#I need to see them duke it out (pun intended)

[urlocal-cryptid7]

Petition for Thomas to make the next sanders sides episode just 37 minutes of Virgil and Janus fist fighting

#I know it’s not possible but shush #I need to see them duke it out (pun intended) #sanders sides #thomas sanders #tss #ts sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders

[gay-dorito-dust]

Would they or would they not catch you…

Dick: yes. 100% yes but he’s -no pun intended- a little bit of a teasing dick about it.

He will catch you but then act as though he’s going to drop you by loosening his grip, making you scream out of surprise and cling onto him tighter, all the while beaming that bright and beautiful smile of his as though he wasn’t about to willingly let you fall flat on your ass on multiple occasions.

‘I fucking hate you!’ You whined, smacking Dick on the bicep.

‘Oh do you now?’ Dick inquires as he slowly begins to losses his grip on you, smirking.

‘Did I say hate you? I meant love you, a lot! Please don’t drop me.’ You cried as you tightened your grip on his neck whilst struggling to keep your feet from touching the floor. ‘Awww I love you too gorgeous.’ Dick coos as he pressed kisses into your face as you could only glare at the cheeky bastard.

You hate him sometimes but you weren’t going to complain about the affection you were being given. So you guess you’ll suffer for now.

Side note: he might even try and see if you can catch him. 💀

Jason: He will catch you but makes it a big deal whenever he can. He loves holding you in his arms.

He could keep you in his arms forever if he could but knew that he can’t, so he settles for going about his day carrying you throughout the apartment instead.

‘You can put down any day now.’ You’d tell him but that only makes Jason tighten his grip on you as he moved in his makeshift library for a book to read.

‘No.’ He simply replied, scouring the many book titles in front of him in the hopes that one might speak to him. You pout. ‘What do you mean no?’ Jason then looks at you and says. ‘No means no. As in no I will not put you down because I do as I like and will not be told otherwise, so the cutie currently in my arms has to deal with it.’ He then smiles as he presses a kiss to your forehead before looking back towards the bookshelves.

You end up falling asleep in his arms and Jason couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were, even if you did look like the living dead.

Damian: says no but will in fact catch you without hesitation.

However if you do try to tease him about it, then he will drop you without a second thought. ‘You can catch yourself next time.’ He would say as he walks away, leaving you with a bruised ass. Titus -who saw the whole thing- would come up to you to make sure you weren’t genuinely hurt and encourage you to get up by nudging you with his head.

Don’t test him because he will do it and then act like the whole thing didn’t happen if you were to bring it up.

‘Dick.’ You’d say as you stood up.

‘I heard that.’ He’d call back, his voice echoing off the walls. ‘You were meant to.’ You reply. ‘And at least Titus came to check up on me to see if I wasn’t hurt.’ You’d add while scratching Titus behind the ear.

Needless to say you were more cautious when choosing Damian to catch you. However he does apologise for dropping you on your ass by gifting you something he himself drew by hand; He secretly doesn’t like it when you’re upset with him and will do anything to rectify it.

What a sweetheart.

Bruce: he’s too use to you pulling this type of shit that it’s basically muscle memory for him to catch you as you’re running towards him, all with a straight face mind you.

Be grateful because he risked a much needed bowl of Mulligatawny soup just to catch you in his arms, but then again the kisses you bombard his cheek is more than reward enough, a small almost missable smile appears on his lips as he then proceeds to carry you for the rest of the day as “punishment.”

( this only occurs when Bruce is feeling particularly affectionate or playful)

Much to your batkids -Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Cass and Steph- dismay. They’d want to use this as blackmail, but they know that it will backfire as you’ll probably hang the photo on a wall somewhere in the manor, reminding them of how disgustingly their parents can be when given the opportunity.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc fluff #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd fanfiction #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #nightwing x you #nightwing fluff

[t4tmagicians]

"Am I too dark?" Dick asks, at age eight. He's in the first design of what will be his Robin costume, it's barely more than his old circus leotard with a cape stitched onto the shoulders.

Bruce pauses, his hands full of rough, thick fabric. Dick is looking at the mirror they dragged down to the Cave together - it's really starting to look like somewhere lived in, instead of a messy collection of scaffolding and computer screens. He's not glaring at his reflection like he's displeased, it's a softer, almost tired looking expression.

"Too dark for what?" He asks, because he has an idea, but Alfred had reminded him that Dick was struggling with direct communication and Bruce would need to tempt out his feelings.

"To be rich. Cause I am now, kinda." Dick says, like it's obvious. He's giving Bruce a confused look, or at least, he might be. His eyebrows hadn't fully grown in yet, and it was a little hard to figure out his expressions.

"No." Bruce says, pulling a row of stitches tighter. "You're not too dark. You don't look much darker than me." He's a bit unsure on the R emblem on the chest, but Dick had been very insistent on it.

"It's different. I don't -" He makes a frustrated sound. "I don't know why I'm dark. I look like you, but wrong." He says simply, and runs a finger down his nose, frowning.

"You're not wrong." Bruce says, because it's true, and it's the only thing he can think of. "Not for how you look."

"I'm hungry. Can we ask Alfred for pancakes?" Dick says, and that conversation is over.

.

"Chavvi." Dick, age ten, says quietly, as Bruce runs a brush through his dark curls.

"Chavy?" Bruce repeats, wincing as he slowly unpicks a knot with his hands - his hair was getting long now, he might want to suggest a haircut soon.

"You're saying it wrong." He corrects. "Chavvi. It's what mom called me. I think it means kid." He wiggles in the too big chair, and Bruce has to hold his head still to make sure he doesn't accidentally rip a chunk of hair out.

"Chavvi. Okay." Bruce says, and after a moment of hesitation, he adds, "My mom called me lovebug."

Dick snorts. "Lovebug. That's silly."

"Yeah," Bruce looks up at the portrait of his mother and father hanging over the fireplace, and doesn't resist the small smile on his face. "It is silly."

.

"Are you sure?" Stephanie Brown, age fourteen, asks in hushed tones. She's pulling her hair back from her face, and staring at the old mirror in the Batcave that had been there for nearly a decade.

"I can see it." Dick, age twenty, says, leaning over her shoulder. "It's in the cheekbones. See?" He pokes his own, before poking Stephanie's until she giggles, and Bruce has to remind them to get ready for their mission.

"Come on, chavvi." Dick says, ushering Stephanie along. Bruce makes an additional note to Steph's file that night - ethnicity, white (British-Irish) and roma.

.

"Am I too dark for you?" Damian, age ten, snaps, and it's like Bruce is twenty years younger, and the Batcave was only a tiny corner of what it was now, and Bruce wasn't sure how to love a son.

"No." He says, firmly. Because Damian isn't. Later, Dick, age twenty-two, is found fussing over Damian's skin, claiming to care about his scars and their healing alone, but Bruce can see the small, eight year old boy inside of him stood at a mirror and asking, am I too dark?, in every soft swipe of a thumb of Damian's warm brown skin.

.

Duke, age sixteen, takes to the family quickly. Dick goes to ruffle his hair, before realising it's too short. He settles for an awkward headpat instead, which makes Tim laugh.

After a few night shifts, Duke looks at a mirror, and grimaces. "Am I getting paler?"

"Comes with the territory." Stephanie, age eighteen, explains. "I promise, I'm not this white naturally."

It's true, Stephanie browns - pun not intended - easily in the sun.

"Gross." Duke says, and Dick and Stephanie nod in agreement.

.

Summer is sweltering, and Dick is darker than ever. He looks in a mirror, and to Bruce, and smiles brightly. "We need to get you a tan, old man. You're too pale."

"I could stand to be a little darker." He agrees, and he feels a little more full inside.

#pushing my romani steph agenda #dc #dick grayson #nightwing #romani #romani character #romani dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc fic #damian wayne #duke thomas

[actual-changeling]

In a pervious post you said "the implications throughout the show that Crowley was a pretty powerful and high-ranking angel, and is still one of the most powerful demons". Where/what are those, exactly? How high are we talking, because I don't think the opposing ranks are equal to one another. Like, if Crowley had been an Archangel he isn't an Archdemon now, right?

Hell has a completely different kind of command structure, yes!

It seems to be wayyy more democratic for one, and has varying kinds and levels of ruling authorities. They have proper trials and rules, contracts to sign, several demons working on earth, a multitude of positions of employment (for lack of better words), provide living spaces for their earthly representatives, and overall function, while heaven seems to have—well, none of those things.

Figuring out a demon's rank is—in my opinion—pretty easy because of that.

Crowley makes a comment about bottom of the barrel demons, we see different jobs and how respected they are (e.g. Furfur being stuck in admissions, which is more of a grunt job, while anyone in temptations is in a more desirable position pun intended), and if we make some smart guesstimations, we can probably figure out the job & relative rank of any demon we're introduced to.

So—where does Crowley fall?

His position in heaven as the Starmaker may or may not have had an influence on his position after the fall, but we do know that he had and still has strong miracle powers. Let's take a look at the tasks hell assigned him:

a) the Serpent of Eden and Original Tempter

b) a long-term and (assumedly) one of the main representatives on earth

c) he's not just in Temptations, he works on a global scale and regularly impresses his bosses back in hell

d) he was tasked with helping Satan win a bet against God by taking care of Job's property, house, and family

e) Satan personally chose him to deliver the Antichrist and start Armageddon, which is THE job in the history of heaven & hell.

Hastur and Ligur are also explicitly jealous of the kind of jobs Crowley gets to perform, and while there is a general 'he's gone native' sentiment, they leave him alone as long as he does his job and doesn't break the rules in a way that fucks with hell's plans.

In season 1, we are told that Crowley is partly as powerful as he is because he has an imagination, which allows him to navigate the burning M25 while Hastur gets discorporated. When hell is told about the 25 Lazarii miracle that was performed, Crowley is seen as a viable candidate for either having done it himself or working with whoever did it.

Beelzebub also decides—for good reason—that if ze wants to find Gabriel, ze'll need his help:

They hold a trial when they could have just killed him like Hastur melting the Usher to test the holy water, but because of his rank Crowley gets a (more or less) fair trial. If you think about it, deciding he's guilty and then giving him the same kind of punishment he used to melt Ligur is actually not too bad of a treatment; lower demons, on the other hand, are punished on the daily without as much as a blink.

Crowley solves the mess in the bookshop, Beez and Dagon listen to him when he talks and explains, they see him as someone almost equal to them. It is believable to Hastur that Crowley is involved with the Dark Council and capable of recommending him for a promotion.

If Crowley had been a 'better' and more ambitious demon, he probably could have been a Duke of Hell even before Job. He can stop time, he can stop Satan himself in his tracks, and he is respected by both heaven and hell—so whatever you want to call his rank/job/position, it is undoubtedly one of high regard and power.

#alex answers asks #alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #good omens meta #alex's meta minisodes

[wizard-hubris]

The Power of Love Does Not Exceed 25 Lazarii

Okay but let’s talk about the miracle.The 25 Lazarii if-they-work-together-they’re-as-strong-as-the-strongest-archangels miracle. And while I do have thoughts on the aspect of them being able to perform such a powerful miracle together (well, not thoughts as such yet. mostly it’s still just incoherent flailing and feelings), that’s not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about why the miracle has to be so strong in order to work.

The miracle’s goal is to hide Gabriel or rather, more correctly, to keep angels and demons from recognising Gabriel’s body. Because without his memory, his angelic essence and powers, they cannot locate him. They would only be able to see him and go “Wait a minute, that new guy at Aziraphale’s shop does look a lot like the missing archangel, that seems suspicious.”

So how does it work? Not what does it do, but how? It’s supposed to be half a miracle because it is both heavenly and hellish. (Which, actually, begs a very interesting question: does Heaven only register Aziraphale’s half? As in, only Aziraphale’s miracle is 25 Lazarii and Crowley’s is the additional opposite of...whatever Hell would measure demonic powers in if it did? Sodom and Gomorrahs? Spanish Inquisitions? Or is it their combined efforts that put out the 25 Lazarii because even the two halves get combined into one full miracle?) Aziraphale contributes half and Crowley contributes half. With Crowley hiding Gabriel from angels and Aziraphale hiding Gabriel from demons. Now, whether we work under the assumption, that Heaven picks up the strength of the entire effect or just of Aziraphale’s half, that is still ridiculously powerful.

So why does it need to be that powerful? To stop people from recognising Gabriel. Especially those who are looking for him.

But who is actually looking for Gabriel? Heaven and Hell, we established that. But did we? Because I’d like to be more concrete. Out of the two sides, Upstairs seems more - pardon the pun - hell-bent on finding Gabriel to deal with him as intended. In Hell, only really Shax is seen working hard on looking for Gabriel. And why does Shax look for Gabriel? Because Beelzebub gave the order. We only see the other dukes of Hell very briefly at the end, and they do not seem particularly invested in “let’s claim Gabriel as a present for Satan” beyond his connection to Beelzebub’s betrayal of Hell. Beelzebub is the only leader in Hell truly invested in finding Gabriel. And in retrospect, we understand why. Beelzebub doesn’t want to find Gabriel for Hell but for themself. They want to find Gabriel because the two of them want to be together.

The miracle has to be strong enough to stop Beelzebub from finding Gabriel. But Beelzebub and Gabriel love each other.

What is the power of love? Well, apparently it is just short of 25 people coming back from the dead (and not in a Zombie way). Or, in other words: it takes 25 Lazarii miracles for a demon to not recognise an angel they love.

Who’s to say if that information might not become relevant ever again.

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens spoilers #go2 spoilers #good omens meta #gabriel #beelzebub #the 25 lazarii miracle #and yes i am implying what you think i'm implying in that last sentence #i don't think it's LIKELY but i do think it's a possibility - for really angsty fic if nothing else #i know mindwiped!Aziraphale is a fanfic staple so why not extend our minds :)

[muriel-not-the-dim-one]

From the Journal of Muriel, 37th Scrivener, Assistant Bookshop Keeper to Mr. A Z Fell Entry #2

I walked outside to sweep the walk as I closed the bookshop and found a pair of sunglasses and a “cd” as Maggie called it in the gutter.

She didn’t really like them, she preferred “records”.

She said Mr. Fell didn’t have anything in his shop to play the “cd”.

She gave me a “record” that was the same name as the “cd”.

I put it on Mr. Fell’s player…………..and put the sunglasses on………..

Only love can make it rain

The way the beach is kissed by the sea

Only love can make it rain

Like the sweat of love birds laying in the fields

Only love can bring the rain

That makes you yearn to the sky

Only love can bring the rain

That falls like tears from on high

On the dry and dusty road

The nights we spend apart alone

I need to get back home to cool, cool rain

I can't sleep and I lay and I think

The night is hot and black as ink

Ooh God, I need a drink of of cool, cool rain

Love, reign o'er me

Rain o'er me, over me, o'er me, oh

Love reign o'er me

Love

Shax was now a Duke of Hell, Furfur was promoted as well, and they were busy! They all knew Heaven was planning one hell of a coup (no pun intended) and with Aziraphale running Heaven, at first they thought it would be an easy defeat. But the back channels (that obviously doesn’t exist) was burning up with rumors. Aziraphale was thought to be coming to Hell, himself, to fight the demons. No Angel, Archangel or not had EVER come to Hell to start a war. Even when Aziraphale used his halo, it was to protect the humans and Jim/Gabriel. Now the rumor was, he would destroy the humans just as uncaring as he would kill the demons. There was definitely a change in Heaven.

If you asked any demon about Crowley, they would just look at you and walk away. They had been warned. He did not want his name mentioned. AT ALL. He refused the title Grand Duke of Hell and all others they wanted to bestow. After Beelzebub and Gabriel left, he was never questioned about his involvement. Even Hell knew not to mess with Crowley.

He was seen time to time in different places. A farm in Edinburg, with a human that was always properly good. In Rome wandering the ruins. Feeding frozen peas to ducks. Driving his Bentley through London at breakneck speed.

Drinking Talisker at a pub, a full glass of sherry across from him, always untouched. Screaming and railing at the heavens drunk out of his mind, never getting answers, until finally falling into a tortured slumber that he hoped he never awoke from.

