one of the undead, who hadn’t the mind to know when to let go, tugged along by the colorless skein of an immortal life.

He didn’t bother to light a candle.

⸻

As Rhian ambled up the tower staircase, he hummed to himself under his breath and wondered if Rafal had left him any wine. His brother was often a spoilsport and Rhian wouldn’t have been surprised if Rafal had tossed their last bottle.

He took stock of his mental checklist while he continued on his ascent. He’d left Rafal alone for the day, after their tiff last night. Perhaps, Rafal would be ready to apologize. But Rafal was often stubborn, and Rhian suspected he was still sulking.

Brothers. They were such work.

The new furniture he’d ordered from Gillikin would arrive by the School’s shoreside tomorrow, so the place had to be spotless.

Without a doubt, Rafal had finished the spring cleaning by now. And petulantance aside, Rafal never could stand disarray, so surely, he could be trusted with that simple of a task.

Indeed, maybe the Pen really was on his side, and Rhian could check that item off his list now.

He set his foot on the next step, and flinched at a cracking sound.

Rhian peered down at a fragment of glass, cleft in two.

That was odd. Rafal had probably missed a spot when he’d taken out the rubbish, Rhian reasoned, his stomach turning with a twinge of anxiety. Nothing to fret about. Nothing at all.

Rhian knelt down and picked up the shards, stuffing them into one of his jacket pockets. He had to remind Rafal about sweeping up after airing out the place—speaking of which, not one of the windows Rhian had passed had been opened. The air was stale, and it seemed that Rafal had forgotten.

Rhian sighed. He would do it himself later, before his shower. He’d had a long day of curriculum reform as his brother had demanded he add a new section to Surviving Fairy Tales, about distinguishing Good from Evil, because, Rafal had jabbed, even Good’s Master direly needed a refresher when he’d invited the worst kind of Evil into their School.

As he proceeded on his climb, Rhian observed that the stairwell was coated in dust, like it had been beset by a cyclone of some kind.

Now, it wasn’t unlike the Nevers themselves to bathe in dust, but their School Master was definitely above poor sanitary practices, at least regarding himself, if not his renovations. And yet, every surface was saturated with dust, oddly granular dust, that drew blood when Rhian pressed a particle of it between his thumb and forefinger.

Rhian winced at the stinging sensation, knowing his pain would fade soon. Was this glass? He’d told Rafal he didn’t want to compromise their lungs! But Rafal never listened.

Rhian watched as the blood seeped back into his skin, that closed where he’d been pricked. Well… that was a comforting sign. His bond with Rafal was still intact despite last night’s conflict.

He made his way further up the stairs. It was a moonless night and he only had the stars to see by.

Stray storybook pages flapped in the stairwell, and the steps were riddled with more glass dust and drops of blood?

What if they had been besieged by another intruder? Another Vulcan? That would explain the glass. What if Rafal blamed him for allowing an uninvited guest to break in? Had he cast the entry-sealing spell when he’d left their tower that morning? Or had he been preoccupied by, by Storian knows what! He couldn’t remember now.

Heart thrumming, Rhian raced up the remaining stairs in a panic and flattened himself against the wall by the entryway to the tower’s main chamber, to listen.

All he heard was the echo of rustling paper and the cool night wind.

Rhian lit his fingerglow. It burned with warm, pure, golden light, gilding the stones around him. He would vanquish any threat that lay ahead of him. And if Rafal was there, they’d face it together.

Trembling, Rhian swept the presumably monster-clawed, blood-encrusted, silver curtains aside, unsure of what dark horrors he’d be met with in the confines of his own home.

Stepping softly over the threshold, he picked his way into the pitch dark chamber, gold fingerglow illuminating the space, as a scene of total carnage flashed into existence.

Rhian gaped as his eyes flicked across the blood-spattered floor, his light spilling onto it and bouncing back into his eyes. All he saw was pure upheaval. The fire had long since guttered out as it had consumed all of its kindling. An entire bookcase, overturned. Water, pooling out from beneath the bathroom door, circulating along the grooves between the stones. And the tales. They had clearly flown across the room, tossed about erratically, like they’d been subjected to a storm at sea. And—

His gaze landed on a stooped figure with a ragged, irregular breath, shielding its eyes from the sudden flare of harsh light.

Rhian’s breath caught. Was it a Night Crawler? Or some other lethal creature of the night? Some undead thing? He backed up.

Finally, Rhian’s eyes adjusted to the light—was that Rafal?

He squinted down at spikes of snow-white hair, matted with blood, then, eyes widening with recognition, surveyed Rafal’s baffling state of partial undress. Rhian’s distempered brother had propped himself up at the base of the fallen bookcase, and hadn’t risen from where he sat.

Rafal stared up at Rhian in the lit doorway without a word, his eyes hollow and vacant.

“I-I thought you were a monster.”

Rafal’s frown deepened. “Lovely,” he breathed hoarsely. “You’re not the first to think that.” He snuck a brief look at the Pen.

Rhian’s chest flooded with relief. It was only then, after Rafal had spoken, that Rhian’s fears had evaporated. He recognized his brother’s voice and was now certain he was with the living and not one of the undead, some sinister being risen from the grave with the intent of taking over their School.

“Where’s our intruder then? Have you burnt up the corpse?” Rhian wrung his hands, glancing around.

“There is none.”

Rhian paused for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “Then whose blood—” Rhian stopped, unnerved. “Yours? It’s yours?”

Rafal nodded, grim, and began to placidly wrap more bandages around his torso, tightening them with the aid of his sorcery.

With narrowed eyes, Rhian peeked fearfully at his brother’s back and almost passed out in shock. It was all cut up and bleeding, crossed by haphazard strips of overlapping bandages that hung off his arms.

Concerned, Rhian stared at Rafal, haunted by the bloody sight, until he found his voice. “Wh—” He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, trying to quell his nausea. “What happened?”

“The Storian.”

Rhian blinked at his imaginary monster, and gazed warily at the true monster, hard at work, diligently inking in a new tale, once and forever unmasked. It had been the monster all along.

What would they do now? Subdue it somehow? Though, Rafal’s trials were already over…

“Will it heal?” Rhian asked tentatively, wide-eyed.

“What do you think,” Rhian’s monster answered. “I’ll walk it off.”

That was when Rhian registered his brother’s resignation, and knew he should drop the matter altogether. But, he had one final question: “Why did it attack y—”

“Ice. Bring me ice.”

“But—”

“Now,” the Evil School Master cut out caustically. “And not a word about the Pen favoring Good.”

Stunned into dead silence, Rhian scurried away to fetch ice. The most damage always occurred within the shortest window of time.

Yet one fact held true in his mind: Rafal hadn’t learnt his lesson and never would.

⸻

Note:

I’d leap at any feedback you have! Please, if you’re up to it, I’d love to hear your reception of this fic, any thoughts, feelings, reactions, or concrit you have, any at all, especially as this is the most action and the least dialogue I’ve possibly ever written, given the unusual nature of the fic.

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m almost always willing to elaborate!

In addition, I’m not of a legal drinking age in my country nor do I have any inclination to drink. So, apologies if there are any inaccuracies regarding the alcohol use. You can certainly let me know what the errors are, if there are any.

Did anyone catch any of the references I made?

In writing this fic, I realized it diverged a lot from my previous ones because it relies more on imagery than dialogue, so I personally had to really push the envelope with it. In fact, this was probably the most difficult fic I’ve written thus far because I think crafting dialogue tends to come to me more easily than action sequences do, and well, this fic is almost all action.

(And I wanted the fic to feel cinematic, as if it were panning over a train wreck or a hazard zone the audience wouldn’t be able to peel their eyes away from. Yeah, I know. It probably sounds strange, that the desired effect I had in mind while writing this was “vehicular collision,” haha.)

Trivia: My use of “Pen” versus “Storian” was very intentional here. For some reason, I just intuitively found that it made some kind of weird sense to call it “the Storian” when it had an active role and “the Pen” when it was an object acted upon or mentioned, with a few exceptions. It just felt right.

