#i know i wrote way too much

[cerise-on-top]

Hugging, Kissing and Cuddling HCs for König

I'm trying to see him in another light again after everything I've seen about him, so I decided I'd write something fluffy and nice for him. And then came the realization I never wrote some HCs like these for him in my original posts, so I decided I'd change that! He's Austrian, so naturally I have to love him!

When it comes to hugging someone, König is a bit hesitant. Considering he’s not the most physically affectionate person out there, it’s almost an honor to be receiving an unprompted hug from him. Whether his hugs are long or short depends on the occasion: If he’s proud of you for accomplishing something, then the hug will be rather short lived. Though, he might pick you up and spin you around until you’re dizzy. If you’re sad and need some comfort then his hugs could last a while. He’s not the best with words, he prefers to listen to other people, but if he knows a hug is what usually helps you then he’s willing to do so. Despite being a big and strong lad his hugs are surprisingly gentle, he’s worried about crushing you. He could put his all into them, but then you’d likely end up with a few broken ribs and he doesn’t want that to happen. König is also surprisingly warm, so receiving a hug from him is a rare, but nice experience. Although he does go rigid at the beginning, not knowing what to do, but relaxes into the hug eventually.

Again, he’s not a very physically affectionate person, but isn’t opposed to the occasional peck on the cheek or on your lips either. There is some anxiety whether you’d actually want a kiss from him or not, so he doesn’t kiss you very often, even if you do reassure him that it’s quite alright. He’s a bit tense at first when he presses a kiss to your lips, but calms down eventually. It’s especially bad during the beginning of your relationship, but he’s since gotten better at being calm about it. Since there’s a good chance he’s taller than you he loves giving you a kiss on the forehead. It’s a small but sweet gesture. He doesn’t need to bend down entirely to reach you but he still gets to be affectionate with you. However, if you’re on the taller side, or just as tall as he is, then he’d love to receive kisses to his temple from you. It makes him smile every time you do it. If he’s in the mood for receiving a kiss then he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and nudge you a bit. Or try to get his head in your closer vicinity. Kind of like that one bunny video where the bunny stretches to receive some kisses.

Cuddles with him are a bit more common than hugs actually. However, he refuses to lay down on top of you. If you’re shorter and weaker than him then there’s no chance he’ll put his weight on you, he’s just that afraid of hurting you. If you’re taller or just more muscular, then he might, but he’s still a rather heavy lad. Most he’ll do is put his head on your shoulder while you’re cuddling in bed and are both lying down. Although it’d be a lie to say he doesn’t want to be held. König is alright with being the one to hold you, but sometimes he would prefer to be the little spoon as well. That urge gets especially bad if you’re roughly the same size as him. Sometimes just nuzzling into your chest does the trick for him as well, though. Loves it when you run your fingers through his hair as he does so. Another thing he adores is you sleeping on his chest as he holds you. He gets to hold you close, he gets to protect you and he gets to doze off a bit himself, it’s bliss to him. Sometimes he leans down to press a kiss to your head and accidentally wakes you up like that. He feels bad about it and apologizes profusely, but does chuckle a bit when he sees your disheveled hair and your tired expression that shows you just woke up.

#cod #cod x reader #konig #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #he actually kind of scares me these days even if I don't want that to happen in the slightest so I'm trying to desensitize myself again #I know people always joke about fanon könig vs canon könig but I think I will write him a bit softer with his s/o again #just to combat all those awful things I've seen about him that I don't want to be true and that I also want to forget about #könig is a big lad so I knew from the beginning I wanted him to be good at hugging because this is self indulgent #I feel like if it weren't for his anxiety he'd be much much cuddlier #because that's the case with me even if I have other things going on as well #and what is a funny character you write about if not another piece of yourself? #I've put so much of myself into some of these characters and yet people keep requesting them so I must be doing something right #it's more fun that way as well when you put your characters through something you've gone through. more relatable too #but I think that's something pretty much every writer does. that's why some requests are so difficult to write #I got one about marrying Laswell and Nikolai and that was a difficult request for me because the last wedding I went to #was my parents' and that was almost 18 years ago. man time flies I was 4 years old back then #so naturally I don't remember much either. But I tried and that's what's important! #either way please enjoy this piece of fluff I wrote today!

