#that i don't have quite enough of a grasp on theory

[gothamspring]

im in a current search for academic law papers about batman's concept of justice (and his application of it) so i can be even more pretentious about comic books (and familiarize myself w legal terminology in general). and one issue that was already obvious but's now become 100% clear is that. whatever ethical critique you are going to do depends a lot on the comics you pick up as a source. it's not the same to do an analysis of year one-long halloween-dark victory than it is to do one of utrh, for example. the most blatant classification that could be made is batman as a newcomer (no legitimacy) vs. batman as a established vigilante (gained a certain level of legitimacy, if not full—depends on reactions by the authorities)

but doing a critique of his ideology based solely on legitimacy falls flat.....you'd have to analyze the flaws in his vision of crime, violence as a means to an end, punitive vs transformative vs rehabilitating vs restorative vs retributive vs whateverthefuck justice, etc. both when the story gives him full legitimacy and when it doesn't. judge it as a project too before it becomes "law" in application

and you also need to question from what framework are you to analyze bruce? as an individual? or as a possible equivalent to the State? because his status as the title and central character to gotham gives him a sovereignty of sorts that a personal analysis would not give him. i suppose it's a watsonian (individual) vs doylist (state-like) point of difference. but also....i may be tempted to equate him to the state just for ease of analysis since that's the theory im more familiarized with. and should that distinction even make a difference in the critique ? not really

it really just comes down to who's writing him and what the current continuity is. as it happens w every other analysis.

all in all i think what this has made me realize is that i have a far higher dislike for bruce's take on justice if i view him as a legitimate force in gotham, than if i view him as an illegal vigilante. which definitely has to do with my distaste for the state. but i should be able to criticize him as a personal ideology as well, bc i can't have such a blind spot in my political critique

[xavieremix]

okay so the tags on that last post got me feeling those melon collies so i'm just gonna. tagdump in here. slightly sensitive topics? so uh. scroll down (or press J to jump to next post). or read my thoughts like the morning paper. sorry. cheers.

[kozachenko]

I swear to god, Zanmu has just been on my mind recently, she's taking over my fucking brain please send help

Artist's Note:

Why is it that everytime I do a drawing of Zanmu I always make the canvas size fucking huge and it ends up being a living nightmare to fucking export. I swear to god I had to go from 1200 DPI to 600 to 350.

Exporting hell aside, I loved working on this piece. With Zanmu's design, I wanted to combine all the design details that I love and have seen in other people's drawings of Zanmu and give them my own personal touches. First of all, her sleeves were inspired by @amemenojaku's design for Zanmu, and I absolutley love that detail because not only does it make her feel more regal, it also can be a callback to Satori and old hell, and also gives me the idea that Satori's fashion sense was inspired by Zanmu because IRL a lot of historical fashion was inspired by what the nobles were wearing at the time, and since Satori was around since when Old Hell used to be Hell, she probably took some wardrobe inspo from her (or it could be my headcanon that Satori could've been Zanmu's royal advisor or she was in her court or something but that theory is kinda grasping at strings from other headcanons I have, but that's for a different post). Also, the eye makeup she has was inspired by @jothelion's drawings of Zanmu, and like, I fucking love that detail because it just adds so much like omg I just love it sm.

And now for the design details I put in. I gave Zanmu tassel earrings because I think they'd look great on her. I also really like to exaggerate her hair and really try to make it look wild, as well as having little grey hairs here and there. I also try to add some wrinkles to the corners of her eyes, but TBH I don't know how visible that detail is, since the image is pretty fucking big. I also really exaggerated the tassles/strings on her outfit, since I really wanted to play around with the potential flow they could have. Also, big fan of giving Zanmu longer sleeves and pants. IDK why but I just like how it flows better. Also big fan of making her taller, idk why a lot of fanart makes her short. Also, I placed her horns closer to the front of her head as I just think placing horns in that position looks cool.

Also, if you're wondering about the halo, I took some inspiration from a few of Caravaggio's paintings where he often depicts saints with this very thin halo around the top of their heads. I just liked that detail a lot so I thought I'd include it.

Fun fact, I was originally gonna make the four skeletons Chiyari, Biten, Enoko, and Hisami but I didn't like the prospect of having to draw four more characters, so I chose to replace them with skeletons (if you wanna get silly with it, Zanmu got Hisami to kidnap Aya, set up some skeletons with bones from her bone collection and told her to take a picture of her).

I kinda gave up on Zanmu's feet and the one skeleton's hands (as if drawing hands normally is hard enough but NOPE, HAD TO MAKE IT LIVING HELL FOR MYSELF BY MAKING IT A SKELETON) and the quality of the image may suffer because of how much I had to fucking compress it (Zanmu's presence alone was enough to make the computer lose all of it's desire and motivation to export the drawing of her lmao), but I have been hacking at this piece for a while now, plus I need to learn when to call it quits when it comes to drawings). Also as I was fixing up the hands there was one spot where I forgot to clean up with the sketch and I can't fucking unsee that now and it's going to fucking bother me until I fix it but fixing it requires going back and putting my computer through hell so yeah.

So yeah, that's about all I have to say with this drawing, it was fun but also a nightmare lol

[heavensbeehall]

I do not think Haymitch is "dumb" in SotR.

He thinks he is dumb in comparison to Lenore Dove. She is book-learning and he is more world savvy.

He adapts to all the very, strange and disconcerting situations he is put in, can understand the perspectives of a wide range of people he encounters. He learns and grasps new concepts quickly. The biggest example is the potato--he could still do it for Wellie after he saw Beetee do it once, while they talked about other things. Snow makes fun of District 12's "aphorisms" in the library and he uses the phrase in like the next chapter without any comment about his new word--he just has already learned, it figured out how to use it and adopted it into his speech without trying or being pleased with himse.

He remembers the way to the one room in District 11 without mics 24 years later. He also memorized "The Raven" which is the most annoying poem, in my opinion, so I think that deserves some special kind of award. (One of the most frustrating elements of SotR to me is that he has internalized the idea that he is not good enough for Lenore Dove. But I don't think Maysilee would ever catch Haymitch with orange paint on his nails.)

He's definitely more emotionally intelligent that Katniss. he remembers people's names. His views are less biased and restrictive than Snow's, certainly. I would say he has the survival insticts of Katniss and the emotional intelligence of Peeta, if I had to describe his narration. And that makes sense as to why he connects with those two. He's between them, but also has decades more experience.

I used to have the theory that he had a photographic memory, and while that was dashed by SotR, it's not that far off. Again, 24 years later he remembered the way to the room Plutarch showed him. And he was drunk. I can't find my hotel room after being shown there a day earlier.

Katniss and Peeta had such a high view of his intelligence, when they come to the conclusion that he must have "outsmarted" the other tributes to win the games. And of course, he didn't. But he did win a Game he wasn't even trying to play and that's not nothing.

There also wasn't much schooling in 12, so after SotR he is only going to get more savvy to how the games work--despite his best efforts to not care.

I also am quite fond of how Haymitch sends gifts in the arena. He obviously has his special way of training Katniss to do what he wants. But he's also really good at selecting the right tool at the right moment--the sleep syrup, the spile.

I know the mentoring system has evolved. In TBOSAS the gifts are just water and food, right? In SotR we see Mags send food as well, but she uses her gifts to help the tributes emotionally (the soup, the ice cream). It's interesting that Haymitch knows that it's always Mags who sends the parachutes. Perhaps she simply has seniority over Wiress but my guess is Wiress would choose much different things to send than Mags and he would be able to tell.

Now I'm thinking about abandoning the TBOSAS reread to do a "Every time Haymitch is smart in SotR reread."

[milkytheholy1]

Shadow Generations: Part 2

Part 1. Sonic Masterlist.

Awaking in a blank world, Shadow fluttered his eyes open, taking in the vast nothingness. Rubbing his head, he stood on shaky legs, "What happened? Where am I?"

As though everything was happening all at once, the expansive emptiness Shadow resided in burst to life, well, somewhat. Large, white structures burst through the ground, erupting rocks and dirt into the air. Everything seemed to carry a sense of familiarity about it, something that Shadow couldn't quite put into words.

Looking over to the closet monument, the ebony hedgehog decided that was the best place to look for answers. Once he was close enough, Shadow could vaguely make out the rough edges and twisted metal pieces of the ARK. But it somehow felt empty, like there was no life to it, even if it was just a hunk of floating metal.

I was just on the ARK, how can it appear like this? As a matter of fact, this whole world is one big mystery. Am I the only one here? If so, how do I get out? Perhaps this is the anomaly G.U.N was looking for, I have to find a way back out. No matter what.

As Shadow rushed through each level, he soon realised what this world was: his memories.

The Space Colony: ARK, Speed Highway, his fight with Metal Sonic. Everything that was happening was something from his past. But who could have done all this? That was his only lingering question. Shadow remembered the radio that he had on him, perhaps the signal was still connected to Rouge.

'Hello, Rouge, incoming, Rouge can you hear me?" it was only static coming through, but he persisted, "Hello, Rouge do you hear-"

"AHHHH, HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE!" cried out a voice from the distance. Shadow stared at the direction from which it came, huffing, he put away his radio and dashed towards the commotion. There was no point in continuing to contact Rouge, it clearly wasn't working.

As the screaming got louder and louder Shadow picked up his pace, eventually spotting some creatures he recognised chasing someone. He quickly lept into action, kicking Doom's henchmen down within seconds.

Of course, Black Doom is behind this, I should have known. But I could have sworn I had defeated him, so how did he come back?

"Thank you for saving me-" The voice said, it was sweet and delicate, "-Shadow."

The brooding hedgehog looked up, his mind going blank and his mouth wide open. He couldn't believe this, he didn't believe this. It had to be another trick by Doom, she was gone, he saw it happen, there was no way she could be standing here in front of him right now.

"M-Maria?" he nearly whispered out, he was in complete disbelief. Maria's smile widened, she went to approach him until a hand grasped her shoulder, "Be careful, Maria, we don't know if this is truly him or another one of Doom's illusions."

"Professor?" Shadow was truly at a loss for words, if this wasn't real it would be a really sick joke to play on the poor hedgehog. All he ever dreamt of, ever thought about, was seeing them again; his family.

And now here they were in arms reach, yet he couldn't do it, he couldn't push himself to take those extra steps to be beside them again. Knowing they were just here now hurt him tremendously, but perhaps...

"Professor, do you have any theories on how we ended up in this world?" he soon pressed, he tried to appear calm for Maria's sake. Gerald rubbed his chin, deep in thought, his eyes scanned around the void, "I'd say it's a temporal anomaly. Someone or something has trapped us out of time, but that is just my working theory, of course."