⸻

I even wrote a rhyme for the fic:

He gets bruised—he was struck.

He gets burned; he gets cut.

All done by a Pen

While he’d been drained of his luck.

And all befell him while salty and drunk.

⸻

Playlist:

“Fall Away” - twenty one pilots

“21 Guns” - Green Day

“Save You” - Turin Brakes

“Enemy” - Imagine Dragons & JID

[nachosncheezies]

💋🎉🥰🤲

For this ask game.

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

A fact about me, which may seem counterintuitive given my posting, is that... I'm actually not that much into shipping. I appreciate it, when done well, but it's not really the romance per se that draws me to things or drives my interactions with a piece of media. I don't really love OR hate first kiss fics; I suppose I would put them in the same category I put whump: if it's well done, and has some kind of plot or deeper introspection or something around it, something that helps the characters develop in some way, that's great! But just for its own sake? Meh.

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

It's cliche, but feedback, especially comments. One of the best I ever got was on the first fic I posted, where I'd put a stereotypical "I'm not a writer, please be nice" sort of nonsense at the top. I got a comment from a complete stranger that started with, "okay, 'not a writer,'" and rode those four words straight into the next two stories I wrote. If I've made someone feel something enough that they've taken the time to say so, that's pure gold, and a definite win.

🥰 How do you feel about reader interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your fics?

I LOVE questions about them!! I love chatting about my shows in general, but tbh writing meta sometimes hurts my brain. My fics are almost all canon-compliant and usually express a headcanon or an interpretation of canon events. Sometimes I'm demonstrating why some part of canon that folks seem to hate or think makes no sense actually makes perfect sense to me. It's always so fun to chat about blorbos, I guess I'm just better at showing my thoughts on some things through fic than I am at explaining. :D

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Bless you 💕 every time you do this you force me to look at another bit I've not worked on for a while and it sets my brain on fire with ideas for how to improve or expand on them. :D How about one not from season 8? Set in the reduxes, a scene I drafted ages ago for Scully and Bill Junior. I was delighted to later discover it has a lot in common with the deleted scene from I think it was memento mori? (also delighted that the deleted scene can't be considered canon, because what did air has him not aware of her cancer until much later, so my version could still stand :D I'll post it someday, probably)

"You're being rude," she stated. "I'm just looking out for you." "I know that you believe that, but you're also being rude." "Dana, I know-" he started, but she cut him off with a look. "I asked to speak to you, I would like you to listen," she said, and tipped her head toward the chair beside her bed. "Sit." His jaw flexed, but he acquiesced. "Look, I'm not going to ask you to like him-" "Good, because I don't," he interrupted petulantly. She gave him a quelling look. "I am not going to ask you to like him," she repeated, pausing between each word for emphasis, "and I'm not going to ask that you understand him. But I need you to respect me. We aren't kids anymore Bill, I'm a grown woman; I can make my own decisions. Please don't belittle that by assuming that I'm somehow being..." she searched for the right word, "manipulated."

thank you thank you thank you, a million times thank you for asking 💕💕💕

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

WIPs: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have work in progress fics! Check under the cut for fifteen fics that are incomplete, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

Rumblecusp and TravelerCon, with Essek along for the ride

the fourth corner of the world by royalgreen (50775, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Reccer says: A fun alternate take on TravelerCon, with some great original worldbuilding for Rumblecusp and a mystery

A Shadowgast Arranged Marriage AU in Space

A Tapestry of Stars by cinderstorm (105278, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Reccer says: There's a lot of layers and intrigue in this one, along with so much longing!

Caleb travels to Rumblecusp to meet up with his long time correspondent, Essek. Only when he gets there, he discovers that no on knows of him.

To Have Owned The Sun by Dragonslaeyr (48358, Teen)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Reccer says: It's an amazing, atmospheric mystery that has recently started updating again!

The Nein rescue a very hurt Essek. During his recovery they have to deal with their own relationships with Essek and each other.

The Knife by Queen_of_Thornes (42631, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con

Reccer says: I love the mystery of this story and the how the relationships evolve throughout the fic.

Essek travels back in time (with Artagan's help) to save the Mighty Nein from Lucien, and ends up traveling with them in their early adventures.

Fortune's Favor (Fortune's Fools) by flashhwing (30289, Teen)

Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Reccer says: It's fun to see Essek's interactions with Artagan, and to see the early M9 through his eyes.

Caleb gets a sending: Essek is missing. If only it were simple...

I would sing along but I only remember the screams by luckyowlsfoot (23056, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Reccer says: Lots of tension! Love the little peeks at world building

THE corporate AU. Caleb and Essek navigate workplace ethics, a developing relationship, and secrets that could tear apart much more than just the two of them.

the golden thread around your neck whispered visions of my undoing by MarsBar2019 (172812, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: Drug Addiction

Reccer says: The untold power this author has to make a socialist who doesn’t like AUs DEEPLY invested in this fic cannot be understated. It’s hot, it’s thrilling, it’s beautiful…it’s ILLUSTRATED.

After the peace talks, Ludinus abducts Essek to be kept as a prisoner/pet in isolation. Essek is determined not to be broken, but Ludinus is very good at what he does, and he has all the time in the world.

Grief is an Ugly Thing on You by MushroomKnives (35260, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con, Dubcon/Consensual Non Consent, Gaslighting, torture, drowning, non-consensual body modification

Reccer says: It’s absolutely brutal in a way that reminds me heavily of high-quality HTP—it’s not mere torture porn, this is ELEVATED torture porn! Essek whump isn’t usually my thing, but this is intriguing and compelling enough to overcome that for me.

Caleb doesn't think of his colleague.

Oh, Sinnerman by SaltCore (32692, Mature)

Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Reccer says: I love the whump and angst. It is so well written.

Caleb wakes up and everything is wrong. He has to find his friends and make it right.

Lacking in Outcomes by Mariadperiad20 (7899, Not Rated)

Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con, Domestic Abuse, Disordered eating, abuse, torture, self-harm

Reccer says: Lots of good mystery and suspense. The kind of story that makes you get out your tinfoil hat, cork board and red string. So much fun.

Essek's visits and eventual cohabitation with Caleb.

You Could Stay With Me by oh_johanna (11412, General)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Reccer says: I liked it!

Caleb Widogast is trying to be a successful surgeon... If need be through the pants of attending surgeon Essek Thelyss.

little annihilation by 06151126 (6604, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes, Hospital / Grey's Anatomy AU ; power dynamic imbalance

Reccer says: It's a incredibly fun AU, with great characterization.

Bren is a climber and finally wants to prove himself at the World Cup. And Essek Thelyss is nothing but a distraction. Or is he?

gloaming's end by toneofjoy (13617, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn, Also involves Blumendrei (Bren/Astrid/Wulf)

Reccer says: Amazing world building, interesting relationships!

And these two fics each received two recs!

bdsm shadowgast with a disabled Essek

Coping Skills by sumomomochi (234884, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: None

Reccer 1 says: Both well researched and well written absolutely love the dynamics Reccer 2 says: I love the inclusion of less commonly seen kinks (needleplay, caregiver etc) and the super interesting intersection between kink and chronic pain/illness. Essek's friends are also a delight when they appear!

It's set in an alternate universe where Bren didn't spend time in Vergesson, Astrid did instead. And Scourger Bren gets bored when he is sent to deliver mail to Shadowhand Essek so he decides to seduce him.

A Body in Absentia by Nonwal (70983, Explicit)

Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Reccer 1 says: I like the way it deals thoughtfully and respectfully with the complexities of things like consent, gender, asexuality, differing libidos, boundaries, and neurodivergence. The characters deal with and work through those concepts in the relatably imperfect way real people do. I also love the characterizations of all the characters, but Bren especially. Reccer 2 says: Excellent balance between developing intimacy, humor, and angst

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with xenobiology!

[dynamic-k]

oki doki I have returned with another question >:D

I'm obsessed help-

Okay, you don't have to answer this question if you don't want to/don't know, so:

Is Madame Pop-Up going to stay a villain? Is she going to annoy Ballista like she said?

