#also I hurt my legs writing this

[transfennecbuddy]

HI HI HI HELLO I have a THING! That I want to show y'all! HEHEHEHEHEHE I have another rant!! I shall hide it behind the read more thing but yeah!!! Hehe rant!!

(Also! Legal disclaimer! [Not really but same vibe.] This rant is about a super fancy snazzy spiffy science thing [CRISPR] but I'm not a science professional! I'm just doing a school project on this! This is what I got from YouTube videos and websites and such, yeah? If I get things wrong, that's why!)

Hi hi hi so you came to see my rant huh? Huh huh huh? Well I shall show you hehehe!

Have you heard of a thing called CRISPR? I'm gonna assume that you haven't so that I can explain!! It's a gene editing tool that uses a protein called Cas9, which is commonly found in bacteria! You see, bacteria have been using this fancy thing all along for ages! Like whenever bacteria get attacked by a virus (which happens a lot) and that virus is new to it, it doesn't really have a fancy defense mechanism to protect itself. But if it survives the attack, then it takes a bit of the virus's DNA and saves it in a section of its own DNA using Cas9. And then if it gets attacked by that virus again, it'll check the virus's DNA against the samples it has in storage, recognize the DNA, and make pieces of RNA to attack the virus right at its DNA!

Cool, huh? Well scientists found about this lil whizzy thing called Cas9 a while ago and were pretty excited, for good reason. With CRISPR, we can not only edit the DNA of creatures that haven't been born yet but also creatures that are very well and living which can pave the way to treatments for genetic diseases!! Plus it's much cheaper than it cost to do genetic stuff the old way!!! (As in, some folks are trying to get laypeople to try out CRISPR on themselves, and their main struggle is with convincing people to do it cause the cost isn't that big of a factor!) We already have GMOs like the Flavr Savr tomato (which takes longer to rot on store shelves thanks to being genetically modified). If CRISPR is safe (which folks are still trying to work on since there's still so much about genetics that scientists don't know and messing with folks' genomes can lead to unintended consequences [also fun fact: the word consequences is used colloquially to mean a bad effect of something, but in stuff like psychology, it just means an effect of something!!]), then it can be super awesome!

I learned about this lil thing back in... I think 2018? I watched a Kurzgesagt video on it a few years ago at least, and I rediscovered the vid during the pandemic while everyone and everything was shut down and there wasn't much to do during the summer other than sit on the couch and watch TV. And like, I LOVED that video when I first watched it?? I watched it multiple times and I even forced (read: persuaded/begged) my parents to watch it too. And I still love hearing about CRISPR and genetic engineering and genetics in general now because of that (and it's impressed at least two important people in my life so I consider it a success!). Like when we touched briefly on CRISPR in my biology class last year, I was SUPER excited in the back of the classroom because it was CRISPR!! One of my childhood interests that has significantly influenced my life!!

So when we had to do a project on new science in my physics class this year (for... reasons), I immediately looked up new stuff going on with CRISPR within the last couple years. AND TURNS OUT! FOLKS HAVE MADE A CRISPR 3.0 NOW! Like I didn't even get to hear about CRISPR 2.0, it was just straight to CRISPR 3.0!! And hopefully CRISPR 3.0 is safer, more effective, and easier to use than the original version of CRISPR.

ALSO! CRISPR IS BEING TRIED OUT TO HELP FAMILIAL HYPERCHOLESTEROLEMIA(high cholesterol risk passed down genetically)!! THAT'S SO COOL!!! AND IT'S BEING TESTED ON PEOPLE NOW! I will literally SCREAM this is so cool!!

So yes! I'm having a fun time, hehe. And I'm writing this instead of actually working on my project, but that's cause it's helping me put together my thoughts! Totally not because I'm just too excited to work on it without being able to gush to someone about it (/sarcasm), lol.

#learning about this has filled me with joy and bliss c: #and I am absolutely starting on this project now even though it's due next Friday what about it?? /lighthearted #me's happyy #I have already told one of my school friends and my mom and my cousin about this and I am making it my #main mission in life to make this everyone's problem HEH #also I hurt my legs writing this #as in I sat crosslegged with one on top of the other (like that yoga pose) for hours writing this and my review of Shadow Shadow #and now my knees are creaky and hurt to unbend #I feel like I should make 'I hurt my legs writing this' a tag just for funsies cause I hurt my legs a lot lol #I'm very tempted >:T #OO also I drew today!! as in I drew humans (which are very hard for me) and they turned out prettyy! #today's just been an all-around good day <3 #kitty's rants #CRISPR #tw capital letters #lots of capital letters #whole capitalized sentences actually

[ragnarokhound]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

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

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

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

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

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

"What's going on here?"