Shadow thought about that for a moment, if Black Doom was behind this then maybe that could explain how he came back. Shadow took a glance at Maria and Gerald, "They must be from before the accident on the ARK," he said lowly to himself, "Perhaps I can change their fate if I defeat Black Doom. I will make him pay dearly for everything that I-"

A light presence graced Shadow's shoulder, a pasty white hand gently held him, but the warmth that radiated from it could rival the sun, "Shadow, you've become awfully angry since I last saw you; it's not like you."

"I promise you, Maria, I'm fine. I'll protect you both from what's to come, but you need to trust me."

"Of course, I trust you, Shadow." Maria offered him an ear-to-ear grin, and Gerlald only hummed in agreement, "It begs to assume that if we are here, perhaps other could be around too?"

Maria seemed excited by the idea, "Oh yes, I would love to meet new people, do you think there are more humans like us?"

Shadow could only laugh at that, prompting Maria to look confused, "The only other person I can think of being here is an annoying blue faker." he mumbled, Maria couldn't hear him that well. With a small sigh, Shadow had to drag himself away from the only people he could call family, "Stay safe and stay hidden, I will return to you when I can."

"Shadow, wait!" Maria cried out, he turned to her with wide eyes, "Be careful, please?" Shadow smirked and simply nodded his head, skating off into the distance to find and eliminate Doom.

[television-overload]

fate is the handspike

(an X-Files ficlet)

[Read on AO3]

Summary:

Starting on February 23, 1964, Teena Mulder begins to worry about her young son. At first, she thinks maybe he's wishing for a little sister, a wish that will be granted very soon. But he insists the little girl he talks to is called Dana, and she's too little to play, but she likes when he reads his books to her.

(fic below the cut)

i.

At first, Teena thinks it's cute.

"She's just a baby, mommy, she can't play yet," he'd say.

"Oh, is that right?" she'd reply, indulging him in his childish fantasies. Perhaps this was his way of asking for a sister. The other moms in the neighborhood often urged her to give Fox a sibling, citing a child's need for company and social engagement, but Fox had always seemed so happy to play alone. She's not on the best of terms with her husband at the moment, either, which complicates things.

But then there's times when she sees Fox on the floor, legs splayed out before him as he recites his favorite picture books to his imaginary friend, and she wonders if she ought to be worried. Just a little.

Dr. Seuss, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog... The boy has a photographic memory. Though he's too young to properly read, he has a grasp on the basic plots and recounts them in great detail, turning the pages as he goes.

"This one is called 'Where the Wild Things Are,' Dana," he says, because his friend's name—he insists—is Dana. He turns the book in his hand and shows the colorful illustration on the cover to a patch of carpet on the living room floor. "Don't worry, it's not scary," he assures her. Her. It. Whatever it is he's spent his days talking to since late February.

When he tells the story, he uses his own name, instead of 'Max.' That's how she'd always read it to him, and that's the only way he knows.

"And Fox told the monsters to be still!" he narrates with enthusiasm. "He used a magic trick and looked right in their BIG yellow eyes, and they were all scared. They said Fox is the most wild thing of all, and they made him king!"

ii.

There was one night when she'd woken to find Fox standing in the corner of his room, speaking softly to the wall.

"Shh, it's okay, Dana," he soothed in his little voice. "Here, I'll sing you a song. Twinkle twinkle little star...."

She never tells Bill what she's seen. He's always too busy to notice himself. But others know.

"He's quite an imaginative young fellow," Spender notes, taking a draw from his cigarette as Fox rolls around in the grass outside the house in Quonochontaug. Since "Dana" learned to crawl, he's been even more preoccupied than usual. He shows her all his toys, tells her the names of all his action figures. He announces to his mother one day that he's going to teach Dana how to walk. That she can only stand on her own for a little bit right now, but she doesn't cry anymore when she falls down.

Bill, if he ever catches wind of this, must think he's talking about one of the other kids from Teena's ladies' group. But there's no "Dana" in this neighborhood. Not on the Vineyard, either. She's checked.

iii.

The day she finds out she's pregnant, a part of her wonders. Though her knowledge of her husband's work is small, she knows enough to gather that things she might have thought impossible, could in fact be possible. Perhaps her son had been having visions of his baby sister, long before she was even conceived. Maybe it had simply been a sign that he would one day be a big brother. Soon.

She'd long since dispelled thoughts of ghosts and hauntings and exorcisms.

He tells Dana all about the baby in mommy's tummy. He giggles and makes silly faces, pausing in between sentences, which she gathers must mean his friend has developed the ability to speak.

"Mommy, she said my name! That's right! Fox! Fox!"

iv.

When Samantha is born, "Dana" seems to disappear overnight. This, at least, supports her theory that he had simply been preparing himself for a new sibling, and after a few years, she's completely dismissed the issue. Fox shows no other signs of strange or unusual behavior. He is nothing but a doting big brother, who occasionally gets annoyed by his freckle-faced kid sister, as any brother is wont to do. He reads to her, plays games with her, watches the television with her. They're two peas in a pod, and not once does the name "Dana" escape his lips. She is all but forgotten.

Until he's twelve years old. Samantha is gone, and Teena lacks the patience to deal with his questioning.

"Mom? Does the name 'Dana' mean anything to you?" he asks.

"What? Of course not, Fox, why would you ask such a thing?"

He looks down at his feet, shoulders slumping. "No reason. Forget I asked."

v.

When Fox lays awake at night, the bedroom next to his now dull and empty, he thinks he can hear a voice. It isn't Samantha's—though he'd thought so at first.

"By heaven, man," she reads, "we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea!"

What does this girl know about fate? What does she know of this upside-down world?

"Read the next chapter, Dana!" he hears another girl's voice speak. The words are faint—muffled—like he's underwater. But her voice is clear.

He falls asleep, like most nights, listening to the tales of Ahab and Starbuck, and a great white whale.

-.-.-

Tag List ♡: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @numinousmysteries @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf @thursdayinspace

[khywren]

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!Tav; Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) ❛ word count: 1.7k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: rough oral sex, blowjobs, handjobs, deepthroating, hair pulling

‣ preview: “But if you think I'm lying, you're more than welcome to test the theory.”

“Am I, now? How generous of you, darling.”

Astarion has no reason to doubt her. They both know it. No, this is an invitation, her way of telling him what she wants without the embarrassment of actually having to say the words out loud.

If it were anyone else, he'd find this little habit of hers quite insufferable. Instead, he finds it endearing. Cute, even, though he’d never admit it. They've only spent a handful of nights together, but already Astarion knows one thing about Ysera: no matter how shy she may seem, all she needs is someone to take the lead, to help her fulfill those wicked little desires of hers.

AO3 ┊ series masterlist

“Run that by me again?” Astarion asks. He raises a skeptical brow and looks down at Ysera, naked in the grass before him. “You're saying that you…”

He tries to find the words, to make the thing seem less crass, but she finishes the thought for him anyway. “Don't have a gag reflex? Yeah. More or less.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, as if the information she's given him is completely unremarkable. And it is, he supposes, except that she currently has his cock in her hand, and now it's all he can think about. He still doesn't understand her, but there's an innocence to her that he almost finds refreshing.

She hasn't intended to throw him off, and yet almost everything she does perplexes him. He's good at reading people, but Ysera is a language all her own, and one he has yet to decipher.

Her fingers guide him to her lips, her soft pink tongue gathering the precome on his slit. She's impatient to taste him, as usual. His pleasure seems to delight her, for reasons he has yet to grasp. He'd brought her here to fuck her, to further reinforce his personal value to her. And yet she had insisted on prioritizing him instead.

Well, it's no matter. She must like him well enough if she's willing to forego her own needs – and if she likes him, she will protect him from Cazador. The end result will be the same either way.

Astarion is torn violently from his thoughts when Ysera presses the flat of her tongue along the underside of his length and busies herself with tracing the vein that snakes its way along his shaft. He shudders at the contact and huffs a humorless laugh.

“Do I even want to know how you figured that out?”

“About how you'd expect,” comes her answer. “The first time I was with a man, I was a little…” Ysera grins sheepishly, her tail swishing back and forth through the whispering grass. Her face heats, cheeks dusted a rosy pink.

“Ah… overeager, you could say. Not that he seemed to mind,” she adds with a coy wink.

Astarion's jaw tightens. He doesn't like the thought of her being with anyone else, though he can't quite determine why it makes him as angry as it does. He must be frowning, because even Ysera notices something isn't quite right when she looks at him.

“Don't tell me you're jealous, Astarion! If it helps, I don't even remember his name.” She throws a simpering smile his way, delighted by the possibility that he might be smitten with her already. She's certainly smitten with him.

“Of course not,” Astarion says, scoffing. He smooths his face back into a perfect mask of complacency. “I'm simply curious why you kept such a salacious little detail all to yourself for so long, my sweet.”

Ysera tips her head to the side and bats her lashes at him. She's having more fun than she had expected, exchanging easy banter with him like this. And to think she'd almost turned down his invitation to join him after everyone else had gone to bed.

“Well, I can't give away all my secrets at once, now can I?” she says. “I assumed you would understand that better than anyone.”

Her face is serious for only the blink of an eye before it's gone, her large golden eyes meeting his as she wets her lips and positions herself politely between his legs. Her breath is teasingly warm as it ghosts across Astarion's cock.

“But if you think I'm lying, you're more than welcome to test the theory.”

“Am I, now? How generous of you, darling.”

Astarion has no reason to doubt her. They both know it. No, this is an invitation, her way of telling him what she wants without the embarrassment of actually having to say the words out loud.

If it were anyone else, he'd find this little habit of hers quite insufferable. Instead, he finds it endearing. Cute, even, though he’d never admit it. They've only spent a handful of nights together, but already Astarion knows one thing about Ysera: no matter how shy she may seem, all she needs is someone to take the lead, to help her fulfill those wicked little desires of hers.

Astarion is more than amenable, of course. He likes the control she gives him, the way it anchors him to the present moment. When he's with her, he doesn't feel the need to retreat within himself. Doesn't want to.

He can worry about whatever that means for him later. Later, when his cock isn't in her hand and weeping, achingly hard for the velvet heat of her mouth. 

Ysera presses her nose against his groin and kisses him. Heat blooms beneath her lips as she traces her mouth across his thigh, nipping softly at the tender skin there. Her fingers dip to caress the seam of his balls, cupping them gently. Her movements are still clumsy but eager, and it's almost embarrassing how quickly Astarion feels the tension coiling low in his belly. 

His voice is a shaky, needy thing. “I think I may just take you up on that offer.”

Astarion groans softly when Ysera uses her other hand to tug the foreskin down the flushed head of his cock and opens her mouth, taking him in just enough to swirl her tongue beneath the mushroom tip. She alternates the pressure between her lips and the hand wrapped around him, remembering exactly what he liked best the last time they did this. Her tongue stays busy with tracing idle shapes around his shaft. She hollows her cheeks as she sucks and licks him, humming pleasantly.