He thought of going to Soho to see how Maggie and Nina were. To see how Muriel, that sweet Angel that Metatron called dim, was getting on in the bookshop. The Metatron, oh how he hated that bastard. He knew everyone in Hell and there was no one as evil as that bastard. But he just couldn’t bring himself to go there. The pain more than he could bear.

He drank to excess constantly. It was the only way to get the memories to quiet in his head. The beautiful white-haired Angel torturing both his waking hours and allowing no sleep devoid of painful memories.

The touch of his hand, accidentally brushing against his. The deliberate caress of Aziraphales hand on his chest, around his waist. The taste of his Angel on his lips. He felt Aziraphale press into him, felt him return his kiss, if only for a moment.

He had watched Aziraphales face when he bared his soul to him. The confusion, the fright. He kept slightly shaking his head no, but Crowley kept going. He had to get it out, had to tell him. He couldn’t let him leave. They couldn’t take him. Not now. Not when Aziraphale finally, fully grasped the grey area. Whatever that son of a bitch said to him changed everything.

He looked up from the Bentley steering wheel. He was in Soho. The Bentley had parked itself. Right here. Right in front. The shades were pulled, the muted light coming through. His chest felt like cement, like he would never catch his breath again. His fingers reached for the Bentley keys. He needed to leave. Now.

He hadn’t felt like this since Satan had come for Adam. The look on Aziraphales face, knowing he had to stop time, if only for a moment. Why didn’t he do that when he kissed Aziraphale? Just a moment in time.

There were many moments he wished he would have stopped time. Breakfast at the Ritz, drunken nights at Aziraphales, laughing until Aziraphale cried and begged him to stop talking about those damn unicorns and his fascination with ducks. The open look of love on Aziraphales face so many times.

The night he asked Aziraphale to stay over after the bookshop burned. Aziraphale was worried, he could tell by his face, his hands. Crowley physically hurt when watching Aziraphale wring his hands.

They got on the bus, that would take them to London. Crowley, never hesitating, took Aziraphale’s hand in his. “I won’t let you fall Angel.”

“We need to come up with a plan. Agnes has never been wrong Angel, you told me so yourself.” They decided swapping bodies was the best idea, especially since Agnes said to “choose” their faces wisely.

After swapping bodies and Crowley laughing at Aziraphale for complaining the pants were too tight, he realized why Aziraphale loved his clothes. They were so soft, so very comfortable (except for that damn tartan). Perhaps it was just because they had been against Aziraphale just seconds before they were next to his skin.

Between the wine, the day they had gone through and not being able to look at Aziraphales beautiful face, only his own looking back at him, he needed some sleep. If only for a couple of hours. He told Aziraphale he could have the bed and he would rest in the chair. Two reasons for this. He needed Aziraphale to be comfortable and he need to be on guard to protect him should any of eithers lot come looking for them.

Aziraphale refused to take Crowleys bed.

“No, I’ll be fine in the chair. You need to rest Crowley,” Aziraphale softly said.

“Then I’ll curl up here on the desk Angel”, Crowley almost cooed at him, “I’m not leaving you.”

Crowley decided to do something that could completely blow up in his face. But he couldn’t stop himself. He spread Aziraphales wings. Aziraphales eyes opened wide. He had no idea his wings were so beautiful. The only wings he looked on as beautiful were Crowleys. The black so deep and rich it was almost the Indigo of Crowleys nebula. The grey and silver streaks glittering.

Aziraphale stood and spread Crowleys wings wide, the smile on his face, or Crowleys face, as bright and beautiful as his own.

They took a tentative step towards one another.

“Angel”, the sound softly, lovingly hanging in the room.

“Crowley”, the soft, lustful need taking both their breaths.

Their wings wrapped around each other as if perfectly made to fit together. They caressed and stroked each other’s wings, whispered promises into each other’s ears. Promising to always be there, no matter what. Lost themselves in each other’s eyes, and as angels can, floated inches above the floor, wrapped in love.

The tears burned his cheeks. Why, since he was a demon, did he still have holy water for tears? He supposed it was for this purpose. To torture him. He turned the key in the Bentley but it refused to start.

“Come on, I know what you’re doing.”He tried again, but the Bentley refused.“Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!” Even the Bentley was working against him. He sighed and opened the door. May as well get this over with now, he thought, his glasses and a cd falling into the gutter.

Crowley fell to his knees, the memory crushing him. I can’t. I. Just. Can’t. Breathe.

I had to pull the sunglasses off. I couldn’t breathe anymore, even though I knew I didn’t need to. 💔

#crowley #good omens #aziraphale #muriel #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #Muriel’s journal entry 2 #muriel assistant bookshop keeper #Spotify #Youtube

[thyandrawrites]

This may be a random question but have you ever thought about how quirks play a part in a lot industries or society in other countries?

I like to think about this a lot and it makes me wish that in the main story they would cover how the current system impacts a lot of things in the world

Idk if what I'm saying makes sense because I struggle with English a lot

Btw, I really like reading your metas because they help me think a lot deeper about things I may not have payed attention to in the manga

Thank you for reaching out even if you struggle with the language 💙 Your english is fine!

To answer you, yes, I'm very curious about other countries! I wonder if they all have quirk regulations laws in place, or if Japan is an outlier. We know that in Japan hero licenses became a solution to regulate and contain public quirk use and put a stop to vigilantism, but I wonder how different that was for other countries. Do all nations have a history of struggling to keep pace with the rise of quirks? Did all of them adapt with the same strict and inflexible separation between personal use and a state-sanctioned mandate to violence in the name of public safety?

I think it's quite peculiar that quirks, which are originally just body functions, become something that can be commodified and weaponized by the government if "worthy" enough. We know that other nations have heroes too, but I'm curious to see if there too heroism is the only viable path for those purely seeking to use their powers legally. Even in Japan, we know that individuals like that exist. Gran Torino for example got a license because he had personal business to address, and that was the only way to use his quirk legally.

I think Ochako raised an interesting point about how her quirk would be pretty useful in helping her parents' construction business stay afloat (pun fully intended lol). I like to think that countries that invested in that sense do exist. After all, without the HPSC as a corrupted institution only seeking to control society for personal interest, I think there would be no need to limit licensed quirk use to heroes alone. You could extend specialized licenses or permits for other fields, or even forego licenses altogether and only issue sanctions for misuse. Without heroism as the sole pump sucking all the benefits from the monopolization of quirks, we could even have stuff like the quirks Olympics, instead of watching teenagers duke it out during the UA's sport festival.

There are so many possibilities. It would've been interesting to see a glimpse of other societies

#ali replies #bnha

[ohwhoopsok]

I posted 1,250 times in 2022

That's 524 more posts than 2021!

18 posts created (1%)

1,232 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@multiplelizards

@digitalmeowmix

@silver9mm

@contemplativepancakes

@zmediaoutlet

I tagged 295 of my posts in 2022

#wincest - 13 posts

#fic recs - 8 posts

#the witcher - 6 posts

#whoops' whining - 6 posts

#whoops' words - 6 posts

#boost! - 5 posts

#my writing - 5 posts

#op your mind... - 3 posts

#^^^ - 3 posts

#tag game - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#….i mean sam did get to be the car for a little while like there was one brief shining moment where he was everything dean loved at once

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

🦚 geraskier fic rec 🐺

Better Than The Memory by objectlesson (E)

Warnings:

Squick and possible consent issues re: clothing?? Idk.

Author’s Summary:

Sure, Geralt was muscley and had beautiful, shapely, irritatingly symmetrical lips and an ass shaped by the hands of the gods themselves but—those features alone have never been enough to do it for Jaskier. He’s not a ruffian. He needs a little more than natural strength, he needs effort. It shouldn’t matter that Geralt is gifted in certain areas because he bathes once a week maybe if they’re lucky and lives in his armor and kisses his horse on the mouth and is otherwise a truly disgusting human. Or not human. A truly disgusting witcher.

So it’s absurd and quite shocking, really, when Jaskier starts to get hard every time he can smell Geralt of Rivia’s sweat.

Whoops’ words:

So. I’m working on a fic that involves some sweat/pit/stink kink, right? And I thought to myself hmm lets see what that ao3 tag is like, real casual, just out of curiosity...... 👀💦 Listen to me, listen-- I wasn’t even remotely prepared for this?? This shit is so hot, I’m embarrassed in my office by myself.

Jaskier’s just so fucking desperately turned on the whole way through and disgusted by how horned up he is about Geralt being fucking gross and well fuck me dude I guess I feel that on a newly awoken personal level?

And of course Geralt can smell that. I love fics where Geralt knows what’s up all along and just doesn’t say anything until the climax, no pun intended. And woof what a climax it is, because besides being so ungodly hot, there’s a few emotional lines that made me just--get up and walk in a circle for a second.

This fic is like 2 years old and I’m not sure she even writes for the witcher anymore, but boy howdy if you’re into raunch, give this a look. ⭐

4 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

#4

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Hey! @resident-lambert-hoe tagged me! How dare you call me out like this in my own home!!

Just kidding, sure, let’s play! 💕 For my own sake, only going to count the ones that are actually in some way “in-progress”, as in I have opened them recently and still tend to them, because… I got folders full of bunnies and wildflowers I’m letting grow wild until I figure out if they need to be cleaned up and presented to the world wild web. 😅

…This was almost embarrassing to type out lmfao, the Fandom Trumps Hate fics get such nice, organized titles and then just jdfiasdlfasj BUT I only count 15 truly in progress WIPS. Plus another FTH fic once I get the prompt that will take spot #3, but I digress...

In order of most recent edits!! (with ships in parentheses)

1.      SPN - FTH2022 - vaderlingo - WOK (Wincestiel)

2.      AFTG - FTH2022- bri - AD (Andriel)

3.      RE8 TD SCL (Duke/Reader)

4.      TW ves om (Vesemir/Jaskier)

5.      TW Soft As Witchers (new part! Jask/Lambert + Jask/Geralt, Jask/Eskel)

6.      TW Stagger (Jaskier/Letho)

7.      TW Snake Charming (Jaskier/Letho +or/ Gaetan, tbd)

8.      AFTG Crumb Snatchers (new part! Fox Found Family)

9.      TW Snakelings (Jaskier/Letho)

10.   Stanford Open Door Policy (Dead Dove Warning: Lucifer/Sam, eventual Dean/Sam)

11.   RT Siren Head (RPF: gen? tbd, Fiona & The Twins)

12.   RT 67 (RPF: 🙂🧨)

13.   LADS FIGHTING (RPF: poly Fakes)

14.   SPN AdamSam (on the tin)

15.   Hand Crafted (Destiel, eventual Destiel/Sam/Meg)

If you read this far and want to play, this is me tagging you, BUT uhhhhhh

@tapnbluesnlindyhopdancer @alwaysthrowsscissors @samanddeaninpanties

@mumble--bee @wrenseroticlibrary @silver9mm would y’all like to play? 🤗

5 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

#3

Pausing to hop on the fandom celebration train before I dive headfirst into NaNoWriMo season!

👏🏾 Leave a kudos on a fic (witcher - geraskier)

well-rounded by PenAndInkPrincess is a great example of the cutagens tag, dude, it’s about how Geralt’s cat eyes give away when he likes things, including a certain bard.

👏🏾 reblog an art post (supernatural) I’m cheating bc I’ve shared this before, but the boy king deserves to be seen twice, so feast your eyes again.

👏🏾 message a creator (all kinds of shit bc he’s talented) Done via DM!

👏🏾 make a rec post (witcher - geraskier) SO, I wasn’t sure how to go about this one but objectlesson wrote a fic so good it stressed me out this afternoon, so I made a rec post for Better Than The Memory (Rated E, squick warning)

👏🏾 reblog a fic post (supernatural - sastiel)

Right Here, Right Now by @alwaysthrowsscissors​ because I’m clearly a maniac and left it in my likes tbr but *sniffs thoroughly* YEP, STILL GOOD 🤤

👏🏾 comment on a fic (teen wolf - sterek) Went back to find At least the Road to Hell is paved, I'm not good with Stairways by lady emebalia, because I was too embarrassed to comment on a fic for a fandom I wasn’t even in BUT it’s really good and she put a lot of work into it, so frankly, she’s owed her flowers. 🌹

👏🏾 reblog an edit (911 - buddie) 911 is sorely underrepresented on my blog, but I’m a clown for a good buddie edit and this one is fantastic.

👏🏾 interact with a meta post (supernatural - wincest) I’m cheating, because used this John Finds Out about Wincest meta post @mannequin3thereckoning​ shared on her bingo BUT thing is, I love this fucking trope so much and op’s galaxy brain is wide open.

Idk if this counts as a blackout truly but it was fun, thank you for sharing the event, @thehighfiveproject​!

6 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

#2

i’m working on edits for something and i mentioned dean liking leaving hickeys and got caught up in the thought of big, flowery splotches of plum sticking out of the collar of sam’s monkey suit and he just laughs it off when someone looks at it “yeah the missus got a little carried away, it’s hard traveling for work” blah blah all while knowing good and goddamn well dean’s got on panties under his suit because loves being sam’s needy little wife i rest my case your honor

37 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

🚨Roe's Emergency Fandom Response 🚨

We all heard they shot Roe. In the spirit of leaning into anger > despair, I’m making a very informal invite to tumblr at large.

If you are a creator willing to make something as thank you gift for people who make a donation to an abortion fund or a person willing to be said donor, hear ye, hear ye.

I threw together a google form for creators whose inboxes are open to people coming to them with requests in exchange for donations to an abortion fund or other reproductive justice organization. Assuming this gains traction, potential donors can review interested creators here.

Of course, if google makes you itch, feel free to just reblog this post and share your specific details/offerings below.

This is not a formal/moderated event. It's just a repository to keep a running list of interested creators for donors to review. Specific details (what will be created, minimum/proof of donations, timeline for completion, etc.) will need to be worked out between creators and donors BEFORE the donation is made.

You can message me at any point if you’d like your response deleted from the google sheet.

And as always, you’re not hopeless.

Thank you. Even being here counts for something, so thank you, thank you.

522 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i stand by all my fic recs!!!

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Dimitrescu Daughter HCs

I thought this would only take a few minutes. I was so, so very wrong. Anyway, some of these are somewhat exclusive to my fic (Serenade), but they’ll make sense even if you haven’t read that.

Daniela:

Others have already talked about how Daniela reads a ton of romance novels, so I’m not really going to go into that very much, just saying that I agree 100%, I mean c’mon, it’s practically canon.

While she mainly sources books from her family’s library, there are a few she’s “acquired” over the years that she keeps locked away in her room. These tend to be a bit, ahem, steamier than her mother would approve of/let her read under normal circumstances.

How did she get these? Well, there has to be someone who delivers goods to Castle Dimitrescu (Duke, perhaps?), seeing as the Maidens need, like, actual food to survive. Sometimes Daniela manages to convince them to order books for her, usually just asking for books by authors she likes, or ones she’s heard maidens whispering about.

No, the delivery person does not read the book’s summaries or reviews, they have a feeling (based on titles and covers alone) that they don’t want to know.

As for her experiences with actual romance… she’s so very, very excited about it, all the time. Wants to kiss every cute Maiden she sees, and sometimes daydreams about a beautiful woman fleeing from lycans who comes to the castle for shelter, clinging to Dani for warmth and protection, and it’s love at first sight, and they kiss and kiss and right as it gets to the good part-! Someone interrupts her daydream (usually Cassandra).

However, her actual experiences are fairly limited. Sure, she has kissed Maidens, but she tends to get over excited. Like in Serenade, she starts to rush the process, and usually ends up draining her “lover” aka victim before anything more intimate happens.

She’s definitely done sexual things, just, well, not with other people. Private things. Usually during or after reading one of her special books. You get the picture.

Because of this, and her aforementioned love of romance novels, Daniela has become somewhat obsessed with the idea of her first time. She wants everything to be perfect. The setting, the timing, who she’s with… Hence her reaction in chapter 3 of Serenade. It’s not that she didn’t want to continue, just that the circumstances didn’t feel right. She’s very particular!