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

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

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

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

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

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

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

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

And then Tim thinks about the call.

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

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

“Today,” he repeats.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hand over your wallet!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

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

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

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

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

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

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

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

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

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

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

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

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

“Again. Fucking ew.”

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

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

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

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

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

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jason—!”

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

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

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

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

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

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

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

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

He knows, okay?

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

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

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

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

But he still means it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason’s grin is electric. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

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

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

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

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

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

Tim is already asleep.

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

[radioactivedragonspit]

Modern Sk8-inspired AU where American snowboarder Jack moves to a dinky little Canadian town called Berk & meets a reckless, longboard racing Hiccup. Hic ends up getting him into skateboarding & racing, & Jack ends up teaching him to snowboard. They’re both big adrenaline junkies & reckless as hell, but they have fun.

I thought it’d make more sense to make Hiccup Canadian even tho he’s not the Langa parallel, cause his VA is Canadian & I’m far more familiar with Canadian small town vibes lol. Especially mountainous, winter tourism small towns. I also plan to add in Hiccups whole friend group as his racing team & give them a kinda punk aesthetic. Let’s be honest, they’re all little punks, and I’m gonna lean into that, fer sure.

#my art #casually puts Hiccup in my own clothing #the jacket is mine w/ a few patches added #& that particular sweater + a hoodie has been my comfort outfit for the past like 3 weeks #also considering painting the bottom of my longboard to cosplay this 😳 #I wish I was good enough to race but I can barely make it 5 blocks before my legs hurt #also both Hic & Roughnut are trans cause I say so #I wanna use this AU to draw little comic snippets and get better at comic things #might write smth? idk it’s been ages since I’ve fpwritten actual fanfic #httyd #hiccup #hijack #au #modern au #jack frost #rotg #coloured sketch #sketch #digital art #frostcup #how to train your dragon #rise of the guardians #fanart #sk8 au #hiccup haddock

[butchshevik]

I will probably cave and watch the fall of the house of usher anyways but let it be stated for the record that I do not and never will like flanegans work

#its the themelessness for me.... #if you pay attention to how he writes/frames you can tell that beneath the veneer of a Family Redeems and Love Conquers theme #there actually isnt any salient consistency with the Why #at my most generous hes going for a 'your loved ones are complicated individuals capable of hurt but you should still love and forgive them' #but he never crafts an argument as to why that should happen besides the Bad Things Happening that comprise the plot of a horror production #and im not saying that you shouldnt forgive people but just that an artistic production that centers it thematically #ahould be able to make that argument on its own two legs #also he writes all women as smarmy #and makes them suffer the greatest narrative consequences despite often having minimal roles in the cycles of violence the plot centers #but he makes absolutely no cogent point that transforms it into a commentary on misogyny instead of another iteration of it #and the way he paces dialogue and sets characters on these patronizing monologues just artistically is weak imo #but will i watch the new one? probably 😔

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

do you ever feel like you can be a writer or a person but not both

#i am sooooooo bad at time management when i get into writing! #to the point where it's almost not worth it #it's like i can either write in a state of pure obsessed madness or not at all #but also the pure obsessed madness is like ... uncomfy! my legs hurt from sitting all day! #and i forgot to do any of my chores! #just like ......... i truly don't know how to harness my creative brain into any sort of discipline #or being a functioning human who also writes #dollsome's deep thoughts

[thesearchforbluejello]

This has absolutely been discussed many times but I am once again losing it over the fact that "Rogue One" as a name is making sound out of silence.

It's formed as a last minute, emergency name for the shuttle, for the people aboard, for the mission when Bodhi says it; it has no precedent, nothing that came before it for that name to be used. But when Bodhi says it, it exists.

It both takes advantage of and retcons the Rogue Squadron we've seen before in the original trilogy, where there was no Rogue One. But there is now, because Bodhi said it.