Pleasure arcs across his spine as Astarion steadies himself with a hand in her hair, fingers twisting in the soft pink strands at the base of one of her horns. Her lashes flutter as she looks up sweetly at him, seeking his approval. The fierce look in his eyes is more than enough confirmation that he's enjoying himself.

“Sweet girl,” Astarion says, and the low, husky timber of his voice is enough to make her groan around him. “Open your mouth a little more for me, won't you?” Her hands fall neatly into her lap as she complies, tongue lolling out over her bottom lip. 

The fingers in her hair tighten. Astarion's other hand reaches for the ridged column of the horn on the other side of her head, gripping her as if his life depended on it. He thrusts himself experimentally inside her mouth, pleased by the way she keeps her lips wrapped tightly around him. True to her word, she barely reacts when his cockhead brushes against the back of her throat, except to exhale softly.

Ysera's voice echoes in his mind, connected to him via their tadpoles.

Go ahead, Astarion. You can be as rough as you like with me.

Astarion's cock throbs against her tongue. He lets out a shaky breath, pulls his hips back, and thrusts. He can feel her magic as it thrums inside her veins, watches the way a shiver works its way down her spine and makes her tail arch upwards. Her whole body seems to resonate with the Weave.

So he does it again. And again.

The glide against her tongue is delicious, her golden eyes half-lidded as he hits the back of her throat with each snap of his hips. Ysera's fingers weave through the grass and ball into tight fists; she remembers that Astarion does not like to be touched, but gods, if she doesn't hold onto something she feels as though she might drift away.

Precome spills over her tongue; he tastes of sweat and linens, the scent of his perfume cloying in her mind. When Astarion stops to let her breathe, Ysera inhales deeply, exhaling a moan as she leans forward to greedily swallow him back down to the hilt.

As he fucks roughly into her mouth, Astarion lets his eyes rove over her body. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, the force of his body sending little tremors of pleasure through her. Saliva coats her lips and her chin. Between her legs, which have parted slightly, he can see the arousal dripping down her thighs. He grits his teeth, the groan that rumbles in his throat tapering into a possessive growl.

He's barely touched her all evening. And still she's absolutely soaking for him, turned on merely by the act of letting him use her mouth to pleasure himself.

Gods above. He nearly comes undone right then and there, his hips faltering slightly before he regains his momentum.

Their eyes meet when Astarion tips her head back slightly, and he swears he sees sparks flashing in her shimmering amber irises. Her eyes have begun to water, tears gathering on her lashes. He stops immediately, his voice full of concern as if flits into her mind.

Ysera, are you all right?

He doesn't expect to her her laughing when she responds. Oh, yes. Very. Please, Astarion, don't stop. It feels good for you, doesn't it? She rubs at her eyes and smiles around his cock, encouraging him to continue. The hand in her hair loosens, his blunt nails making her shiver as he drags them across her scalp. Then he fists her hair again and pulls hard enough to make her whimper.

Ysera moans so sweetly for him as Astarion resumes his thrusts, hips undulating as he drives himself deep. All the while, she watches him, transfixed on the sculpted muscles of his chest and the way his mouth hangs open to give her a peek of his fangs. Before long, he can feel the threads of his control beginning to unravel, signaling his imminent orgasm, and he knows he won't last much longer. 

“Where do you want me?” he grunts. In answer, Ysera presses her breasts together, forming a shallow well between them beneath her collarbones. 

Here , she says. Then Astarion feels her pulling his attention to her face. And here. Let me taste you.

No sooner has she made her request than does Astarion slip his cock from her mouth, barely managing to wrap his hand around the shaft before he's painting her face with hot white ropes of his come. With a languid moan, he nestles his cock between her breasts and empties himself completely, heaving a series of ragged breaths.

Ysera's tongue sweeps out to lick her lips, a soft sigh escaping her.

“I’d ask how that was for you, but…” she smirks proudly, popping two fingers into her mouth and tasting him there as well.

“Pleased with yourself, are you?” Astarion huffs, thoroughly aware of the mess he's made of her. She laughs and nods in approval, swaying slightly as she gets to her feet and takes the hand he extends to her.

“Come now, darling,” he says, leading her towards the river, “let's get you cleaned up.” 

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

How long would Death Note be if Light was actually a completely law-abiding, if vaguely narcissistic, citizen during the kira murders who just so happened to tick off L's "he's a serial killer" radar?

I mean, that's the thing, he wouldn't tick off L's radar

Why Did L Suspect Light Anyway

L does single-mindedly pursue the theory of "Light Yagami is Kira" to an utterly insane degree, even accepting for things like "he conveniently got amnesia for no reason" and "even though I put cameras in every corner of his house I didn't catch him" and "even though I handcuffed him literally to my side I couldn't catch him"

It is nuts.

However, I will give L credit, he didn't pick Light out of a hat.

L's initial theory was simply that Kira was in Japan and taking a stab in the dark probably the Kanto region. Light confirmed this for him due to an egotistical hissy fit with L having to put in very little effort.

This brought L to focus on Tokyo.

L further figures out fairly early on that Light has a student's schedule, not a working adult's in Japan, and this is because Light at the time didn't realize he could control the exact time at which a person dies and by the time Light changes his method it's already too late.

Now, what happened then is that Light intentionally tipped his hand. After Lind L. Taylor, Light took L's existence extremely personally and nursed quite the grudge and the vendetta. To "win" as Kira, to prove he's a god to himself and the populace, he must personally kill L. As a result, Light does many things that put him in danger/do nothing to help him as Kira just to have his chance at L.

The big one is that he starts using information only known to the Japanese police force. He intentionally does this so that L focuses enough on Tokyo and the police there that Light can get a firmer grasp on him, what Light didn't account for was that L would immediately narrow in on him and him alone or the lengths he'd go to in order to investigate Light as a suspect.

But thanks to Light, L did know that whoever was doing this had access to police information not available to the public. Now, Light was likely hoping L would assume it was a cop, but L expanded his search to the police and their family members, presuming that family members may have access to these networks due to insecure home practices and such (which Light does).

Now, L never explains canonically why he's so certain Light is Kira, but if I'm putting myself in his shoes I can take a wager as to why Light made him go "ding ding ding".

L's looking for the type of person who would become Kira. He already knows this person is Japanese, likely a student in a rigidly structured school day (so not in university), but someone with good enough English to have followed the Lind L. Taylor broadcast, someone savvy with the internet so as to kill international criminals.

What he also knows is that Kira is obsessive, manic, single-minded, and unquestioning of his beliefs. Kira is also someone with an absurd amount of faith in law enforcement and the justice system (Light... doesn't spend too long questioning whether or not the people he sentences to death are guilty of the crimes they were sentenced for/the life circumstances which might lead to someone committing a heinous crime and whether or not that matters) which makes sense for a workaholic policeman's son in homicide whose son idolizes him.

Not to mention that, aside from his hatred of L, Kira is extremely respectful of the police in general. He never goes after the Japanese police the way he does L (only the FBI agents tailing him) and it's clear that his great rivalry is with L, not the Japanese police, interpol, or any kind of cops.

So, we're looking at someone who really respects the law... without understanding what the law even is, why it exists, or why "no, Light, murdering thousands of people does not magically make you exempt".

Adults typically don't act like Light does. Even after the six-year time skip, Light's still obsessive but he has changed greatly from the boy he was. And Mikami, an adult who is inspired by him and kills in the same way is... a very different kind of person ultimately driven by a victim mentality.

My point is, it would make sense for L to suspect a teenager rather than an independent adult. The schedule lines up, the personality lines up, and while this is very likely a highly precocious individual (and someone who knows he's very clever) they still feel young.

So, L narrows it down to a set of families and look what we have: Light Yagami, brilliant young man who scores first in the country on every exam he ever takes, talented in athletics at a national level, has succeeded at everything in his life and is the pride and joy of his family, utterly adores his police chief father and has repeatedly shown interest in following his career path and even taken steps towards doing so as a high school student.

And L says "bingo".

But Back to Your Question

Putting aside whether or not anyone else would ever go as ham killing the types of people Light did for no particular reason (Misa, for example, would probably have only gone after her parent's killer. Mikami would have gone after his childhood tormentors/his mother. Higuchi went after corporate rivals) there's also whether they'd have that police information from Japan (probably not likely), and if they'd act the way that Light did.

Basically, while it is a nice thought... I don't think L would suspect Light in these circumstances as he'd ultimately be dealing with a very different person who acts in very different ways.

Light would never tip off his radar.

[lodeddiperactivate]

I hate you more! | Rodrick Heffley x Reader

Author's note: So not sure if people still read Rodrick Heffley fics but I had this idea (and could not find something similar that's already written) where the reader decides to sabotage Rodrick from getting it on with Heather. Reader is at the top of the highschool food chain and is friends with Heather, but hates Rodrick so she sabotages him. A classic enemies to lovers!

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

You feel like you've been living a double life. You get straight As because, well, your allowance is tied to your grades. But what most people don't know is that you typically sneak out at night to hang with your boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend. You smoke, you party, you skip town without your parents ever knowing. But during the day, you looked like someone who goes to church every Sunday. In fact, you're quite impressed at how you're handling this double life. You learned, at a young age, that all there is to life is observing the people around you, and using those observations to your advantage.

Well, you thought to yourself, it's time to test these theories all over again as you move into a new town, new school, new classmates, and new friends. Unfortunately for you, your new neighbor doesn't seem to grasp the idea of a nice and quiet Sunday morning. You decided to pay them a visit, and maybe remind them that their garage isn't soundproof enough for the noise coming out of it.

You walked up to the door and gave 3 loud and firm knocks, waited a couple of seconds until you hear footsteps.

You expect the mom to open the door, which is why you brought cookies as a means to be a good new neighbor but you were greeted by a tall and dark-haired guy with eyeliner. He eyed you up and down in frustration before landing his gaze on the plate of cookies in your hand.

"What do you want?"

You forced yourself to be civil. "I just came here to give you cookies. We just moved in next door when I heard this sound coming from-"

"Yeah yeah, thanks for the cookies!" And with that, he slammed the door in your face. The audacity! You scoffed and started to walk away. The noise had not died down, and you walked away not believing how rude and ill-mannered your new neighbor was. God, if it means hearing this noise every weekend, you might beg your parents to move again.

~

First day of school. You were pretty confident with your social skills so highschool is a cake walk for you. Living a double life means you ought to know how to act in certain situations.

First period. You were introduced to the whole class. Your introduction was amazing. Everybody loved you. You had come into that room, dressed to impressed, and you even cracked a joke that made everyone laugh. Well, everyone except for your neighbor who's in all of your classes by the way. He was too busy talking about his band to basically anyone who's not deaf. What's worst is that you're sitting behind him.