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

#one hundred thousand years have passed #i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing #'i lived bitch' #'have some jaytim that grew legs on me' #my writing #asked and answered #jaytim #ladytauria #hurt/comfort #this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones #the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts #i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger #i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka #the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here #and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently #but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!! #prompt fill

[erytherion]

Reading the webtoon and…

Does this imply that Kim Dokja also tried to write a questionnaire for her to fill in since she wouldn’t speak to him, that either he 1) never gave her in the end (especially if he couldn’t find her after she was released) or 2) gave it to her and she STILL refused to answer?

Because that is so so so so awful. It was already bad but if he tried so many ways to get her to speak and she still gave him no response, regardless of her reasoning… isn’t that still directly choosing to cut herself fully out of his life? Why in the hell did she lie for his sake and allow him to visit her if she wanted to never speak to him again?

I know everyone claims Kim Dokja is just like her in sacrificing himself for loved ones, but at least he tries his best to stay with them and to keep them in his life. He still chooses sacrifice, but it’s not because he intends to never return. He always returns (even if much later than planned).

The only time this differs is with 51%, when he STILL tried his best to stay with them - at least as much as he could.

I sometimes like Lee Sookyung, but I am mostly still SO mad at her for completely ignoring her child since he was 8 years old. Especially when he must have looked like shit any number of times from being mistreated and bullied by family, friends, army, employers.

But maybe that’s just the fragment in me being eternally pissed with her. She DOES love him, but like he says in the webtoon in this chapter - maybe such truths are painful enough to be false anyways, because they’re just SUCH bullshit. That’s not how affection should work, if you actually care about someone and want them to be happy.

#RAWWRGHHH I WANT TO SHAKE HER SO MUCH #LOOK AFTER YOUR KID #and if you can’t do that because of circumstances at least ACKNOWLEDGE HIM #yes I do know she cared and it’s just that she mistakenly believes he’s better off this way without her but like #then WHY does she still insert herself back into his life when he’s finally stopped trying to get her to speak? #yes yes others have great analyses on her and their relationship and I usually agree with their logic but it’s still. So. Hard. to like her #but then I remember that this story was the little Dream’s wishful thinking to cope back then on his own #and so maybe in his world Lee Sookyung never ever would speak to him again #he just wished she would so he wrote it down as happening for This older version of him #and that’s somehow worse because like #even in the story where he got her to speak to him again she still won’t speak so he has to force the words out some way (via outer god) #and if that’s true then it’s still just his interpretation of her actions and choices #and not her own since she never told him #so like ARGGHHH #but I like to believe that characters have autonomy despite their respective author’s efforts in documenting them #so she still chose to speak all of this too and he would have accurately interpreted her this way because she controls what she says #even if he (little Dream Kim Dokja) is the one writing it down as wish fulfilment fix-it fic #a fix-it for himself and not just for the other people he loves #😭😭😭 #orv #orv spoilers #omniscient reader’s viewpoint #lee sookyung #kim dokja

[sohaoying]

unfinished business

#your turn to die #yttd spoilers #sou hiyori #shin tsukimi #kugie kizuchi #yeah i'll make a ghost au #i didn't have room for more dialog but i think he'd want to be called shin here #shin's my fav and i like the greenblings so much but sometimes i forget that he was kind of a cringefail brother #sou being to kanna almost like what midori was to him + kugie rubbing it in >> #but also there's no way to know what their time in ch 2 was like for sure #it's only ever others who say kanna was being used while kanna herself denies it+her whole thing is that the main cast overlooks her agency #they had normal conversations (e.g. mint choco ice cream) and kanna was more aware than she let on (e.g. knowing sou wrote the phone note) #but the one conversation we saw of them alone from sou's pov (post-nightmare to be fair) was not a good look #we just don't know how healthy their dynamic was overall! #kugie wasn't the best sister initially either so i think she's reminded of her regrets too. but the dunking comes first #sometimes you see something you hated about yourself in someone else and go hm. hate that #i think they should have ghost adventures after their initial beef though. why? bc the kanna hallucination cg is my fav and i said so #and yttd is all about feeling empathy for everyone y'know? #art

[limonjarritos]

The wine bottle and symbolism

this is personally my take on the symbolism of the wine bottle/bottle opener as based on a post by galaxitic

The wine as a symbol for obsession for a loss of control. For how Vincent feels about his fixation with Rody. Of even in a way a symbol for Rody himself.

