#also probably full of typos

[alxastrx]

When you're one of the most selfish mc who only saves people because it's part of a job you never wanted and did not get to chose or you would've died, who took your co-workers' morals and ideals because you didn't have any and desperately wanted to fit in somewhere, be it with the heroes or the villains, who's activelly haunted by one the most tragic past to have been created and suffer from a psychosis so bad (dare I say schizophrenia) that even your enemies acknowledged that you are mentally ill and objectively flawed in your judgement, never hesitated to try to kill anyone and has the most egoistic reason to be a good person but the fandom still thinks you're just a kind crybaby "I don't know what a gun is" homosexual twink.

[costracan]

Do you have any Elwin hcs?? :)

yes!!!! :-D this is going to be a bit long and rambly, hopefully it’s not too hard to read 😭

i think elwin and keefe already had a semi meaningful relationship before keeper! obv it got deeper throughout the events of kotlc because of they interacted way more and also the whole almost dying thing, but i think elwin could tell that keefe was being abused in some way and would feel a little protective of him.

he really likes kids and teenagers. elwin is very compassionate and shows so much respect for the kids in canon and i think he would show that level of care even for the kids he doesn’t treat frequently.

that being said, i definitely think he has favorites among his most frequent patients (sophie and keefe, lol).

he’s old. not bronte old, but old. probably just a little younger than forkle.

he knows how to whistle and hum, and will do so rather tunelessly while working/concentrated. his humming is soft and pleasant, but the whistling can get kind of annoying. he doesn’t listen to human music, but he’d seen humans do it in the past and wanted to teach himself how.

he runs his fingers through his hair a lot, which is part of the reason why it always sticks out in every direction. the other part of the reason is that he thinks it looks cool and he ruffles it up on purpose in the morning.

he has freckles!!! i love drawing him with freckles!

i don’t think he’s super interested in romance. he’ll occasionally get a crush on someone but never really acts on it. he feels too busy to be a good partner and doesn’t think he’s “cut out” for that type of life (at least not yet), so he doesn’t bother.

that being said! i do think he knows for a fact that he’s bisexual but doesn’t care/think too much about it considering he can’t really see himself being in a relationship in the foreseeable future. he feels awful for other queer elves who want to find love without being a bad match, though.

speaking of, he thinks the matchmaking system is absolute bs (except for the part where it ensures you don’t accidentally pair up with your distant relatives). this one might actually be canon i can’t remember LOL.

elwin is sooo empathetic and gets those phantom pains people can get when they see other people in pain. which kinda sucks for a medical professional who regularly treats people on the verge of death, but what can you do?

he used to dye his hair with elixirs to match his tunics but it made him look too crazy amd made some kids (and adults!?) scared of him so he stopped 😔

when taking care of people who are in critical condition, he pretty much just lives on squelchberries. he doesn’t have time to eat properly. he needs to make sure his patient is going to make it.

he just. cares so much about sophie and keefe. this one isn’t really a headcanon but it is so important to me elwin loves those kids oughh 😿

[thatfrenchacademic]

OK so about this "34, unmarried and childless" article about Taylor Swift. Let me tell you about Scam Academia.

TL;DR: some mediocre dude had a half baked opinio nabout Taylor Swift that everyone hated, but like Mother Nature I let nothing go to waste.

Here is the take you have not heard yet, about this opinion: this guy is actually a good case study on how to develop your academic literacy, aka how to recognize a true academic from a scammer who presents themselves as an academic, but is just a crook. In a world of pseudoscience and pretend experts that have enough resources to organize their flat earth conference, let me walk you through the world of Scam Academic, where for a few thousand dollars, you too can claim to be a researcher with a doctorate! Follow me down a rabbit hole that I hate with my whole heart!

Preamble: I have zero skin in the TS game. I don't get the hype, the lore, the obsession with those 2000s bracelet or dissecting every single line or every single song.

But then. Some guy had to write an op-ed stating Taylor Swift was not a good role model for girls ("in the US and beyond"), and it is a terrible take on so many level, but here is the thing. Whiny conservative think-pieces about highly successful women who should get back to the kitchen and think of the children are nothing new. But this one is different.

This one is fucking terribly written. It's just an abysmally written blog post. Genuinely one of the worst thing I have ever read, and I read hundreds of undergrad essays every year for a living. It contradicts its own arguments in every paragraph. It over-explains concepts like it's a high school essay and he's trying to meet the word count. It says "this is a valid question worth asking" but does not actually explain why it is worth asking. It is so, so, so bad.

Conservative writers are usually more the "high brow, drowning you in grandstanding" kind of writers. They are, usually, good technical writers - it's the one thing that helps make their talking point sound legit and palatable. So an abysmally bad conservative writer? Ok, I am intrigued.

The author is one John Mac Ghlionn. I look up the guy on Google and...

Oh.

Oh no, John.

Spewing conservative bullshit at women AND a researcher? You're in my turf now, John. You could have continued to cover UFC Pillow Fight Championships, or alien technology and other riveting subjects, but you had try to connect two brain cells to argue a thing, and slap "researcher" on top of it. Now I'm offended, as a researcher.