Is she even sorry about Chosen's trauma?

I swear to God if it's a no I will strangle her-

Will Primal becoming a hero change her mind? Or will Madame Pop-Up take it as betrayal and then become the antagonist of a whole Arc-

I feel like she wouldn't be one to do that though. She's more like jokey about it, if that makes sense.

Unless... Does she have any trauma? Does she really just like being the villain for fun? Are the villains actually even bad?

Have a great day! :D

-R

Finally done with this one. = w=’ Speediest answered ask in history, yep yep.

[LONG LONG RAMBLE BELOW~!!!] [shorter than the other one tho]

So. I got asked about one of my minor OC’s for Super Sticks. That is a first. A daunting first, but a challenge to respond I will not deny.

Typically, I try not to focus on my OCs, it just seems awkward sometimes. Unless, I guess, I happen to have put a lot of particular thought into the character and am happy with it. The more built the OC is, the longer that character has been created, the more comfortable I am with writing said character more frequently and offering the OC more chances to shine.

Yes, I would say that I prefer to write the main cast more than I do OCs. I feel like I know our dear and beloved sticks better than I do my own characters, which is strange to say because I technically know my own OCs better than everyone else- 

I don’t remember where I was going with this. Maybe just insight on how I think or something- I’ve forgotten-

Anyway. Madame Pop-Up, or Poppy. 

Welp, you better get your strangling hands ready then- XD She, uh. She is not very sorry and doesn’t feel bad. There was some mild sympathy and wince of genuine “Oooh, owch” when the building fell on Chosen, but- Other than that little moment there, she is generally uncaring to what she does. 

But hey! You know what could fix that? A LENGTHY CHARACTER ARC- [*is cut off*]

Uhhh, I actually didn’t know how to answer this for the longest time, and I had to think on it for a few days. As I mentioned prior, I have a habit of not including OCs into very many scenes, and sometimes they are all harder to write than the main cast!! XD

There are a few OC exceptions, in which I can write them very well. 

Jade, for example, from A Second’s Tale. He’s shown up enough times, I have enough plans for his story, it’s good.

Dune is pretty easy, as he’s a quiet stick. XD 

I also, of course, have other fandom original characters, and additionally zero fandom original Scarlett works with original characters. [Aside from “The Last Veracion”, most are unposted because I deem them really terrible in composition, or they are incompletely written. WHEN YOU HAVE THE ENTIRE STORY IN YOUR BRAIN BUT THE WORDS DON’T WANNA WORD-]

Poppy is an eccentric figure. The crazy aunt, you might say. She can be a little bit of a sadist... and, uh, not in the silly “whump angst torture suffer on this fictional character” way, that I am. 

Which does make for a good villain character! I needed that.

Poppy and Primal were really only friends because of Ballista, originally. Ballista and Poppy had known each other first, having met some time before Agent’s leg incident. Just around the time Ballista was caught and arrested for trying to fulfill Vic’s order, and Agent had already left Rocket with Hazard, Primal ended up meeting Poppy officially when the advertisement-wielding stick came wondering where her enthusiastic mini friend had gone off to.

They, Poppy and Ballista, probably had made plans for that day or something, I don’t know. I never needed to think on this too much, since it wasn’t relevant to the major plot.

Will she stay as a villain? Uhm. I... Maybe??

You know what? I do not know yet. It is definitely one of the things about Arc Two that is not fleshed out just yet, that I really should get to thinking and deliberating on soon so that I can ominously hint at it- XD

For fun of course. And also, I love it when the audience suffers from lack of information- /silly

Madame Pop-Up will definitely annoy Ballista, if a nice opportunity comes along. [I have some scenes planned already] As the plotline may have suggested, she is quite the cautious individual, an opportunist that seizes the right moment when it comes and shys away from things that hold too much risk. 

A more covert villain than most. She doesn’t have too much an interest in pillaging and robbery anyway, just... teasing. She’s more of a bully villain than a grabby one.

NOW. Primal finally embracing heroism, and going on the climax of her redemption that I haven’t finished fully planning yet- THAT. THAT is definitely the sort of thing that would affect Madame Pop-Up, as the two are much closer now than previously, having bonded during Ballista’s imprisonment.

This is exactly the thing that could help along and switch the tides over for Madame’s own character arc, whether it be a full redemption, or at least an acceptance of what her friends’, Ballista’s and Primal’s both, chosen [*COUGH-LAUGH*] paths are. 

Much of this planning still needs to be done, and some of it will inevitably end up being a spoiler, so I shouldn’t outloud plan too much on this Ask here. I SHALT PLAN IN A PRIVATE DOCUMENT THOUGH, I SHALT PLAN THE THINGS AND ALL OF THE THINGS- And maybe with my sister, or a close friend of mine, eehehehe.

Taking Primal’s decision as a betrayal, giving Madame Pop-Up the opposite of a redemption and instead, a full on RAMPAGE of villainy and anger and betraayyaaal, is also an epic idea. I may actually save that in my brain cogs for Arc Three as an emergency, uh,  I-need-a-force-against-the-protags option? [And I’ll obviously mention the idea came from you hehehe] 

:3 Currently, I have no antagonist for Arc Three, as Arc Two is going to be brought to a neat conclusion. [albeit with a big cliffhangery scene- *cough*]

[stop it, Scarlett, stop talking about Arc Three-]

But for now, yes. Arc Two is gonna tie a lot of things up at the very end, even with as chaotic and all-over-the-place as the journey may be initially, leaving us with an ending containing no extra or hidden main big-bads running amok. Sure, there will be small-time ones, of course, but not enough to be the cause of enough trouble that in turn would merit a big journey of entertainment whump-

Now, the reason Madame would not be the antagonist of Arc Two, is literally because there is a big bad(s) already. I just... haven’t yet... gotten far enough along for that to show very much. 

[IT’S THe GoVeRnMEnT- *gets cut off again*] 

...Ignore that “s”. Ignore it. There definitely is only the government and nobody else. Nothing. Shhh. I said nothing. SHHHH. Nope. Nothing. Don’t you dare look over at King, he’s not here. Sh. SHHHH. /silly

Technically, none of the villains I have made right now, are TOTALLY bad. Nobody here is like RedMenace!Dark. No one is COMPLETELY pure evil in Super Sticks. [yet-]

Rum I could ramble about. SuperSticks!Jade I could ramble about. The Alcoholic twins I could also ramble about. Mudd might be a little closer to evil than them, though- Not totally, but significantly closer-

Madame Pop-Up having trauma?? Now that’s a thought. Now that is a thought. O O

And I don’t have an answer. If I tried to answer, it might be a spoiler- Q w Q

Ehehehhehehehehe

OH I JUST NOTICED YOU SENT ME A NEW ASK!! AJHKJEHWQ

Just at the end of answering this one- XD Niceeeeee

Igoworkonthatnow, okaybye

[hell-heron]

Day 3 - Childhood/Pre-Canon recs!

As this is a genre I very cheerfully enjoy/devour I feel like it could be useful to have a little reclist of these that are pleasing to the Throbb population...

Canon Divergences/Elaborate Scenarios

Carry Me Home - Theon gets a chance to escape Winterfell, but is forced to choose between doing so and saving Robb's life. Very high-angst but a very insightful idea on how they came to be so close even as that's an incredibly painful existential choice to Theon, and foreshadows their future theme of impossible choices and uncomfortable loyaties so well.

Pretty Little Thrall - Maron instead of Theon is the hostage sent to Winterfell, but a year into his captivity he escapes taking little Robb as a thrall. This goes from childhood to their adult romance and has a lot of excellent Robb angst/whump, as well as a more innovative setup for the role-reversal trope

Wolf or Kraken? - Another role reversal, this one has a more classic setup with Balon demanding Robb as hostage after winning the rebellion and has a lighter/comedy-fluff tone. It's 10 lovely chapters of slice of life and friendship and something I really love is how it's not more miserable/dreary than it was for Theon to be a Winterfell, it just is.