The wine opener being Vince's semblance of control over that obsession. That he believes he has control on his feelings about Rody. But when he goes to open that bottle its not in a semblance of control but that of panic, that of impulse but he still tells himself that it's something, not realizing that with a sip of the wine he's consumed back. His rational is consumed. Just like how this whole time Rody has made him drunk with impulse.

How the wine is admittedly what does him in.

Vince breaks the bottle, breaks 'Rody' through a lack of control. He uses the bottle opener to try and open the real thing, drunk and searching for more, willing to truly give into his impulses and be intoxicated.

Vince has for the most part up until this point been bottling up his feelings, playing the part of mild mannered and in control (though his control isn't perfect. The rat, the watching through the peep hole-)

Rody taking that broken bottle in hand, takes said obsession and kills Vincent with it. Because a broken bottle is going to hurt you. Because Rody is so broken right now, shattered, reeling from the revelation that Manon has been killed. The love bleeding from his body and a hot demand for revenge coming to him that results in the burning of Vince.

#dead plate #limon.txt #i dont like to tag people unless i know them and they're okay w/ it #i wrote this like when i woke up 12 hours ago and like- i hope it makes sense. today just has not been the day for my language skills. #syntax who? #anyways. there's way more to it than this i wasnt able to fully explain without running in circles #but like- something about bottling feelings up too. about how that bottle has to break anyways and intoxicate you w/ the emotions #<- why didnt i say this from the start would have saved me a paragraph #and how the bottle is rody too. how rody's care is intoxicating. how vincent lead to the breaking of rody #how rody's care left his body when he was broken and drunken up like the bottle #also another side point #do you think rody would have killed vince if manon had not been killed? #do you think rody cares that much about revenge for wrongs done to himself vs those done to those he cares for #he has basic self preservation ill give him that #but i doubt he would have contemplated that revenge portion at the end

[silverware-is-interesting]

i think i've drawn lankmann a few times. just a couple

#silverware's art #lankmann #pastra #pastraspec #he's just waay too fun to draw for some reason #i didn't wanna do the weird glitching he has when he talks #idk why. but i organized them from least creepy (to me) - most creepy (yet again. to me) #the one where i wrote “i'm back around” is actually a song lyric- #can't hold me down by genichris. specifically. a song actually made about lankmann that is very catchy. by the way. #many wouldn't be too impressed to know that pretty much everything in my computer has some relevance to Lankmann- #some of my friends would defiantly use that against me but hey. they might not read the tags #eh it's alright. he's an interesting character #also. IT'S SO WEIRD KNOWING HE'S ONLY 5'5"- #I'M TALLER THAN HIM #by less than 2 inches. but i'm still taller #this has been sitting in my drafts for over a day so i might aswell post it ig

[warblercore]

muppet of a man

#my art #this is MY puppet master #blaine anderson #glee #glee art #glee fanart #his bow tie has little water lilies on it by the way it's important that you know that #i have a deep and emotional connection to that frog im so so serious (currently holding my kermy) #this actually has layers bc darren criss is part of the muppets cinematic universe #am i projecting? yuh #also i know the piano isnt accurate sorry #i play the piano. i appreciate the instrument. i just didnt want to draw all 80 keys its just too much!!!!! ITS TOO MUCH!!!!! #fun fact i learned the little k|aine song on piano but i lost the music i wrote down so that skill is lost to history :( #edit: like five minutes after posting this i found the music written in the back of my piano book???? #warblerlore #puppet posting

[betweenxt-the-lines]

seeking currency chapter 29 mood

(contains SPOILERS!)

#ff: seeking currency #au: TheWorldIsEnding_AndImLateForWork #shuggy #shanks x buggy #i know i did say i want to post my reaction on the chapter but i explain feelings more with memes #also im burnt out of writing for the day bc i already wrote my heart out in the ao3 comments #which you should!! authors want to know how much they broke you. not an author but i imagine they would #i still might write my reactions out. who knows... #but for now have memes. because i need to cope somehow. #and expect me to react to fanfic chapters this way too. i either meme or am crying over the comments and/or analysis #one piece #seeking currency #TheWorldIsEnding_AndImLateForWork

[crowswithize]

Random DP Xover Interactions 4

Characters: Alfred Pennyworth and Ember McClain

Many types and shapes of living beings found themselves visitors of Wayne Manor. From Dick’s multiple escapades - one’s Master Bruce dutifully ignored - to Damian’s impromptu animal shelter. Even Tim had his fair share of colorful friends stop by. As much as Bruce asserted the Manor as a place of solitude and intimidation, the inside was far too friendly. Its inhabitants far friendlier.