1. I am sorry, researcher WHERE?

Ok so if one is a "researcher", it means one conduct "research". and contrary to what backyard conspiracy theorists think, "researcher" is an actual job. It is an actual professional occupation. You get an actual contract, and you are paid actual money. By an actual employer: public (University), private (Think tank, private company), or a mix of both (at Unviersity, but on a privately funded project, for example).

So where does our John Mc Ghlionn work?

Well. Nowhere, as far as I can tell.

John does not list any affiliation. Usually, when they write, academics will state their exact position (Researcher, Doctoral Researcher, Associate Professor, Chief Engineer, Head of Department, Research Director...) and where they work. For example:

That's what it is supposed to look like.

But John? Nope, no affiliation anywhere, on anything he ever published. That's a pretty massive read flag. Research takes ressources: at the very least, time and access to database and documentation, even in social sciences in humanities. You may not need a lab, but you sure as hell need money and full access to JStore at least.

So I thought he was just one of these "I google therefore I research" kind of dude. But then, out of nowhere:

I am sorry. He has a WHAT.

2. I am sorry, a Doctorate from WHERE?

So. One thing to claim to be a researcher when you are just a professional yapper. Another to claim a DIPLOMA.

And not any diploma. A doctorate.

Let's pause. "Doctorate" is actually a really broad umbrella term of all doctoral-level degrees. The most famous (and most prestigious, for better and worse) is the PhD, but a PhD is technically just one of many Research Doctorate of, theoretically, the same level (cue this helpful reddit post). A second category of doctorates are the Applied Doctorates, and while there is Discourse on where they sit vis-a-vis PhD, the easiest is to consider that they are not research-oriented. They are hands-on, practice-oriented degrees. For example: you can practice medicine with an MD. You don't need a PhD. You can still call yourself a doctor, though.

Alright, so which of these does our friend Johnnie has? Or is currently enrolled in? And in which University?

You will notice that John does not go by "John Mac Ghlionn PhD" or even "Dr John Mac Ghlionn", when you just KNOW he is the sort of person that would but that shit everywhere. And no shade here, because I, for one, do put that shit everywhere. Maybe he is just currently enrolled in a program and has not graduated. Fair.

Since John does not list affiliation, I had to switch from academic to internet sleuth, and dig out this article:

But we learn that in 2021, John was a "PhD Scholar" in "Parkmore Institute". "PhD Scholar" is not a title I am sued to, but it's also not raising any red flag: ongoing PhD researchers can be "PhD students", "PhD fellows", "PhD researchers"... It varies from country to country and from institution to institution, so why not "PhD Scholar".

Let's check out the Parkmore Institute.

Ok, they are not a traditional university, but they appear to be more of a postgraduate institution: offering only higher level degrees, not undergrad courses. Once again, not necessarily a red flag. They are usually very heavily research focused, and embrace the "research" side of academia more than the "teaching" side. In Germany, the Max Planck Institutes are research-only institutions who deliver PhDs. They conduct cutting edge research, in part because their researchers rarely have to spend time teaching.

But that is NOT the Parkmore Institute. First of all, let's see what programs they offer:

None of them are legit.

And I mean, none of them are recognize as even Applied/Professional Doctorate by the National Science Foundation (US based). And while a PhD in Human sexuality would be perfectly valid, but I'm going to on a limb and say I have some serious doubts about "Bodymind Healing" as an academic field.

These are not legit academic degrees.

What they are, is an excellent money-making opportunity for anyone working at the Parkmore institute. Students will pay, at the very least:

And 60% of this goes to their " faculty mentor". The Parkmore institute provides no research fund, no desk or office space (they are entirely digital), no access to any resources or library, not even a Zoom account. There is also no mention of any timeline: how long a PhD take to complete? Who knows. 6 months ? A year ? 5 years? What are the requirements to graduate ? Who knows ! And I would need to pay $200 to get in touch with them, so I sure as fuck won't know any time soon!

But let's get back to our friend John. Remember that he stated, in that 2021 publication, he was a "PhD Scholar" at Parkmore ? Well that's a shame because Parkmore does not deliver PhDs. Ain't that a bitch.

ALSO. Parkmore helpfully has page with all their Doctoral Recipients! And guess who is NOT HERE ! That's right, our Johnnie !

How can this be ? Well, three possibilities:

John is still not done with a PhD. After 4 years ? In a crank university where I am pretty sure I can submit the first draft of a litt review and graduate ? Nah

John never completed the thing. Boo, that would mean that John is lying, when he says he has a doctorate. Bad, bad.

John did graduate, and obtained his doctorate in [scrolls back to check] psychosocial studies, and then was not put on the website or was withdrawn some time before today, as Parkmore institute ended their affiliation with him, as per this bit in their application form

A shame, really. If John had been affiliated with the Parkmore Institute, it would give a shred of legitimacy to anything he writes to anyone just skimming.

Now, I would love to get in touch with the Parkmore Institute and ask to see John's doctoral work, which they DO have, since the application for also has this very interesting section:

(definitely very legit, very normal).

But I am not sure how I would even phrase that request without transparently going

"hey, would love to see what bullshit research is being done over there, since one of your graduate decided to go all Handmaid's tale for the last 2 years".