Because of your peak social skills, you were sitting with Heather that day for lunch and apparently, they're at the top of the highschool food chain so that works for you too. You also learned that your neighbor, Rodrick, obviously had a crush on Heather. Since you sit behind him, and Heather sits beside him, you have observed all of the tell-tale signs that he's desperately in love with her. You smirked at the idea, and the endless possibilities of making his life a living hell.

~

School bell rang and everyone hurriedly packed their belongings. Heather asked if you wanted to go to the mall. You agreed and she told you to meet her upfront. Rodrick obviously heard this, and based from his expression, he was surprised that Heather and you are that close already. When everyone had left the room, you called out to Rodrick to set your plans of destroying his life in motion.

"Hey"

"Heyyy," he asked, curious why you were talking to him after he slammed the door in your face. He decided that it would be nice to at least be on your good side since you're friends with Heather so he started with an apology, "Listen, about what happened, I'm sorry but Sunday is the only time I can practice with my band. It's hard work, you know."

You smirked at his half-ass apology but mostly because you can see right through him, but you had a mission, "Oh don't worry about it! Actually, I wanted to tell you that Heather has a message for you."

As soon as you mentioned Heather's name, it was like something inside him had turned on. "Yes?"

"She's too shy to tell you this herself but she kinda has a crush on you. But she can't be too obvious because you know, in dating, guys make the first move, right?"

"Yeah," he said trying to comprehend every word you just uttered.

"Yes, so she doesn't want to go out with someone who did not officially ask her out. You know?"

"Yeah!" He said again as if he had solved a puzzle in his head.

"Okay, so tomorrow at lunch, why don't you "officially" ask her out?"

"Yeah?"

Jesus. You couldn't comprehend how slow this moron is in front of you. You were practically spoon-feeding him. You decided to repeat what you said just to make sure he gets it.

"Tomorrow. At lunch. Ask Heather out?"

"Yes. Okay, I can do that." He said trying to hype himself up.

You walked away feeling good about your plan when you decided to add one final touch to it. You looked back and called out to Rodrick.

"Oh, and don't forget, Heather looooves grand gestures!"

[soundwave-starlight]

Ok so I've been thinking about Dio Brando (the totally normal healthy amount) and his characterization because he intrigues me.

He is frequently presented as a pure evil character (which like... I'm not gonna argue with he's pretty up there as far as evil goes) but I find that despite the classification as a pure evil villain... he still has redeeming qualities about himself. Little facets of his character that bleed through just between the lines showcasing that he's more than a one dimensional pure evil for evils sake character.

Before I go a little to far I should probably still clarify that yes his plan is to take over the world and feed on humanity for eternity because he thinks he deserves to be at the top. His goals and motives are pure evil. However there are little things about him that grasp at my attention. Despite his want to "sacrifice his humanity", despite his pure evil intent and desires, he's still human.

Lot's of spoilers past this point

Dio is a liar and a cheat. He's someone who fully believes that people can easily be manipulated through his words and that he can get away with anything with enough thought and planning. Despite this, he can't swear honor on his fathers name. His father, who he hates for being a drunken abusive wreck. The man who drove his mother into an early grave. Dio spits on his fathers grave in lament of this fact. Dio doesn't care about anyone other than himself, however he never says anything bad about his mother. Instead it feels like he truly loved her. As such he cannot follow through with his plan to manipulate Jojo. You can see the internal struggle, he SHOULD be able to lie about this. Just swear on his nonexistent honor and Jojo will drop his suspicions.

But Dio can't. Because he hates his father (and loves his mother) too much to pretend that man had any honor.

Then what's arguably more fascinating is his relationship with Jonathan. Their relationship starts out horribly. Dio only sees Jojo as a goal to defeat and a worm to crush under his heel. An obstacle stopping Dio from his rightful destiny as a rich man at the top of the world. He initially tries to crush Jonathan's spirit, but when that doesn't work he shifts tactics. He forms a fake friendship with Jonathan to more easily maneuver around him. When that doesn't work, he becomes a vampire to just straight up kill him.

And then, the unbelievable happens. Jojo defeats Dio, and even more unbelievably, Dio gains respect for Jonathan. Enough to actually praise him for his accomplishments.

Of course, Dio tries to kill Jonathan again, this time to take his body as Dio's own. But Dio fails again. Jonathan saves his wife and burns the ship down around them. Dio starts trying to make offers and deals. We can still get out of this Jojo! I can promise you riches and power! Suddenly, being held in Jonathan's, his brothers, arms. Dio realizes that Jonathan is dead. It's too late.

Ok so lets unpack that scene because HOLY FUCK it messes with my brain chemistry. First off, Dio actually admits to respecting Jonathan. Which is so wildly out of character for him. Dio doesn't respect ANYONE. Everyone is some form of scum in Dio's eyes. Everyone except his mother and Jonathan. I also don't believe these are empty words. Dio talks to Jonathan in part 3 (after Jonathan died) in a somber, quite tone. Even a hundred years later, Dio respects Jonathan and addresses him without the malevolence he displays towards everyone else.

Now we're really getting into fan theory and my personal interpretation of these events but I think that, in Jonathan's final moments, Dio actually sees Jonathan. Not as an obstacle, not as scum, but as a person. An equal. As Jonathan hugs Dio, Dio finally sees him for what he is. His brother. The only person left who could have possible cared for Dio in the same way his mother did. The only person who believed that Dio wasn't the pure evil villain that he was.

I like to think that in these moments, Dio learns that his friendship with Jojo wasn't completely fake. Maybe he even regrets how things ended up. But that doesn't matter anymore. Jonathan is dead. And Dio still has goals to fulfill.

Ok that last bit might border past theory and enter fanfiction territory but I like exploring the human aspects of one of the least human characters in Jojo's. Dio to me feels like a lot of missed potential (potential mostly made up for in part 7 with diego) and I've always found him interesting. I think its worth exploring the humanity in even the purest evil of villainy (and yes, Dio IS pure evil. He burns a dog alive for shits and giggles. There is NO redemption for this man)

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

I have provided fresh meat, my Darlings!

The link to the entire fic as well as the new chapter is provided above.

@blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @richardslady121 Also please let me know if you would also liked to be tagged with updates!

CW: dubious consent; arranged marriage; forced marriage; forced pregnancy; rough sex; implied/referenced child abuse; blood kink; problematic smut; implied/referenced sexual abuse; implied/referenced torture

Chapter summary: Feyd-Rautha and the Reader look at each other and think, "They need work, but it's fine. I'm training them."

Chapter Notes:

-This chapter doesn't have quite as much plot or action and is generally more introspective/kind of shows a turning point and transition to both the Reader starting to learn to play the game and Feyd-Rautha seeking to challenge and unnerve her. Basically the Reader thinking, "I don't think I can reasonably make him better but I can make him treat me better" and Feyd thinking, "I can make her worse😈" -There have been a lot of interpretations of Feyd-Rautha's Darlings given that there's little information we're really given within the movie and I really like the theory that I've seen going around that they're effectively animals with human bodies that were experimented on by the Bene Tleilax.

CHAPTER SEVEN: YOU'RE LEARNING

You wake up early the next morning to your morning coffee and a reminder of your mother’s advice.  She dispensed it more than once over the years, enough that you were able to repeat it verbatim: sometimes a person isn’t a person, but an obstacle. Sometimes they’re obstacles that you need to face, problems that you need to solve. Find out what they need that you can use to get ahead.

So what does Feyd-Rautha want and how do you get it for him in order to temper him, make him more amenable to you?  He’s made clear at this point what he doesn’t want: compassion that he’s undoubtedly misconstrued as pity, any reminders of his childhood and adolescence, and any insinuations–intentional or otherwise–that he’s inadequate as a man.  

That leaves what he does want from you, and for the most part you think you know.  He wants you to have his children, and that’s in progress if not now, then soon.  He wants, well, other than last night, he’s been transparent that he wants you , carnally if for nothing else.

He also wants you to properly learn to fight at the level he wants, and there’s no way it’s just for your sake, or even wanting you to stay safe as the mother of his future children.  Those are a given.  

You can’t forget the way he’d gotten hard during your training and the way he spoke about it later.  You hadn’t seen it in the arena when he was slashing throats with theatricality and precision but little else, but this must be intimate for him.  It doesn’t surprise you once you think about it; a man who enjoys the taste of your blood would most certainly get off on getting a knife at your throat, even if he’s not allowed to cut it.

So how do you use that?  The Reverend Mother Mohiam all but stated that seduction was the key to tempering and subduing him into something you can handle but that’s easier said than done.  You’ve understood on some level for years now that you’d one day have to learn to use your sex as a tool, but it’s easier to implement in theory rather than practice.  The limited experience you’ve had before this–kisses both stolen and given freely at night when you’d slipped away unsupervised, fondling over the clothes, above the waist, and once grasping and sliding your hand over a boy you’d liked as he’d panted and moaned directions at you and you’d frantically tried to finish him off before either of you could get caught--weren’t for an agenda but for its own enjoyment.  Before your wedding night the only person who’d dared go beneath your skirts was you.  And then, of course, you’re reasonably certain that most men don’t keep an entire armoire of devices to use or have used on them while in bed, that most men aren’t eager to taste their wife’s blood, that most men don’t carry around the kind of shame and buried anger that your husband does wrapped in a deep-seated need to hurt and be hurt.

But that’s the hand that you’ve been dealt, and the only leverage you’ll be getting out of this marriage is by appealing to those desires and using your own body as a tool to keep him satiated and keep you in the best of his care.

By the time you’ve finished plaiting your hair you’ve decided that you’ve learned enough since your wedding night that you can try and use to your advantage.  You’ll keep adapting and if one of the ways to win him over is at knifepoint, then so be it.

And if he wants to banish everyone from the Training Halls so he can rut into you like an animal next to a rack of knives, then fine.  You can take him however he comes to you.

You try to keep all this in mind as you leave your chambers and take to the Training Halls for another lesson.

Feyd-Rautha already appears to have broken a sweat.  Drills, you assume, and done alongside his men if their matching sheens are anything to go by.

Korvo’s back to train you, he says.  He needed to have part of his jaw wired shut but otherwise he’s fine; he just won’t be able to talk much for a while.

And strangely enough it’s true; whatever Healer Korvo went to did an excellent job because there’s not a lot of bruising or swelling.  It occurs to you that he looks a few years older than Feyd, and you can’t help but wonder what Korvo thought about the hushed rumors about the Baron’s proclivities years ago.  About Feyd-Rautha, the boy who’s become the man he now serves.

As for your husband, it’s as if the past couple of nights never happened.  He seems indifferent as he hands you your shield device and a knife.  There’s not a trace of the quiet rage from early yesterday morning nor the cold domination of last night.  Not that you were ever going to ask him, especially not with other people around, but he gives you your answer to the silent question, When are we going to talk about yesterday? The answer?  Never .

He has Korvo start off slowly with you, a warm-up of sorts, movements guarded as you go over strikes and parries before taking over for the rest of your session.