So when Alfred walked into the kitchen and found a young lady with blue fire hair sitting at the island, he barely batted an eye. At least, this time, he knew who sat comfortably on the stool.

He started the kettle. “Miss McClain,” he greeted.

“Heya, Gramps,” Ember said, giving a two-finger salute. They share no blood bond and her words were certainly teasing, yet an underlining fondness coated her tongue.

“How are you? It’s been quite some time since you last visited Gotham.”

She made a noncommittal hum. “Same old, same old. Punching creeps and breaking hearts.”

“Just like Master Bruce in her younger days.”

Ember snorted. “I don’t think he’s stopped.” Alfred couldn’t, and wouldn’t, disagree. 

“May I ask what brought you here today?” He surveyed the fridge. Damian had notably started gardening and Alfred wouldn’t dare let good produce go to waste. He took out the misshapen tomatoes and bell peppers and set them aside. 

Ember clicked her tongue, pretending to think of it. Finally, she settled with, “Hypnotize the whole city with Ivy again. That gal is a riot.” She devilishly smiled with a row full of fangs. The fire of her hair whipped wildly, and Alfred feared the cabinets would become seared.

“An encore, I see,” Alfred commented. He turned on the coffee machine and began making Tim’s morning brew. He’s been slowly lowering the caffeination levels each day in the hope of weening the boy out of his addiction. “Though,” he added, “I couldn’t see any of your equipment being strung about for such a plan.” “I left them at Ivy’s.”

“Surely not. Miss Quinn and her share an apartment nowadays and their hyenas might destroy them. Not to mention Miss Quinn’s sporadic behavior when seeing a perfectly good drum kit.”

Ember let out a long, suffering groan. Alfred paid no mind and poured the hot water into a teapot along with some scoops of tea leaves.

Alfred was no stranger to Ember’s antics. He’s dealt with worse in Bruce’s younger years. Raising over six children have ample practice for patience and Alfred was nothing if not accommodating. If need be, he’d let Miss McClain think over her words for any portion of her infinite afterlife. 

“You’re wasted as a butler, Gramps,” she said, leaning a head against the counter. She stared directly at where Alfred was preparing tea.

“I respectfully disagree, Miss McClain.” 

He walked toward her and set a cup of Lady Grey in front of her. She immediately straightened herself out and took a small whiff. Alfred watched the gentle smile subconsciously brought upon her with great pleasure. 

He stood opposite of her, holding his own teacup in his hand. It’s a silent minute and only the brewing coffee pot sounded.

She hadn’t changed, not that Alfred expected her to, in appearance. Though she hadn’t visited the Manor since Bruce left, Alfred didn’t think she’d never return. Those were fond times when Bruce brought home a fire-haired lady and committed himself to solve her death. He would’ve thought him mad if not seeing her with his own eyes. She’d been so confused, unsure of the mortal realm, and utterly clueless about everything. Beautifully she grew into confidence and mischief. Alfred suppressed the chuckle of how Young Bruce and her would host shenanigans together. It was the first time he had reason to smile.

Then they grew apart, finding different definitions of justice. They both wanted to leave, both wanted to make a name. Bruce left for his training then Ember left back to her afterlife. Alfred tried to rekindle them but their differences were too apparent. What once gave strength to their relationship now warred against them. The only thing they had truly shared was indulging in the childhood so rudely taken from them.

Her teacup clinks against the saucer. “Just…” she struggled with what to say. She propped her elbow on the counter and pillowed her chin against her palm. Alfred does not scold her.

“I missed you guys,” she said quietly, her hair subduing with honesty.

Miss McClain had changed, he observed. Her fire did not crackle like desperate flames in December as it had. Decades ago, anger resided behind her eyes so acutely. Anger at the world, her death, and everyone who betrayed her. He does not see the anger he saw the burnings of regret, guilt, and, most of all, hope.