If anyone feels like sending that email, I am begging you to keep me in the loop.

3. Back up, back up, what's up with that article?

Remember the article where he was listed as a "PhD Fellow"?

Well, about that... No. Welcome to the world of predatory publishing, one more cog in the Bullshit Academic ecosystem.

First: not at article. It's a "commentary". Could be worth something ia good journal, but still would not be a piece of research. But that is the least of its sins.

Its sins are being published in a journal called "Sociology and Criminology-Open Access", by a publisher called "Longdom". Longdom publishing has a bunch of journals on a lot o different fields, with the particularly of being predatory; they will publish absolutely anything you send them, as long as you pay their Article Processing Charges:

There are entire lists of Predatory journals on the web, you can find on here and another here , Longdom Publishing is in both.

This is how John can publish this last minute, Redbull-and-weed-induced essay in an actual journal, with an abstract that, I kid you not, finishes with "Please find the paper attached." He slapped together a shitty essay about people in India are poorer and therefore more likely to exhibit psychopathic traits and therefore engage in corruption, purely base on vibes. It does not even deserve be given any consideration, not even to be debunked. There is nothing to be debunked. This would be a failing grade for a 1st year intro class.

CONCLUSION

On the surface, John Mac Ghlionn is the poster boy of failed edgelords who really wish they were Jordan Peterson, but unfortunately are just Doug, the guy for 10th grade who failed the Literature class and decided it was because litterature was too woke today anyway.

Beneath the surface, John is a case study in Scam Academia, and the proof that no matter how bad actual academia is, Scam Academia can always get worse.

A quick checklist to go through whenever someone claims be a researcher, an academic, a fellow, a doctor, a PhD or anything of the sort:

What is their affiliation? Is this a legitimate organization?

Do they have a PhD? Another doctorate degree? From where?

Have they published ? Where is it published?

[the-one-who-lambs]

I wrote 1400 words today in 3 hours, which is absolutely nuts for me (usually I write in like 1, max 2 hour sessions, and get like 200-500 done on days that I write). I'm tempted to write more, but I'm just about to finish the first big scene of the chapter and if I leave that for myself tomorrow that gives me a really easy starting point to get into a good flow again.

My chapters are usually about 6k-7k on average. I warned y'all in advance that I expected this to be the longest chapter in the entire fic, because this (and ch 16+17) are going to be the most character development-heavy, climactic parts of the narrative. And since I'm want to make this chapter in particular hit like a motherfucker, I am being very generous about not rushing the pacing here. So far Chapter 15 is 4500 words, and my god do I want to write more of it right now, but I know damn well that overall writing more consistently in shorter sessions gives me much better results so I'm going to let my creative batteries recharge.

Normally, I don't make my writing any longer than it needs to be, because I am able to take the events of what could be a 15k chapter and make it just as effective in, say, 5-7k, and it's taken a lot of skill development to be able to do that successfully and without much difficulty. However, (I hope) I have enough practice with the "rules/standards" of "good writing" that I'm experimenting with breaking that particular convention intentionally.

Which is... not usually what my readers expect from my updates lmao. So I'm giving y'all a warning in advance:

I'm gonna estimate that this chapter's gonna be 13k-15k. Probably 12k at the absolute minimum. Will it actually take too much longer than a regular chapter? Probably not a whole lot because I'm in the creative-energy-overflow stage of chapter writing that gets me so in the zone that I've powered through half the chapter in a week before I know it.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

More sketchy employee profile images. Mostly made to be able to replace the picrew I had in the template I made since I can draw. I did end up just putting it as back and white though but the color is just nice to have. I'm STILL trying to tweak the template since it is very finicky and there is an example of what it looks down below if you're interested. It is a lot. It will happen. I am just not the quickest

There are typos and inconsistencies I missed but in general it should be fine...

[sky-kenobye]

Making of Monday

More of a fun fact than a making of, but I struggle a lot to not edit as I go, which slow me down so much, and a while ago I read a writing tip that said that setting the font to something you can't read helps with that (since you can't read it you can't edit and you keep writing). I finally tried it and honestly it's working pretty well so far I think?

Anyway,

I'm writing a star wars fic in aurebesh:

(Sorry for the bad quality, I took a photo of my laptop like an old person lol)

[wondrouswendy]

@rangerzath said Zachariah Trench is a yaoi enjoyer without directly saying it

[lost-where-the-forest-would-grow]

Interesting medieval Latin poems

Okay so I've been reading a lot of medieval Latin poems recently and some of them are pretty cool. My latin is unfortunately very limited so I've most been relying on translations. I am no expert in the field at all. A lot of these poems are quite long so I'm not going to post all of them. Some of them are just stuff I have written up part of in a google doc too so they aren't great.

Most of the translations I'm using are by Helen Waddell because she did an enormous amount of translation and her stuff tends to try preserve a lot of the meaning and poetic form over direct translations. Her translations are sometimes not all that direct but still poetic and neat.