You think you’re prepared for it this time as he starts to speed up, stops going through the motions and actually starts sparring with you.  You tell yourself that no one’s going to catch you unawares again, but well.  His training is a lot more extensive than yours.  You let out a yelp, realizing yet again that you weren’t focused enough on his footwork and he’s taken the opportunity to trip you.  You stumble, catching yourself just in time to avoid a fall.

“You’ve had a day to rest,” Feyd says.  “There’s no reason you can’t be pushed farther.”

To rest .  He was the one that told you not to come and train yesterday.  You clench your jaw and strike again.  If anything Feyd-Rautha seems amused by your irritation and sends you stumbling again with a swat on the backside with the flat of his knife.

You turn, incredulous and with an insult on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t strike in anger,” he says, holding back a smirk.  You raise your chin and try to level your gaze at him as you try to collect yourself.

Hey, this is actually a good sign , a part of you realizes.  There’s something almost close to playful in the way he’s looking at you right now.  He’s already in a far better mood than he was yesterday .  This is working for him.

You roll your shoulders and take a defensive stance, silently gesturing for him to strike first, and this time he actually grins.

Breakfast afterwards is its own task.  You’ve gotten your appetite back this morning, but only when you forget everything except your own hunger and especially try your best to ignore the man at the head of the table.  You’ll try to bury what you know about the Baron for now, or at least try to act like he doesn’t disgust you.  Not that he’d care what you think of him, not like you can do anything about it.

Instead you wonder about what motherhood looks like on this planet.  You’ll not want for anything, you’re sure, in terms of space for the baby and help raising it, but you hope the Baron isn’t an indicator of how children are raised here.  You haven’t seen many children in the Fortress–the sons and daughters of captains and generals, you’re sure–and you haven’t interacted with any. Feyd-Rautha mentioned military and combat training for any sons you’ll have but what about general schooling?  

When the children come, surely you’ll be a part of their lives somehow?  You’ll make certain of it.  You have to; they’ll be raised in the Harkonnen culture but they’ll still be half you , and you’ll do everything to make sure they never forget that, where you come from and the half of them that you represent.

“Not too tired from your training session, are you?” Feyd-Rautha asks, and you realize that you’ve been drifting off, staring into the distance.  You hadn’t expected him to notice.

“Oh, no, husband,” you tell him.  “Just lost in thought.  Actually, I was curious about where one might put a nursery in the private quarters.”  Not that there would’ve been any use for them within the royal family in decades, but surely there must have been something installed before?

As soon as Feyd starts to answer, the Baron interrupts, “What are you training her for?”

“Just in the event of an emergency or ambush, I want her to be prepared to defend herself.  If the time ever comes that I’m not there to do it for her,” Feyd-Rautha adds.

The Baron looks at him with those beady blue eyes.  “You really think such a thing will ever happen, boy?” he asks, and there’s an undercurrent to his tone that makes you look away, never mind that they’ve started talking about you as if you aren’t there.

Boy .  As if not just Feyd’s title but his very manhood is a privilege his uncle bestows on him that he can revoke at a moment’s notice.

Feyd ignores the taunt.  “Just planning ahead,” he says.  It doesn’t come back up.  When you excuse yourself to use the bathroom the Baron doesn’t react when you come back.  He barely seems to notice you’re there.

To him, you are not family.  You are the orifice his handsome young nephew buries himself in and the birthing canal that will add to the Harkonnen lineage, but not a real person who’s earned any familiarity with him nor will you ever be.  That suits you just fine and you find that you’d rather he ignore you than pay any special attention to you, just so long as he never gets to sink his claws into your future children.  

Speaking of which, “The Fortress has everything you could need,” Feyd says.  “Our children will have their own quarters and plenty of staff to watch over them.”

And how about allowing me to watch over them? you want to ask, but won’t, especially since you’re not alone.  Or do ladies of leisure outsource all of that here?   Idrisa will know; you’ll save your real questions for her.

After breakfast Feyd-Rautha offers you his arm.  “I imagine you’re interested in the relaxation chambers now?” he asks.  “They provide massages.  Great for the joints.”

“I could be persuaded,” you tell him, feeling not just sore from earlier this morning but from two days ago.  You’d never considered yourself a lazy person but you’ve also never committed to any kind of daily training regimen and the nighttime and occasionally additional morning routines in the bedroom certainly haven’t helped.

“It’s interesting,” you tell him, “training with you and seeing how you do it, even if I’m not there for all of it.”

“That wasn’t my last training session for the day,” he says.  “I’m going back soon.”

You blink.  “Why?” you ask him.  He’d clearly started early and gotten his heart pumping by the time you’d arrived.

“To be as physically prepared as I can for the arena showing on my birthday.  It’s less than three weeks away at this point,” he says.

You look over at him with your brows furrowed.  What does he really need extra preparation for?  He’s in no danger, there’s no real risk.

He seems to understand your confusion.  “It’s important that I look like I'm in top form,” he explains, which just presents further questions.

How will they even know what your body looks like?  If it’s anything like last time, you’ll be the only fighter in the arena that’s fully dressed .

“Well, alright,” you finally.  You look back at him.  “So you’re going to have to get changed again into training gear, and then shower again and change again after that?”

“Yes,” he says, voice curt.  “Appearance is important here.”

Yours is, certainly , you don’t tell him.  But you do realize that your uncle’s still the Baron and he floats around in his suspensor chair wearing a long nightgown?  If he’s ever cared about his appearance, he must’ve stopped years ago .  You suppose that it’s one of many ways that Feyd’s turned out differently from him, although not the most important.  It’s not for nothing that even though you have no idea how he’ll turn out as a parent–yet another thing that scares you about this–he still won’t be as bad of a parental figure as his uncle.

He looks at you for a moment and you realize that you haven’t spoken and have just enough sense to realize that giving a simpering compliment about his looks will come across as not only disingenuous but suspicious.  “My apologies,” you admit.  “I was just thinking about what expectations will be placed on our children.”

“Our son, although we’ll need more than one, will embody all Harkonnen core values: power, ambition, resilience, intellect.  I’ll accept no less and neither will anyone else on Geidi Prime,” he says. How long has he been thinking about fatherhood, you wonder?  Or is he repeating what he’s been told time and time again what the Baron wants out of him? 

“And if one of our children is a daughter?” you ask, hoping that doesn’t happen.  It’s bad enough to be a man on this planet.

“She’ll be expected to be gracious, discreet, and always careful and cognizant of her surroundings,” Feyd says.  “She’ll be composed even under pressure and adaptable.”

You try to absorb this, wondering how much he thinks you fit that mold yourself and assuming that you come up short.  “I thought the first word you were going to say was fertile ,” you tell him.

“That goes without saying,” he says.  “It’ll be her greatest contribution to the family to add to its lineage.”

I think you just described my responsibilities and expectations here, you think as he escorts you to the relaxation chambers.

Before he leaves he gives you a brief kiss–a little reward, perhaps, for minding yourself.  “You’re learning,” is all he says.

You’d expected the rooms to have the same austere black and gray background as the Dining Halls, the Throne Room, even the bedrooms, but whatever materials used for the doors and panels emulate the colors and patterns of cedar even though you doubt it’s real wood and the textured walls are painted a warm, pale cream.  It feels like a different environment entirely, reminiscent of the women’s bathhouses on your home planet.  The attendant inside recognizes you immediately, although you assume that it’s hardly a challenge.  “ You can’t mistake the Na-Baroness ,” you’re sure servants tell each other, “ she’s the only one in this Fortress with hair. ”

Most of the attendants are women, and again most of them seem young, hardly more than girls.

“Welcome, Na-Baroness.  We do so hope that you enjoy our accommodations,” the first attendant says, her head in a respectful decline as she curtsies.  “How may we be of service today?”

When you tell her that you were hoping for a simple massage because your joints have been feeling stiff she reacts as though you’ve told her that all your bones have shattered.

“I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been in discomfort, Na-Baroness,” she says.  “We’ll make sure to ease all aches and pains.”

As she guides you away and towards a private room you sense people looking at you and notice a couple of higher-ranking women in dressing robes, undoubtedly here for a bit of relaxation themselves.  As soon as you look over at them, they glance away, pretending that they’re looking off into the distance.  You want to stop, walk over, and introduce yourself to them ( they know who you are, though.  Everyone knows that the Na-Baron just married an arranged non-Harkonnen bride from another planet ) but you don’t get the chance.  Instead you tear your gaze away to follow the attendant to another room with what you must assume is a synthetic material that effectively mimics the appearance and grain pattern of wood, complete with a changing station, a table with oils and towels, and in the middle a covered massage table with a servant on either side who bow as soon as you enter.

It’s an interesting experience, to be sure.  The servants attending to you are quiet and gracious, but you’re made starkly aware again of your foreignness.

Your hair confuses them, for one thing.  They look at and touch it as if they’re not sure whether or not they think it’s attractive when you've spent your entire life before Geidi Prime being told that it’s beautiful.  They’re gentle with you, careful when undressing you and guiding you to a massage table.  When kneading oil into your sore muscles they treat you as if you’re delicate, even though they’re smaller than you are.  They work silently, your own muffled moans when they work out a particularly sore spot the only sounds other than the ambient mist coming from the next room.  

You wonder at first if it’s because they only speak Harkonnen and not the Imperial Standard, but as they’re getting finished one of the young women–probably not much older than you, although it’s still difficult to tell without any hair or eyebrows to better indicate her age–timidly asks, “Would the Na-Baroness like to be given stimulation as part of her massage?”

You blink, not sure you heard correctly, and raise yourself up on your elbows.  “Stimulation?” you repeat, brow furrowing.

“Some people enjoy other kinds of massage as a form of relief, Na-Baroness.  We’d be honored to indulge you if you prefer,” she says, looking down the moment you look up.

I’m still lost , you almost tell her before it sinks in.  “Oh!” you say, the single word slipping out.  The woman flinches, undoubtedly worried that she’s offended you.  It’s probably why she hasn’t said a word this entire time; she has no idea how to talk to you, what you would consider appropriate or not, and would rather not speak at all than risk saying the wrong thing.  You gape for a moment before managing, “No thank you.  A-a normal massage is plenty.”

She bows.  “Very well, Na-Baroness.  Is there anything else we can do in service to you?”  

You’d been curious about the other rooms but suddenly you wish for nothing more than to leave.  “No thank you, not today.  The massage was all I needed.”

“It was our pleasure, Na-Baroness.  We are at your disposal,” the woman says, words you’ve already heard multiple times.  “Let us help you redress.” 

They gently wipe off any excess oil with damp washcloths and dry you off before guiding you back into your clothes as if scared they’ll hurt you, or rather, scared that you’ll say something that gets them in trouble.  Even a foreign woman commands fear if she’s married to the right Harkonnen, even if she’s never going to be a true Harkonnen herself and whether they’re scared of you because of who you’re married to or also because of who you are, it makes no difference.