Alfred circled the island until he stood directly in front of her, her eyes trailing the entire time. 

“Dear girl, you’re always welcome here.” He laid a hand on her shoulder without fear of burning.

Ember laughed, hollow and empty. “I hypnotized the city with a plant lady last time I was here.”

“And master Bruce dresses up as a bat every night,” he countered. “Neither act will have you banned from this house.”

“I got really angry at him both times I left, Alfie,” she sniffled. Water hissed against her eyes as not a single drop survived.

“As well as each of his children yet he still loves them.”

“I’ve been gone for so long.”

Her hands shook, scrunching her pant’s fabric. Gently, he took them and held her hands within his. He stared directly into her eyes, fear akin to the one in Bruce’s eyes.

“And not once did we dare forget about you, Miss McClain.”

She launched herself at him, hugging Alfred with all her might. She sobbed tearlessly but her fire burned brighter than before. 

#interesting character interaction #i think Ember would be cool to hang out with young bruce #my writing #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #not the star trek one i promised #but i wrote way too much of it #i don't know why i keep making characters crying #its a habit

[moongothic]

Crocodile having such an explosive debut in his early 20s and such deep trust issues could also point to him having an even EARLIER start a la Shanks as an apprentice or something to an older pirate and their crew as a child/teenager — doubling down on the humiliation factor from facing off whitebeard as also a failure to “come of age” and broader sense of betrayal in watching eager encouragement fickly turn to “what did you THINK would happen”s like the kid who gets egged on by their peers into doing something dangerous and then immediately abandoned when they hurt themselves

Can't say if he did have like an early start for sure, since we really don't know anything about Crocodile's early childhood

But simply considdering how Oda typically layers backstories, I absolutely agree, I do think it's more than likely he has somekind of pre-Whitebeard trauma, be it either unrelated childhood trauma or early-pirating-life trauma (or something else)

Like the way Oda structures backstories, although we always remember like The Big Life-Changing Tragedy that happens at the end of the flashback, more often than not the flashback already begins with something horrible to indicate the character's already had a rough life

Robin was already alone, abused and rejected by most of Ohara even before the Buster Call Incident (followed by a life of running in fear for decades)

Franky had already been abandoned by his family before he lost Tom and got ran over by a train

Law had already lost his entire family before Doffy killed Rosi

Etc etc. Like not all the flashbacks are entirely like this, especially the East Blue-saga ones, but the backstories have been growing in complexity and structure, adding layers to the tragedies (like 🧅 onions 🧅) as the story has gone on

And with Kuma, his backstory doesn't end at two layers of tragedy. Like there's the early childhood tragedy of slavery, then there's the tragedy of losing his loved one in the most cruel, inhumane way possible, and we know there's at least one more gut-punch of a tragedy coming in the next two chapters to finish it all off

So with Crocodile especially I feel like... Like yes, possibly getting betrayed once in his life and having his dreams crushed by Whitebeard could break the man's psyche. But considdering just how seemingly broken his psyche might be, I do absolutely believe there's more layers here. Like his trust must've been broken more than once for him to end up the way he has.

Which alone gives Crocodad a bit more plausibility in my mind, because being rejected by the person you loved and trusted the most would most certainly break your heart (even if it was understandable why). And that really would make for a fine Final Nail on the Coffin for Crocodile's ability to have faith in others

But to really get that broken trust to be an on-going theme in his life that just happens again and again.... yeah it needs to start earlier

Personally, I think some kind of early childhood trauma would make the most sense, at least to me, not just because it could help Crocodile get started "on the wrong foot", but also because Rough Childhoods is just. A General Theme in One Piece lmao. Of course, it wouldn't be The Key Life-Changing Tragedy (I think Dragon would be that), just a "bad start"