This here is the Dies Irae, known as the day of wrath:

I've just stolen this straight from wikipedia because it's so famous. It is a 13th century poem of unknown origin got turned into a Gregorian chant and later became part of the traditional requiem texts as the Dies Irae sequence. As such there is a large number of music works for the text, the most famous being in Mozart's and Verdi's requiem. The text is often split into a large number of verses and makes up the full requiem sequence. The original Gregorian chant melody was picked up into general music works and being reused in a number of works (I believe the first instance of this is Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique mvt 5). Overall just a very cool poem with some musical adaptations.

On a similar note a lesser known poem titled Dies Irea exists.

This poem here is by St Columba, a 6th century poet. Hellen Waddell suggests with her translations that it may be a precursor to the more well known Dies Irae above. This appears to just be a small snippet of the full poem by St Columba. It was set to music in 1962 by Benjamin Britten.

Another very famous poem is the O Fortuna:

This too is just take from wikipedia and has many translations out there (Helen Waddell's isn't all that great I don't think and I don't want to type it out). The poem is of unknown authorship and taken from a 13th century manuscript known as the Carmina Burana. This manuscript is full of goliardic poetry. The goliards who wrote this poetry often spoke on topics such as love, fate, drinking. ect. A lot of this stuff was somewhat sacrilegious by 13th century standards and much of the poetry remains anonymous. Carl Orff famously took 24 of these poems and created the Carmina Burana, with the O Fortuna as the opening work.

One of the poets who we do (kind of) know the name of in the Carmina Burana is The Archpoet. The Archpoet had 10 poems, with all of his 10th and part of his 6th appearing in the Carmina Burana manuscript. Here is the Confession by the Archpoet:

This poem is a personal favourite of mine. I've mostly seen the original poem laid out in four line stanzas with slightly different spellings in the Latin. Waddell's own translation spells the first line as "Estuans inrinsecus" but splits the original into eight line stanzas. I have no idea why this is but I just quickly found a latin one online that matched up with the translations by Waddell. I find this poem very powerful and the translation very well encapsulates both the poetic form and rhythm while keeping the original meaning intact. I have set this text to music myself and have most extensively studied the latin translations of any poem on this list.

Another Goliardic poem that appears in the Carmina Burana Manuscript is the Portrait Of Despair:

This translation is actually by George Whicher in his book "The Goliardic Poets; Medieval Latin Songs and Satires". The full piece is three stanzas long (at least in the book) but this one here is just the one stanza I wrote up. I think this verse is the most interesting anyways.

Another poem from the Carmina Burana Manuscript in George Whichers book is Iste Mundus, This Dizzy World:

I don't really have a lot to say about this one. It just think it's neat

There are a bunch of other interesting ones I have that I might update this post with but that's a little collection of some of the interesting stuff.

[connormoving]

like IDK just the thought of ppl seeing my body scare me so bad. i genujnely have to be informed ahead of time that i will be Being looked at or else i panic so bad . like if im Going out somewhere ik ill be seen i can prepare if im hanging out with someone its fine but if im like. Gonna go make myself dinner and then somebodys in the living room thats a huge wrench in my plans bc i have to mentally psych myself up to be looked at for 30 minutes even tho its not like they care . UGH

[jacksintention]

Concerning the conversation about love and hatred, I've compiled a few of the lines I've saved through these last two years that at times make me think of Jack when it comes to this topic

Estas manos, que son tuyas,

pero que al verte quisieran

quebrar las ramas azules

y el murmullo de tus venas.

¡Te quiero! ¡Te quiero! ¡Aparta!

Que si matarte pudiera,

te pondría una mortaja

con los filos de violetas.

¡Ay, qué lamento, qué fuego

me sube por la cabeza!

(...)

¡Ay qué sinrazón! No quiero

contigo cama ni cena,

y no hay minuto del día

que estar contigo no quiera,

porque me arrastras y voy,

y me dices que me vuelva

y te sigo por el aire

como una brizna de hierba.

.

Love has no middle term; either it destroys, or it saves. All human destiny is this dilemma. This dilemma, destruction or salvation, no fate proposes more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; coffin, too. The same sentiment says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things God has made, the human heart is the one that sheds most light, and alas! most night.

.

It is sometimes said that the sword wears out the scabbard. That is my history. My passions have made me live, and my passions have killed me.

.

Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.

I adore you, but I hate you too. You’re a prison smothered in flowers. I can’t stand this enchantment anymore, I can’t stand being bewitched like this–when I look at you, my gaze turns to nothing but a mirror of light, I’ll stare at you hypnotized for ages, and when I stop seeing you I’ll feel you, and when I stop feeling you I’ll die.

.

Someone tells me: this kind of love is not viable. But how can you evaluate viability? Why is the viable a Good Thing? Why is it better to last than to burn?

.

Life is a series of obsessions one must do away with. Aren’t love, death, God, or saintliness interchangeable and circumstantial obsessions?

.

she is the only thing of importance, because I have a God-relationship to her.

.

it is not she who binds me, but I who have made use of her to bind myself.

.

The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation—a week’s, ten days’—what does it matter? Since my whole life belongs to you.

.

What have you done with me? he asks. I have repeated you.

.