Jyn's name, Cassian's name, K's name, Chirrut's name, Baze's name, Bodhi's name, every one of the rebels that are on the shuttle... none of them come up again in the things that temporally follow. Yes, those pieces of media were created before this film, but in the world of the story, they come after, and it becomes a remarkable silence.

Rogue One as the team that took Scarif and stole the Death Star plans exists as Rogue One because Bodhi pulls that name out of silence, out of nothing that preceded it. "Rogue One?! There is no Rogue One!" "Well, there is now." And after Scarif, there is no Rogue One again. It existed only for what it accomplished.

On a meta level, that's exactly what the film does as well-- it tells a story that was only a handful of vague lines before, draws it out of the lacunae and places itself where it belonged to tell a story that was restrained by the shape of the narrative that came before it and was unavoidably wrapped around it. It's the quintessential "doomed by the narrative."

There's also the fact that Jyn's theme is built around dies irae and reflexively creates a reference to her in parts of A New Hope and also makes the score tell you that she's doomed by the narrative to die but I've screamed enough already.

#I will lose my cool entirely if I go off about the soundtrack okay #the achingly beautiful string motifs #the way he pushes the brass into a register that *hurts* #the fact that he takes advantage of Williams' over the top punchy incidental style and constrasts it with the absolute #stunning orchestral style he's so good at with the low strings and brass and the juxtaposition of lyrical sections with tight rhythms UGH #permanently yelling about Giacchino okay #like he took all the good bits of Williams and made them 70x better sorry Williams fans #there's more Super 8 in this score than I ever really thought about before but it's raw in a way a lot of his work hasn't been #I would like him to write more gut wrenching shit like this please I'm begging #like Giacchino absolutely pop off with his writing okay #he punched us in the throat with Up too but that was different #either that or let Chris Tilton do it I'd be fine with that also #anyway I digress this movie makes me foam at the mouth gnaw a table leg feral okay #the Jyn Erso and Hope Suite is probably Giacchino's crowning achievement imo #you have to sit silently and stare at a wall after it #like you have to take a recovery minute #also he WENT. THE. FUCK. OFF. with the Darth Vader motif #congratulations to this movie for making Darth Vader genuinely terrifying for the first time ever #idk you guys I'm just permanently obsessed with this movie #the rest of star wars just exists around this movie okay #they all wish they had what this movie has #I will not be taking criticism at this time

[catzgam3rz]

hm, Angel of Death Solidarity would be cool I think

#rambles #my art #solidaritygaming #solidarity #jimmy solidarity #mcyt #dlsmp #trafficblr #ehhh kinda dlsmp idk sorta #i'm too tired to write detailed thoughts i'll do it later #all you need to know is that I love mumza and will rope her into anything #also this is the closest i'm getting to canary jimmy in my designs i think lol #angel of death!solidarity #angel of death au #gnight gnight gnight my leg n arm really hurt lol

[icewindandboringhorror]

I think the hardest thing in writing for me sometimes is the like “show don’t tell/let people communicate through subtext/Normal People don’t just walk around openly explaining their motivations for everything That’s Unnatural” thing because like.. I literally DO walk around openly explaining my motivations for everything, that is how I talk, I am an analytical detail oriented over-communicator who explains everything as thoroughly as possible and and will give a fully detailed 2 minute long answer to something simple like “how are you doing today?” .. like it’s hard to make things sound Natural and Normal when you yourself are inherently unnatural and abnormal in your methods of communication to an extent lol