First Meetings/Very Early Precanon

Hey, Brother - Ten year old Theon attempting to figure out how he's expected and how he wants to relate to his new foster brothers. Very insightful about Theon's past baggage with brotherhood and Robb and Jon are such two adorable little brats.

without a sudden calm will overset - Very shortly after Theon's arrival to Winterfell, he has to deal with the Stark family in full festivity as the birth of a third child is celebreated. My own fic so no compliments for this one.

Executions Angst

By The Sword - Robb and Theon are taken to see their first execution and Theon has a little panic attack. Introspectively very beautiful and great contrast with Robb's innocence and attempts to understand, OT this also has a very lovely nugget of joy for Greysnow shippers.

Don't Lose Your Head - A character study of Theon's trauma with beheadings not limited to pre-canon nor to Theon&Robb's relationship, but the conversation Theon and Robb have in this is strikingly beautiful and atmospheric, and I love the detail of Theon having the fantasy of Robb mourning him once he's executed as coping mechanism

Miscellaneous fluff

both are windy - Once again my fic, no compliments. Theon receives a letter from home informing him his sister has become a captain and vents all his baggage on Robb

Puppy Love - More recent pre-canon, Robb ropes Theon into taking care of bb!Grey Wind and the two reluctantly develop a bond. Super sweet.

with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair - Theon wins a little mock-tourney at Winterfell and crowns Robb his queen of love and beauty. Delightful bit of little-baby-pining and very fun look into how Theon navigates the North's suspicion of him

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

This was @another-whump-sideblog 's dream, which I asked if I could write something for, I hope you'll like it, I certainly had lots of fun with it <<3

it took a couple of weeks, but here it is, im not gonna apologise for the theatre kid title i gave it, it fit incredibly well

the characters, RJ and Marci are from two of my stories, this drabble isn't canon for either of them, but a great character study

drabbles masterlist (for Marci)

Julius and Carter masterlist (for RJ)

Who lives, who dies, who tells your story

TW: discussion of death, implied character death, drinking, vaguely referenced substance abuse problems, angst

"No, no, no" she laughed and took another swig of the tall glass of beer in front of her "The question is, would you be okay with the story ending?"

RJ swirled the wine around in his glass with a lazy smile. They were past the point of being tipsy, not that it made a difference, nothing they knew was real. They weren't even real.

The bar around them was empty, even though the light's were lit and the sign on the door said "Open," there wasn't another soul in sight.

The tables in the back were never cleaned up, neither was the counter. Marci sat on the bar stool comfortably and reached over to the other side to serve both herself and RJ.

"I won't say I'd be thrilled for it" he said after some thoughtful consideration, proportionally to how much he'd drunk, he might have given a different answer, were his inhibitions working as normal.

"Why?" Marci's eyes were wide, she compensated the heaviness of her eyelids. RJ felt like she stared directly through his own eyes, into his soul. It felt weird, but not intrusive or unpleasant, he felt understood. He took another sip before he replied.

"It would hurt" he shrugged "This is better" he gestured vaguely around themselves. Marci followed the movement, and her eyes trailed the edges of the pile of dirty glasses that were left on one of the tables next to them.

"Hurting is better than nothing though" she countered. Not too loudly or quietly, it was simply a statement. Marci would want it all to resume.

"I don't understand that" RJ followed, and fixed his gaze on the dark red liquid in his glass.

"It's simple, really, if something hurts that means something better exists in comparison" Marci explained and drank more. Everything was too sharp around them, the air, her view of their surroundings, even his soft accented voice in her ears. She missed being able to take the edge off.

The beer tasted nice, sort of bitter and it was cold, but that still didn't make it real. As soon as she remembered that, all the make-believe woozy drunkenness evaporated from her mind. She drunk more and tried not to concentrate on it.

"That's not something that makes me feel better" he replied quietly, he chose his next words with great care "I think, it's easier not to exist, not to know"

Marci sighed. The mere thought of that sent cold shivers down her spine. It simply hurt to think about.

"Does it scare you? That you'd hurt more if it went on?" she asked, with her heart hammering up in her throat.

"It scares me to death" he chuckled. It was a morbid joke, but a joke nevertheless. And what time was better to make it than that moment.

"I, uhm, I regret nothing more than dying" She needed to clear her throat of the heavy pressure of wanting to cry. "Don't you?"

"Which time?" RJ seemed to have a much better time than Marci. He didn't notice the lack of substance in the space they existed in. He seemed to be at peace with all of what wasn't happening to them.

She wished she could find that peace too, but if it meant she had some more time, she wouldn't even look for it.

"I regret the first one only because it led to the second time" he frowned thinking it through "Neither was great, but the alternative would be much worse I'm afraid" Marci hummed in agreement and pretended to understand.

"Not much we can do about it now, eh?" He filled up with both their glasses again and lifted it his glass up. "Cheers" He downed the glass of wine.

"Cheers" Marci echoed a beat later, and took a swig. It felt more refreshing than the previous times, it was almost real.

...

When I woke up, for a couple moments I didn't register lying in my bed at home. I expected to see the rundown bar when I opened my eyes, but was met with bitter disappointment, only staring at the clock on my bedside cabinet.

I relished in knowing I could be a part of that conversation, and that it was real for those few moments my brain stayed in it's REM phase. Ultimately, it was my neurons firing some signals around.

It stung that, it didn't matter what they thought or said or felt, because I opened my eyes.

The dark thought crossed my mind that maybe I should've gone with them into the abyss, but it floated far by the time I made myself breakfast.

[letstalkwhump]

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Here today to talk all things whumpy is the brilliant @whumpcereal!

It’s great to have you here! Let’s start with a fact or two about yourself  like your favorite color or favorite animal? 

My name is Kay, and I’m a high school teacher in my 30’s. Besides whumping unsuspecting gentlemen, my hobbies include reading a lot, belting out showtunes, cooking for people I love, hitting up new bars and restaurants with friends, and traveling. And since you asked–and as a teacher, I hate unanswered questions–I’ve recently realized that orange might be my favorite color, and I love gorillas. 

What does whump mean to you?

 It’s the sort of pressing-on-a-bruise feeling that is wrapped up in watching someone suffer and then be comforted. It’s the need for vulnerability and human connection. It’s watching Prince Philip get chained to a wall and not understanding why you find it so magnetic, but you do, haha! 

How did you find the whump community? What made you want to join? 

I was writing for the Newsies fandom (I know) during the pandemic, and one of my favorite authors tagged her epic work with “whump.” I clicked the tag on tumblr, and I found @lonesome--hunter’s Ezra almost immediately; I fell down the rabbit hole and never came out. After Ezra, I spent a good long time with @ashintheairlikesnow’s Danny and then @galaxywhump’s Wren. I realized that a lot of what I was putting in my own writing could be classified as “whump,” but I wasn’t sure how to join in the fun. I lurked for a while and then beta-ed for @darkthingshappen before I got brave enough to post my own stuff. But part of what motivated me to start posting was just how supportive and welcoming the whole community is. On AO3, you can get tons of hits but almost no real engagement; with whump, that’s totally different. It makes my little dopamine receptors ping. 

The whump community is amazingly supportive! Do you think your view on or the way you consume whump changed since you joined? 

 I am definitely a hurt/comfort gal. I can’t do the hurt without the comfort, and I need my whump to be strongly oriented in the characters’ feelings, whether we’re talking whumpers or whumpees. I struggle when a character is just getting the shit kicked out of them endlessly; I want them to have some relief, even if the relief is bittersweet or painful in its own way. I also find it easier to whump an OC than I do a fandom character, just because if they’re mine, I can build the kind of backstory that makes the whump reasonable. 

And your favourite whump trope?

 I do like noncon. Whump is a genre where I’ve really been able to explore scary things that have happened to me, and when a whumpee has an honest (and not needlessly gratuitous) nonconsensual experience, I gravitate toward it, especially if they’re allowed to explore the aftermath and how it makes them feel. I also love a mute whumpee–probably because I watched The Little Mermaid too many times growing up. Something about the helplessness of being trapped in your own body and at the mercy of others–hey, whumperflies! Captivity whump too, especially anything in the BBU. The BBU was one of my favorite discoveries when I found the community. It provides such rich opportunities! 