But I do feel strange-almost unearthly. I’ll never get used to being alive. It’s a mystery. Always startled to find I’ve survived

Walking home, for a moment / you almost believe you could start again. / And an intense love rushes to your heart, / and hope. It's unendurable, unendurable

.

I clung to him as though only the one who had inflicted the pain could comfort me for suffering it.

I could be free … If I could pluck out the memory of him from my heart as easily as his heart was plucked from the fire, I could be free.

.

I am imprisoned by devotion. I shy away from people. I am alone. I fall into depression.

She was the world That he was losing; and the world he sought Was all a tale for those who had been living, And had not lived. Once even he turned his horse, And would have brought his army back with him To make her free. They should be free together. But the Voice within him said: “You are not free. You have come to the world’s end, and it is best You are not free. Where the Light falls, death falls; And in the darkness comes the Light.

.

I miss you like a knife in my throat.

.

Only love can save me and love has destroyed me.

Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love, an unearthly love but still for earthly objects?

.

My songs are filled with poison - Why shouldn’t that be true? My heart bears a nest of serpents And also, darling, you.

.

their love is like hatred

.

She did not yet love him enough to be cruel to him.

.

our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love

.

under the sincere guise of hatred I simply loved […], only in this type of love (repulsion) I loved him with greater strength than had I loved him in the simplest form — attraction.

.

Perhaps he was handsome, perhaps I found him attractive, perhaps he repelled me too.

.

Struck by the abstract nature of absence; yet it’s so painful, lacerating. Which allows me to understand abstraction somewhat better: it is absence and pain, the pain of absence—perhaps therefore love?

.

Eroticism is the brink of the abyss. I’m leaning out over deranged horror (at this point my eyes roll back in my head). The abyss is the foundation of the possible. We’re brought to the edge of the same abyss by uncontrolled laughter or ecstasy. From this comes a “questioning” of everything possible. This is the stage of rupture, of letting go of things, of looking forward to death.

.

Love is madness. Doesn’t everyone agree that you’d do anything, endure anything, to be with the ones you love? So either you’re willing to let them use you with any sort of cruelty, so long as they keep you—which makes you a fool—or you’re willing to commit any cruelty, so long as you get to keep them—which makes you a monster. Either way, it’s madness.

.

This madness is so deep-rooted and so useful that it is impossible to realize what would become of each of us if it were someday to disappear.

.

If I must die of fire, why not let me die of yours: knowing that you are the author of my doom will make it more endurable to me

.

His desire for loyalty was naive, he hadn’t understood that being loyal wasn’t so tidy, being loyal means being disloyal to everything else.

.

I have always loved you / Always dreaded you

You will betray me, as I have betrayed, / And I shall kiss the hand that does me wrong

.

Listen: the way I loved you / was like my palm over a flame.

.

If I have the destruction of something that I once loved to carry with me at all times, isn’t it like I still have a companion?

.

One can fall in love and still hate.

.

and I will kill thee, And love thee after.

.

Yet, other characters, namely Heathcliff, Catherine, and Lockwood, remain more actively at war with love in their adult lives. Some force, as inexorable as the wind sweeping over the moors, seems to have bent their lives into a pattern of frustration that their own struggle for relief only aggravates. Their need for love is expressed, not through loving, but through the anguish of loneliness. Paradoxically, though they do not know it, this loneliness is the one condition necessary for the fulfillment of their most profound fantasy concerning perfect love: a love, that is, perfectly protected against the threat of abandonment that in childhood these sufferers learned that love entails.

.

I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out — but you can’t prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I’m certain you hear mine.

Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris? nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask? I do not know, but I feel it happen and it is excruciating.

[brutal-out-here]

One thing that I’ve thought about a lot over the years that I would just go straight to the source and ask about it if I knew I wouldn’t get met with either ignorance or some dumb reason is that to the people who believe that Taylor does not like men at all and that every relationship she’s had in her career has been a cover up to hide this fact, who do you all think the songs she’s written are about? Do you believe they’re made up stories or that they’re actually about other people we may or may not know about? I’ve always been curious because if some believe they’re made up then I think Taylor would have to be a damn good actor and a lier to pull it off. And to those who believe they’re about other people my question is why would Taylor let the blame for her heart breaks be put on people who didn’t do anything? Specifically I know there’s people who believe her and Jake’s relationship was fake and so do they just believe Taylor has let all this blame be put on him so much so that I’m sure it’s taken a hit on his career? (don’t get me wrong I don’t think it’s had that much effect but there definitely is some) Anyways I’m not going to tag this with anything so I don’t get jumped but I’ve been wanting to make a post about this for a while

[dragoncarrion]

who’s an OC you haven’t shared on here before :0?

ahhhh a bunch 😭 mostly because I have almost nothing on them.... But I'll pick one that is REALLY IMPORTANT yet barely developed. Sad!