#''hey. whats up? you look kind of sad.. is something wrong?'' normal answer (apparently how people are supposed to talk): *looks away #remosefully and stares into the distance* ''n-no.. I'm fine. don't worry about it.'' abnormal answer (how I would respond): ''Yeah I #'m mostly fine. I was just thinking about what the future is going to be like 30 years from now and if I'll ever actually accomplish anythin #g that I want to. which makes me feel X way for XYZ reason. you see because I had a dream last night that made me think of *continues to exp #lain my exact emotional state and inner thought process completely matter of factly in exact detail for 5 more minutes* #tfw you would be a badly written character if you existed in a story lol #This is also why I struggle making conflict because most conflicts can be resolved through conversation and I personally love to have long #detailed conversations about everything. Like literally I don't have hardly any conflicts interpersonally because if something happens it's #immediately followed up with like ''hey sorry if my tone of voice sounded a bit pointed or harsh. when you were talking to me I was trying #to balance all the stuff I was taking up the stairs and also my leg hurts so I think all my mental energy was being used there and I just #didn't feel like talking. I should have just said 'wait a minute and we can discuss it inside' instead of trying to end the conversation qui #ckly in a short rude way.' ''oh yeah thats fine. I thought it was something like that. sorry for hounding you about the topic as well. i #havent eaten in a while so I think I'm just a bit prickly at the moment. we should both rest for a while and destress from the store #trip and then talk about it later. maybe after lunch?' 'sure. sounds good.' like LITERALLY. lol #it is so hard for me to write characters who are bad communicators or don't understand their own internal states or arent constantly #analyzing their own actions to understand what they do/don't feel and why and what the cause of it is and etc. etc. etc. #I just naturally want everyone to perfectly undertsand everything and communicate amazingly and have complete self awareness and #logical presence of mind gjhbj.. which like.. of course comes across as unnatyural and also those type of people rarely ever get involved in #conflict and conflict is APPARENTLY what drives stories (even though I don't like most conflicts and just want to resolve them lol) so ...aa #I mean you can get around this to some degree by the fact that (at least in my opinion) no rule for dialogue is 100%. dialogue is good if it #sounds naturally like it comes from the character who said it. It can be meandering and pointless and rambly IF that matches the character. #it can be dry and overly self aware IF your character is that way and it suits them. So like throwing in a few detached scholar types or lik #e '5000 year old cave dwelling hermit' type people is good for me and works BUT the thing is an ENTIRE cast of characters can't be that way. #at some point - even in a setting where everyone is reserved and academic (like a research camp in the wilderness full of scholars and stuff #) still SOMEBODY has to be the one who's conflict prone and doesn't pristinely understand all of their emotions and etc. etc. Because statis #tically that is still literally the majority. Kind of like my tendency to make everyone 100% aromantic and asexul when it's like.. YES.. may #be 2 or 3 or even 4 out of 10 of them could be that way. but like.. an entire group? a diverse group of 10 people from all walks of life and #EVERY single one is like that??? hgjh . you have to add realistic variety #As much as I'm pro 'have more stories where sex or romance are literally NOT involved at all in any capacity since it's already oversaturate #d in media' I'm also dedicated to realism. alas. (at least as realistic as you can get in a fantasy setting lol)

[wicchyy]

okay I’m back home and uni starts in 2 days while I recover !!!! writing !!!! also send in blurb request

#I go skiing again end of january and again mid feb <3 #my legs hurt but we back to writing #— 00. mae speaks #oh ALSO thank you for 100 followers yay

[sooouth]

guess who failed at drawing skeletons.

#it's been too long since i've drawn them so now I'm just forced to continue the spiral with my new hyperfixation #the hyperfixation is bnha also known as specifically hawks and aizawa #my taste in people is so weird #(also i refuse to admit to my thing with present mic. he just. exists. in my brain. rotating.) #south talks too much #meow.// #tag ranting time huehe #anyways i cannot handle watching these poor boys getting so gravely injured. LIKE STOP NO WAIT WHY-- they're just babey SOB #MOSTLY hawks. stop no get your wings back you bastard you can't just lose one of your defining features you hAD SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR #he didn't die but still #give him back his wings </3 #aizawa was p badass when he cut his own fucking leg off tho. like he did it no hesitation. BRO WHAT HOW. also the one scene #like where he's in the hospital and mic is just. AWW MIC NOOO BABYYY #why you so SAAAD #it's making me go crazy #punch punch punch stop removing their limbs and stuff #i'm going to start writing fics where no one gets hurt. it's all nice and happiness and fluff with the occasional 20k chapter of pure angst #sorry that was. rant.