Favorite Music Genre: Girl goes wild for an emotional, gut-wrenching love/power ballad. The type to lie in bed and cry while listening to Hozier or Lorde (not that she can hear either of them, considering her limited music options). Doesn’t admit it, though, and mostly listens to indie pop when other people can hear. That and whatever the Maiden plays on piano ;)

Okay it feels weird to joke about her loving music I wrote, anywayyyy

Hobbies: Other than reading there’s not too much I can see her doing, really. She’d be sure to get into anything that her s/o enjoys, though, even if it’s something difficult or time-consuming. Writing is something she’d love, but it’s difficult for her to keep her focus on just one project at a time. Ideally she’d write short stories, romantic ones obvs, and have someone else proofread/edit them. For the most part she’d write within fantasy and historical setting (seeing as she’s got experience in both of those departments).

ADHD, BABY. Bigtime, seriously. Maybe this is just my adhd ass projecting, but I can’t not see her as having it. For her it mainly manifests with hyper-focusing/difficulty staying on task. It’s like a switch with those on either end, flipping back and forth every once in a while. She can spend six hours reading two different books in one sitting, but if someone just breathes too loudly it disrupts her completely. Because of this she’s somewhat prone to abandoning projects. It’s a sore subject for her, and her sisters are aware, normally only bringing it up if they’re really angry with her.

Opinions on the four lords: Thinks Heisenberg is a tool (pun intended), also thinks that he secretly reads super erotic novels. She doesn’t have any proof, though, and would never say anything about it out loud. Just makes fun of him in her head. Doesn’t actually judge him for what she thinks he reads, just judges his personality and the “need he feels to hide his secret”. Loves Donna, and low-key thinks she’s attractive. Daniela mostly bases that off the portrait she’s seen, but, like many fans, also thinks the hands are nice. The puppets don’t bother her, though she also doesn’t really care about them, other than thinking that Donna interacting with them is cute.

Opinions continued: Moreau is… uh… fish boy. Daniela thinks he’s weird, kinda gross, and hardly considers him a “real” lord. Poor boy :(  At least she doesn’t actively make fun of him?... Even if that’s only because she kinda forgets about him most of the time. As for Lady Dimitrescu, well, obviously Daniela loves her mom. The whole family is very close, and as the “youngest”, Daniela gets a lot of attention. Sometimes she thinks her mother is too strict, but at the end of the day there’s no love lost.

Bela:

Cleans up after her sisters a lot, but still nowhere near as much as any of the Maidens do. Often agrees to help with messes in exchange for blackmail material. “Oh, Daniela, what a shame you broke mother’s favorite dish… I could help, but you owe me one.” At the end of the day, though, there’s plenty she would slide.

Being the “oldest”, she’s expected to behave the best, and often feels more restricted than her sisters. Being an example is hard! Occasionally she’ll have the impulse to rebel, but this usually only manifests in scenarios like the one mentioned above, aka she’ll simply be more lenient of her siblings for a bit.

Overall far less sadistic than her sisters. Cares more about the quality of pain then the amount of it. Only ever goes overboard if someone full out threatens or hurts her family. Insults towards them still earn her ire, and will get her to punish someone, but it’s not enough to make her resort to torture. Usually.

Gets the most restless out of the three. As cool (and large) as the castle is, it’s all she’s ever really known. If not for her weakness to cold, she’d go out on hikes a lot. Nature interests her, fascinates her, but she’d be a little less fond of most of it in person. Like, oh, waterfalls sound so cool, followed by a hundred complaints about the noise. Thinks deer are the cutest shit ever (second only to humans, maybe).

Unlike Daniela (though that HC is relevant almost exclusively to Serenade), Bela has actually slept with a Maiden before. She doesn’t really care for them enough to consider it a relationship, instead admiring them for their entertainment value. Definitely could fall for a Maiden, simply hasn’t yet. Of the three I feel like she takes the longest to fall in love, and even longer to actually act on her feelings. Sometimes resents her siblings because they unknowingly “claimed” a Maiden that she was starting to be interested in. However, she fully acknowledges that she should have said something if she didn’t want to lose the girl, considering the situation they live in.

Favorite music genre: Classical, full orchestra style, with a soft spot for swing/jazz. Enjoys having music play softly while she reads, and is very particular about the volume. Absolutely would argue with her sisters if they tried to change the music or turn it up.

Hobbies: Reading, duh. Less interested in romance than Daniela by a considerable amount. For the most part she reads non-fiction books, enjoying learning about history and the sciences. Astronomy is at the top of her favorites list, followed by biology, then obscure (and often bloody) pieces of history. Niche=perfect. Also enjoys music, even if she had to rely mostly on self-teaching books. Knows the basics of piano, but doesn’t actively play, much preferring both the violin and harp. Most of the time she’ll only play if she knows her sisters won’t bother her, or if her mother asks her to.

Opinions on the four lords: Admires Heisenberg’s work/his edgenuity, but thinks the actual man is a temperamental child… who smells like wet dog. He’s only been at Castle Dimitrescu a couple times (per Mother Miranda’s request), and both times Bela moved to the other side of the house so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge his existence. While she would never admit it, she’s low-key creeped out by Donna’s dolls, and really only tolerates Angie. However, she would never act on her nerves, out of consideration for Donna’s feelings. She knows that her mother gets along well with the dollmaker, and keeps this at the forefront of her mind.

Opinions continued: “Moreau who? Oh, the fish guy? He’s still alive?... Good for him.” Wants to make Lady Dimitrescu proud, but not as desperately as Cassandra. Unknowingly mimics a lot of her mother’s little habits and ticks, and would be quietly embarrassed if someone pointed it out to her. As mentioned previously, she feels like she has to be an example for the others, and somewhat resents the pressure this puts on her. On the other hand, she does enjoy being “responsible for” (read: in charge of) her sisters. Additionally, she is the most likely to get away with lying to Alcina, though she does not often do so. This isn’t because she’s the most manipulative (that’s Cass), or the best liar (that’s Dani, if she’s trying), but simply because Alcina doesn’t think her oldest daughter would lie. Even if she doubts something Bela says, she’ll usually give her the benefit of the doubt… as long as it doesn’t happen very often.

Cassandra:

Sleeps the most of the three, if only because she’s the most active of them. Not as fast as the others while in swarm mode, but the fastest on foot, partially because she’s more likely to simply walk places. She knows the sound of feet on the floor scares the Maidens, and she drinks their fear with utter pleasure. Additionally she claims that it just feels nice to “stretch her legs”. But she will not hesitate to enter swarm mode when chasing someone. As fun as it is to smell their fear, she can get impatient, wanting to get close and personal to her target.

Tends to hide most of her feelings, sometimes even opting to “convert” them into anger. In other words, think of her emotional state as an ever-filling bottle of water. As things happen, she feels emotions, and the rate at which water pours into the bottle increases. Ideally if the water level started getting too high, she would address whatever is increasing the flow of water. Instead of that, she often uses anger, which is equivalent to shaking the bottle a bit and letting water messily spill out of it. Doesn’t address the actual problem, but let’s her release some pressure/free up some room.

Goes through Maidens faster than her siblings (yes, even Daniela “draining you of blood is romantic” Dimitrescu). Not all of them even die in the basement, sometimes what was supposed to be a “warning” turns into “oh shit the blood won’t stop coming out, this is how I die, in this accursed castle, no friends or family to mourn me, just the painful knowledge that I will not be the last, I will die for no cause, no glory, just the bitter whims of a blood-soaked mistress” or something along those lines.

While more likely to get attached to someone than Bela, Cassandra isn’t one to do much about it. She might flirt, might even try to kiss (or, uh, kiss while also not wearing clothes wink wink), but she won’t (usually) claim someone as her own, or protest if one of her sisters wants to have some fun with them (even if it’s the bloody kind of fun). Technically gets over breakups and “breakups” (i.e. death) easier than either of her sisters. To be fully accurate, Daniela still goes through lovers faster, but she also remembers them and cares for them for longer post-breakup.

Somewhat of a blood kink. Like, more than vampires automatically have. In intimate settings she cares more about the quantity of blood and what she can do with it (loves bloodstains) than what causes the bloodshed.

Favorite music genre: Rock ‘n roll. Leans towards older stuff, as well as heavier songs. Soft spot for symphonic metal, but doesn’t admit it out of the fear that some might consider it a “weaker form” of the genre. Almost exclusively listens to bands that have female vocalists, and gets crushes on them more than she’d ever admit.

Hobbies: Art! Painting, mostly, but dabbles in sculpture from time to time. It’s been too long since I took an art class for me to suggest a style for her paintings, but I imagine her sculptures would be somewhat abstract. Her art would revolve around emotion, the stronger and rawer the better, with viewers often being left uncomfortable. While Alcina buys plenty of art supplies for her, Cassandra is fond of improvising, especially by creating her own “tools” (of questionable efficiency) out of items she has laying around. She is absolutely the one who took her mother’s lipstick. If you don’t know what that means, don’t worry, it’s just mentioned in one of the RE8 notes that Lady Dimitrescu’s valuable lipstick is missing.

Opinions on the four lords: Tolerates Heisenberg more than the rest of her family by a considerable amount. She’s seen glimpses of his work, his steampunk-adjacent style, and actually kind of digs it. While Bela cares more about the science behind his work, Cassandra just digs the aesthetic. Sometimes for her art she also needs things she can’t get from the castle, and are too obscure to get from a merchant, so she trades tools/ideas with Heisenberg in exchange for him making something for her. “Can you make a battery but whenever it’s in use it makes a horrible screaming sound?” “Yes. PS I hate your mother and Miranda.” “I didn’t fucking ask.”

Opinions continued: Doesn’t really care much about Donna, but acknowledges her as a fellow artist, and would be willing to consult her if she talked more (and talked without Angie). Cassandra hasn’t met Moreau, thankfully (he would cry). Knows about him from her sister/mother, and as a result doesn’t care about him. Internally whenever someone mentions him, she pictures, like, a Goldfish Cracker (the snack that smiles back) with legs except also it’s green and moldy.

Opinions cont.: Loves her mother so much. Determined to please her, to make her proud, but often left feeling less loved than her sisters. This strains her relationship with her family, not that she’d ever voice her feelings and talk through the issue. Let’s be real, Alcina would probably feel guilty for not realizing how Cass felt. Nonetheless, Cassandra probably spends the most time with her mother, often offering to assist her with tasks, or trying to get her to appreciate her art.

#resident evil: village #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #dimitrescu family

[sprnklersplashes]

jdronica+I kissed you in front of my ex (also on ao3)

The 7-Eleven is hardly much warmer than it is outside, but at least it’s drier. Veronica shakes the rain out of her hair as she steps in, shaking her head like a dog and sprinkling tiny droplets over the tiles. September announced its arrival in Sherwood with grey skies and bucket loads of rain, and three days in, the downpour shows no sign of stopping. It put a little bit of a damper to show up on the first day of her senior year soaking wet (pun intended because puns should always be intended), and there’s a growing sense of anxiety among students about whether or not the rain will let up in time for football practice to start.

But, where the rain might mess with first-day plans and be a pain for football fanatics, it’s the ideal weather for movie nights. The kind that involves piles of blankets, hot cocoa, and a combination of new releases and old favourites. The kind that, funnily enough, Veronica and Martha had planned for the weekend and scheduled when the sun was still out.

Maybe the weather was on their side.

“Okay, you grab the JiffyPop and drinks; I’ll raid the candy aisle,” Veronica instructs. “I’ll meet you at the counter.”

“Don’t go crazy on the candy,” Martha warns her. “Orange soda or blue?”

“Orange, and I will go completely crazy on the candy.” Martha raises her eyebrow, a fond shake of her head, but there’s little she can do when there’s a five-dollar bill burning in Veronica’s pocket. Veronica shoots little finger guns at Martha before bouncing down the candy aisle, taking stock of all the treats on offer.

She grabs a packet of Milk Duds because they go great with popcorn and a sharing bag of red vines too. She grabs a packet of the little watermelons (Martha’s personal favourite) and chuckles as she picks up a sharing bar of Hershey’s (private joke). She drops her candy stash into her basket and is in the middle of a debate between the packets of Sour Patch Kids and the packets of chips on sale when something, or rather someone, appears behind her.

“Want a Slurpee with that?”

She only jumps a tiny bit, and she’s glad because it doesn’t show how the stranger scared the pants off her. Mostly because she was lost in her head, but still, what was the asshole expecting, coming behind her like that? She turns around, her basket still on her arm, and she has an entire rant about convenience store etiquette ready, but it dies when she sees who it is.

Jason Dean, or as he prefers to be known, JD. New kids are something of a rarity in Sherwood, Ohio, which means he’s front-page news at school. Branded The New Kid, and he’ll probably still be that at graduation. People have done their best to Make Him Feel Welcome, as Ms. Fleming brightly suggested (demanded) they do, and despite some pleasantries, no one’s quite managed to get him to their lunch table. Most of the time, he’s alone, always with a different book. He’s gone from Baudelaire to Dickens to Orwell.

Not that she’s paying attention.

“Well, hello, Jason Dean.” She leans up against the counter and gestures to the cup in his hand. “Not my thing, but if you play your cards right, you can buy me a Big Gulp.”

“Blasphemy, little miss. Slurpee is the signature dish of the house. Did you say cherry or lime?”

“I said Big Gulp.” She lets the smile linger on her lips, feels it grow wider as he turns around. He laughs it off, and she takes note of the dimples in his cheeks, the way his hair falls forward into his eyes in a way that may or may not make her heart pick up.

“You’re Veronica, right?” he asks. “Veronica Sawyer.” He holds his free hand up. “Not stalking. I just sit two rows behind you in English.”

“I remember,” she replies. “Yes, it’s Veronica Sawyer.” She crosses her arms over her chest and chews thoughtfully on her lower lip. “So… may I ask what brings you to Sherwood, Ohio?”

His smile falters then, the spark dimming in his eyes, and his free hand slides into his pocket. She kicks herself immediately, her with her stupid attempts at flirting and her stupid nose poking into other people’s business. This is why she only sticks to Martha and occasionally Heather Mac, and if the universe wanted to remind her, it could have done it less painfully.

“Uh, new foster placement,” he tells her after a minute. “My old group home got too crowded, and it turns out the only other place that would take a teenager with insane daddy issues was all the way across the state.”

“Oh,” is all she can find to say, for all her teachers praising her for her brains. One word, one syllable. “Well, that’s….” Cool? Nice? Fun? Interesting? Nothing is appropriate here, no matter what direction she turns in.

But then Jason Dean taps her arm, wearing a smile that’s equal parts charming and apologetic, and the smoke in her brain begins to clear.

“Sorry, I probably should’ve been a bit more tactful there,” he says. “I know it’s a bit of a wild thing to drop on someone. My tragic hero backstory and all that.”

“Well, if it means you end up leading a life of crime-fighting and protecting our town, it all works out.”

“Maybe. Not sure if I can pull off the tights and leotard.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got the legs for it,” she replies, and when he bursts out laughing, so does she. It feels weird, almost familiar. Like she’s known him for far longer than three days. She shuffles closer to him, pulled forward by her curiosity.

He eyes her basket and opens his mouth to say something else, but then the little bell rings at the shop door, and Veronica lets out a soft curse when she sees who it is.

What exactly her ex-girlfriend is doing at the 7-Eleven, she can’t fathom. This was on her list of places she could most definitely keep going to regularly after they broke up, and that list is depressingly small. This is meant to be the part of town Heather Duke, or any of the Heathers don’t grace with their presence, not even Macnamara. If they divided up the assets after breaking up last month, the 7-Eleven was definitely in her pile.

Or maybe not, she thinks as she watches Heather cross the floor in her heels, loose change in her hand.

The universe just will not let her be.

Duke notices her after she does, dark eyes widening at the sight of her. Veronica’s at a loss for what to do, whether to wave at her, flip her off, or just ignore her completely. She needs to think of something soon because Heather is moving closer towards her, and the last thing she needs is a not-so-subtle reminder of how she’s doing so much better than she is.

Her brain turns off, her body going into autopilot.

Instinct says to grab the closest thing to her, and the closest thing happens to be JD.

She whispers, “I’m sorry,” just loud enough so he can hear a second before her lips touch his, and by that point, she can’t exactly back out.

She doesn’t know what’s crazier; her kissing JD or the fact he kisses her back.

His hand is flat against her back, his other one cupping her cheek. She doesn’t know how experienced he is in these matters, but damn, he’s not bad. She’d even call him good. Maybe great. He tilts his head slightly but still lets her keep control, and his lips are soft and slightly cold from the Slurpee. It’s just slow enough to make it interesting, and he doesn’t pull away when she kisses him again.