Captivity whump is so good! Would you mind sharing a favourite piece you've written? (the following pieces may contain non-explicit nsfw references)

Ooooh. Well, I guess I’ll choose one from each of my series. For Jack, my first and forever whumpee in Behavior Modification, and his caretaker, my wish-fulfillment fake husband, Joe, it’s this piece with their little girl. It’s something that I wrote in basically a single stretch one afternoon last summer, and I’m proud of it because it shows both how far Jack has come in his recovery and how much everything he’s gone through is still affecting him. It also shows how fierce of a protector Joe is, even though Jack’s got strength of his own. Plus, Hallie, their little girl, was super fun to create. She’s a feisty little thing, and I liked the idea of looking at such a dark, violent system through a child’s eyes. 

For The Kennel, it’s this piece which immediately follows my boy Will after his best friend Tommy is forced to assault him. It’s got the aftermath of noncon, plus it includes a lot of world building for my scary whumper, Doc, and his particular set-up. It really sets up the horror of the situation in which Will and Tommy have found themselves and also emphasizes the stories of other whumpees whose stories I’d love to explore (Justin and Tony, I’m looking at you). Plus, it gives Annie–who’s technically the caretaker in this story, even though she’s been abused herself–a chance to think about how she’s been raised and the way her father treats people. My favorite moment is when Will just breaks down completely, because we haven’t seen him do that yet. It’s a human moment, and he’s feeling so much less than human that it’s almost cathartic. 

And then, honorable mention to this piece where I crossover my two stories and let Jack help Will as his post-rescue counselor. I had so much fun with that reveal! 

Oh wow, I love the Kennel piece! You’ve broken my heart with Justin and Will! Would you like to share your writing routine  with us?

 I’ve actually been riding a bit of a block lately, but typically, I am an evening writer. No drinks or snacks, but usually movie scores that match the mood of what I’m writing. On good nights, it’s big blocks; on others, it’s just a sentence here and there (that’s been where I’m at lately). I try to write a little every day, but again, it’s been rough lately. Being a teacher at the end of the year is just as hard as being a student, haha. 

I can only imagine! Are some things easier for you to write? Anything you struggle with writing?

 I have an easier time writing recovery than I do straight whump, which is sometimes a bummer, because the whump community doesn’t seem to like recovery quite as much. So, I’ll pour myself into a recovery piece I have big feelings about, and then it won’t get quite as much traffic and engagement as when I’m roughing up the boys. I am very careful about how I write noncon. I think I do a decent job, but I try to approach it from a place of sensitivity to the person who is suffering versus engaging through violence alone. That can take a lot of time and thought and big feelings. 

And is there anything you're working on at the moment? 

I do have a fantasy crossover miniseries with Jack, Joe, and Ivan and @oddsconverts’ Josh and Felix that I’ve had a really fun time working on. I need to write a little intro before I post it. I need to go back to Jack and his intimacy consultations at WRU, and AU AU Joe and his reaction to the Drip. Poor Will and Tommy are in desperate need of attention; I need to get Will sold away so all the drama can increase. Maybe during summer vacation? 

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today? I am only funny on accident. Just ask my students. ;-) 

Do you have any writing advice you’d like to share?

I’m great at giving advice to others, but absolute shit at following that advice myself. For instance, write for you. Don’t write for hits, likes, reblogs, etc. Just write what you want to read. Write as often as you can. During the pandemic, what got me back into writing after years of thinking about it was trying to write a little every day. Find you some writing friends who will get excited with you when there’s something you can’t wait to write about. 

Finally, would you like to give a mention to some of the amazing people in the whump community?

I already mentioned some of my favorites, but shout outs to @hold-him-down (whom I was lucky enough to eat very expensive risotto with this spring and whose Leo is one of my very favorite whumpees), @peachy-panic (58 Days is one of my VERY favorites), @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump (whose Wyatt has my whole heart), and @squishablesunbeam (I mean, Jesse? Come on!). My first friends in the whump community were @darkthingshappen (creator of my Benny baby), @oddsconvert (whose series are all so beautifully written that I can’t choose a favorite–she even made me like vampire whump–and who is my wonder twin forever), and @sparrowsage (go check out his new stuff!). 

Thank you so much for joining us, @whumpcereal ! It was a pleasure to have you here! 

And to all you lovely folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[evilwriter37]

I see that my bridnapping headcanon in your ask got some notes. I was worried I was stretching it too far 😅

It also gave me a whump/angst fic idea with the bounty and bride-napping scenario between Hiccup and Viggo. Free whump idea if anyone wants to create a fanfic out of this! I’ll read it!

I remember another ask before that you answered, probably a year ago or something. I think the person asked about “why Viggo wants Hiccup alive?” Or “what happens if Hiccup was brought to Viggo and wasn’t saved on time?” (It’s somewhere there in my memory when I read it)

I don’t know, the headcanon connection I created between the bounty “Midnight Scrum” and bride-napping has been in my mind for a while. Reading a lot of ask before that you’ve answered was a puzzle piece into creating some headcanons for me 😅. Especially the intriguing question and fanfic potential “what if they didn’t save him on time?”

Hello, bride-napping anon!!! Great to see you again. Talking about that was so fun.

And ohhhhh, the potential of Hiccup not being rescued on time. It’s absolutely dark and delicious. Like, sure, Ryker said Viggo wants to kill Hiccup by his own hand, but are we really supposed to believe that? People seem to forget that characters lie sometimes and can’t always be taken at face value. I don’t know about you but I don’t trust Ryker as far as I could throw him. (And I couldn’t throw him because he’s like, a 6’4 giant.)

One reason I haven’t written an alternate ending to Midnight Scrum like that is because it would probably turn into a long fic with some themes I’ve already explored. (God knows I have so many long fics going right now. [Wait, now I want to work on Our Time Together.])

Midnight Scrum was such a fucking fun episode. I’m glad it left such an impression on the fandom that we’re discussing it years later.

[penny-anna]

happy saturday all!! i am back once again w more back to the future recs:

Until I Get Home by daryfromthefuture

When the train plot goes horribly wrong, Marty McFly and Doc Brown are stranded in 1885. How will they manage to adapt to a time so foreign to their own? Will they be able to preserve the space-time-continuum? And, most importantly: How will their adventures in the past impact their relationship?

(ongoing WIP) u want that good good trapped in the past angst! here's lots n lots of it! this one strands doc n marty in the past & then puts marty RIGHT through the wringer.

Rewriting the Future by LovelyZelda

It's 2015, and Marty McFly is unemployed with two kids in jail and still bitter about a thirty year old car accident. But this hasn't really happened yet, and if it hasn't happened yet, there's no risk of creating an alternate timeline.

great little look into Doc's actions throughout 2 and 3 & his attempts to change Marty's future. its a good un guys check this out.

Time in a Klein Bottle by treewishes

Just as Marty was ready to head out the door, he stopped, thinking about that day five years ago. They had tripped through the future and the past, and he couldn't help but remember everything that could have-- no, everything that really did go wrong. He tore off a page of printer paper and scribbled a note to Jennifer. He left it on his desk, but with any luck, he'd be back before anyone knew he was gone. Unless something went wrong, of course, and then he wouldn't be back at all.

physics student marty w a time scooter hanging out w young!doc what more could you need

A Visit With An Old Friend by thepreciousthing

Doc visits an old friend in a nursing home.

major character death warning on this one but honestly!! im sensitive about death and honestly found this one very comforting. its a good read.

Fearful Symmetry by seekingferret

How would Marty cope with choosing not to go back to the Wild West? How does time travel really work?

another one w marty studying physics. this ones got some meat on it. a good fic to get ur teeth into.

The Return of Calvin Klein by Ael L. Bolt

One Christmas, Doc gets an unexpected surprise. 

very cute n fun!! an oldie n a goodie!