So I think in other posts I've mentioned there's a titan beneath the colosseum? Yeah well those are "doomsday" titans, much, MUCH bigger than regular titans, practically country or continent sized. Got a bit inspired by iaconus from cbv as in these were buried a loooong time ago, being akin to gods. These titan's city speakers (and city speakers in general) disappeared, either because they went into hiding, jail, stasis lock or they just were killed sometimes 💀 in fear that they'd try to reawaken these titans. There's some prophecy or whatever of them waking up once again, destroying Cybertron and a whole lot of other planets in a struggle for power, but because of how much time has passed, this had pretty much been completely forgotten, spoken of as myths at MOST. There's around seven of these? And most of them are underneath MASSIVE cities since valuable minerals always surround them, as well as some odd energy that can be used to power up shit yadda yadda. They're technically dormant, but not fully powerless, as their influence can still take hold of feeble minds.

One of these rotten minds is an odd bot. Not quite an outlier, but not a regular mech at all either. Granted the ability to completely shape shift into whatever body he wishes, he goes by many names, but let's call him Armageddon. I'm still figuring out how he stumbled upon (one of. Maybe) the titans, and also WHICH one, but long story short, they promised power and glory. His mind was corrupted; after all, only city speakers can converse with titans. A destroyed world was a promise to start anew (he's just some doomer wacko and insane. think of the cultists from Dredge) with him as everyone's saviour and new chance of course, a loyal servant to the titans. Little by little, he's been looking for clues and pulling strings to awaken the titans and fulfill this prophecy, bringing in other impressionable and easily persuaded bots, always with the same promises: an end to the wretched today, and a chance for a fresh start, a clean slate tomorrow... Of course, there not doing all this thinking by themselves. Many swear they can feel something at the back of their minds, tugging at their thoughts

[mac-cheez]

Just got a really weird ask that really confused me:

I was half asleep when I read this, and it was so shocking and confusing that I immediately woke all the way up.

So like weird.

[shellaxdude]

okay, so im trying to work out the timeline of rise and i need a place to log my shit so i can remember my thought process.

a lot of rambling is under the cut btw. i hope its coherent for my own records if nothing else

so. season one theyre said to be m:13, d:14, l:14, r:15, and a:16. april has a birthday episode in season one. according to the air date of "warren and hypno sitting in a tree," this birthday occurred on June 1st, 2019. ignore the actual date if you have a different headcanon for her birthday bc its not actually important, but im using it as a base for her age.

so if april is 16 at the start of season 1, she should be turning 17, right? no. later, in "always be brownies," one of casey's girls calls her old and april responds with "im 16!" so she turned 16 on her birthday. the air date of that episode was may 15, 2020. so she hasn't had her next birthday yet. this means that the show started with her as 15 and there is a period of time in which she is the same age as raph

we cannot 100% follow the air date as the day those events happened in universe, however, because that puts a lot of conflicting episodes happening at the same time. (ex: "mystery meat" & "always be brownies," "the hidden city job" & "sidekick ahoy!" as those 4 all came out on the same day, but the significant characters of those episodes were in both of the two i paired each with. arguments could be made that they both could have happened tho. for example, take the latter pairing i made. leo and donnie had a fight and leo went to hueso's to find an "im sorry i called you a selfish, egg headed weirdo" pizza, and did the heist. after repairing his relationship with donnie, they all go on a jupiter jim marathon, and the events of "sidekick ahoy!" occur. so we're gonna ignore that bc arguments can be made)

all of this to say that in season one april starts at 15 and turns 16. none of the turtles ages are mentioned in the show as far as i can remember. i have heard that they dont celebrate their birthdays (source needed). they dont really know their birthdays so i guess they just up their age on the anniversary of their mutation. (i have headcanons on their birthdays, but thats another post.) april would then turn 17 before the fam takes their trip to the hidden city and all get arrested

and now ive kinda lost the flow for where i was going with this. i will say that, based on air dates again, "the lair games" and "flushed but never forgotten" happened between "the purple game" and "man vs sewer," meaning that piebald got flushed around the episodes "minotaur maze" and "bug busters"

the air dates, especially for season 2 are gonna be kinda inaccurate since they were pushed back because of covid, but it could be interpreted that in universe everyone was quarantined for a bit while there were no episodes.

also im basing their ages off of the air dates purely bc "the lair games" episode is in 2019. it says it on the pop up with ppl's names. then the later year mention at the very beginning of the movie is 2044. so they are locked into the timeline. also? trying to make sense of april's canon age from the beginning of the show and tie it into her mention of how old she is AFTER having a birthday was confusing me without the air dates to help out.

[stjohnstarling]

Alright, so: I want to explain a little more about this connection between the Twilight fandom, Fifty Shades of Grey, and seemingly, the self-publishing industry as a whole. It's a lot, so I'm going to have to chip away at it a bit at a time, and I think the best place to start is by describing the scene in late 2000s Twilight fandom.

In 2009, Twilight was one of the biggest fandoms in the world, although it was nearly invisible to outsiders because it

Was about a straight couple, while most other fandoms were predominantly gay, and

Was conducted almost entirely on fanfiction.net among a group of people who had little other background in fandom. (x)

That meant for many Twilight fans, Twilight was fandom. It was all they knew, and many had no path out. That also made it a corked champagne bottle with the pressure building.