[mysterypigeon]

dead seed

(poetry)

you can give anything to me

please don't take

all i am is stagnant water and fear

but i can take your claws and loose threads

and i can wrap your beaten hands

and tell you i'm sorry

why do i beg forgiveness?

were you born sinless

free of the sludge in my head?

nobody is, and yet your gleaming grin

leads me to believe you sit higher in the chain

although i've been let down

see, you were supposed to be the solution

warm warm hands and words

burning through my walls of stone

though i am realizing there is no thorn garden

no briar moat or shards of ice

there is simply nothing to guard

how can i wait for a sign of nothing?

should i stare at the night waiting for it to darken?

or do i mark myself a frozen bud

a blackened branch

do i pray to bloom, or fall from the tree?

i'm sorry

all this chatter chips at me

leaves imprints in my tin roof

raindrop

raindrop

raindrop

i would love to be a part of your game

espionage, adventure

i wanted to be a spy once

but loving has never come easy to me

or hard

am i a faulty product?

was man truly born to look upon himself and melt?

to feel the edge of something spectral, mystic?

a heart bleeds fire

but this organ beats jealousy and rot

now i only need a knife

to drain it all out

one day i will have enough

of this world waiting on my petals

and your stubborn refusal to pull them apart

i'll rip open my chest

and make you see what you've done to me

#poetry #pigeon of the sidewalk what is ur wisdom #aromantic #aroace #aromantic poetry #im being a little dramatic in this one but idc it felt good to write #ive been learning recently that so much of Liking People is sneaky espionage #huh just realized i still have my hoco wristband. also it's 4 am???? what #my leg fucking hurts man the spinny log smacked right into it and it's the same leg i scratched up on the bull

[whumpshaped]

ngl i feel a little sick

#everything just kind of came together #allergy adjacent symptoms got worse #suddenly #and also my face hurts because i pick at it and somehow activated a trap card that made the entire right side of my jaw swell #my eyes r swollen #my legs r swollen from walking a bunch and itll go down by tomorrow but man its inconvenient today #anyway #4 hours bus ride here i come. again #and i wanted to write stuff while i was on there #but uh #my mood is just #its not a writing mood #irlshaped

[fractallogic]

Me: hmm bodyweight squats are kind of harder than I want them to be

Me: why is every yoga teacher such a coward JUST TEACH CHAIR POSE AND BOAT POSE CMON PEOPLE LOVE IT

Me: *has not lifted weights or done a real vinyasa class or even gone to the gym at all since leaving Tucson in 2019*

Me today:

Me: wow I can barely walk that’s weird I guess you need your thighs for stuff

#listen. I am so happy I went to the gym today. #I fucking LOVE the gym #(more Thoughts on that tomorrow) #I MISSED the gym #someone in a webinar/workshop for research writing a couple weeks ago was like #‘yeah I also have chronic health issues and the thing that helps the most is being good to my body’ #‘like going to the gym eating healthy etc’ #(and I had asked a question that was basically ‘migraines and depression really throw off my plans for writing what do you recommend’) #and that made me go oh man. the gym. I miss you gym #and I’ve been meaning for MONTHS to join a gym SO THAT I can return to lifting weights #so this was the impetus is what I’m trying to say #my love of the gym and missing the gym finally outweighed my Covid anxiety #it felt so so so good #and my legs are gonna hurt so so so bad tomorrow lmfao

[willowcrowned]

trying something new where i torture myself into writing. maybe if i pump an unending stream of jimmy buffet into my ears i will want it to over so bad i will finish this chapter in record time

#i don't have anything against jimmy buffet if it's on vacation #it is like forty degrees outside i am inside with fairy lights and a desk lamp and my legs hurt. this is NOT time for jimmy buffet #willow writes #also jimmy buffet is playing in the scene i'm writing so it's even. immersive

[firstblesssed]

Out of Body Experience

ffxivwrite2022: 2 - Bolt

775 Words | ew lvl 83 | mild cw for horror imagery | Masterlist

The feeling of waking up in an unfamiliar place was not new to her, but the disgusting, slimy feeling of not being herself definitely was.

Looking up to see Zenos across the long table from her, Fandaniel smiling mischievously at his side made anger and rage start to pool inside of her.

Reduced to the power of a Garlean soldier, one she had fell many times in the past, felt like a slap to the face. She couldn’t feel the power of the elementals any longer, couldn’t feel Hydaelyn’s blessing protecting her from the horrors of the world, Elletha just felt - emptiness. That emptiness haunted her as she watched Zenos leave his own body and steal hers, she felt rage but also felt hollow. 

Hollow as she trudged her way through the cold Garlean landscape, avoiding soldiers and magitek machines that she could’ve easily taken on in her own body. Hollow as she desperately crawled towards Camp Broken Glass, clawing fistfuls of dirt and snow as she dragged her failing body towards her friends. Hollow as she finally got the strength to get up and run, hurling this body’s sword at the demon inhabiting her own.