In spite of everything, when you get back to your quarters you realize that physically, you feel great ; better than you have since your wedding.  You feel pliant and loose-limbed, your skin soft and supple.  In theory it should give you all the energy you need to continue your studies of this planet and its language.

But your self-imposed Harkonnen lessons aren’t holding your attention; the grammar structure is fairly simple, and you’ve learned a few basic words and phrases (and obscenities, because you’re pretty sure that that’s most of what Feyd-Rautha grunts in your ear when he’s fucking you) and you can’t help your restlessness as you settle back in your chair.

You tap your fingertips against your desk, mind wandering to your husband, your body remembering with a throb how he feels inside you.  You’re getting used to it more and more, for the most part even learning to enjoy it.  

He might be coming back from his second training session soon.  Maybe he’s already come back and is taking his second shower or bath of the day.  Maybe you’ll ask him about his armoire, which he hasn’t opened for you since that first night, but, and you pause, thinking it over, picturing him sweaty from his training, and think, no.   The armoire can wait.  If you want to improve your seduction game, you can start by being the one to initiate your encounters.  You can start now.

You strip again, wondering how he’ll react to you entering his chambers.  Hopefully amenable to it; he probably won’t dismiss you if you come to him like this.  If nothing else he has an incentive to put a baby in you, you think as you wrap yourself up in one of your robes and pad over to your bathroom.

You press your ear to the door joining your bathroom to his.  The water’s running: he must be showering.  You wait, heart pounding, thinking, It will be fine.  Think about this morning; he seemed reasonably happy with you this morning.

You shut your eyes for a moment, take a breath, and open the door.

He’s standing in the middle of his shower, his eyes on you from the moment you step inside.  He turns the water off and watches you silently, eyes falling to your robe.  He must be fully aware of the fact that you’re wearing nothing underneath.

“Sorry to interrupt, husband,” you say, hoping that your intuition is correct.  “I was just…” bored? Interested in your company? Curious about how else you decompress after training? You swallow, fiddling with the sash of your robe.

Feyd says nothing at first as he steps out of the shower and onto the soft mat on the black granite floor.  Any words you have die before they can reach your lips as he steps in closer and the height difference between you feels vaster than it’s felt before.

His eyes flicker to your robe.  “Take that off,” he says.

You look him in the eye, raising your chin slightly as you unfasten the sash around your waist and brush the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor, presenting yourself for him as naked as the day you were born.  The two of you stand in silence for a moment; he’s dripping wet and you’re, well…you bite your lip and hesitate before reaching out, wrist turning as you wrap a hand around him.  You feel awkward in the ensuing silence, brushing your thumb over the tip of him and glancing between his face and his cock, breath catching in your throat as you see the way his gaze darkens.  You open your mouth to speak but find yourself at a loss for words.

It doesn’t occur to you that he might prefer this to any polished seduction or that he likes your nerves, your earnestness.  That you've come to him as if yesterday never happened and like he's a whole intact man with no buried shame.  He stiffens rapidly under your touch, silently daring you to keep fondling him.  You wonder if it would be worth it to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth–you’ve done it once before as a preamble to the act itself and remember every detail and lesson of it vividly–when Feyd-Rautha starts walking you backwards, backwards, until you reach his bathroom wall and you drop your hand in surprise.

“I…” you start and he silences you with a kiss, gripping the back of your head and tilting your head up to meet him.  Once he has you where he wants you, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, his hands slide down your sides, over your hips and ass, coming to the backs of your legs, nudging you forward.

“C’mon,” he says, his rasp quiet but commanding in the echoes of his bathroom.  You can’t help your nervous laugh as you hop up and he catches you, hands under your thighs that he quickly wraps around his hips, holding you in place as his cock brushes against your folds, your lower belly.  It’s filled out and ready and you bite your lip as you think: how to maneuver…?  

You glance back up at him and his expectant gaze.  Come on, pet, he seems to tell you.  You’re a clever little thing, you can figure it out, and so you grip his cock again and position it at your entrance, almost laughing at how two weeks ago you’d have been hard-pressed to know exactly where it is and how to properly penetrate it.

You gasp, head falling forward as you sink down onto him and cry out as he jerks his hips up, filling you the rest of the way.  It’s always such a deep ache and stretch when he buries himself in you and you’re never quite given enough time to adjust to the size of him before he starts moving and it feels like he’s so deep in you that can hardly breathe.  Every time he picks a new angle to fuck you in it almost shocks you how he seems to find another way to make as though there’s no part of your insides that he hasn’t touched, and you hold onto him, trying to rock back down on him, and finding you can only really cling to him.  He buries his face in your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair and the tonic you use for it, before pausing, shifting you further onto him, and moving away from the wall.  You yelp, tightening your thighs around his waist and wondering what he’ll do next, where he’ll take you.   

He carries you, then, out of the bathroom and to his bed where he drops you unceremoniously on your back and following you as you go.  You both grunt as he lands on top of you and pushes your legs further back towards your chest and he braces his arms on either side of your head.

It’s hard and rough and fast, your knees pushed back nearly to your shoulders that he spreads wide to make room for his own.  Your cries as he pounds into your open, vulnerable body spur him on and he drops his forehead to yours, panting against your mouth.  He speaks in the Imperial Standard this time when he says, “Like a little songbird, making pretty noises for me,” and brings his mouth to the juncture of your neck and jaw.

You let out a whine as he continues, his tongue flickering and then lapping at the sensitive skin like he’s done before to your cunt.  You gasp and readjust your grip on his shoulders, almost stunned at the visceral reactions he can pull from just that.  You’d known it was a sensitive area, had been kissed there before, but especially juxtaposed against the pounding of him inside of you it’s–it’s–

“A -aaah! ” you manage, clenching around him, barely holding on, your legs shaking as he speeds up, his mouth continuing the onslaught.  The whimpers that spill out of you escalate and turn to a sharp cry as he bares his teeth and bites down.

He grunts, hips pumping, as he comes inside of you, his teeth and lips on the sensitive skin of your neck and your arms wrapped around him.  He gives one final thrust for good measure before dropping his head to your neck, his breath harsh.  You hold onto him for a moment as he pauses and pulls out.

Will you let me hold you again?  I liked that.  I liked when you rested on me and I got to pet you as if you could ever be made docile .  You don’t ask, and don’t know how to.  He rolls over onto his back.

“I trust that training went well, husband?” you ask instead after you catch your breath and start to come down.

He grunts an affirmative and for a moment you think that’s the end of it.  He takes a breath, though, mulling over the silence between the two of you.  You wait, sensing his realization that you’d like to hear more.  That the two of you can have a normal conversation like a normal married couple.  “Sparred with a few of my men, then a couple of criminals in the dungeons.  They don’t provide as much of a challenge but it still keeps me alert to practice on someone who actually wants to kill me.”

“They weren’t sedated?” you ask.

He shakes his head, exhaling.  “Not these ones.  Didn’t want to contaminate their bloodstream,” he says.

You think back to over a week ago, and something Idrisa told you.  “So you could safely feed them to your Darlings afterwards?” you ask.

He turns his head to you and you do the same, mirroring him.  His full lips part as he mulls your words over.  “Now where’d you hear about them?” he asks, clearly trying to think back to a time when he’s mentioned them to you and coming up with nothing.

“Idrisa,” you add when you don’t see any recognition in his eyes at the name, “my personal attendant, mentioned that you had pets that you fed human remains.”

This piques his interest, it seems.  He rises up on one elbow, turning to his side, leaning over you.  “How did she describe them?” he asks.

You shrug, not sure how that makes a difference.  “She didn’t.  She just said that you feed human flesh to what you called your Darlings,” you say, not bothering to hide your distaste.  You’re not going to pretend to like or condone everything he does; not like it would stop him.

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes glint.  He breaks into a smile that is equal parts delighted and cruel.  “Is that really all she told you?” he says.  He doesn’t move a millimeter, but you can sense his growing excitement coiled tight within him like he’s ready to pounce.

“So…what are they?  Canine or feline?  Or aquatic?” you ask, not sure if you want to know or get a more specific image but asking all the same.

Feyd-Rautha looks at you as though you’ve given him the greatest gift he didn’t even have to ask for.  “Would you like to meet them?” he asks instead of answering your question.

No, of course not , you want to tell him.  I have no interest in meeting a bunch of animals who devour people whole .  “Sure.  Why not,” you say.

His black teeth and gums are unnerving against the pallor of the rest of him before his smile turns closed-mouthed again into a smirk.  

When you’ve both dressed and left his chambers, you assume that he’s going to lead you to a dungeon, but he instead starts walking down a corridor not far from the private wing.

“I’d keep them closer,” he says over his shoulder, “but they make such a mess.”

So a pool or a moat would be out of the question, but a shark tank is still feasible , you think.  

He reaches a door, and the first moment you step inside and see what’s on the padded platform in front of you, you want to roll your eyes and walk back out.

So he’s taken me on a detour first to meet his concubines , you think.  

Three naked, lithe, bald-headed women lie curled up sleeping, nestled against one another like a pile of kittens.  You raise your eyebrows, letting out an irritated huff.  You should’ve known that he keeps concubines; most leaders from Major Houses do.  It’s just that he’d seemed so preoccupied with you that you’d almost forgotten that very possibility.  These are the women he normally slakes his lust with and what he’ll go back to once you’ve confirmed that you’re carrying his seed.  You have a snide remark on the tip of your tongue about how nice it is to meet the other women he fucks.  

But then you notice that there’s blood drying on their hands, caking their sharp-nailed fingertips and you realize what the smell of the iron tang that permeated the air really is. Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?” you say aloud to no answer.

The women stir, and then they open their eyes.  They have neither pupils nor irises.  Pure ink black, stares, unthinking, back at you.

When you first met him you’d been quick to assume that Feyd-Rautha lacked all humanity beyond his physical form, but this is what it truly looks like when a person has no human essence.  You’re not sure what they’re seeing when they look at you but they perceive nothing except the sight of warm meat.

Abomination!  Abomination! you think, too frozen to scream it out loud, the sound of it only coming out of you in a pitiful squeak when they start to move, clambering towards you.

Oh, Great Mother, they move like animals, on all fours .  One of them opens her mouth, teeth and gums as black as her master’s but her teeth are sharpened into fangs she bares in what may be a smile, may be a snarl. 

Oh, fuck this.   

You turn and start to run when Feyd-Rautha holds his arm out to grab you around the chest and pull you to his side as he says something in Harkonnen that you try to grasp.

Something-something woman something-something food.  Okay, that was a negation.  He’s saying something like “she’s not food.”  You gasp and dig your nails into his forearm, unable to look away from them, the way they tilt their heads at you.

You can hear them hiss and chatter, put out that he hasn’t presented them with a meal, and you realize that they’re speaking in neither the Imperial Standard nor Harkonnen battle-language but a vague imitation of human speech.