#Moon posting #OP Meta #OP Spoilers #Sir Crocodile #Crocodad #Honestly this is kind of why I ended up becoming fond of the ''Croc is 1/4th merman'' idea #'Cause it really would like. Lay the basic groundwork for what's to come without it being like. IDK too much? #IDK I wrote a whole separate post about that not gonna go over the whole thing again #Other and one more plausible option was that he was just a really queer kid from the start and was bullied to hell and back for it #Dude just wanted to play pirates with the boys and kiss girls and everyone thought he was weird for it because he was a ''girl'' #And somehow being called that stung but for reasons he couldn't understand (if Crocodad Real then he didn't Figure It Out until 27) #((Crocodile just seems bisexual as hell to me leave me be)) #((I'm entitled to my unfounded bullshit headcanons until Oda gives us canon)) #Alternatively if Crocodile WAS Xebec's kid then knowing his dad got ditched by Whitebeard and co would definitely leave An Impression #Especially if he ended up stranded and alone after God Valley #(...Unless... Whitebeard adopted him??? Which would be a very Whitebeard-y thing to do???????????) #((IDK I'm not into the Xebec theory)) ((It's plausible but it just doesn't spark joy for me)) #((IDK I would prefer if he just kind of had a ''chill'' childhood kind of like the ASL bros had)) ((Just far lonelier)) #((Especially since loneliness is such a key factor in so many characters and why they are the way they are)) #((It's just that everyone else was able to find companionship somewhere eventually (be it thru Luffy or otherwise) but Croc didn't)) #There's so many options and ideas on what could've happened we could stay here all day #Regardless of what it is- I'm sure Something Happened. Just gotta wait for Oda to tell us what #Asks

[tricksterlatte]

It always makes me sad whenever stories with hopeful messages or lighthearted moments are sometimes dismissed as unintelligent or weaker than tragedies. Isn't joy and hope what makes a dark journey worthwhile? Not every story needs an unhappy ending to serve as a lesson.

I will forever be a fan of stories that say hey, maybe the world is a rough place, and it will always be this way, but you can make a difference with the people who matter to you. Even if no one else will know, even if no one else will remember, the ones you loved, and who loved you in return, will remember. People who are holding onto you, even at the end of everything else. People who remind you that new beginnings are born from the ashes.

My favorite stories will always end with love, hope, and the sun rising on the horizon after hell and high waters. The world can be so cruel, but we can choose not to be as individuals. Joy is as human as anger and sorrow. Joy is what we reach for when we are at our lowest, whether we realize it or not. We want what was lost back. I love stories where the characters reach the light at the end of the tunnel, emerge on the other side, and are allowed to heal. Even if they’ve done bad things, even if they aren’t perfect, isn’t that true of all of us?

#Parker says things #writing stuff #I’ve been going through some big changes this year and honestly every year up til this point #I’m tired. but I’m healing. I like writing about similar #I’m damaged. I’m flawed. I’m a little broken. but I can still be good #I can still seek light after everything that’s happened #this time last year I was writing out of desperation. putting something out there in case I didn’t make it #but I made it. I’m still here. even if I flubbed along the way #i spent a lot of time hating the person I was this time last year? now I just want to hug him #he’s gonna be okay. kinda funny the stuff I wrote to stay alive led me to someone who changed my life for the better #and I changed for the better too? special thanks to my clown frogs and my Kanonno squad #I don’t talk about stuff and idk if you guys are seeing this but just know you mean a lot to me #it’s late and I’m rambling but reading and writing about light in the darkness led me to my own light #so I’m going to keep at it #thank you especially to Nyx. don’t know where I’d be without you but I love you so much #tricksterlatte writes #this is sentimental but I don’t care #expanded version of a post from bird app

[dystopiagnome]

idk about anyone else but I would love to see any and all anaroceit content you are okay with posting <3

signed,

the roceit anon from a little while ago

:0 roceit anon, my beloved.

Anyways permission from one is permission to post!

#anaroceit #anxceit #roceit #tss janus #tss Roman #tss Virgil #every time an anon becomes reoccurring I imagine the guest star cheering happens #like woah!!!!! You come back to the show!!!!! #Holy fuck!!!! #🥳🎊🎉🎊🎉 #also also also quick explanations! #actually I tried to explain and got embarrassed #BTW THE NOTES GET EMBARRASSING I FORGOT I ACTUALLY LOVE THEM WHEN I STARTED WRITING AND WROTE TOO MUCH deleted more for my dignity #I love my partners and I think they’re cute and I love them and they do these cute little things they make wanna die #Dear beloved Roman kinnie hyperfixates and he’s gone never to be seen again but he goes at it with such passion that he tricks you into #two days straight of only ninja turtles but it’s okay because he’s super into it and living for it #the way that man can love one thing so hard for so long #it’s impressive #so that’s what that last one is #the middle one is less emotional but like you know how in cartoons a character kisses another in passing and the one #who got kissed turns bright red with a dopey smile and hearts leak out of them as they just passively start to follow the other #looney tunes type shit #kinda that except I’m not very keen on PDA so it caught me off guard and this bitch really just let me melt in front of our friends #anyways I’m absolutely enamored by them but apple pie I got an image #I’d like to get used to that if possible but don’t read into that #I’m a little more hesitant to discus that one since I know they read my tags #can’t show weakness to their face they’ll know how to take me down </3 #first one is just we lose custody on weekends and forget until we miss him (very quickly embarrassingly fast)