Lean On Me (When You're Not Strong) by BGSparrow, daryfromthefuture

The stresses of being stranded in 1885 are many for Marty McFly — and then he contracts scarlet fever. Doc hunkers down in the hopes of not only mending his friend but the divide that has crept between them. Scarlet fever doesn’t stand a chance.

hey u like whump!! *slams down this fic* being stuck in the pre-penicillin era sure would suck huh

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: wip intro

Masterlist | Chapter Titles | Also on A03! | Playlist

The Prince of Thieves is a Robin Hood-inspired tale of two brothers, Will and Jamie Wardrew, and the people they care about most: Geoff, Colette, and Bree.

The goal of Iustitia aecum, the notorious thieving gang, is to steal from the rich and give to the poor. For a few years, that's exactly what Jamie, Will, Colette, and Geoff (as the gang's inner circle) do; they slip through the fingers of the law time and time again.

One day, everything goes wrong.

Will, by a stroke of fateful misfortune, falls into a trap meant for Jamie, the real leader of IA, and ends up in prison—in the custody of Constable Baden Hatchett, an officer who is willing to do whatever it takes to get Will to crack so he can bust IA and bring all its members to justice.

With execution—his brother's and his own—hanging over his head, Will resolves to take his secrets to the grave, swearing not to betray the only family he has left.

Bree Cooper is one of IA's runners, privy to no secrets save for one she learned by chance...that she was never supposed to know. When she, too, falls into the hands of the constabulary, she is forced to reckon with her past—a complicated history with Constable Hatchett himself, and her future—the gallows.

Will and Bree's lives were already intertwined, and when they find each other again behind bars, they will rewrite the stories fate has planned for them—together.

Click here to see some incredible art by @keeper-of-all-the-random-things of the Iustitia aecum tree sigil!!

Cast of Characters

Will Wardrew: Foolhardy, reckless, and immature, his fiery temper and smart mouth get him into trouble constantly—inside and outside the prison walls. Incredibly loving and loyal, he will go to great lengths to protect the people he loves.

Bree Cooper: A girl who suffered enough in childhood to make her tough and wary as an adult, Bree thinks with her heart. Stubborn to a fault, she clings to hope above all other things.

Baden Hatchett: Cold-hearted, prideful, and cruel, Baden Hatchett wants nothing more than to take IA down. Will and Bree's constant defiance and refusal to comply with his investigation spur him to more brutal methods so he can claim his victory.

Jamie Wardrew: A strong sense of justice and an unwillingness to witness people’s suffering prompted him to become a Robin Hood figure so he could help others, but now that it is his younger brother paying the price, his world is starting to unravel.

Colette Haris: A rich girl who walked away from her family and her home, Colette is self-assured and strong. She is the other half of the 'brains' of IA (while Geoff makes up the 'brawn').

Geoffrey Marks: The epitome of 'strong and silent,' Geoff has spent much of his life on his own and scrounging for survival, which makes him good at an unnerving number of suspicious and useful skills. Observant and deceptively gentle, he would do anything for Jamie, and by extension, Will. He is also the tallest person you have ever seen.

What You'll Find Inside

angst

lots of fun whump: flogging, stabbing, burning, psychological and emotional torment, fun insults, tons of defiance (especially early on), so many chains and shackles - warnings always provided

found family

lovable dummies for characters

badass gals and guys

dungeon vibes

tragic backstories / rough childhoods

problematic authority figures

old-timey historic vibes

sloooooooooow burn romantic feelings

"I'd do anything for you"

"why did you save me?"

"I won't give in, so you'll just have to kill me"

hard choices

complicated pasts

secrets, betrayal, forgiveness

silly easter eggs/references to: Robin Hood, Les Miserables, Aladdin

here's the old mood boards!

[basilhopewhumps]

hi i exist and have just made this lovely whump blog!!!!

what's up friends???? i have just decided to make a whump blog because i have been so into whump in the past few years while i've been on tumblr on another account and today i decided, fuck it, i wanna be part of the whump community on tumblr! it looks lovely! so here i thought i'd make an intro/master post with everything y'all need to know about me so i can find some friends!!! and i will add to this as needed so yall have information about me that is real and true lol

and i'm new here so please if you're an established member of the whump community and could point me to blogs you like to follow, thatd be swell!

basics:

my name is Basil! it is not my real name lol!

I use he/they pronouns though sometimes i think xe/xem/xyr would be cool so i wouldnt mind that either :]

i'm 18 years old!

i have a main blog so i'm familiar with tumblr but i'm not going to share that because i don't want this to have anything to do with that life! i will say though that i write fanfiction for a small fandom and that's how i got into whump because i write a lot of hurt/comfort :D know that the characters from that fandom are always a little bit in my head when i'm reading or writing whump <3333

whump likes/dislikes:

i like:

soft caretaking! soft! caretaking! so many like, hardcore whump things are fun for me as long as there's soft caretaking at the end. that's my endgame really. it's all about that hurt/comfort!! woo!!!!!!

sickfic!

touch starved whumpees. i live and die for that shit

panic attacks/anxiety attacks/general anxiety! as someone who suffers from anxiety myself i really enjoy reading about characters having anxiety and getting taken care of and soothed

sleep deprivation/insomnia/sleepy whumpees getting taken care of. i am known in my fandom life for writing sleepy fics all the time haha

nightmares

crying at all, really. i just. i like it when characters cry man

did i mention soft caretakers? thats important

i tend to pretty much write whumpee x caretaker romantically (in my fandom hurt/comfort fics it is usually one character in a ship hurt and the other comforting them) but i am also cool with platonic whumpee + caretaker relationships!

i could have a good time with pet whump i think???? i just, again, i want them to escape at the end and be taken care of by a caretaker who helps them ease into being their own person again

i don't like:

whump with no comfort/no caretaker/no happy ending/etc. all respect to it but it just makes me feel bad so- yeah i prob won't interact much with blogs who only post stuff like that!

any kinky whump. it just makes me feel super icky, please dont send me anything related to that. i don't mean i won't read/write/talk about anything nsfw in whump- i think the general rule is if whump is supposed to turn you, the reader, on then please count me out!! this is generally a sfw blog!

marvel whump or superheroes in general or hero/villain. anything of that sort

what i'm gonna do here:

if people send me requests for prompts/scenarios that i like i will happily oblige them!!!!!

may also just generally write some whumpy things

and mostly just reblogging whump posts that i like and seeing what's going on in this community! it's gonna be great guys i'm excited to be here :D

please send me any asks about anything at all times, or message me, whatever, always down to chat and befriend people <3333

[the-ikran-man]

May 30th - Tradition/Whump

WARNING:

Character Death!

Lot of curse words.

Lot of hurt, barely any comfort.

ANGST

-- --- --

Set before Dragon and Fellow actually become recoms cause Fellow's human death is just very good angst. Still counts, yeah?

Also we get to throw Parker, another one of our recoms into it, so yeah, it's that good stuff.

-- --- --

It was normal for Dragon and Fellow to swap dog tags if one of them was going on a mission or to an area without the other, which happened sometimes.

It was a tradition for them. By switching dog tags, the person who was leaving was saying 'You have my tags, so I'll come home alive to get them back.'

And while not swapping tags didn't stop the other from going, it sure voiced your displeasure about it.

Honestly if it were up to Fellow, he wouldn't go, bulldozer duty wasn't great. He'd much rather stay in bed with Dragon unless they had to get up to do stuff around base. And Dragon refusing to swap his tags with him the week before sure proved that he also didn't want Fellow to go either.

And maybe Fellow did him just a little dirty to make sure he walked out of base with those tags on.

See, Dragon slept like the dead after he and Fellow had a little fun in the sheets. He could get stabbed and he likely wouldn't wake up.

It was bit mean to use it as a way to get what he wanted, but technically it was fun for both parties and sure, Dragon would probably yell at him about it when he got back, but small price to pay to keep a tradition.

---

It's easy enough to unclasp the tags from around his sleeping partner's neck, Fellow planting a light kiss on the sleeping solider's temple before he gets up, securing the dog tags around his neck and setting his own down nearby where Dragon would see them whenever he awoke in the morning.