Because of these community dynamics and the declining quality of the Twilight books themselves, Twilight fanfiction evolved to be mostly AUs so alternate they were more-or-less original romance novels that used Bella and Edward as broad character templates. (x)

Seriously, Twilight fandom got really crazy big for a few years there. It was not totally uncommon to get multi-million clicks on a semi-popular story. It's weird looking back on it and calling it "Twilight fandom" because it was really more like "Romance Novel fandom". For real, for a period there, calling a Twilight fanfic author a 'Twilight fan' would be the ultimate insult. But they never stopped writing about Edward and Bella! It's so weird. (x)

If you were in 2000s era fandom, you're probably aware of the phenomenon of Big Name Fans and the various social-climbing dynamics that happened around them. The Twilight fandom took this social power game another level:

This wasn't even just an author thing. There were Big Name Authors (BNAs) but there were also Big Name Readers. These were basically like... full-time rabid fans of a BNA. They devoted so much of their time to helping out the BNAs, reviewing their chapters, making them fanart, promoting their fics, kissing their asses with cringe-worthy intensity, you name it. Which is why you saw what looked like BNAs having 'employees', such as Moi, tby789's Director of Marketing. (x)

It became apparent that these power games weren't just for fandom clout. The fandom was proving that that social power could be translated into real-world dollars. You see, the Twilight fandom used to organize charity auctions where big name authors would auction off custom fanfiction, and the money generated was substantial:

Mostly authors would auction off stories. So if you donated in my name, I'd write you 10,000 words of porn in my Tattward universe, or something new, etc. That's how it worked. The 2009 auction raised $80,000. The 2010 auction raised $140,000. The 2011 auction raised $20,00. [NOTE: this is likely a typo] (x)

A lot of these dynamics were not unique to the Twilight fandom, but it was the combination that created a perfect storm of opportunism. This would end up changing not just fandom dynamics but the publishing industry as a whole.

[pr1nceofg0tham]

what do you need from me tonight? .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪

i don’t care if you’re sick, i don’t care if you’re contagious.

𖥔 summary since befriending tim drake you have known exactly how he feels about his brothers: offlimits, forbidden, do not enter! this was never too difficult to maintain, never too hard to turn away when one smiles a little too bright, yet when sweet and sultry jason walks into the room it become harder to turn the other cheek.

𖥔 pairing jason todd x reader

𖥔 genre/tw best friends brother au!! fem!reader !! reader is tim’s bff, fluff! angst?! probably suggestive at times i can’t lie, intoxication, swearing !! jason is a softie, none of that charmer fuck boy jason here!! petnames, kissing, reader and jason are real yearners !! reader and tim are supposed to be like 21-22 which puts Jason at like 25-26 or so (in my mind) batfam mentions and cameos! we love!! librarian!jason !! historian!reader !! tim and reader are platonic soulmates <3 also tim calls reader chicken, idk why!! also thers gonna be typos and run on sentences probably (i blacked out)

𖥔 w/c 8.3k and some change

𖥔 a/n this came to me in a dream… idk i just feel like tim has such strong protective girl bestie vibes so this is what happened. i love tim and reader and reader and jason and i really hope you do too!! lemme know xoxo

masterlist | requests open!!

Since the moment you became friends with Tim Drake, you understood his brothers were completely off limits. It was apparent in how he would go out of his way to not mention them by name—only my brother this or my brothers that—it was in the look of pure disgust when someone would bring up just how hot his oldest brother was when he showed up on the news: alerting the public not to be worried about some crime in Blüdhaven. Even you, his best friend since the trauma of Philosophy 204 bonded you together, were not allowed to ask about them without a deadly glare shooting your way.

You understood, if you had a famous family full of wealthy handsome boys, you too would want to keep them aware from your friends. You shudder at the thought of some girl asking if your brother was single, thus whenever Tim gives you attitude about it, you allow yourself to laugh it off. It wasn’t until the summer between Freshman and Sophomore year that you were even allowed near Wayne Manor, and into the lives of his illustrious family. 

Now, five years into your friendship, you could say that you’ve fit yourself into Tim’s life quite nicely. Being his favorite lady, you’re often his date to galas and Sunday brunches with the wives of Wayne Enterprises, The person who comes along when Bruce says “you can bring a friend”, and most special, who he turns to when one of his brothers annoys him. Like now, 

“I just don’t know why I’m suddenly Damian’s chauffeur," Tim says, a familiar annoyance seeping from his voice. “Like, my father has billions of dollars yet I have to be the one to drive my little brother around, come on.” 

You laugh, but the easy way in which he talks about his family’s wealth brings a bad taste to your mouth… You, a girl born and raised in the lower sector of Gotham, find it quite gross how easy your friend throws his money around sometimes, which you remind him with a swat on the back of his head. “Hey! what the fuck was that for?” He exclaims with a laugh. 

“Timothy, you know better than to be all waspy when I’m around…” you sigh, “and anyway, it’s not like Damian goes anywhere but the library and the planetarium… he's just a kid.”

“A kid who threatens to poison me if I don’t buy him bug juice—which I gotta say he is getting too old for.” 

“Ahh, Timmy, are you just sad about your baby brother growing up?” You say, pouting your lips in the exact way you know annoys him. 