[willowser]

honestly if i had a bigger brain, i would write an entire android shouto fic

#I JUST HAVE SO MANY SCENES IN MY HEAD #you fix his faceplate but cant get him a better eye so he just as this neon blue light #he's always saying things like 'my mother used to read to me when i was young' #and you're always like 'you don't have a mother. you were never young.' #bc you've spent your whole life afraid of machines and how overlord-esque corporations have used them to implement their beliefs #they've taken away so many jobs they are unfeeling they are ruthless they are judge jury and executioner #they're given more power for the sake of being morally grey but they're really just EMOTIONLESS BEINGS THAT SHOULDN’T MAKE CERTAIN DECISION #and then you find him 🥺 #and at first you want to sell him and make a quick buck but his face is all fucked up and then he starts TALKING #telling you he can feel pain and sadness and love #and you're like !!!!! no you cant !!!!!!!!! #and then someone tries to bother you in some bar and shouto smashes his face in — literally smashes HIS FACE IN — #and then someone tries to stab you and he moves in the way and takes it and HE BLEEDS AND HE CRIES AJFHSIAKALAL #AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT TO THINK !!!!!!! #WAAAAHHHHH #but it would be so in depth i couldn’t do it justice honestly akfbsjakqk #GOD i wrote too much in these tags #✿ willow writes #✿ shut up willow #✿ thoughts: shouto #✿ theme: android shouto

[feline-evil]

Dick or no dick confirmation Pickles was always going to be trans to me anyways; if he's swingin' somethin that's phallo babes, if he's not then his t-dick fat. What's not to get.

#metalocalypse #jay talkin #I'm sorry they wrote that awful gross little man far too likeable and relatable to on a trans level #for me not to hoot and holler and cheer for the trans pickles agenda #changes nothing about his character arc or any of the show anyone is capable of being the kind of person he is #don't make the mistake of thinking thats exclusive to cis men #his transness wouldnt change that #only adds on an extra layer to him that i think works fantastically. #Listen that dude was rejected by his family driven to drink and drugs young to escape that ran away to be in a band #is called fucking Pickles of all things and refuses to tell anyone his real last name; #over the span of four seasons and two movies he slowly starts to learn to be for others what he never had #he becomes more caring more supportive #it's not a stretch to say he undoes some of the toxic masculinity he's been keeping himself shielded behind #and learns how to be a kinder man. #all of which have no contradictions with him being trans! #In fact it doesn't take much extra thought to find ways a lot of this can line up with some trans masculine experiences #i mean. Did no one else have a younger phase where they swung as far as they could into crass rude and uncaring ways #to try and assert their masculinity only to grow and realise that you can be a man and be more caring. #Did no one else have father issues. 1 800 come on now i know those are both shared experiences a lot of us have had LOL. #at the end of the day this show aired nearly 20 years ago and is finished. we're not getting more of it #so nothing is altered nor changed if pickles is canonically trans or not ok. its fine #i mean hell i dont even need canon confirmation hes trans to me and thats all i care abt #but i think if yr getting suuuuuper weird abt needing him not to be canonically trans you have some issues #and bio essentialist ideals of gender if you think only a cis man can act like he does #again. anyone can be like that. its not exclusive. him being trans would not change him in any way shape or form lol #AND ALSO GODDDUUUGH for once i love getting to see a guy pushing 50 whos depicted as trans #do you have any idea how dire and barren it is out here. we never get to see a trans guy older than 30 and whos not a pristine model #I WANT MORE OLD SHLUBBY SHITHEAD TRANS GUYS IN MEDIA