Usually he'd stay, but he was going to try to avoid the smaller's wrath for as long as he could, as his beloved was a bit of a loose canon when he wasn't in a good mood.

Fellow was just lucky he had what it took to handle him.

---

Dragon is aware that the usual weight in his bed is gone when he wakes up in the late afternoon hours. He groans, pushing himself up, fully expecting to find Fellow chilling in the corner somewhere waiting on him.

He is not.

"God, you fuckward, where'd you go?" Dragon mutters to himself, as he forces himself out of bed to attempt to get ready for whatever a day on Pandora decided to throw at him.

He's reaching to adjust his tags when he realizes they're gone. He searches his bed for them, then the whole room. Until he finds Fellow's tags instead, sitting there where his partner left them, almost mocking him in a way.

Fellow had stolen his dog tags and booked it. Probably in the middle of the night. And Dragon had slept through it. Like an idiot.

"I'm gonna kill him," Dragon growls under his breath, snatching up Fellow's tags and heading out. The second he got back from bulldozer duty, Dragon was going to lay into him. How dare he sneak off after stealing his stuff, the fucking weasel! Just he wait!

He doesn't even think that he might not get the chance.

---

"So far we've counted 7 bodies, but there could be more, people were changing shifts when it happened."

We found another one over here!"

"Shit. Who is it?"

"We weren't sure, but they've got their dog tags, but it's hard to make out the name."

A sort of hush falls over the room as everyone waits with baited breath to learn about another name, another team member to add to their list of dead.

Dragon feels sick, clutching Fellow's tags as he stands there, anxiousness building.

The leader of the team on screen reaches for the tags that are passed over by the other who's crouched by a badly burned body.

Dragon immediately curses the clear quality of the body cam recording everything. Because he knows those tags.

He doesn't need to hear his own name read off, or the curse the leader lets out as the realization dawns on him as well.

He doesn't even realized someone's come over to his side, until he's being pulled into a chest, held tight in an arm, a voice whispering, "Don't look anymore."

Parker had been watching Dragon ever since they'd started counting bodies. All of them in the room had been exposed to large levels of death at some point, but Dragon was pretty young, and death was harder on him than it was on the rest of them.

And being faced with the death of someone you cared about...

Parker had grabbed him and tried to block some of it out.

Dragon is not a touch person, he liked human contact less than the normal amount, but right now, he really didn't want anyone touching him. Not when his world was currently spiraling head first into the ground with enough force to kill a man.

He tries to pull away, but is not allowed to, in fact, Parker refused to let him go, her other arm coming around to hold onto him against herself.

Like he wasn't a solider, and instead a frightened child.

He's not a child, even if he's young. He'd seen death before, and on Pandora, the risk of it was even higher than back on Earth. They weren't invincible out here, death was an occupational hazard, he wouldn't cry about it, Fellow probably wouldn't have, he knew what he was getting into when he left, he-

Dragon hears a hiccup, and it takes a second or two for it to sink it that he's the one who did it.

Park holds him a little tighter, leaning over him slightly, muffling the wrecked sobs that start to eventually come out of Dragon as he breaks, as it all really hits him.

Fellow is gone.

It was like a sick fucking joke. He'd been here one day and now he wasn't, just like that.

This wasn't how it was suppose to go. He was suppose to come back. That what taking Dragon's tags had meant, that he try his hardest to come back, come hell or high water.

Parker mutters something into his hair, but Dragon can't hear her, his fingers curling so tight around Fellow's tags that his knuckles turn white.

Pandora was a right cruel place.

Inspired by this gif ^

Not gonna lie, we were gonna go the fist bump route, but as we were looking at this gif yesterday, the recom in the back came into focus like a light-bulb going off, and we noticed the dogs tags and things just sort of plummeted into place.

@recom-week

[romegaketh]

#16, 17, and 23 please?!

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

I love a good lil canon divergence - for want of a nail type shit. When I first got into wrestling I was like hmm it would be fun to do Tyler Black in Japan, or maybe Mox washed out of FCW and ended up in NOAH then NJPW. I absolutely don't have the expertise to write it but I think you could have a lot of fun with baby Mox in the dorms out there, or Tyler and Ibushi connecting in some way. (I think Tyler and Ibushi would be SO interesting and Kenny would be SO mad about it!!!)

Similarly, Kenny stuck in FCW would be really fun to fuck around with, though maybe a little more shoot-style than I'd necessarily want to write myself. So much would have to go wrong/be worse to get him there and that would be really fun to mess around in - especially, like, in terms of Regal and Hunter, both in kayfabe and out of it.

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

Wrestling at the End of the World. I love Hockey at the End of the World - I think it engages so smartly with questions of canonical exploitation, but also functions so well on its own as a story about a revolution that does not draw its own lines at the end of that revolution. (The premise, essentially, is that hockey acts as a dystopian bread-and-circuses style entertainment, and players are both swallowed up by the dystopia and mobilize at great personal cost to act against it.)

I think wrestling would work SO well with that premise - that kind of capital-corporate dystopia - while also doing something very different in terms of the type of exploitation. So hockey is very about the subsumption of the individual into the broader whole, but wrestling in kayfabe (but also out of it) is fundamentally about individuals and individual egos (while still creating a collaborative art form! it's sick). Dystopia-wise leaning into RPF probably would make everything fuckin zing (esp w the double-naming - and someone like John Cena, who sold his own name is just ... I can't stop thinking about that, it makes my brain absolutely vibrate in sicko mode, it's so compelling and fucked up) but I think it would still work as like - travelling bands of entertainers who are also representative of ruling class interests crossing a really fraught continent and grappling with their values and positionality as well as like... finding class consciousness and being Whumped Aggressively, lol.

I just have this image in my head of Seth and Mox sending each other communiques across companies. Cody carrying all this coded information. Hunter leading a revolution and then being wholly subsumed within it. The force of AEW as a counter-WWE force that comes with its own contradictions! Maybe it is falling apart! What the hell is CM Punk doing on his own! The presence of free agency as a viable option that is sooo like ... what are the COSTS in a DYSTOPIA. (When will they get a fuckin union, etc.)

So that is the AU of my heart and I would probably give a kidney for it.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

I'm not that big of a writer-by-trope anymore, which I kind of miss. It's a lot of fun to take a hook and play it straight or switch it up depending! But I guess speculation really became its own thing, haha. I'm generally not into tropes for the sake of them, I usually want them based on some aspect of character I find Infinitely Compelling.

That said:

I think a lot about a wrestling fic where Kenny Omega quit wrestling and became a trainer for the Leafs org and lives in an apartment in the village in Toronto, where he is a sober regular at Woody's and has a bartender boyfriend, and is in some ways a lot more settled than he is in Florida, but in other ways has a longing inside of him that is so deep he drives out to Mississauga when WWE come to town. And then out of nowhere one day Tyson Smith wakes up and is in Florida, with a busted up entire body, trying to make phone calls to Japan without being able to pull the trigger, and doesn't know what to do.

Also, the fic where Cobra Kai is a CIA psyop established to fight dirty wars throughout the Cold War, and Johnny Lawrence does not handle learning this with any grace at all.

[damoselcastel]

I posted 818 times in 2022

That's 62 more posts than 2021!

110 posts created (13%)

708 posts reblogged (87%)

Longest Tag: 79 characters

#even though he's awful in b rank this is the drama i wanna explore between them

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Hey guys, I’m making a Let’s Play for Triangle Strategy! It’s mostly just my own silly commentary and reactions to a blind playthrough, but if you’re interested I’ll have daily updates so please check out my (very new) Youtube channel.

Episode 1 - the very, very start

8 notes - Posted March 3, 2022

#4

I haven’t really said much on the upcoming FE title, other than Colgate Pepsi Lord being uggo, and that’s mostly because of my... unresolved problems with Fire Emblem Heroes. Or rather, that entire “hero summoning” as a concept.

I suppose sometimes in a game, it’s a fun concept to have like... a cameo summon. Twilight Princess’ Wolf Link in Breath of the Wild is a fun easter egg, and as optional dlc, probably non-canonical as far as story goes. It’s something that doesn’t bother me, maybe because I’m having fun with the game enough to shrug weirdness, like wearing Majora’s Mask as a mask, off.