When she does pull away, Heather is far past them, her pace too quick to be calm, and Veronica smugly counts it as a victory.

That is until she realises her hands are still balled up in JD’s shirt.

“I am… so sorry,” she begins. “I just… I know I shouldn’t have, but I just needed to do something to-”

“Woah, woah, woah, Ronnie,” he says. She only blushes slightly at the nickname. “Just answer me one question.” She nods, words catching in her throat, and he points up to where Heather is. “Ex?”

“Yup,” is her meek response, and to her shock, he laughs.

“Okay, Veronica Sawyer,” he tells her. “No hard feelings.” She untangles herself from him and retrieves her basket from where she dropped it on the floor. She looks behind and finds his Slurpee sitting on the shelf, standing out amongst the candies.

She’s tempted by the Slurpee offer, after all. She needs something to stop her cheeks from burning.

“I should go,” she says. “My friend, she’ll be wondering where I am.” She backs up, her eyes unable to leave his grinning face. “Um, thank you very much. For being so understanding about… that. All of that. Uh, see you around maybe. Yeah.”

She manages to turn herself around and takes the opportunity to stop hiding and let out a silent scream. She moves to go, to run and pay for her candy, and start plan to avoid him as much as humanly possible-or change her name and flee the state, that could work-but then he calls after her, and she stops in her tracks,

“Hey!” he says. She turns to face him again, and while he keeps a respectable distance, she can still see the smile on his face, all soft angles and laugh lines, and the telltale butterflies begin in her stomach.

“You’re busy this weekend,” he says. “What about next?”

That’s the story of Veronica Sawyer and Jason Dean’s first kiss.

For those who want to know, their second involves her pinning up against the wall of a McDonald’s bathroom and him breathlessly whispering her name against her lips.

#heathers the musical #heathers fanfic #jdronica #pure au jdronica #veronica sawyer #jason dean #i wrote this over teh course of an hour and just posted it so yeahhhhhh..... #i miss heathers

[blonde-toddy]

Random and Not So Random thoughts while watching Bridgerton: Season 1, Episode 5

Daphne sneaking in like a thief in the night.

Violet you're just hungover. Raw eggs and garlic Though?

Engaged to a Duke > Engaged to a Prince. That's it. That's Violets only thought.

Daphne you full of shit.

Awe your mama thinks the Duke got in your guts.

Well Violet, if you would actually TALK to your daughters about sex and their bodies. That is truly a tragic flaw.

She is hyped about this wedding though.

Oh Queen...no triumph for your messy ass.

Poor Prince Cormac (I know it's Friedrich).

Oh this is a scandal babe!

Daphne is not here for your childish shit today Eloise.

I kind of really feel bad for the prince and I want him to find a good lady. He's so pure.

Hyacinth little nosey ass.

Really Simon? Late and Drunk? Tear that mf up Lady Danbury. Somebody needs to.

She's trying to be kind....

God the way he looks at her!!! The way his mouth just breaks open is like armor cracking. He loves her truly.....fuckboy just doesn't know how to show it.

Ooooh he pulled his hand away. That hurt.

Fuck you Anthony. Delacroix is intervening now. I love her grifter ass.

Light his ass up, Portia!

Oh Penelope is full of the shade now. Poor girl.

Oh she scheming with her mama. Girl you fucking sneak.

Poor Rose is so confused. I love her though. Wedding planning is HARD!

Oh here comes this bitch Cressida!

She's holding that shit in her pocket for a rainy day. She'll bust their heads about it one day. I'm sure.

The Queen is so about the drama and the prince is just so chill. That bitch up to something.

Simon not accepting a dowry. At least they don't have to pay you to marry her. How romantic.

Oh are y'all buddies again now? Is #teamfuckboy a thing again?

Well your request for an expedited wedding got DENIED in big red letters.

Daphne bout to split a wig.

Violet being oblivious as always and Danbury breaking it all down.

The queen is being petty over her nephew.........just like Danbury says. Give her what she wants. A fucking show.

Heyyyy Benny!

Oh shit you're at the real party now.

Hello Delacroix.

Well fucking A! Get y'all some.

Bisexual Benny? Methinks yes? And I love it.

Wait...... is this an orgy? Go off Benedict.

Drunk ass Simon.....crying because he "trapped" Daphne. Boy. I feel like you're complicating the fuck out of this.

Mondrich is such a real one. This world does not deserve Will Mondrich.

Marina is determined that she's gonna trap Colin with a baby that is not his. He's just so pure that it makes me hope she fails at this. All this fucking reproductive evasion is making me uneasy.

But Portia is along for the ride.

Oh fuck, here's the King.

Its crazy to see real sentiment and love in the queen.

Aw fuck that's so sad. To watch the mind come and go in a loved one.

Daphne your ass needs to quit taking nighttime strolls.

Oh here it is. Daphne thinks he's physically unable to have children and that it's a source of great pain for him. Poor girl.

At least Rose is trying to be comforting.

And to be fair, Daphne, you fucking idiots love each other.

From the mouth of babes.

Get yo shit together Simon.

Alice always spitting hot ones. She's a babe.

Plus she's always looking out for her man's.

Aww look at Simon looking at the kids.

Let yo daddy go!

"With these knees, yes, Your Majesty." Danbury is the goat.

Gawd Daphne you are sinking at pleading to the queen.

Simon out here telling y'alls secrets. This man is wild.

Holy fuck what a love confession. It would nicer if he could SAY IT TO HER! AND LOOK AT HER!

Well the queen is biting.

Looks like someone is getting hitched!

Oooooh that music.

Gawd Simon is fine in black velvet. Fuck me he's fine in everything.

Yes look at her while you take that glove off and put that ring on.

They have completely redefined intimacy. Fuck.

Reception time.

She just wants to talk to her man.

Go away Cressida, damn.

Aww Penelope is trying to get Colin out of Marinas crosshairs.

Marina is heavy plotting.

She's really trying to seduce him and he's too honorable.

She got her proposal though.

Queen, Daphne barely knows about masturbating. She doesn't know dick about a wedding night. Pun intended.

Eloise and the queen my gawd.

Benny said don't ask don't tell.

Anthony's ass was the most against this fucking union, and now everything is kosher. Simon didn't want a dowry and now they get to be buddies again. This mf is a complete tool.

Simon, go get your wife.

Nope, just Violet with some more vague bullshit.

You call that a sex talk.

Its natural like rain. Then puppies. Bassett puppies.

Poor Daphne.

Her mom won't tell her shit about sex and her husband won't look at or speak to her.

Bitch gonna be rubbing it out on her wedding night. Poor babe.

Aww now it's time leave your childhood home. Not bittersweet or anything.

Damn he really didn't even tell her they'd be staying at an inn in their wedding night. Simon! Start telling your wife THINGS!

She took that shit right on the chin.

This mf really got separate rooms. She's pissed!

Aw...pacing together but in their separate rooms.

And she goes to the door.....he's at the door, on the other side.

Really Simon?!? DINNER?!?!

Now we're getting somewhere.

Here he goes with the kid lies again.....not feeling that shit Simon.

But fuck.

Fuck me. This love confession. If it ain't this, I don't want it.

The way he growls when he burns. My ovaries are exploding.

Yes! You burn for each other now fucking kiss!

Aw. And you're married now so you don't have to stop.

Oh my gawd. Oh my gawd. Yes. Show her more!

I just want somebody to spin me around and kiss up the side of my neck. Fuck. This shit is hot.

The artistry of that man. Yes girl yes. The touch of the chest, arms and shoulders.

Oh we throwing dirty talk in here too!

Hell yeah she touched herself. Tf you thought.

Oh my God. His face when he takes her hand. That man is God's Gift.

Her face when he took them pants off......fuck. I'm over here wishing this was Starz and we'd get some full frontal. Idc idc idc. I am horny for the Duke in every way.

They definitely romanticized what it's like to lose your virginity. It's never like that.

That fucking stroke on him though.

Daphne you new to this, but telling him you masturbated to him is a quick way to make him uhhhh....reach his pinnacle. The way he sped up when she said that shit. I was like okay now, das pretty realistic.

Ahhh the pullout method. Works every time.

And poor Daphne doesn't even know wtf a pull out is.

Well either way.

The duke makes me want to be seduced. Not just fucked. SEDUCED!

Well its only a matter of time before truth bombs get dropped, so I'm just gonna enjoy the view until we get there.

#bridgerton #bridgerton reaction #bridgerton season 1 #simon bassett #the duke of hastings #daphne bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #violet bridgerton #marina thompson #portia featherington #penelope featherington #will mondrich #alice mondrich #daphne x simon #simon x daphne #lady danbury #lady whistledown

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Hypothetically,

Ao3,   MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Intrulogical, Platonic Logince

It is about! Damn! Time! That I wrote some Intrulogical! Also, y’all already know my stance on platonic logince,,,, guys they ARE best friends i’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending). mentions of stuff like autopsies and nuclear explosions in the context of like experiments- they do stuff in The Imagination, basically. Panic attack (?). Hurt/comfort. Pretty heated kissing; It’s more intense makin’ out than I usually write but it isn’t anything explicit at all, don’t worry! ADHD Remus and Autistic Logan. Cursing- like So Much Cursing. Mentions of space, deep sea, etc. Food mention.

Word count: 6,769

There was a conundrum. 

A., Logan needed to use the Imagination. B., He could not use it on his own, considering that he was Logic. C., Roman was nowhere to be found. The answer to what was frustrating Logan at that moment would be all of the above.

To be clear, he didn’t like going into the Imagination. It was simply the only suitable place to perform his ‘experiments’. His very necessary, very distracting experiments. But, as stated, Roman was God-knows-where doing God-knows-what. 

Logan sighed at the door, as though it was the inanimate structure’s fault. The cracks gleamed obnoxiously bright, golden light pouring out from behind the door in a somewhat eerie manner. It was a nonsensical, unrealistic, completely insignificant place, and he wanted in.

Logan was contemplating asking Janus for help (lies took imagination, right?) when, out of nowhere, an arm was thrown around his shoulders. Literally an arm, disembodied and oozing sick-smelling blood onto the carpet. Ah. Wonderful. 

“Hello, Remus,” he pulled the appendage from around him, holding it at arm’s length (no pun intended, dammit). 

“Hi!” Remus took his arm back and reattached it with a disturbing crunch, a grin stretching his face. He sidled up to Logan, imitating the side’s stance in front of the door. 

“Can I help you with something?” the logical trait tilted his shoulder away from where Remus had pressed against him. 

“Not unless you’re willing to get really messy- but I can help you!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re implying.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, promptly flinging the door to The Imagination open. An encompassing energy radiated into the common room, corrupting the usual neutrality of the space. It didn't last long before Remus grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him along through the entryway, movements as sporadic and fast-paced as everything else about the creative.

“It’s not very logical to just stand there staring at the door all day, in my opinion. I dunno what you need Imagination for, but whatever it is, I can help! My half is much more interesting, anyway.”

“Oh,” Logan blinked, narrowly ducking his head under a branch as he was pulled forward, “Thank you, I suppose.”

He politely didn’t mention that he doubted Remus’ capacity for helpfulness. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all. 

The door from the commons was quite a walk from the darker half of The Imagination, but at the pace its owner had them going they were there in minutes. The border was marked with tangles of densely thorned shrubbery, which parted for them, as if they sensed the approach. Logan just barely avoided snagging his shoe on one as they passed.

There was forest, twisted and shadowy, for only a minute. After that, they were in a city, with tall buildings and winding streets and dark alleys. Another switch, they came into what seemed like an amusement park. Nothing was consistent in theme, and none of the scenes held up for more than a minute or two. Remus shook his head and tisked. With a snap, a good portion of the ever-changing scenery was erased, leaving blank white space. The Duke turned to look at Logan with a satisfied smile. 

“Ta-da! What do you need?” 

Logan blanched for a moment, surprised at Remus’ willingness to completely delete Imaginings without a second thought. It usually took Roman ages to find a spot that he was okay with giving up on for Logan’s “projects”- which he always had thought was a little silly, seeing as he could bring it back when they were done. The change of pace was a pleasant one, though, so there was no need to dawdle for long. 

“I need a miniature fully-functioning model of our solar system. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh, totally,” Remus waved his hand and the request appeared suspended in the air, spread out to be the size of a dining table. All was accounted for- sun, moons, eight planets plus pluto- orbiting and spinning around each other. Imagination, by nature, had no real limits, but the detail was still a sight to behold every time. Logic smiled, surveying the set-up, before gesturing to the edge of their blank section.

“Thank you for the help, you may go.”

“May I now?” Remus conjured a seat for himself, staring at Logan with his chin resting on his hands, “You’re not even going to tell me what this is for? That’s just rude.”

Logan glanced up from the tiny earth he was inspecting, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“You are welcome to stay, if you wish, but your brother usually leaves at this point. He says my experiments are-” he summons his notebook, “‘Bore-ifying’, which I assume is a portmanteau for ‘boring’ and ‘horrifying’.” 

“Roman’s a big baby!”

Logan shrugged, not disagreeing, and resumed his careful observation of the tiny model earth. Remus made no move to go, wheeling his chair even closer. The scientific side carried on before his new audience of one, hovering a hand over the little planet. Abruptly, it stopped spinning. Logan made a gesture with his hand that magnified the model significantly. 

The results were immediately catastrophic. Logan jotted a few observations down in his notebook, watching closely at the ways torrents of wind ripped up trees and buildings. In the back of his mind, he was faintly impressed by just how well-rendered ‘Dark’ Creativity’s earth was, down to the individual humans, brutalized by the storms. 

“Whoah, what the fuck?!” 

Logan looked up briefly to see Remus craning his head over the destruction of the stilled planet. His eyes were wide and bright with curiosity.

“Oh- I should probably explain. I come here, usually, to run some improbable scenarios as a sort of stress-reliever. Specifically, this one is what would happen if earth stopped spinning on its axis. As you can see, due to the earth no longer rotating at its usual speed, the wind would continue on at-” he cut himself off abruptly, sensing the beginnings of a ramble, “I’m sorry, I’ve been told that I have a tendency to ‘go off’ when a subject particularly interests me.”

Remus rolled his chair even closer, looking much like an excited animal (more so than usual, anyway).

“Well then, go off! Don’t leave me hanging! Is that really what would happen, just if it stopped?” He gestured enthusiastically to the way that the oceans had begun to crash against and consume shorelines. He looked interested- genuinely interested. 

Logan bit back a smile. He didn’t have to be told twice. 

 It was one of those particularly restless nights. For no foreseeable goddamn reason, Logic’s mind had become alight with enough half-formed thoughts and barely sensible ideas to fill a very, very weird book. The Imagination did wonders when he got like this, but it usually wasn’t two in the morning when he needed to use it. That wasn’t to say the circumstance was unheard of, but all times prior he could push the urge to investigate away with the reasoning that he could just ask Roman in the morning, and that the Creative side needed his ‘beauty sleep’, as he called it. There wasn’t anything he could do about that, was there?

Tonight was different. Logan could hear the occasional snap or tear or cackle from the room across from his. Remus’ room. 

It had been less than a week since The Duke let him use the darker half of the Mindpalace, and that was pretty much the only meaningful interaction they’d had in as many days. They weren’t close, Logan wasn’t even sure if they were friends (not that he was a good judge of that, given the first time Roman referred to them as ‘besties’ he had all but cried), but Remus was at the very least an option. He was also unlikely to mind, given that he was already awake and had exhibited excitement previously. 

Logan made up his mind after yet again failing to fall asleep. Quietly, he opened his door and took the few short steps across the hall, raising his fist. Remus’ door was open before his second knock. 

“Oh, hey! What are you doing, coming knocking at this hour?” he didn’t even try to whisper, accompanying his statement with an over-exaggerated wink. Logan didn’t waste his time trying to shush the side. 

“Good evening, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-”

“You know I don’t mind your ‘interruptions’, Twunk-y Megamind!”

“-But I was wondering if you would… Help me, again. I seem to be having a hard time getting to sleep, and I think that getting out some of my ideas could help.”

Remus’ face lit up dramatically. 

“Oh hell yes! Are we gonna blow up more planets?”