[compacflt]

Fully support your desire to cut down on the extras as they're already so long, but as someone who was also looking forward to the sickfic section and is sad to hear it's been taken out, I will simply have to ask you about it instead! First off the discussion of home in the snippet you shared was delicious - when do you think Mav started thinking of the house as 'their' home? And Ice taking Mav to the hospital has a lot of crunch there around how they're seen and how they act in public, especially if Ice was worried and Mav was kind of out of it. Do you think Ice would have taken Mav in to the hospital if he'd really been spiking a fever and decided he needed it? How would he explain themselves? And I suppose a separate, related question: who are their official next of kin/emergency contacts?

the reason i got rid of the sickfic is cause all those questions were answered better elsewhere in the extras ❤️

i was kind of annoyed that the house inconsistently appears to be the property of whomever the plot calls for at the moment -> another reason to cut the sickfic

Yes Ice would take mav to the hospital. it happens elsewhere LOL, maverick is extremely incident-prone

obviously a fun surfing injury with friends != the sickfic’s ice taking “a friend” to the hospital in the middle of the night for dangerous levels of illness-related dehydration… implies familiarity, intimacy above everyone else… the hospital staff would probably assume they’re together, yes, & i don’t think ice would challenge that at all, especially if he had to make sure all the paperwork was filled out right. just not worth the effort. “is there anyone else we should call for mr mitchell?” / “Um no. Just me.” Yeah i took him to the hospital at 4am bc i love him and im worried about him what r u gonna do about it 🤨 violate his hipaa rights? It’s 2009 gay people exist grow up🙄 hospital staff isn’t gonna tell anyone, so who cares

(Luckily for ice in the sickfic he didn’t have to take mav to the hospital)

the point of the sickfic was to establish a precedent for one of them voluntarily taking care of the other who is unable to take care of himself, to set up the parallel of maverick taking care of Ice when he Really gets capital-s Sick. but then i still can’t bring myself to write ice actually being capital-s Sick because i have some weird neurosis where i simply dislike thinking about ice (powerful guy) being helpless or incapacitated or, um, dead. so the mav-sickfic isn’t really relevant anymore because i haven’t written (and never plan on writing, besides that one half-assed one-shot) the corollary ice-sickfic. so the sickfic became the Nixed-fic ❌

And according to this wip wednesday snippet, they are each other’s emergency contacts. don’t ask me how that works or how they figured that out, idk. some stuff you do have to talk about for logistics purposes i guess. which is kind of the point of all the house-related/money-related discussions I’ve written throughout my fics—they Have to talk about the logistics because that’s real life. But they don’t INTERPRET those logistics or assign them a normative value.

for instance debriefing presents (maverick’s) death & taxes as the only two things that ever get them to actually talk to each other lol. logistics become a vessel through which they can talk about their situation without actually talking about it. The state of being each others emergency contacts might be a death-and-taxes discussion—acknowledging permanence without acknowledging permanence

#so is wearing protection (or not) during sex! #i still have a hard time identifying the stakes in this fic that i wrote on a whim sometimes #is it just not saying i love you? or is it everything that goes along with saying i love you? #bc really the way ive written them they are baaaasically married in the 90s #which is obviously a huge criticism that i keep leveling at myself: no it does not make sense for them to buy a house!!! for instance. #would it make sense for them to be each others next of kin either? idk! #all of this predicated on me not knowing the legal ramifications of next of kinship or homeownership and because it’s fanfiction not being #interested enough to research it #i say this all the time but this is one of those areas where i know if i were older/had lived longer my writing would just be better #idk if they would be each others next of kin but OTOH idk who else they would ask to do it! #man i wish i had infinite tags i actually have so much more to say #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #asks #edts notes #need the icemav fanfic where ice & mav try to figure out their tricare benefits #thank you for the ask! #some sections just aren’t the right vibe too #like me & the sickfic just did not vibe with one another

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

really feeling that moon knight 'random bullshit go' meme as i'm writing this essay

#i know i complained about the 1k word limit on my essay last quarter but. five pages is killing me #ive actually still got way too much to say but idk if im saying it in a way that makes even remotely any sense #i just wrote 'the folly of experience from a distance' like. girlie what the FUCK are you talking about #also you are writing WAY too much for this first paragraph how is it 1.5 pages