“What the fuck?  What the fuck? ” you say aloud, struggling in Feyd-Rautha’s grip, watching as they scurry closer to the two of you, sniffing at you in particular.

You stare at the fathomless depths of their unblinking black eyes and how they tilt their heads, even their curiosity utterly fucking terrifying.

“You said you wanted to meet my Darlings,” Feyd-Rautha says in a satisfied tone.  “Don’t be rude.  They like you.” He says something in Harkonnen to the women that you can’t decipher, and their chattering ceases and demurs into near-purring.

One of them sniffs and nuzzles at your stomach and you flinch, wondering how quick she’d be to open her mouth and take a bite of your sensitive skin if her master allowed it.  Your stomach that within a few months will swell with Feyd-Rautha’s heir.  Does she understand what any of that means?  Do any of them?

How naive you were, thinking that he kept animals as his pets, normal women as his concubines.  How silly and childish to think that he wouldn’t be as much of a degenerate as you feared.  

Just when I think I’ve adjusted to this insane planet I see something even worse.    

Feyd-Rautha closes the door and directs his gaze up and down the length of your body, the tremors in your hands, your entire body shaking, in fact, and settles on your face.  He says nothing, waits for you to go first.

“What…” you bring a hand to your forehead, hoping that this is a nightmare, “ are they?”

He doesn’t smirk but you can sense his satisfaction.  He undoubtedly gets some entertainment out of each time he gets to introduce someone new to his Darlings, or rather, inflict his Darlings on them.  He probably doesn’t get the opportunity as often as he’d like.  “They’re a Bene Tleilax experiment,” he says.  “They thought we might enjoy them.”

“Why would they…” commit a crime against nature like this?  

“Because they can,” he says.  

“Then why have them?” you ask.

He looks at you as if you’re the unreasonable one.  “They already exist, and I’ve found some use for them.”

As his concubines .  “So you…” you feel nauseous at the idea, barely able to say it aloud, “...fuck them?”

Your shoulders sag with relief when you he says, “No, I don’t fuck them, Y/N.  They’re nice to look at but it would be akin to fucking a wild animal.  They can be entertaining, though.  And they’re a decent tool for intimidation.”

Entertaining .  You could use hundreds of words to describe what you just saw and the wretched nature of their existence and entertaining would not be one of them.

Still, you realize what he means.  His menagerie needs to eat to stay alive, and it provides incentive to stay on the Na-Baron’s good side.  No one wants to end up as food.  And how many men can honestly say, “ If you don’t do as I say I’m going to feed you to the trio of feral cannibal women I keep in my Fortress” ?  It’s a far more unique and memorable threat than any you’ve heard.

So they’re not his concubines; you don’t believe for one moment that he’d care enough to lie to you about that, which just makes you wonder where his real concubines are.  “Who were you fucking before I was assigned to you?  I wasn’t your first.”  

Feyd-Rautha’s lips quirk up for a moment in a brief almost-smile.  “There are times when people see me in the arena and want to know if I’m as much of a brute as I seem,” he says.  

“Are you?  With them?”  You haven’t forgotten that he’s expected to be better-behaved with you than he probably would be with someone else.  Someone potentially disposable.

His expression is carefully neutral as he seems to think on how much he wants to frighten you some more or how much he’ll let your own imagination do the work.  “I give them what they’re looking for,” he says after a moment.

You glance back over at the door.  How many people whisper about his trio of naked women the way they keep their head down about the Baron?  Does that not bother him, how people who know about this undoubtedly think, If he’s willing to stick his cock into them , what else is he capable of?

“You do know that calling them your Darlings, having them naked like this–it makes it seem like you have sex with them,” you tell him.

Feyd-Rautha looks unsurprised and unmoved.  “They can be sedated into being dressed sometimes.  It’s just too cumbersome to try and change them every day,” he says.  “Besides, people can think what they want,” he says.  “I don’t care, just as long as they fear my name.”

Very Harkonnen of you , you think.  “What are their names?” you ask instead.

He seems amused by the question.  “Didn’t bother.  They don’t need them,” he says.

You look back at the door.  They can’t always have been like this, could they?  “Did they not have names once?  Before…this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.  “They won’t remember.”

You can’t help but stare at him when he says that.  These were people once , you don’t need to tell him because he doesn’t care.  You don’t know what to say to him; the words dry up in your throat.  Here you were trying to bring out the human side to him when you get a stark reminder that for many people that side of him doesn’t exist.  You try to remember how the Reverend Mother assured you that he has weaknesses that you can use, just like any other man.  How he has his own, albeit twisted, moral code and sense of honor.

Count yourself lucky that it extends to you, you think.

You don’t like yourself very much when you think about it, the palpable fear he instills in everyone he thinks he can readily discard, and the fact that you’ve already decided that you’ll do your best to overlook it, for now anyways.  You have yourself and your future child to look after first.

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

Hatchetfield Theory: Becky Barnes Has The Gift

So I wrote yesterday about how we might be underestimating how important Becky is to the overall narrative of Hatchetfield. After all, she's the Warrior of Light in Black Friday, and now we know that the original Workin' Boys script was about Wilbur Cross trying to sacrifice specifically Becky at a black altar--when it wasn't her that died, the whole thing fell apart.

The more I dwell on it, the more I think that Becky might have had a touch of the Gift as a child. Or even a tad more than just a touch... (Full theory under the cut. In typical me form, it does gets a little wild at the end.)

Perhaps, like with Lex, her powers were strong enough that they never fully wasted away, even as she grew out of the correct age and forgot they ever existed in the first place. This could be what makes her the Warrior of the Light, and explain why Wiggly's hold on her was more tenuous than his grasp on any of the other adults. Think about it--unlike Tom or any of the others, she only ever seems to personally care much about the doll when she's face-to-face with it and its thrall is strongest. And whereas Tom required a whole scene and climatic song to throw off Wiggly's influence and see the truth, Becky went from attacking Hannah over the doll in one scene to shooting Linda and letting Lex burn the very same Wiggly in the next. Maybe, when she accidentally knocked herself out with the shot, the Gift lurking in her subconscious was able to take hold and completely free her from Wiggly's control.

So if Becky did have enough power that she still retains some of the Gift into adulthood, like a somewhat less powerful Lex, that could be what Wilbur needed for his Workin' Boys ritual. Hannah would have been too young and important, and Lex could have been unreachable or not usable for some other reason (I think a lot about how Wilbur and Lex seem to have the same power, but that's another post), so Becky it was. Since we now know that Wilbur, erm, crosses between timelines (geddit?), he could even have possibly chosen her because of what happened in Black Friday.

And then there's the tree. As @kmesons pointed out, the one thing we really know about Becky's childhood, outside of her high school cheerleading and relationship, is that at some point she rather famously climbed a tree and refused to come down for two days. So my question is, what if it was not a regular tree, but part of the Witchwood? After all, the "Becky Barnes Climbed A Tree" song implies that the tree in question was quite large, and we know that things grow fast and big in the Wood. Maybe, like the Fosters, the Barnes lived on the edge of the forest. If Becky had a strong touch of the Gift, could she have struck a bond with the gifted person planted inside of this particular tree, a-la Hannah in The Witch in the Web? The fact that Becky's tree climb is the namesake for a whole Nightmare Time story indicates that there's some supernatural element to the situation, and that could definitely be a start. And (told you we'd get a little wild) if she did befriend a planted kid, and climb their tree for reasons as of yet unknown, could that tree have given her something? Knowledge or some other powerful gift that the Lords don't want her to have, and yet makes her a warrior?

(And we can't forget Stanley, the abusive husband who chases her into the Witchwood in a brutal fight to the death. Who loses the fight and disappears, last seen lying bleeding out among the trees... perhaps trees just like the one she climbed as a child, trees grown from children that had been just like her. We've been focused on how the fight taking place in the Witchwood could easily mean that Stanley's still alive, or at least undead, but what if it's the other way around? What if the trees helped her?)



[frankendykes-monster]

how was darkseid supposed to function narratively originally?

(bonus question, if you had to pick someone to be the arch-JLA villain who would it have been?)

When I think about Darkseid my mind sometimes drifts to "imagine if you were introduced to the concept of The Devil for the first time without millennia of cultural baggage attached to it" but that's not quite right.

Darkseid is named as such for being the literal "Dark side" of humanity; and it should be noted that Darkseid embodies fear and hatred specifically. It's a key point wherein superhero comics - or superhero-adjacent comics like The New Gods - still have to establish what is actually "good" and "evil" in concrete terms, and for the latter Kirby coalesced evil into "anti-life", wherein Kirby posits that the opposite of life is slavery and destitution, and Darkseid's ultimate goal being the complete control of all outside thought, and his frequent schemes in The Forever People (where he's most present) are scientific experiments where he's trying to establish anti-life. The key part of great Darkseid stories are about him doing the most spectacular equivalent of whispering in people's ears, forcing them into situations where they have to choose anger and violence; hurt people hurt people after all.

The obvious example is The Forever People #4 wherein he constructs Happyland. It's a series of torture devices disguised as carnival rides, but the people on the outside think it's just an amusement park, or should I say, the adults on the outside think everything's normal, but the children immediately recognize that people are being tortured. Darkseid is playing the long game, the adults will brush off their children's concerns and force them into isolation, the seeds of anti-life are placed. The real victims are the end through which the means have been placed.

Kirby's work on The New Gods titles are functionally the apex of him being ridiculously literal and extremely metaphorical.

It's not my personal favorite piece of Kirby art visually, but in terms of things that shake me to the core, this page from either the same issue of #3 (can't remember) wherein Glorious Godfrey doesn't grasp the full scope of anti-life is definitely up there:

I don't have an issue with Darkseid becoming the default arch-villain of the overall DC universe in theory but in practice it usually manifests as a character that's meant to showcase that while good is stronger than evil, evil will never 100% defeated, because you yourself will never become a 100% good person, gets turned into "and he was defeated after Superman punched him hard enough." That reached a zenith with The New 52 wherein Darkseid is introduced with zero fucking context other than "we have to punch him back to where he came from."

As for the major Justice League villain, I don't really have any preference but the guys that show up and are defined as being a "bigger deal" than Darkseid like The Anti-Monitor or Mageddon aren't bad even though they're frequently one off characters.

[rustedleopard]

What are your thoughts on Chujin? Your posts don't really paint him in the best light (for understandable reasons)

I think he is a FASCINATING character. The living embodiment of the proverb "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

The man loves his family, so much so that it inspires him to go out into the Underground and do volunteer work to make the world a better place for his child to grow up in. Yet, he also kills himself over his commitment to crafting a serum that would protect his daughter/monsterkind from humans and leaves his wife a widow and his daughter fatherless. According to Ceroba, he wanted to raise a big family with her, so he poured his all into building a massive, elaborate house for his family to grow up in. But that also blew through all of his savings leftover from his former job at the Steamworks and instead of taking up another job to support his family financially, that task fell solely onto Ceroba.