“Something like that,” he kept his voice monotone, disguising the relief and hint of pride at such a positive reaction. 

“Well, come on!”

Logan let himself be dragged into Remus’ room, barely having time to make note of the surprisingly organized layout before he was pulled through a sleek black door. 

“But you have to tell me about it,” he ordered, twisting them through narrow paths in his half of The Imagination. Logan suppressed a smile. 

“If you want to hear it, then I’m happy to.” 

Without warning, they stopped the breakneck pace that Remus moved at. The trait seemed appeased with their surroundings, though as far as Logan could tell it was just another piece of ever-shifting ominous landscape. 

Remus snapped his fingers. The scene remained intact. 

“Sorry,” he glanced around nervously, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Can’t get ‘em out. I’ll get it, I just-”

“It’s no trouble.” 

Logan rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t like using his ‘abilities’ much, as every side had some set of special skills, and all of them were much too ostentatious. But they were helpful, at times. He waved a hand, gesturing carefully so that he didn’t dismantle any more of The Imagination than was absolutely necessary. With a small stutter, the landscape shifted to a blank slate.

When he looked back up, Remus’ expression was not unlike that of a Cheshire cat.

“What was that?”

“I am Logic, therefore it follows that I am the antithesis to any Imagination creations. It’s very easy to erase them with just a bit of rationality.” 

“No clue what a lot of those words meant, but it’s still cool that you can destroy shit.”

Laughing was unbecoming, to say the least, and so the logical trait tended to avoid it at all costs. The snort that escaped him was entirely involuntary. 

If Remus noticed the noise, he said nothing about it. He was too busy bouncing from foot to foot, expectantly waiting for instructions. Logan cleared his throat of the outburst and clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s start with something simple…”

 At his request, Remus would construct immaculately detailed creatures, settings, and models, watching gleefully at the ordeals Logan put each one through. They tested various and progressively elaborate ways to sink populated cruise liners, they simulated the effects of falling from the Empire State Building, dissected approximations of obscure marine animals (a shared special interest of theirs, apparently), and any of the other unrealistic questions that occurred to the typically rational Logic. 

The only way to get such questions from his mind, he’d found out a long time ago, was deconstructing them one step at a time, to see them in their full ridiculousness. 

It was also, he was coming to realize, incredibly fun. 

Before the two knew it, the already late hour had turned unreasonable. Logan blinked owlishly at his watch, distracted from the tiny supernova that he’d created.

“Oh, I must have lost track of time,” four in the morning. Four in the morning! 

“Aw, does that mean we’re done?” Remus whined, yet he still began unmaking his small star system. 

Logan was suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his eyelids and a rubbery feeling in his limbs. God, was he tired. 

“I’m afraid so. I really should’ve gone to sleep hours ago.”

“Fine,” Remus dragged the word out with a groan, “But let me know next time you wanna fuck with space, or deep sea stuff, or anything like that.”

Next time. 

As much as Logan adored Roman, there was something very nice about having the more grim brother help him out with these experiments. For one, his creations were often much more accurate to the real world- likely because gore and destruction were that much more impactful when they were realistic. For two, he actually seemed to enjoy the work. 

Logan’s deliberation was brief. 

“I will.”

 As it happened, the night spent delving into dozens of ideas had purged Logan’s need to use The Imagination, for the time being. Clearly, Remus was not patient enough to wait for him.

He popped up, unannounced, in Logic’s room.

“Lo!!!”

The trait in question fell out of his office chair in a very undignified way. Not that there’s a particularly dignified way to fall out of a chair, but if there was, this definitely wouldn’t have been it. He ‘ate shit’, as the saying goes.

Out of pure embarrassment, Logan made no move to get off the floor.

“Hello, Remus,” he greeted, “How may I help you?”

The Duke laughed raucously, sprawling into the now-unoccupied chair and leaning over him. 

“You’re a riot, Dork,” then, added with glittering eyes, “Did you break anything?”

“No. Given that I am metaphysical, I’m not sure that I have bones.”

“I have bones!”

“Are they your bones?”

“They are bones and they are in my possession, yes.” 

Logan let the subject drop and repeated his first question. 

“Right, I forgot! I have an idea for an experiment!”

Logan thought that, despite his mild humiliation, it would probably benefit the conversation if he wasn’t lying on the ground, so he stopped doing that. Brushing mostly imaginary dust from his clothes, he shot Remus a bemused look.

“That’s nice. But I was asking you why you were here.”

The Duke’s face fell, almost imperceptibly.  

“I thought you’d wanna know, because of what you said last time. Isn’t this, like, a thing we do now? You know how shit works, and I know how to make that shit, and then you can tell me about it!” 

Oh. 

“Remember when you were talking about radiation the other day? You can’t just say stuff like that and then not expect me to want to try it out, so really this is on you. It’d be dumb not to let you in on it.”

Oh. 

He’d been listening to that rant? Moreover, he’d remembered it, and now had his own ideas and follow-up questions about it? 

Logan felt light-headed. 

“You’re probably too busy with work, huh? I guess my explosions don't have to be accurate, if you’re set on being boring,” Remus’ tone was nonchalant, but he was obviously lingering for attention. Logan then remembered that words are a thing, and people use them to communicate.

“No! I mean, yes- I mean, I’m not busy. I can join you, I- I’d like to, even,” the intelligent side heard a small voice in his head, his own miniature Virgil, screaming- what the fuck was that, get it together, Jesus, because he, despite what his fellow sides insisted, was absolutely nonfunctional when trying to form a friendship. 

Remus didn’t seem to notice or care much past his own cheer.

“Cool!” he, yet again, wasted no time in seizing Logan’s arm and yanking him away, “I wanted to see what would happen to animals and plants and stuff bunches of years after lots of radiation! Do you think they’d mutate? Get all twisted and fucked up so that they aren’t even recognizable as, say, a dog?”

Logan considered the question as he was led through the Mindpalace.

“Well, nothing would be able to live there at all. Additionally, anything within a little under a mile of the nuclear fallout- depending on a few variables- would be completely incinerated upon impact.”

“Like, flesh-melting incinerated?” 

“More like vaporized. The fireball would burn 10,000 times the heat of the sun.”

Remus went starry eyed, bringing them to a halt a mere five feet from the door. 

“I wanna see that,” he waved his hands around at their surroundings, “Can you do the white-out thing?” 

Logan, much less hesitant than last time, obliged. A small smile escaped him at the wondrous look on The Duke’s face. It was another form of expression he didn’t particularly care for, but containing his emoting was more trouble than it was worth by now. He couldn’t find it in him to care much either, for once. 

“Where do we start?” Remus prompted.

“You tell me. I will help you make it as accurate as possible, and provide any insight that you want, but it is your idea,” and he wanted to hear more about those ideas. Odd and violent, mesmerizing and clever. There was so much that he wanted to hear about, to talk about, to puzzle out together. 

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to share such interests with. Maybe, despite how deeply he cared for his ‘family’, as Patton called them- maybe it was never.

Remus chattered as he worked, disrupting the train of thought. Logan almost tuned it out- after all, everyone had grown perfectly used to The Duke’s rambling- but he caught himself. That was hardly how he should treat the side that was so strangely considerate to him, wasn’t it? 

Logan listened from then on. He began to add on to the conversation, corrections and elaborations and actual questions, because he actually didn’t know some of it. He didn’t regret the choice. 

By the end, Remus and Logan were sitting together in the smoldering ruins of their make-believe test town, exchanging notes for different variables they could use in the next trial. They only stopped when Logan was abruptly summoned away by Thomas. He excused himself, a bit apologetic, promising to visit again soon.

As he helped Thomas (with what really should have been a simple task, honestly), Logic wondered briefly about the origins of the hollow feeling that grew in his chest. Something distracted, longing, and unfamiliar. 

And then the oven caught fire, and the only thing he felt was annoyance with the man that he was somehow a component of. 

 So, that was that- Logan and Remus were friends, now spent regular time together, and shared interests. By all accounts, it was a simple and obviously positive development. 

But then there was Roman. 

“What’s wrong with my work? You’d really prefer whatever edgy 12-year-old DeviantArt account nonsense that he thinks up?”

Logan set his book down with a sigh and looked over to his doorway, where Roman stood with his hands on his hips.

“Come in, Roman, and thank you for knocking,” he snarked. The Creative side made a vaguely sassy noise, trotting right in and flopping backwards onto the bed. Without closing the door, the monster.

“I thought that building your Weird Science contraptions was our thing.”

Logan made a show of standing up and manually shutting his door before responding. 

“You don’t like my ‘contraptions’, as you call them.”

“Yeah, but I still made them for you! Because we’re friends, but I suppose you’ve forgotten all about that!” 

He really should have expected the melodrama. And yet, Logan had lived in a delusional world where he didn’t care about the most Extra being on earth.

With an eye roll, Logic dropped down beside Roman on the bed- though he wasn’t half as flamboyant about it. 

“I can have more than one friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be your favorite! We’re supposed to hang out together! Do the friendship bracelets I made mean nothing to you?”

He flung his arm across Logan’s chest, a ‘friendship bracelet’ clearly visible on his wrist (a loose usage of the term, given that it was a solid gold band with inlaid sapphires, because of course it was).

Logan held up his arm as well, showing that his (silver with inlaid rubies) was still very much in use, despite his distaste for jewelry.

“We hang out plenty. It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings by spending time with your brother. My reason for doing so is that he seems to take active enjoyment in building and learning about these things with me. He also makes very good conversation, in regards to the more, ah, eccentric experiments.”

Roman tossed his head to the side to watch Logan with narrowed eyes. After a pause, he linked their arms at the elbow. 

“Yeah, you would think that. You’re secretly just as much of a weirdo as him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh please, I can barely keep up with a word that either of you say,” Roman headbutted Logan’s shoulder in what was likely another of his odd displays of affection. He let his head rest there for a minute, a rare instance of peace before he inevitably resumed talking. 

“Anyways-”

“Anyway,” Logan corrected.

“Anyways, if you nerds wanna talk about your weird, creepy experiments, then I guess that’s fine. But he isn’t allowed to co-opt anything else that we do together that we both actually like- no making fun of movies together, no Crofters jams, and no poetry-slash-rap battles.”

“Of course not, Roman. You will always be my favorite person to disagree with.”

“Love you, too,” Creativity bumped him again, then sat up to stretch. Logan snorted a laugh and considered shoving Roman off the bed, watching as he raised his arms up and straightened his back. Before the trait had the chance, unfortunately, his friend was already standing. 

“Leaving already? Weren’t you just going on about spending time together?”

“Nah, that was all I wanted to yell at you about for now. I’ve gotta go help Pat with dinner.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

“I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

Halfway out the door, Roman threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and whatever you two end up doing, do not give me the details. Please.”

Okay, finally, that really was that. Friendship established, blessings given, the end. A simple symbiosis.

Logan was thinking about the practical uses of medieval torture devices? Remus. He wanted to see exactly how long it would take your average healthy adult to succumb to drowning? Remus. Logan wanted to just rant, about anything and everything, his brain moving a mile a minute? Remus. They spent an inordinate amount of time together. 

Occasionally, when he didn’t even have the energy to converse, he would sit down with a book in the commons when he knew Remus was there and let the trait’s never ending word-vomit wash over him. It was an odd sort of intimacy, but that fit within the theme of their dynamic. Like he said, simple symbiosis. 

And that was when the not-very-platonic fondness grew. And Logan, to his own surprise, allowed it to. 

After deep consideration he had seen no reason not to; Remus wouldn’t judge him, not ever. It put a name to the hollow longing that occurred whenever he, eventually, had to get back to work and part from their talks. 

He hadn’t sorted out what to do about the feeling yet, but he felt no urgency. 

Logan’s book lay forgotten in his lap, that morning being one of the quiet ones as he reflected on his unfamiliar emotions. It was almost nice, letting such affection curl up in his chest and settle there.

His contemplation was broken by a sharp jab to his shoulder.

“Are you listening to me?”

He tilted his head at Remus.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“What were you thinking about?” his eyes lit up, very obviously hoping for it to be something disgusting. Logan glanced away, given that he didn’t even like eye-contact in the best of circumstances. 

“Nothing important. You have my attention now.”

Remus rolled his eyes with a huff, apparently genuinely irritated. 

“Well now I forgot what I was saying.”

“Let’s backtrack: what were you talking about before?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine, we can talk about something else.”

The irritation had grown to something unrecognizable to Logan- frustrating, given how closely he tried to study body language. He felt a stab of guilt as Remus stood up from his spot.

“It probably didn’t matter. I’m gonna go annoy Janus.”

“Oh,” Logan’s voice was small, “Alright, then.”

He was already gone.

That was… concerning. Not to mention bewildering; Remus didn’t just pass up opportunities to talk! He didn’t just leave, not even when he wasn’t wanted! Logan really hadn’t thought his zoning out would earn such a reaction. 

But he was far from perceptive about emotional problems. There was no way to know if it was anything to throw a fit over. For all he knew, it was just an off-day. He couldn’t always expect his friend to be rambunctious and energetic, even if that was a big part of his personality. 

The issue would likely resolve itself.

 The issue did not do that. It did the polar opposite, speeding from mildly concerning to downright frightening at a whiplash-inducing pace.

Remus barely asked questions and almost never offered insight, as he usually did when they spent time together. In fact, his contributions had become rare and unenthusiastic enough that he could have passed as neurotypical, however disturbing the thought was. And that was when they did end up spending time together, which was becoming less and less often, much to the dismay of one significantly smitten smart side.

Something was very clearly wrong with Remus. Not the demented, destructive, mildly endearing and unhinged sort of wrong. It was the wrong sort of wrong.

Logan was hesitant to confront him outright. After a couple weeks of careful consideration, a more subtle solution occurred to him, as he idly flipped through a very graphic murder-mystery late into the night. Something bloody, and awful, and very much Remus’ taste. He set the novel down, knowing full well that his friend would be wide awake as he made his way across the hall.

“Remus?” he knocked at the side’s door, wearing a smile much wider than he usually liked. He was more than willing to express exuberance, if there was even the slightest chance that it would be infectious.

The door decidedly did not fly open. Rather, after a good deal of wrapping at it, Remus slowly pulled it back and poked his head out.

“Oh. Hey.”

Logan didn't dwell on the concern that reaction brought. He had something that would cheer Creativity up, of that he was sure.

“I have a test tonight- it’s going to be very messy,” he began, searching the impulsive trait’s eyes for any signs of interest. There was the slightest glint, but not much more. 

“So, you want me to make stuff for you?” His speech was monotonous. 

“Yes, that was the idea. It’s going to be gory.”

Hardly a reaction. All Remus did was open the door the rest of the way to allow Logan inside. Clearly, he had underestimated just how poorly his friend felt.

“Alright, I’ll set it up for you. Just don’t take too long, I was actually hoping to use my part of the Mindscape today.”

Logan nodded, very taken aback. He couldn’t ignore the slight hurt at the cold, dismissive tone (the irony of that wasn’t lost on him).

They stepped foot into The Imagination and immediately Remus stopped, destroying whatever had been in front of them- which was usually fine, it was just how he operated, but normally out of enthusiasm, not apathy. Maybe this was more than could be fixed with some blood and guts.

“What do you need?”

Logan conjured a tiny notebook, giving a tentative smile. Still, he was giving this plan a shot.

“Operating table,” one appeared before him, sleek metal with rolly legs, “A standard set of surgical tools,” he looked up to gauge Remus’ interest, but his expression still hadn’t changed as he continued to create, “A human corpse, and then we can get started.”

With a wave, a perfectly generic body fell onto the table, but Logan’s attention remained on The Duke.

“Great, have fun, let me know when you’re finished.”

Logan faltered, watching him turn to leave.

“You- you aren’t going to stay and do this with me?”

“You want me to?” Remus crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Logan with a gaze that could (figuratively) wilt flowers.

“I- Yes? If you aren’t at all interested right now, then I can save this experiment for another day?” Yeah, this wasn’t working, but Logan had no backup.

“No, no, don’t wait for me, you’ve already got everything you need, right?”

“I mean- technically, yes, but it- it wouldn’t be the same.”

Remus cackled, sounding quite like the cartoonish villain that he often acted as. It hurt to listen to.

“So that’s what this is about! Let me just fix you up, then!” 