But a game like FEH, where it’s built AROUND the concept of FE series cameos... I really can’t excuse it’s pathetic excuse for stories, while I stare at the pile of familiar characters I care WAY MORE ABOUT than the OCs constantly whumped in plot for little effect. I honestly dislike most FEH OCs, because there’s a lot about both their context and execution that bothers me... and the direction the games writing has good (book 2 was the worst nosedive, but the entire structure is mmwheeh)

So, my thoughts in rant form (brought on by FEH’s book 7 trailer):

I don’t feel attached to Zenith, because I feel like the character could care less about it or its problems with the way the traipse off ALL THE TIME. It’s likely I’ll be just as cranky about a group of silver spoon kiddos summoning great heroes to serve their beck and whim... with at most a “you mean so much to me Marth-sama uwu” being stated. Engage’s tone looks all light and fluffy, and maaaaaaaaan, it’ll all bounce off my salty self. I just hope I’m not bored by it, like I was in the end with Awakening.

10 notes - Posted December 4, 2022

#3

Much belated happy @nagamas, hardkourparcore!

Apologies for this pinch hit being so very late, but hope this “Secrets” CasLin is too your liking (I tried to channel both their respective energies)

12 notes - Posted March 20, 2022

#2

Red Courage - a FE3H Claude/Edelgard fanfic    Game: Fire Emblem Fates    Rating: Teen    Character(s): Claude von Reigan, Edelgard von Hersvelg, Dimitri (background)    Tag(s): no TWSitD AU, politics, marriage, patriarchy    Warning(s): force feeding, involuntary physical restraint, implied age gap/child bride    Word Count: 4,252 Summary: Claude learned of love from his mother, although it doesn't move him until he meets Edelgard. She changes everything. (Claude/Edelgard, no TWSitD AU)

Sorry for being a day late, but merry @nagamas to S3rain on twitter. I chose your Claude/Edelgard prompt and put my own little AU twist on it. Hope you enjoy!

13 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Dame’s thoughts on FE3H Rufus

FE16, aka FE Three Houses, spoilers below

So... over the years since FE3H came out, I’d developed certain headcanons for some off-screen NPCs. Y’know the ones, mentioned by characters, but didn’t get a name let alone a model/portrait. The most conspicuous one might’ve been Dimitri’s Uncle- Regent Rufus.

In the main game he gets mentioned only a handful of times: by Dimitri for existing, by Felix to be criticized for not handling the rampant Bandit situation post-Tragedy, by the plot for kicking off Azure Moon’s civil war events within Faerghus.

So I’d started thinking “what type of prince is this man?” and went with the idea of ‘party prince’: the sort of secondary heir who grew up with few responsibilities and instead just lives the high life on the country’s dime. I figured, this could be a big reason why as a Regent, Rufus would be inept, cause he plain ignored duties thus has no experience ruling. Along this line of thought, I figured even if Rufus wasn’t actively malicious that he did neglect his freshly orphaned nephew (as its canon post Tragedy both Dimitri and Dedue felt isolated within Fhirdiad’s castle).

So I guess, I built up this picture of an uncle who mostly wanted to have a good time and wasn’t very good at the serious stuff in life, one that Dimitri could have a shallow relationship with that was neutral-borderline-negative. Dimitri himself never seems to express anger towards Rufus, and counts him as family in all ending routes with the possibility of counting on his uncle to keep the Blaiddyd line alive in Crimson Flower. I LIVED FOR the drama of Dimitri being falsely set up for the crime of uncle-murder, and all the gross feelings that must’ve accompanied that.

It was kinda fun speculating on a complicated family relationship that was dysfunctional without being outright villainous-- But now I play through FE Warriors 3H, and seems all my headcanons are to be smashed to pieces, lol. More thoughts to come about that on a later reblog.

19 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[rufusbear]

I posted 1,205 times in 2022

9 posts created (1%)

1,196 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@audreycritter

@sillysunshinesstuff

@nandalorian

@wolfhalls

@serene-quill

I tagged 924 of my posts in 2022

Only 23% of my posts had no tags

#jason todd - 148 posts

#eddie munson - 109 posts

#steve harrington - 104 posts

#tim drake - 94 posts

#steddie - 60 posts

#dick grayson - 54 posts

#stranger things - 42 posts

#battinson - 40 posts

#the mandalorian - 38 posts

#red hood - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 78 characters

#one of the only reasons i can even do it now is because of maturity (old age?)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Listen, I’ve read a lot of stranger things Steve/Eddie fic the last few months. A lot. And I cannot believe the amount of times I’ve read either of them, or the kids, yelling, “Oi!” Just. Stop. I don’t care if you don’t get a beta reader but please, for the love of gob, please get whatever the opposite of a Brit-pick is. Americ-pick? Idk. I can’t take it anymore. American’s don’t say “Oi!” Ever. The equivalent would be “hey!” I can handle “mum” or an extra “u” in a word, but “Oi” is the quickest way to take someone out of a fic. HEY!

0 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

#4

SHARE MY PAIN; Rufus recs

I'm currently suffering from a fic hangover. I slammed this badboy yesterday and cannot get it out of my head. I'm aware this is the worst time to rec anything on tumblr because tags or whatever but I'm doing it anyway. I've thought about sharing more fic recs because I've been reading like crazy lately so here's my first. More to come, probably.

LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL by allacesandeights~87k. Tim Drake/Jason Todd. Jason POV.

Jason always thought that Gotham was hell. Now he has proof. When the God of Death arrives in Gotham, Jason and the Outlaws come up with a plan to take him down. When their plan brings them into contact with the Titans, Jason ends working with his Replacement. As Jason and Tim get closer, Jason has to figure out whether he can ever move past their history.

WHY YOU SHOULD READ IT The pacing is excellent; a great balance of action, story movement without any drag. I could actually follow the fight scenes and visualize what was happening, which is refreshing.

While it is action packed, there are enough breaks that fit naturally and give the boys time together that's needed for their character and relationship growth. I personally really love the characterizations. Jason is an ass without being too much and Tim holds his own. He isn't written in that way that seems to diminish him to the "weaker" one, which I've seen a lot in this pairing.

HURT/COMFORT/WHUMP LEVEL Solid 7: some blood, concussions, broken/sore ribs, one fixing up the other's injuries.

WHITE STREAK Yes, Jason has the white streak in his hair. The Streak is important to me and I shall now track it in fic.

RECCER NOTES I’m guessing one of the reasons this fic doesn’t have thousands of kudos is because it’s RHATO comics instead of post-crisis. I’m still new to this fandom but I think I have a pretty good grasp on the universes/timelines/whatever now. While I agree that post-crisis canon, and thus fic, is superior, don’t let that keep you from reading this story. I’ve only recently started reading RHATO but I think this story captured their team dynamics really well and makes me want to go read more.

The author is from the UK and I don't believe it was beta'd, so there are several UK-isms that can take you out of it. I just ignored them but it was also kind of fun to see Jason yelling "Oi!" at someone... that feels in character in a weird way.

If you can get beyond that, it's worth the read!

0 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

#3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jason Todd Additional Tags: Arson, Fire, Jason Todd-centric, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, and possibly a fire extinguisher, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, i guess Series: Part 1 of Open Flame Summary:

He wasn’t sure what it was about fire he found fascinating, maybe the possibility to forge something strong and lasting, or the potential to destroy so completely that it was erased from being. Either way, he liked to see how far he could push fire before it bit back.

— Or, the one where Jason likes fire and becomes an arsonist.

2 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

#2

[podfic] falling in love in reverse read by @rufusbear (me!)

part 1 of the let's do the time (loop) again series by @alchemistc

part 2 is now up: [podfic] 35. live like there's no tomorrow

6 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Podfic of Steve Harrington's Guide To Planning a Party (Without Blowing Up)

written by @written-mishaps read by @rufusbear (me!)

7 notes - Posted November 8, 2022

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