He also has quite a bit of an ego as well. He doesn't want Ceroba to think poorly of him for being fired, so he lies and says he retired. That ego blinds him to the fact that he isn't always right. He was the only engineer in the Steamworks who wanted to build guard robots. Fair enough since monsterkind did declare war on humanity and it would be good to have extra troops when the time came to break the barrier and start fighting. But as the failures piled up and each of the Axis models malfunctioned in front of Asgore -- sometimes in ways that were a danger to others -- he kept insisting that he would get it right. Asgore gave him eight chances (if we go by the idea that each iteration of Axis would be presented before the King before being rejected). Eight is an extremely generous number of chances to prove that Axis would be worth something, and when his final attempt lit Asgore's child's grave on fire, instead of reflecting on if his Axis idea was misguided or sympathizing with Asgore (since Chujin is a father himself, he should know how much that hurt), he asks for yet another chance. Then after he gets fired, he keeps working on Axis iterations in private because he's certain that he's right and everyone else is wrong. Did he eventually make a successful guard robot? Yes. Axis Model 014 works debatably well. But it cost him the respect of his colleagues and his job, which at the time was his family's only source of income.

And then there's the Boss Monster serum that he crafted. He was working solely off a theory, and when his experiments on himself started to kill him, instead of stepping back and reflecting on if making a serum that could turn any monster into a Boss Monster is feasible/questioning his methodology, he blamed the problems on the SOUL that he used being impure (with no evidence/explanation as to why "SOUL purity" was the problem, which to me feels more grasping at straws more than a well-founded conclusion). He gave his grieving wife the impossible task of:

Finding a "pure" human SOUL (humans rarely fall into the Underground, there's no guarantee that a human wouldn't dust some monsters while navigating the Underground, there is no guarantee that she'd be able to get close to them with the Royal Guard patrolling/attempting to capture them, what does it even mean to be "pure"? A human could fight their way through the Underground and spare monsters when they're weakened instead of outright killing them, would that still count as being "pure"?)

Killing that human (humans are notorious for being difficult to kill yet can easily kill monsters so reaping their SOUL is incredibly risky business. She would also have to take the life of an innocent person.)

Having a Boss Monster nearby to work with (Boss Monsters are incredibly rare, the only known ones are Asgore, Toriel, Asriel (who is dead), himself (who is dying), and Kanako. Also, even if Ceroba knew another Boss Monster, why would they be willing to be subjected to a science experiment?)

And she also has to craft the serum as well (Ceroba has no experience with SOUL science, she doesn't know what she's doing).

It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that Clover came into the Underground, ended up in the Wild East and remained a pacifist (in a Pacifist Run), and decided to travel with her. It was more likely that Ceroba would've spent the rest of her life unable to make progress on the serum and feeling like she failed her husband. As unintentional as it was, Chujin set his wife up to fail.

He also resents and fears humankind and that influences a lot of his actions and decisions. Chujin kept building Axis models, even when they would fail/be a danger to others, because he wanted a way to give monsters a fighting chance in the war. He crafts the serum because he wants to make monsterkind strong enough to stand up to humans. He leaves Kanako and Dalv behind to go fetch Axis and sicc him on Integrity instead of being there for a very sensitive time in her life (I assume that he only did that after it was assured that Kanako wasn't in any physical danger, but still. That's just an assumption. Also, that was a time when he should've stuck around and have been a comforting presence for her, not run off with his own agenda). While he was taken aback by how violently Axis killed Integrity and seemed somewhat remorseful, he still experiments on the SOUL of a human child. Instead of being proud of Martlet for getting a job as a Royal Guard and putting the carpentry he taught her to good use, he disapproves and is wholly unsupportive (I can understand him having reservations about his friend joining the Royal Guard as the job can be dangerous, but he could've at least been proud of her for accomplishing that/had some faith in Martlet's abilities). He calls humans incapable of decency in any form, yet hypocritically he acknowledges that it's possible for a human SOUL to be "pure."

What do I think of Chujin Ketsukane? He is complex and morally grey, and to call him entirely evil or entirely good does a massive disservice to his character. He did some really bad things but those bad things were done with good intentions. He did some good things (building Martlet's deck, the Honeydew Resort heater, likely the bridge between Starlo's farm and the Wild East, his family home, probably some other things, was working on methods to protect monsterkind) but that work came at the expense of his family. He never intended for things to go horribly wrong the way they did but he also didn't know when to back down. He was a kind individual and well respected by Martlet, Ceroba, Axis, even Starlo -- who doesn't like the man -- for a reason. He only ever wanted the best for his family, for Monsterkind. But at the end of the day, it's the actions that are judged. Knowing all I do about him, he is not someone I would call a good person.

There's another version of the proverb I dropped earlier that I feel suits him a bit better: "Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works."

[thedreamsofgalaxies]

Since my earlier professor jayvik rant has been living in my head for few days, I just wanna share how I view they'd act as professors.

Viktor is very kind to his students and helps them out the best he can. He answers questions patiently and falls into long rants because of small innocent questions. He tries to do his best to make the students actually understand the subject, encourage them, and give them opportunities to shine.

However, Vik would be awful at actually understanding how other people think. Even though he thinks he's helping, a lot of the time he just makes everything more confusing. But those bright enough to get him, would love him. Viktor would not know what to do with lazy students or those who don't care about the subject, so he just ignores their existence. Maybe at the beginning of his career he tried to ask them if he can help them in some way, but soon realized talking to them is beyond his area of expertise, and let them be.

He isn't social at all and he doesn't like lecturing; lecturing would be a mandatory evil he has to endure in order to stay employed. He likes the one-on-one sessions with the students he helps, but he doesn't feel comfortable with an audience. His lectures are strickly to the point and quite boring for those who are not already inspired. Lectures are moslty a lot of theory and no practice.

Jayce on the other hand, is all practice and little theory. He does his best to get people to care about his subject and always demonstrates things when he can. He's all bravo and amazes the students with his brillanse on daily basis. Jayce treats the lecture hall as his stage and is always ready to totally bewilder everyone. Mind you: not with his personal drama but actual science! Jayce plans his lectures to the tee and gets ready for them early. He is really proud of the reputation he's gathered around the Uni.

From his students, he appreciates ideas and imagination more than technical knowledge. He encourages them to think out side the box and always try new things, even if it would result in failure. He gives more points to students whose essays have more original deliberation rather than students with good grasp on facts and theory but no insights.

As co-workers and academics, they are also very different from each other. I suppose this part would follow the Arcane quite literally, though. Jayce is the one who knows all the faculty and is always pulled to mingle with people, even if he'd rather just do his research. The research, he is really truly passionate about, and knows it will be noticed and well-received in the academic circles. While Viktor is happy to hide way in his lab and let his curiosity run free with no pressure to socialize. He doesn't really care for the glory of academic recognition, he just does it purely out of his own interest.

They disagree about each other's teaching methods, but they still respect each other and the results. Of course Jayce is most comfortable and most himself while his in the lab with Viktor. All the show and social smiles he puts up all day tend to get to him, but with Viktor he can just let all his masks down. Vik teases him about it, but never in a hurtful way and Jayce answers to the same measure. Because guess what, that's how actual banter works (looking at some of you fic writers).

They have the most heated academic debates which spread out for weeks. It's never obvious outright fighting but subtly leaving research papers on each others' desks while bringing them a new cup of coffee. Jayce is more verbally argumentative though, while Viktor more passive aggressive, but the debates are never personal and always respectful. They often end up blowing up the lab with questionable experiments just to prove a point.

They'd make a perfect team.

[loopy777]

I wonder whart older Zuko is like with Izumi and Iroh II...

(yes this is a plea for more headcanons)

Zuko has a real problem with his daughter and grandson. They don't believe a word he says.

Well, okay, that's an exaggeration, and he'll admit it if you press him. They're actually very attentive and respectful, and are always looking for lessons in what he says, always asking him for advice. One time, just to test them, he tried the 'silver sandwich' speech again, or at least what he could remember of it, and they accepted it with eager nods. He had to persuade them not to have it written down in the Annuls of the Fire Lords.

What they don't believe is that he used to be an imperialist bully who took his anger out on the rest of the world. Oh, sure, they claim that they understand this, but as the discussion goes on they'll talk about how Zuko was raised in a different society where aggression was encouraged and imperialist racism was normal. With low, even voices to convey the seriousness of the matter, they'll talk about the abuse Zuko suffered from his father and what that does to a person, and how fortunate he was that he was able to find his way out from the negative emotions it buried him in. They'll even talk about the war and how children in the Fire Nation were prepared to be warriors and soldiers starting as toddlers.

Izumi, at least, needs these excuses in order not to really think that her father was A Bad Dude at one point. It's not that she's in denial or anything, or can't handle her father making mistakes. To her, Zuko is a doting father, a true and proper simp of a husband, the stiff awkward member of a heartwarming friendgroup, and a righteous leader who complains about corrupt politicians and inefficient meetings like any proper Hero King. Sure, he gets angry like any person, but she just does not have an imagination expansive enough to really picture him betraying Uncle Aang and Aunt Katara under Ba Sing Se. If she really tries, she imagines a confused, regretful look on his face. She just cannot properly meld Her Father with these facts that sound like an antagonist in a children's fantasy story.

With Iroh II, he just does not know his Grandfather well enough. He never saw Zuko in a truly angry moment. He has to picture some kind of noble, knightly figure with a furrowed brow from trying to work out the thorny, contradictory honor system of the old Fire Nation. If you told him that his grandfather once screamed, "I DON'T NEED ANY CALMING TEA!!" he would challenge you an arm-wrestling duel for spreading such filthy lies about a hero.

Zuko has tried to convince Izumi and Iroh that he could have become like Ozai, had it not been for some fortunate interventions in his life, and they nod appropriately, but he can see it's not landing. It's all theory to them, some philosophical stuff about the dichotomy of man. They don't get it. But, he supposes, they don't really need to. Izumi is a master of politics and has a firm grasp of how hazy morality can be sometimes, as well as a good sense of the delicate balance required of the Fire Nation given its power and legacy. If she can't quite believe he was as bad as he was, that's fine. And, he ha to admit, it makes him feel pretty good, that he really has gotten better.

Iroh II, though, is more of a problem. Or, at least, Zuko thinks he is, intellectually. On the practical side, Iroh II has done so well in his life that Zuko isn't sure his grandon needs to understand this stuff. Zuko is a bit worried about how well Iroh II will do as Fire Lord, but he admits that maybe he doesn't really understand his grandson, either.

Especially that part where Iroh II is such a fan of coffee. Zuko is no tea fanatic, and still believes it's basically hot leaf juice, but he thinks that's far more appetizing than hot bean-dirt stew.