He snapped, and a blank humanoid form appeared at his side. It tilted its faceless head curiously at Logan, who recoiled.

“Not good enough? Is a hunk of nothing too unrealistic for you?” he snapped again, and the being suddenly transformed to match its creator exactly. 

Nearly exactly: it wore an enthusiastic grin, eyes wide and sparkling, rather than the steadily building fire that raged in real-Remus’ eyes. It spoke in a disgustingly cheery tone.

“Wow, tell me more! Show me that again? What happens when you do that? You’re just so interesting, Lo!” 

Remus watched the creation, a look of one part pride and a million parts resentment.

“Is that what you want? It’s just like me, but without any of the hassle of being another person that you have to deal with! And this one, you really can get rid of whenever you want, isn’t that great?”

Logan looked between the two, a fearful understanding creeping up his spine. There was something he was missing here, wasn’t there?

“No,” he muttered, half to the fake-Duke and half to the real one. 

“No?” Remus spat, circling his mirror, “No, of course, you’re so right. This isn’t nearly enough.”

He made an elaborate gesture, and about a dozen more Creativities appeared, surrounding them. Logan stumbled back from them, nearly tripping on the operating table that they’d previously made. When he looked up, the real Remus was approaching him with an expression that fought its way between guilt and indignation. It was all at once heart-wrenching and frightening. 

Logan tried to right himself, tried to look unaffected and certain of himself, as he raised his voice. He would not let this go a step farther, despite his confusion.

“Stop,” and with that, a wave rocked across The Imagination, and all was erased. In the aftermath he stood before a teary-eyed Remus (just the one, though), uncharacteristically looking like a stiff wind would knock him right over.

“What’s wrong? I gave you what you wanted!”

Logan reeled.

“Why would you think I wanted any of that?” 

“You wanted an experiment, I gave you one! You wanted a willing audience, I gave you twelve! But I guess I just get everything wrong, right?”

“You know that isn’t true,” Logan felt choked, his words clumsy. It was foreign and horrible and disgusting, but he’d trudge through it all if it meant fixing whatever he’d done wrong. It couldn’t have just been him losing focus once? Could it? 

“Oh, of course, I do just enough to be useful. So I’ve got that right; I’m a good utensil. Is it so much to ask that people would care about me, not just what I can do?” he posed a rhetorical oozing with vitriol, but it quickly evaporated into something much more desperate, “What if it’s my fault? It was my idea, I wanted to help. I don’t know why I thought you’d care past all that, did I give you a reason to? I can’t remember. It might make more sense that way, if I were the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Logan was running out of time to fix this, watching Remus curl in on himself, barely keeping from falling to the floor. He had no clue how The Duke had reached the conclusion that he didn’t care about him! They spent nearly all their free time together: sitting next to each other just to have the company, throwing each other tricky and often troubling questions to answer, constantly toiling away at things in The Imagination. Sometimes, they didn’t even need to talk, they just worked together in rapt silence; Remus did the creating and Logan arranged his work just so, and- Wait. Wait. Wait.

Logan didn’t need to talk, or touch, for that matter. Perhaps it was a mistake to presume the same for such a needy, affectionate, boisterous side? 

No, not perhaps, it was a huge mistake. A major fuck-up, if you will. 

He’d thought, if the blunt side had needed such comforts, surely he would initiate it? He hardly shied away from anything, except, well. 

Except. Feelings. 

God, he was the dumbest smart person in the world.

“Oh, Remus…”

The Duke’s head jerked up, continuing his back-and-forth of desperation and rage. 

“I don't need your pity!”

Logan sighed, twisting the end of his tie in frustration. 

“That isn't what I'm offering,” he took a breath before continuing, linking the words together so it would come out right. “I'm so sorry, I didn't take into account how you would interpret our interactions. I thought it was obvious that I cared for you, that I didn't need to say it outright. Clearly… I was wrong. So, if you need more than what I previously expressed- which I'm now realizing was very little in the eyes of someone who is not me- then I am happy to provide that for you.” 

Remus was shaken, a good deal of his ire slipping away. Whether that was good or bad remained unclear.

Before it could be overthought, Logan crossed the remaining few feet between them and brought his arms around The Duke in his loose approximation of a hug. The trait froze, but he didn't pull away. 

Physical affection, check. 

“I value your companionship more than I'm entirely sure how to verbalize. You understand me in a way that most others don’t seem to. While your ability to make detailed creations is very helpful, it is hardly the only thing I appreciate about you. 

“For one, you make me laugh. A lot. More than I'm used to. Additionally, you can easily match the pace with which I speak, or change topics! And, you are so much smarter than you make yourself out to be,” Logan finished the spiel with a smile, genuinely proud at his ability to articulate such… sentimental things, with relative ease. Words of affirmation, check.

He snapped back to attention when Remus brought shaking hands up to Logan's chest. For a moment, he worried that Remus would shove him away. The fears dissipated when all he did was bunch the front of Logan's shirt in his hands and hold on tight. 

“Do you mean that,” his volume was low, “Or do you just want me to calm down?”

Logan tightened his grip around him and, following a motion that he'd seen Patton employ many times to great success, he rubbed up and down his back.

“I understand that it might be hard for you to trust me, but I promise I'm not lying to you. I would have to be pretty awful to do something like that, wouldn't I?”

Hesitantly, Remus nodded against his collar. A good sign, but there was one thing left he had to say. 

“And- If you need further convincing- then you should know. I love you.”

Remus stilled. He then unfisted his hands from Logan's shirt. It was an anticipatory second before he threw his arms around the logical trait and finally returned the hug. His hold was crushing, and it was the most comforting thing that Logan had ever felt. 

They were okay.

“I'm sorry I-” 

Logan didn’t let him finish the apology. 

“Don't be. You didn't know how I felt, because I hadn't communicated it in a way you understood. That is hardly your fault.”

Remus nodded again, remaining much quieter than he’d probably ever been in his entire existence.

They held each other for longer than either would like to admit, speaking softly. 

“Thanks,” was muttered against Logan’s shoulder. 

“Of course. Just so you know, I'm more than willing to do this again whenever you need reassurance.”

“It might be a lot,” his tone was turning more mischievous, more him, “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Absolutely.”

Logan hardly minded having an opportunity to gush about Remus to Remus. Not to mention, the physical affection was even nicer than he'd imagined it being. And oh, had he imagined it. 

Remus' face returned to his usual ever-present zeal, and he ended their hug to bounce in place. 

“Great! I'm good now! We can get on with that autopsy you wanted to show me- there better be buckets of blood!”

Logan shifted his weight. 

“Maybe we should save that for another day.”

“Oh,” Remus' face fell the smallest bit, “Okay.”

Logan was quick to amend:

“By that I mean, I have something better in mind.”

 Remus curled himself up in Logan’s lap, his eyes barely focused on the TV as the side carded his hands through his tangled mop of hair. Final Destination 3 played on the television (he had assured Logan that they didn't need to see the first two, and he was mostly right), serving as an excuse for the two to drink in each other's company. 

It was right in the middle of a particularly graphic rollercoaster scene that Remus took Logan's hands from his hair to hold them, twisting around to face him.

“Is something wrong, Remus?”

“You told me you loved me,” he stated blankly. 

“Yes, I did.”

“I didn't say it back!”

“No, you didn't,” it hadn't been the most important matter at the time, really. “You don't have to say it. It's perfectly okay if you don't feel the s- Mmph!”

Remus smashed their lips together, holding the sides of Logan's face (disrupting his glasses in the process) and pulling him forward harshly. 

Logan, for less than a second, was floored. And then Remus tilted his head to deepen the already heated kiss, and the situation properly clicked. Logan reciprocated, slightly uncertain in his movements, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. 

Remus smiled against him. He nipped at Logan's lower lip with sharpened teeth, eliciting a very embarrassing yelp. Logic let his lips part in response as his thoughts grew fuzzier by the second. 

The (somewhat clumsy) open-mouthed kiss lasted right until they absolutely had to break, separating for air. Neither moved very far, letting their foreheads rest against each other and all but panting for breath.

“I love you so fuckin' much, nerd,” when Remus spoke, their lips brushed ever so slightly, “Just so you know.”

“I picked up on that, yes.” 

“A little clarity never hurts, right?”

Logan chuckled at the reference to his own sentiments, but the sound was abruptly cut off when Remus kissed him properly again. 

When they broke apart, he explained how 'stupid-cute' that laugh was. And Logan, only half-joking (since when did he joke at all?), said that he’d have to do it more often.

Banter came easily to them, despite the raw undercurrent that still laced their conversation. Although, neither of them had ever found it difficult to talk; talk about the first thing that came to mind and the last thing that would come to anyone’s mind, talk about exceedingly simple nonsense and topics so intricate that they wound up sounding like nonsense, just talk.

So things would stay mostly the same. They would ramble to each other when no one else could stand to hear such disturbing things. They would sit, working side by side, running through plans and ideas and results at rapid-paced speech. They’d speak, and they would listen, when even their closest friends couldn’t manage such patience.

Only now, sometimes the rushed words might turn soft. Now, all that ranting might be more substantial than anyone would at first see. Now, they’d still listen, but leaned close together, gazes impossibly fond.

But then, on occasion, they would find that there were things far more fun than talking to do together.

@shrimp-crockpot

#I've got a vendetta against neurotypicals #my writing #sanders sides #ts #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #intrulogical #platonic logince #roman #remus #logan #ts roman #ts remus #ts logan #adhd remus #autistic logan #fuck yeah bb #tw cursing #remus does the fuckin 2 am to 10 am sleep schedule that adhd fuckers do #so i don't count it as sleep deprivation?? so thats why i didnt warn for that i guess #and by adhd fuckers i do mean myself

[bigskydreaming]

Making this its own post because replying to the ask got so weirdly formatted I can’t even. Oh tumblr. You work so well.

@themessofthecentury  asked:

jsksjf my tumblr notifs are bugging and i didnt see your post but!!! The patron Saint of Robins?? I am much intrigue!!

(This is from this ask game, just....gotten to late, lololol. And I still have more I’m getting to, no worries. Just had a rough couple days is all, laid me up a bit.)

Okay, so The Patron Saint of Robins is kinda like the situation at the end of Grayson, except also not at all. And actually this is one of my older WIPs, and according to Scrivener I started it in 2015 afhislfhalhfalf, so it really has nothing to do with that. Also, its Young Justice-verse, but for two specific reasons:

1) YJ-verse is my go-to for Good Dad Bruce Wayne, when I don’t want to actually tackle the issues I have with his and his kids’ dynamic in comic book canon. I don’t carry over things like the adoption issue or the Robin succession into YJ fics, as I don’t think there’s anything that suggests they’re ever a specific issue in YJ and I don’t feel a need to make them one. So pretty much anything and everything I write in YJ goes with the backstory that Dick’s already adopted by Season One, and he’s the one to grant each later Robin permission to use the mantle, with no conflict over that, and more of a pre-Crisis transition to Nightwing than the post-Crisis firing from Robin. And this fic inherently needs Good Dad Bruce Wayne to work, lol.

2) I needed Klarion the Witch-Boy. Who of course exists in comic book canon, but is muuuuuch different there, and I just needed him to be a little demonic evil shithead, who sets everything in motion to get payback on the heroes for thwarting the Light in Season One, and he targets Robin due to being the oft-cited ‘first of the baby brat heroes’ and the ‘heart of the cape community.’

You don’t really need to be familiar with YJ canon at all for this one, as it goes sharply AU from after Season One, and only faintly and vaguely references specific events from that season. And I use my own YJ-ized version of the Titans as much as the actual YJ Team.

So basically, the plot of this one is to take revenge on the heroes for spoiling his game in Season One, Klarion plays a new game, by putting a chaos curse on Robin. It essentially erases him from peoples’ memories, though he’s perfectly able to make new ones. If he re-introduces himself to someone ask Dick Grayson, for instance, they don’t suddenly remember who Dick Grayson is or was, but they don’t forget about him again from that point onward, its like they meet him for the first time as a stranger.

But the curse part of things is only Batman can break it and restore everyone’s memories of Dick and his actual history, and only by identifying him for who he really is. And Dick can’t be part of breaking his own curse or else it seals it and makes it permanent and unbreakable forever.

Which of course leaves Dick completely miserable at first, understandably, and Bruce (and everyone else Dick knows, to varying different degrees) feeling some kind of loss but with no idea what it is they think or feel that they’re missing. Dick makes some half-hearted attempts at starting a new life for himself in Gotham, and in the process befriends a street kid named Jason Todd, though Dick introduces himself to Jason with just the name Robin.

The way the curse operates is it restitches together peoples’ memories to cover up the gaps where memories of him would go. So for instance, even though Jason never knew Dick before the curse, he was familiar with Batman and Robin just as much as any Gothammite was.....but due to the curse, the name Robin, upon meeting Dick, had no special meaning to him or anyone else. As far as he knew, Batman had always operated on his own in Gotham, the first teen superhero was that Speedy kid in Star City, etc. So when Jason first meets Dick, he just thinks he’s some dude whose name happens to be Robin.

Eventually, because Dick’s been kinda torturing himself by spying on Bruce just to ‘keep an eye on him’ and still watch his back, and he’s recognized by now that Bruce is mourning his loss without even knowing that he’s missing something....so Dick, who has also kinda come to see Jason as a little brother figure due to watching out for him as well....decides to kill two birds with one stone, unfortunate pun not intended. (Jason doesn’t die in this one, lol). Basically, Dick puts in motion the chain of events that lead Jason to stealing Batman’s tires, because he doesn’t know EXACTLY what Bruce will do but he knows it’ll get his attention in a big way and Bruce will take it from there.

One thing leads to another, Jason ends up living with Bruce and when eventually he wants to be trained by Bruce so he can do what he does and protect kids like he used to be.....when asked to pick a name....Jason names himself after the guy who always looked out for him, and who led to him being found by Bruce in the first place. He doesn’t know that his friend ‘Robin’ steered him towards those tires deliberately, just to bring him and Bruce into contact, but he does credit him with making the suggestion that ‘inadvertently’ (as far as he knows) enabled his and Bruce’s introduction, and so he names himself in honor of the boy who helped him and who he tried to track down again to similarly help, after Bruce adopted him, but was never able to find again.

Over the years, Dick also ends up steering Tim, Cass, Duke and Damian to Bruce in different ways than comic book canon (Steph and Babs’ debuts remain their own, as family adjacent but not family specifically) and thus is integral to the forming of the Batfam and has a connection with them even before the curse ultimately ends up broken and he’s able to reclaim his full identity. And each of them end up Robin at least briefly, like Steph is never Robin in this AU, and sticks with Spoiler, whereas Cass IS briefly Robin before becoming Batgirl after Babs. I did this for a few different reasons...

One, I really like that Cass is never Robin in main continuity as it creates a different dynamic between her and Dick than most of their siblings have, BUT I’ve always been curious to play around what Cass-as-Robin might even be like, just for an AU. Two, part of the Black Bat and Batgirl but never Robin sequence of mantles for Cass in the comic book continuity is like.....although it doesn’t get explored nearly enough, Babs was as much a kind of mother figure for Cass as Bruce was a father figure, despite Babs’ young age. So it makes more sense for Cass to stick more to just Bat-mantles than to ever be a Robin in the comic books. But in YJ, Babs is even younger, and just way too young to have the specific kind of dynamic that leads to that in the comic books, so its not as unreasonable IMO for her to have a different dynamic in her early days in the family here, before becoming closer with Babs and taking up the Batgirl mantle after she moves on to become Oracle.

And then also, and this is also the primary reason for making Duke a Robin briefly, before Damian is old enough....I got hung up on the title and it just didn’t work as well if it was Robins + Cass and Duke, lololol. See, in addition to helping steer the family into the points of introduction that make them a family, over the years he also acts as like, a guardian angel figure to the various family members, looking out for them and interceding in times of extreme danger, like when Jason is almost killed by the Joker. He’s always in disguise, but the kids eventually compare notes and realize there’s a singular figure behind each of their introductions to Bruce and the guy swooping out of nowhere to save their behinds whenever they’re most in danger, and Jason eventually connects this back to the guy who apparently NOT so coincidentally suggested he go after the Batmobile’s tires that fateful night, and the kids end up jokingly/not-so-jokingly referring to this figure as the Patron Saint of Robins. (Shout-out to the occasional mentions/allusions of Jason’s Catholicism).