And especially hollow when all of her friends turned to look at her in disgust.

Alisaie grabbed the impersonator’s arm, clinging to her, “What is that thing, Elle? Why is it attacking us?”

She watched the thing place a hand on Alisaie’s head and say in her voice “Don’t worry Ali, I won’t let anything hurt us.” 

G’raha nodded along beside them, removing his staff from his back, “Want me to take care of this?”

“No! Get away from them Zenos!” She screamed, but couldn’t move from her place.

G’raha tilted his head to the side in confusion, “Zenos? What is it talking about?” he pointed his staff towards her, “Elle, can we get rid of it?”

She watched as the creature took one of G’raha’s hands in its own, smirking. How could they not see!? Please… please get away! 

Crimson roots burst from the ground and enveloped him, crystal lilies dripping with blood burst from his skin and shattered as he crumpled to the ground in front of her. She watched him reach out towards her - really her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything.

Light tore through Alisaie, the glaring, blinding streaks of aether destroying and melting her before she could even react. 

Elletha watched, hollow, as the creature slew her friends one by one, each dropping in a blinding display of light and lilies, turning her own magic against her dearest companions. Zenos turned to her when he had completed the task, blood-stained cane clutched in his hands, a frighteningly wide smile on his - her - face.

“The stage has been set for our reunion.” His voice mingled with her own, the sound sending powerful waves of disgust down her spine, “Now there’s nothing in the way of our battle - only now can you be truly focused on your true desire.”

He grinned impossibly further, twisting her face into a thing of nightmares, “Fighting me.”

With a scream she launched herself at him-

And bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, the sounds of a scream dying in her throat. Elletha grabbed onto her own face, trying to assure herself that it was her own, vaguely aware of a presence beside her trying to calm her down. 

She took a deep, shuddering breath, you’re okay you’re you you’re still you you’re fine everything is fine you’re you you’re you you’re yo-

“Elletha! Please, please calm down.” Gentle hands removed hers from her face, revealing an extremely worried looking G’raha. “You’re okay.”

She leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, “I- I’m back, aren’t I? I am… myself, right?”

He looked at her with sadness in his eyes, gently reaching forward and cupping her cheek, rubbing his thumb under her eyes to wipe away any stray tears that had gathered. She leaned into the touch as he spoke, “You’re back. You’re safe at the camp with everyone else. We knew it wasn’t truly you the second you- he appeared.” He faltered for a second, watching fondly as Elletha began pressing gentle kisses into his palm as he spoke. “You’re you, Elle. You’re home.”

Elletha took a deep breath, feeling her breathing return to some semblance of normal and gently coaxed G’raha to lie down with her again, burying her face into his chest so she could hear the steady beat of his heart. She felt his tail wrap around her protectively, deft fingers combing their way through her messy hair and felt herself smile shakily.

Everything’s gonna be okay.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxiv #ffxivwrite #elletha #endwalker spoilers #my art #yeah yeah woo yeah #i like this one a lot better than yesterdays #some hurt/comfort for the soul #writing the horror parts with a completely straight face #writing the fluff screaming and kicking my legs in the air #oh right uh graha is also there so #heart eyes

[c4ts4ndstuff]

tumblr still hasn't given me access to polls because they know i would never make a decision on my own again 😔

#op #but also: i need to pit my favorite characters and media against each other #i need to make concerning polls again like i used to on facebook because i didn't realize asking people what their preferred weapon was #Not Normal #i meant it in a fantasy context and included things like bow and arrow #and a frying pan option #because i loved Tangled #did not realize until after that people would not just assume that though and that that was probably weird #OH AND THE TIME I WAS JUST DOODLING BY MY MOM AND BEST FRIEND AS A KID AND WAS SUDDENLY LIKE 'where's a good place you can get hurt and #not die?' #LIKE... I WAS ASKING FROM A WRITING PERSPECTIVE BUT I DID NOT GIVE THEM ANY CONTEXT #my mom told me arms and legs and didn't ask so maybe she figured out why i was asking? #or maybe i just missed her tone because i'm bad at that #why do i share random stories and thoughts in a long list of tags whenever i make a post #it happens every time