They never tell Bruce about this figure (at least before Bruce starts to put together clues on his own), because they all figured out that for whatever reason, this person despite wanting them all to meet Bruce seems to want to avoid Bruce himself, and they kinda want to respect that as a kind of payback for his help, and also like....Bruce, even a kinder, gentler Bruce, is still Bruce. And when Bruce is gonna Bruce, that means Batparanoia. And all of them for various reasons DO trust that this guy has nothing but good intentions towards them, and so they don’t want to like....ruin or tarnish the positivity they associate with his intercession in their lives with paranoia or treating him like a bad guy. Which ultimately is really just smoke and mirrors for saying that he’s kinda a ‘just for them’ secret. Its a Robin thing.

(Until its not).

Because meanwhile, Dick, in between meeting the various Batfam members and pulling strings and looking out for them from the shadows, at first travels the world looking for ways to break his curse. But when ultimately its clear that the only way to break it is the loophole built into it already, Bruce identifying him for who he really is, but without Dick doing anything to steer him towards the answer, Dick settles into a new hero identity as Nightwing, and forms the Teen Titans, a public group of young superheroes (minus Roy and Wally, unfortunately, but still with Donna, Garth, Raven, Kory, ignoring season 3 Vic and also Terra because AU redemption arc what what, etc). And the Teen Titans avoid both the Young Justice Team and the Justlce League with EXTREME measures, much to the other heroes’ confusion and aggravation, because in the early days of the Titans, in a moment of what he’d term weakness, on one of his ‘bad days,’ Dick tells them enough of his story that they’re able to put together a good sense of what happened and who he really is by reading between the lines and what he leaves unsaid....

BUT as a result, all end up extremely committed to not mixing and mingling casually with the rest of the cape community because they don’t want to risk dropping any hints about the guy under Nightwing’s mask, in case that might count as steering Batman towards clues and seal the curse for good. So I have a lot of fun with having the Titans just nope out of the scene the second the bad guys are defeated even when they have to team up with other heroes, leaving the other heroes confused as hell and trying not to be all ‘WHY DON’T YOU LIKE US??”

Anyway, so yeah, that’s the gist of this one, lol. With it of course following the eventual plot that like...the Batfam starts to Detect and put things together.

ANYWHO!

Snippet

Damian versus Klarion: Round One

“Aww, its adorable that you think you’re in my league,” the Witch-Boy cooed in an absolute mockery of sympathy. Damian bristled, but before he could do anything more than that, he was faced with a much more pressing matter as reality completely lost its mind.

The walls of the cavern fell away in an instant, only to be replaced with a whirling dervish of winds all around them, as if they now stood in the center of a cyclone that bled red and silver and black. It shrieked and wailed in a chorus of voices just on the other side of being comprehensible, a symphony of the damned that set every nerve in Damian’s body aflame with a primal instinct to get out, to find silence, to be anywhere but here.

He’d barely staggered a step backwards when the ground erupted beneath him, splitting apart into jagged obsidian shards that bobbed precariously in the sea of magma barely glimpsed through cracks now spiderwebbing their way across the floor. Spears of lightning burst upwards through them, stabbing impossibly at the heavens rather than raining down from them. They hissed and crackled as they flickered like forked serpent tongues of electric violet and black. The forks becoming branches, the pillars of sky-shattering light transforming into the trunks of great trees that grew upwards and outward, weaving a canopy overhead. One that wept violently red leaves that fell gently to the ground, only to hiss and bubble like acid once they did.

“See, normally this is when I’d hit someone with a little razzle-dazzle like this,” Klarion called out over the song of madness he’d created, as it crooned and careened wildly all around them. He snapped his fingers, and in the span of a second it all ceased. Reality reaffirmed itself, and all was right with the world once more…except now the two of them stood at the end of a hallway in Wayne Manor.

Damian stumbled, the sudden reappearance of firm ground paradoxically being the thing to challenge his balance. The demon boy standing beside him crooked his thumb and forefinger in the semblance of a gun, the smile pasted across his face one of wickedly gleeful malice.

“But you, kiddo, you’re special. Cuz there’s nothing I could do to you now that could top what I’ve already done, so why try when I can just savor the moment instead?”

“What are you babbling about?” Damian demanded roughly. In the wake of what the Witch-Boy had just conjured up with nothing more than a gesture, he was keenly aware of how flimsy a shield his bravado made. He just had absolutely no idea what else to fall back on.

Klarion only threw back his head and laughed though, skipping merrily down the hall as he did.

“I know something you don’t know,” he sing-songed and Damian lost what little grasp of his patience he’d managed to hang onto.

“You overestimate my need for an answer. Attempt to intimidate me all you wish, but I have no desire to indulge your little game any further.”

Klarion jerked to a stop and spun around, his face screwed into a childish pout. He stomped his foot, petulance personified. “I’m not intimidating you anymore, I’m gloating! Ugh, you’re so stupid! They’re completely different, how can you not tell?”

Every light in the hallway flickered and fizzed abruptly. The walls wavered, bubbled, momentarily molten as if made of wax.

Again Damian was reminded just how mercurial this being he was faced with was, and how dangerous. Perhaps, as Father would say, this was not the time to indulge his own instinctive inclinations. Or as Todd would put it, just because you’re already fucked, that’s no reason to fuck yourself over more than you have to.

Crude as his older brother was, there was occasional merit to his…pithiness. Not that he would be admitting that any time soon, of course.

“Fine. What is it you wish to gloat about then?” Damian grated out. The appeasement, such as it was, tried its best to stick in his throat before finally clawing its way free. But at least it proved worth the effort when the godling’s mood reverted back to impishness as readily as with the flip of a switch.

“Well. Its like this, you see.” Klarion said. He dragged it out as he folded both legs underneath him to sit cross-legged in the air, plopping his head into his hands. “I did a baaaaaaaaaaaaad, bad thing to your family, a loooooong time ago. And none of you have done anything about it, because you don’t even know! Isn’t that funny? Doesn’t matter how big a hero Daddy Bats is if he doesn’t even know what needs saving huh? Little Catch-22 there, you might say.”

“Yes. Quite hysterical,” Damian said dryly. “So what is it you claim to have done then?”

The Witch-Boy just sat there, regarding him with amusement, and the seconds marched on into minutes. Damian’s skin crawled. Prickling with impatience and possibly something…more. He wasn’t quite ready to name it anxiety or something as melodramatic as all that yet. In fact, he’d rather not put a name to it at all, but today did not appear to be a day for configuring things to his liking.  

Klarion’s wicked grin grew as if sensing his thoughts, though to the best of his knowledge (and Damian did quickly ransack the library of his memory just to be sure) there was no indication telepathy was included among the Chaos Lord’s many, many powers. And still that detestable smile stretched slowly wider all the same, in perfect synchronization with the rising tide of Damian’s unease. Perhaps the Witch-Boy’s file was in need of annotation.

“How many doors would you say are in this hallway?”

“What? Seven.” Damian snapped out his answer, annoyed by the non sequitur. Not to mention baffled. Was it too much to expect even a semblance of linear thought from the Chaos brat?

“Are you suuuuuuure?” The Witch-Boy stretched his query out obnoxiously. “Maybe you should count again. Just for kicks and giggles.”

Damian throttled back each and every retort attempting to spring to his lips, stuffing them back down and cramming a lid on everything he most dearly wished to say to this most vexing of…shitheads. Once again, it appeared as though nothing less than Todd’s preferred form of nomenclature would suffice. Wonderful. On top of everything else Damian had to deal with today, he seemed to be finding common ground with the man all over the place. Was there no end to the indignities he must suffer?

But marshaling his own formidable willpower, Damian took a deep breath and indulged the Chaos Lord, glancing his eyes down the length of the hallway and counting out each doorway one by one. There was his own room of course, with Cassandra’s to the right of his, and the room Brown used when staying over to the right of hers. That was three. Then there was Thomas directly across from his own room, with Drake to his right and Todd just beyond that, with Father’s room at the very end of the hall, his master suite staggered and with no direct opposite like the others. Seven.

Except all of a sudden there was a door directly opposite his father’s. For a total of eight.

Damian’s brow furrowed in consternation. The faint whispers of uncertainty already seeded throughout him bore fruit, ripening into poisonous stabbings of doubt.

“That’s not real,” he stated with as much conviction as he could muster.

The Witch-Boy’s smile only grew wider still. “Isn’t it, though?”

“There’s never been a door there before,” Damian persisted, striding confidently down the hall towards it. The Chaos Lord flitted ahead of him, inverting til he was upside down and skipping merrily once more, though this time from the ceiling.

“Or has it been there all along?” He sing-songed some more.

“I would think we might have noticed if it had been,” Damian growled.

“Yes, you’d think, wouldn’t you? You are all supposed to be a family of detectives, I thought. Makes you wonder…if you could miss this, what else might you have failed to notice?”

Damian snarled to himself and did his best to shut out the demon boy’s prattling. He quickened his strides, eating up the length of the hallway in his haste to reach its end. He wasn’t sure what opening the door would prove, let alone what bewilderment the godling had conjured on its other side, but it appeared the only end to this game of his was through it, so let there be an end to it already.

And yet, for all his certainty - or best facsimile of it - he couldn’t help but pause once he reached the door in question. His hand hovered within reach of its brass knob, but some instinct, some…caution, held him at bay. As much as he wanted to dismiss all this as just one more of the Chaos Lord’s inane charades, there was a tension in the air that felt too weighty to be the product of just magical conjuring. Something more was in play here. Real forces were at work. His father might disdain magic, but Damian had been around enough of it himself to know when true power had been raised. And the span of empty space between his hand and this hither-to-unseen doorknob held more of it than Damian had felt throughout all the mad warpings Klarion had made of reality thus far.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Klarion asked from somewhere overhead. His voice, usually pitched to carry, was so soft for a moment Damian mistook it for his own inner doubts. “Some doors are easier to open than to close again, you know.”

Even knowing the goading for what it was couldn’t stop Damian then, and with a simple breath to fortify himself, he reached for the knob, spun it once, and shoved the door open all in a single sharp movement.

The Witch-Boy giggled up above.

The door swung wide, a forceful arc that should have revealed anything and everything within it all at once; the better to react quickly to whatever that might be. Fine in principle, perfect in execution, but thwarted by one small detail:

There was nothing on the other side.

And not in the sense of it being just an empty room, but true nothingness. A pitch-black abyss darker than the deepest night, yawning forth from the doorway in a vast, impenetrable shroud. Nor was anything hidden in the darkness, Damian knew, even if just intuitively. He could feel it, that he stood on the edge of an impossible cliff, that there was nothing beyond this threshold but an aching chasm of emptiness and loss. The surety of it hung in the air, thick and heavy, a miasma that seeped through to his side of the doorway and clung to him like the moisture of a fog beads upon the skin.

Klarion’s head suddenly popped up alongside him, hovering just over his shoulder.

Albeit still upside down.

“Well that doesn’t seem right,” he mused, tapping at his lips with a forefinger. “What do you suppose is meant to be in there?”

The last of Damian’s brittle patience shattered.

“Enough! What is the meaning of all this, demon? Speak plainly, for once in your miserable existence!”

His self-preservation instincts and the reminder of just who it was he was shouting at kicked in too little too late, but he wouldn’t take his exasperated fury back even if he could. He was who he was after all. But fortunately, that described the Witch-Boy just as accurately, and rather take offense or perceive any actual threat from Damian’s rage, the Chaos Lord just shrieked with laughter and sprung backwards. He flipped right side up, still hovering in mid-air, and clapped his hands with glee.

“Oh, I should have done this ages ago,” Klarion sang out. “Why, you’re almost as fun as he used to be. Back before he got all droll and serious, that is. He’s no fun at all anymore, nothing like this. Never wants to play, always just running back to his tower with that little bitch of a demoness.”

His face soured like he’d just sucked on a lemon. But rather than stop there, his countenance kept morphing into an increasingly savage scowl, the longer he ranted. The hallway was suddenly sweltering, baking with unseen heat that twisted the air into shimmering ribbons. The small horns sprouting from his forehead burst into scimitars of flame that cut through those ribbons and set them similarly ablaze.

“Always putting on airs like she’s some kind of royalty, just because her Daddy Dearest put the fear into a few peasants back in the day,” the Witch-Boy snarled viciously. “As if that’s enough to put her on par with the likes of me. No one is the likes of me. NO ONE!”

Reality itself quaked with the force of his shout. White-blue flames spat forth and crescendoed down the length of the corridor, splashing against its walls and searing them to a crisp. Damian braced himself for all the good it would do, keenly aware of the void still gaping hungrily behind his back, but before the fire could become an actual danger to him as well, all was quiet once more.

Silence hung in the air much like the demon boy, poised yet motionless. Suspended. Waiting.

And then Klarion simply inhaled and brushed his hands down the front of his garments, smoothing out the wrinkles as he reclaimed his calm. The corridor restored itself to its former self, curtains of vintage reality unrolling from the ceiling to the floor as though papering over the damage. Damian felt rather than saw when the portal behind him swung shut and was replaced with the expanse of ivory paint and ornate sconces he was used to seeing in its place.

“I am one of a kind, after all,” Klarion finally remarked. It was a casual drawl offered forth almost off-handedly, as if more a reminder to himself than uttered for anyone else’s sake. He used one hand to spell out letters in the air. They appeared and vanished again in bursts of fireworks and fluorescent flame. “U-N-I-Q-U-E.”

“As I, apparently, am not,” Damian said, seizing upon the Chaos Lord’s restored calm and good cheer. “Who is this ‘he’ you mentioned? If I’m to be pitted against him as entertainment in your eyes, might I at least know his name?”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” the Witch-Boy scolded. He wagged his finger at Damian. “No spoilers. That’s not how the game is played.”

Keenly aware of the boy’s power once more, Damian gritted his teeth and pressed on. “Well, if there are to be rules, shouldn’t I at least know what those are?”

Klarion sucked in a deep breath, drawing himself up along with his inhalation as though preparing for some great speech…and instead just toppling backward, flopping onto an extravagant fainting couch that suddenly appeared beneath him, though similarly floating in the air.

“I can’t recall at the moment.” His now-faint voice drifted up from where he lay buried amid a mountain of pillows. “I’ve had a terribly exhausting day. But you’re supposed to be a detective, remember? Go…I don’t know. Detect things.”

He flapped an arm at Damian dismissively, and then crooked a finger into a twirling motion that set his divan to spinning in lazy circles.

“Isn’t life grand?” Klarion sighed fondly. “With all its twists and turns, its eddies and swirls. I mean, take the two of us. Scant hours ago, we were mortal enemies, and just look at us now.”

The Witch-Boy lazily rolled his head to the side as the couch drifted to bring him face-to-face with Damian. His lips spread wide in that malevolent, wicked grin of his once again, but somehow it managed to be even wider than any he’d shown off before. His eyes blazed with a hellish inner light, and his voice, when next he spoke, dropped deep into a demonic register. A bass that boomed forth and set Damian’s very bones to rattling.

“Ain’t we got fun?”

[wispandwhispers]

Welcome to Monochromia!

Words: 2048

Previous | Next

Tw(s) : Cursing, Implied torture, getting disturbing commissions, talked about murder (Tell me if there is any to add)

Pairing(s) : Eventually Logicality, Dukeceit, Eventually Prinxiety.

Notes : I’ve had this idea on the back burner for so long and its finally here

"Zynx, how do you plan to secure the vote in the Fumi sector?"

"No comment."

"Zynx, how are you planning to make a comeback after Foster destroyed your chances of getting the majority ?"

"No comment."

"Zynx, is the rumours of you and Crownford sleeping together true?"

"I'm sorry but I'm not sure what you're talking about."

A limousine pulled up in front of the city hall and the chauffeur rolled down the window. A simple eye signal and he knew it was time to go.

"No more questions."

"Zynx a moment of your t-"

The chauffeur slammed the door of the limousine and started the planned safety-checked drive back to his boss' residence.

He looked in the mirror at his employer which a cheeky grin.

"I have a good feeling your sick of this question but how in fuck's name are you going to win this election? "

The passenger glared at his employee, clearly pissed.

"Do not test my patience Remy."

"Holy shit, you didn't say my full name, who are you and what have you done with Logan Zynx?"

"Just pass my yarn bag, I'm so fucking stressed."

Remy opened the compartment and chucked the medium sized light- blue pouch to the back.

"I don't understand why you don't you just go around firing people, snort crack, hate sex or whatever rich people do the wind down."

"I don't really know, this brings me peace for some reason."

The conversation died down and Logan got to work on stress knitting a new scarf/sock/ thing while Remy took the back route to his estate in the Prime sector with the sound of the radio in the background.

The usual daily announcements, the signal time, the weather update, the tired host annoying the news-

-Roman Crownford made headlines tonight when he was caught carrying election candidate, Logan Zynx in the bridal position . Rumours have emerged that the two are in a relationship and-

The driver's neck snapped back to stare at the person in the back seat.

"Spill."

"I don't speak slang."

"Fine, explain."

"I decided to go out for a drink, someone decided to spike it, woke up in my bed with this guy staring at me. That's what I can remember at least."

"Sounds like the start to some shitty rom-com."

-Footage can be seen of the actor carefully helping the politician get to his car to supposedly drive him home.

"Please turn that down, If I listen to that anymore I'll get a headache from the bullshit they are spewing. And I already have one from the debate so please."

Remy turn the dial anti-clockwise.

"Anyway, you need to be focusing on which is the best assassin in the area, I personally recommend Remus-"

In the mirror, the driver could see his employer's eyes sharpen in annoyance.

"I plan to win the election without murdering someone and even if I was to kill Patton, I would probably get caught anyway."

The limousine came to a halt.

"You better get inside, three minutes 'til the signal goes live."

Logan let himself out of the vehicle and faced the other

"I'm aware. That's why I wear a watch if you weren't aware."

Remy just shook his head.

"You're still the fucking antisocial nerd you were as a teen."

"And you were the same shade of black and white since you were twelve but I don't comment about it." Logan retorted as he started to walk to his door.

"Don't come for my kneecaps bitch, I'm being a queen in the colours I can see and I'm fucking proud of my basic bitch style."

"God you're so egotistical. Why am I friend with you again?"

"Your bad life decisions, not mine."

Logan heard the limousine drive off into the distance. He would assume the Remy would just listen to the signal in the car. And then promptly go and get a coffee to fuel his caffeine addiction that can never satisfied.

Logan walked into his house and sat down on his armchair. Cathrine climbed onto his lap but he's shooed her away. She always seemed to meow louder during the signal.

Your daily broadcast is about to begin, remember you can always t̙̰̖̲͔͈͚̱̞͙̐̇͋́̅̊̀̅̕͝ų̺̺̟͇͈͎̝̫̱̳̝͈̬͔̩̠̞̙͑̍͒̌̅͗̔͑̿̋̔͘̕̕̚̕͠͠͠r̡̧̧̛̟̺͍̘̘͉̞͔͇̭͍̮̒̋͆́̎̿̀̉́̏̊͘͘͜͠͡n̡̢̛̥̺̱̫͖̹̩̲̝̪͊̊̊͂̔̇͆̓̄̋̓̓ͅ i̢̱͕̮͎̺͓͂̒̊͂͒̏̍t̨̨̥̦̙̭̦̀̄̾̂̽̄͘ o̧̥̗͚̮͇̬̠̥̼̮̫͕̞̪̭̝̼̍͒̇̀̐̌̊͆́̐͂͒̀̋͌̌͐̕̚͜f̡̢̨̢̥̬̳͓̺̖͍͐͒̍̄̋̂̏͂̍̊̏̅͜f̛̹̱̜̥͇̜̥̙͇̻͍̙͈̱̈́̎͋̏̑̑͊́̌̓̓͗́́͟ ȧ̢̧̢̞̙̦͉̪͇̇̾̄̑̽̓̈́̾̓̌͟͜͝ͅẗ̜͎̖̰͖͉͇̦̥́̍̑̄̚͘͞͡͞ ä̡̫̰̪̰̖͕̲͙̲̝̘̤͎́̂̏̇̓̃̍̽̐́̚͘͢͞͡͡ǹ̢͇̙͇̙̯͎̬̟͖̪̥̹͔̙̿́̓̍̽̊͆̈̓̍̎̀̏͌͌͜͞ͅy͓̪̟̲̩̙͚̗̫͚̰̘̫͈͌̍̊̃̎̓͒̄̔͑͆̈̄͠ -

It cackled unholy sound, like the type static made but way worse and the device proceeded to go radio silent (no pun intended). Logan walked over to see if Cathrine had chewed through the wires again but she was curled up in a ball on the heater.

"I got this fixed not even a week ago, It can't be broken already.."

The box suddenly flickered back to life akin to a car engine. Logan sighed in relief, returning to his chair waiting for the-

Good evening lucky citizen, I am proud to interrupt your daily brainwashing in the hopes that you will heed my warning. Stop listening to the fucking signal or broadcast or wave or whatever you call it in your sector.This is probably the most idiotic thing that you have ever heard. I am fully aware. But also was that story our caregivers told us so we wouldn't cover our ears. So you listened through the hidden circle of hell that was the sound you heard. But you don't remember the pain and only the calm when it ended, don't you? In the very likely case you are currently at your mobile trying to report me., let me save you the hassle of trying to find a name. Call me-

Logan promptly ripped the radio cord out of the socket.

Pacing around his study slowly, trying to mentally recall a fact, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. The broadcast had ended the second he had pulled out the plug. He couldn't dwell on that. He typed in a number and let the waiting sound become his background noise until someone picked up.

"Patton, can I stay at yours for the night?"

*****

" Q.Quill. A twenty year old woman who grew up in godforsaken dump that is Fumi, clawed her way to the top and started to biggest drug empire in the city, who always has four weapons on her person at all times, the person whose body has never gotten more than a scratch before the person who dared to hurt her died was killed by her own hands and you killed her sneaking an acid bomb into her Big Mac. I'm surprised Duke. It's less creative than how you usually murder your target."

"You wound me Pip, when I joined this company I swore to myself that every single job I do , I would pour my hearty and soul into. There is no was in-"

"Let me guess, the acid is more than acid."

'Duke' gave a slick grin. "Wanna know what was in it?"

"Nah, I'm still traumatised from the hat job."

She passed a bag to the assassin.

"You know where to pick up your pay check from. Get the fuck out of my office..

Grabbing the sack, moonwalking on his hellys that Pip was convinced he was not wearing before, 'Duke' went to collect his earnings.

He rolled to the Shed, pick up the cash, stuffed a red hot poker into the eye of a guy who tried to mug him and continued on with his daily rout-

"Thomas!" Duke ran up to the named person and lifted him into the air. Then he slapped his face.

"Ow, what the fuck was that Re...," A frantic head shake for 'not the right time. "Duke .."

Thomas narrowed his eyebrows and pulled the Duke to the nearby alleyway. Thomas was going to speak but the other beat him to it.

"I slapped you, partially because I wanted to and because it's not safe to be around me at the moment because I kinda killed someone off duty so the Shed is probably after me and your dad will kill me if I get blood on your shirt and Janus is terrifying when pissed."

Thomas just stood back, taking a good moment to process the information.

"How did you get chosen to be an assassin?"

"Do you think I know?"

Duke perked his ears up. Footsteps. Very light and carefully planned ones as well.

"Ok Thomas, I'm got to play with people's intestines now, say hi to Janus for me and rennet that's nothing is illegal if you don't get caught!"Duke took out a sewing needle out of his pocket than had green thread.

Thomas felt sorry for the victims ,already starting to back out of the future crime scene.

"Sure!"

*********

Virgil stepped back from from his computer, questioning why he even decided to take commissions in the first place. And seeming from the email, this wasn't someone trying to fuck with him.

Time to get some moral support.

i'llburnifigointothesun: What would you do if a guy offered you one fucking million for a piece of fanart of them living out their romantic fantasies

FosterDawg: You don't need to do nsfw pieces. You're not a broke college student

i'llburnifigointothesun:Yeah, I've upgraded to a broke adult.

FosterDawg : So...Why are you nervous about this? You've drawn kisses before albeit it wasn't normally the most light hearted work but this isn't one of your triggers.

i'llburnifigointothesun: the condition is I have to hand paint this and they want it 'hyper-realistic'. i kinda don't want my hands to die.

FosterDawg : Kiddo, at the end of the day, it's your call if you want to do this or not.

i'llburnifigointothesun: it was such a dad thing to end that with an exclamation mark.

Virgil put down his phone, listened to the broadcast ,stared long and hard at his paintbrushes. After about half an hour he got out a canvas and pulled up reference images.

He gritted his teeth. "If they're lying, I'm about to going to sue."

*******

"Dad, I'm home!"

Thomas flung his backpack onto the floor, walking to the kitchen to partially look for his dad and partially to get the leftover pizza.

"Okay, he's still at work which means time for-"

"Thomas you can't watch Steven Universe re-runs until five in the morning again, you have your revision that you'll procrastinate and then panic a month before you the exam date in guilt of not studying."

The father had seemed to just manifest out of thin air, standing behind his son and the other couldn't tell if he had been there for an hour or two minutes.He rarely wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"Dad, I didn't ask you to peer into my soul.Also Remus says hi." He fiddled with the remote control, deciding what cartoon to binge watch .

The parent rushed to his son ,checking his face to see if was hurt. "Shit, you didn't see him kill or hurt anyone, right?"

"Yep!"

Janus let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "Thank fuck, you can't be used as a witness."

Thomas walked over to the front door to retrieve his discarded backpack and took out his music theory notes. He scanned through the notes and then lowered his head in frustration."Why did I pick this class?"

"It seemed like a good decision at the time, for you and you just started your Hamilton phase." Janus saw his son staring over what he assumed was the homework. The due date was in a weeks time. He had an internal debate with himself and came to a decision.

"You know what, fuck that!," He chucked Thomas homework to the side. "Do what makes you happy tonight, you seem stressed and you should take time for yourself."

Thomas started at his dad for a few seconds and gave him a big hug. " Thanks, I kinda needed that.. This maybe a bad time but I kinda threw my tie-dye pride flag with your yellow dress shirts.

Janus stared at the other with a glare that could be sarcasm or could be anger. "Well, everything could be gayer."

The dad finally put down his hat on the coat stand and started to walk upstairs. "Remember to keep it down, I'll be live."

"Kay.."Thomas started his self care routine by microwaving the leftover pizza.

Taglist( Ask me if you want to be added):

@katlikethesword, @crinklesnuff

#logicality #wisp writes #i fucking did it #thank you cat #so much #anyway #dukeceit #demus #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders

[avatar-index]

Statement 155104

Chowder is an Avatar of the Flesh, touched by the Spiral.

I believe it is best that we cover his relationship with the later entity first, to give him justice as a, no pun intended, treat.

If you were to tune in to Cartoon Network back in the early 2000′s and kicked back to watch some good ol’ Chowder, chances are you will find and catch on to a fourth wall-breaking joke; one of the writing elements common in this show. Like a good amount of characters within, Chowder himself appears to be fully aware that he exists in a fictional medium; such is the norm among the population of his giant-maneuvered, little patch of land.

Does the insignificance of his existence bother him in the slightest? That he is the figment of a a person’s imagination, and that, without warning, it’s suddenly lights out for all of them just like that? Not at all.

As long as the fridge is kept from being empty.

When that day comes, a bunker is the least you would need for what is going to come. Above all, Chowder is most passionate about becoming a chef much like his mentor, Mung Daal, both out of his sheer respect for who he considers a father figure and undying love for delicacies of any kind.

He is flesh and bones, and, honestly, he doesn’t mind it. The world may end without him knowing, but is that his business? Nah, he’s here to have a good time, and a good meal.

Besides, that appetite of his is not to be underestimated. I would sacrifice a femur just to see him and Kirby duke it out in a gourmet race 2.0.

#Chowder #Chowder Cartoon Network #TMA #The Magnus Archives #Avatar of the Flesh #The Flesh #The Spiral #TMA The Flesh #TMA The Spiral #A; The Flesh #M; The Spiral #my first request from a pal on discord!!!! #Longer statements #Archivist Quanta

[knightsandjedis]

Throwdown with MoM

This is going to be lengthy because I’m chatty and adore Kingdom Hearts.

Hopefully everyone has gotten to see the new Kingdom Hearts: Melody of Memory trailer so I’m not spoiling for anybody. I’m excited for all the new content for the most part. It makes me super happy to see Kairi finally get a moment in the spotlight. I agree with the person who mentioned in their post to keep pleading with Square Enix for more Kairi content. The louder the voices the more likely it will happen.

Square Enix make it happen darnit.

The game looks interesting, I won’t mind playing a rhythm style only because I love the music. However, I am so tired of seeing Olympus Coliseum it’s not even funny. Also, are we having to go through Re:code and Chain of Memories type of scenario because it’s a broken record. Square Enix (I’m going to call it Enix for short from here on) please be original and come up with fresh ideas. It’s bad marketing to keep returning to the old games. To me, not sure about others, it seems like you’ve run out of ideas so you’re riding the cash cow due to financial difficulties. Get all the money you can milk out of this series due to desperation. (FF VII release may have changed this but yet again it’s a return to their older games...not that I’m complaining entirely).

One of my main concerns is Xehanort playing the role of villain again despite claims the Darkseeker Saga was over. I forgot what the saga was called actually. Seeker of Darkness? My mind must have blocked the name because it’s exhausted with the “Xehanort Saga.” I know Xehanort is one of the main focuses of KH: Dark Hour. Can that be the end of him? I know he’s returning as Terranort since he’s connected to Kairi being spirited away to Destiny Islands. Let that be the end of his presence. I’m over him.

A lot of people have theorized Terranort will be the cloaked figure Kairi is attacking in the trailer. Please Tetsuya Nomura let this mystery figure be anybody else. I would take Chip and Dale inhabiting a body than another second spent on Xehanort’s body hopping. Personally, I hope for the figure to be someone with more personal significance to Kairi emotionally. Maybe someone she has a deep, personal relationship with.

Yes, I’m hoping for this possible cloaked individual (the Master of Masters I believe) to be- cue drum roll- Sora.

Half the fan-base will probably despise the thought of happy-go-lucky Sora to turn into such an antithesis of his character but I think it would provide great food for thought. Aqua, one of the most honorable and big good characters, finally fell to despair thanks to the Realm of Darkness and Xehanort’s influence to become Antiaqua. Could you imagine the travesty of having Sora morph into someone beyond recognition?

Sora has been the main focus of Kairi’s story-line (unfortunately, since she has limited plot that does not involve him, even though I like Sora). I think it would be groundbreaking for her to undergo the same scenario of having to fight the person closest to you. Sora and Riku fought each other, Roxas fought Xion and Axel, Aqua fought Ventus and Terra. These battles were extremely difficult because they’re fighting their closest allies, people they each consider significantly important to them. I would love to see Kairi and Sora duke it out.

Could you imagine how difficult it would be for Kairi? One of her first lines in Kingdom Hearts is telling Sora not to change. Sadly, he has changed after all these experiences and ordeals he went through but he still retained some of the characteristics she knew before their world was plunged in darkness. But, to see Sora completely slip? Oh, what a devastating but great scenario that would be!

I would love to see Kairi’s expression when the hood is pulled back to reveal Sora. That would be such an intense scene. It’s much better than the generic Xehanort or Terranort up to his dastardly schemes again that gets meddled with thanks to some pesky teenagers. I’m okay with Demyx but he has no connection with Kairi so it’s not as groundbreaking. A dark Sora would pull some heartstrings and give Kairi actual conflict. She could have an actual story-line of having to save Sora in multiple ways (how many times has he rescued her for Pete’s sake- no pun intended). Sora had to save Kairi from villains and other outside forces. Let it be a reverse scenario- Kairi has to save Sora from himself.

I’m rubbing my hands in anticipation. I’ll willingly give money Enix just to see Kairi have plot significance other than a damsel needing rescuing. (Ten bucks Riku will be saving her this time since Sora’s gone). Enix if one more person kidnaps Kairi I will falcon punch each of the people on the development team.

#kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts: melody of memory #kairi #sora #master of masters #no terranort #no xehanort #no more #anti xehanort