You’ve always thought it’s funny how annoyed Tim gets about Damian, a boy who’s only ever sweet to you—asking you about your favorite animals and telling you about the new exhibits at Gotham’s Natural History Museum. “I don’t get why it's so terrible, Dami’s just a sweetheart,”

“Ugh, maybe to you,” Tim replies, “he just thinks you’re cool cause you work at the Historical Society and you make fun of me,”

“Well, there’s a lot to make fun of.”

“Ha.Ha. Real funny guess who's uninvited to Dick’s birthday party.” With this, you pause. It’s true that most of the parties surrounding Tim’s family are unnecessarily boring and involve fitting into a tight dress and making your hair look presentable. There’s been quite a few times when you’ve wished that Tim would go with someone else and gift you the reprieve from a drawn out conversation with a doctor or a politician, (or whoever else Mr. Wayne invites to drum up philanthropy). However, you look forward to Dick’s birthday every year; a night filled with laughter and sweet drinks, getting to see Dick and his girlfriend Kory get a little too drunk and attempt to do gymnastics on the club’s dancefloor… Even better, it’s the one chance you really get to see Jason, Tim’s older and outcasted brother.. 

You remember the first time you met him, a Friday dinner you accompanied Tim to… It was the one night a week Alfred was free from dinner duty, thus the two of you had brought chinese and gelato for dessert and Damian kept pestering you about bringing him to the Zoo to see the snakes. 

You had already met everyone else, Dick with his charming smile and the spark in his eyes when he pulled your chair out (you’re sure it had more to do with annoying his brother than being a gentleman,) You’d met Duke when he followed his brother into university becoming a welcome third to your little group, and his father–Initmaditing and encompassing Bruce Wayne, but you’d never met Jason. 

You’d heard about him, heard the sighs from his father when he noticed his second son hadn’t shown up… Watched the careful way he was spoken about by his family, in past tenses and thinly veiled sadness. Tim had rarely brought him up to you, barely mentioning how there was some sort of accident, how it destroyed their father and separated Jason from himself and his family. 

You never liked seeing your best friend sad, it hurt too much to see his blue eyes gloss over, so you never brought him up, yet you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t curious. You remember seeing it on the news, the day that Jason Todd went missing… It wasn’t surprising to hear about a missing boy–living in Gotham meant a new tragedy every day–yet, you remember being shocked that something would happen to that bright young boy, grinning ear to ear in the school picture the news showed. 

You were only twelve, but you can think back and see so vividly the magic behind that smile, and how sad you were to realize that this boy, who could have very well gone to school with your sister, was gone… How sad he must be, you remember thinking, to be without his family. 

He was quite the mystery to you, more so after becoming friends with Tim, his brother who would so rarely mention him. It was when you saw him slouching at the dinner table and arguing with Dick, that your curiosity came back, you couldn’t believe it–he was so handsome, prettier than the newspaper made him look, and so tall, but you remembered Tim… Remembered how upset he got when Hannah Beauchamp asked him for his brother’s telephone number, so all you did was smile and say hello. 

After that you saw Jason more often, always quiet, always bright, but it was still glaringly rare… You never knew when he’d be there, unlike Dick who is unquestionable in his loyalty to family functions, Jason could be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Thus, the only surefire way to see him, is to go to Dick’s birthday, a gathering that Jason always appears at, showing his rare smile and a rare wish to his big brother. 

You can’t be uninvited, you really can’t be… 

“Timmy, you know I love you,” you say, giggling at the way his nose scrunches, “Please let me go with you to Dick’s party? Please please please!! I didn’t mean it, it’s so hard to make fun of you!” 

You know you’ve won when his head tilts, nose sticking straight up like an aristocrat in a children’s novel, you know you’ve won because he sighs into a sweet smile–bringing his hand up to muss your hair. 

“You know I can’t go anywhere without you, Chicken.” At his words you unceremoniously jump at him, encircling him into your grasp and squealing out ‘thank you’s.’ “But,” you groan. “You have to come with me tonight… If I have to hear Damian go on and on about Casseiopeia, you do too.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The party was in full force when you arrived, music blaring, couples kissing, the whole nine; It smelled like sweat and tequila, and fancy perfume, and you wished you could feel this way more often.

Tim doesn’t like going out, doesn’t feel safe bringing you out into the Gotham nightlife–your best friend, sweet and loyal and protective, over his family, over you�� You know he’s just looking out for you, but the frustrated sighs and the “that place isn’t safe for a little Chicken like you,” get exhausting. He gets frustrated when you go out by yourself, insistent that your group of girls would be much safer if you guys partied at home, yet he never seems to have a problem if his brothers are there too… more eyes on you, he says when you ask. 

Still, you wouldn’t trade him for the world–how lucky were you, that your best friend cared so much… 

He had gasped when he picked you up, a caricature of your sisters and girlfriends: he squealed and told you he loved your dress, (as if he wasn’t the one who paid for it), a routine that was familiar and warm. He’d driven you both himself, complaining about traffic and assholes who don’t use their blinker, he was telling you about his day and the “insolent” acts Damian committed at school. It was rather nice, just you and Tim listening to shitty pop-punk and laughing, a familiar scene that’s gotten rarer and rarer as his responsibilities have piled on. 

He had squeezed your hand before getting out of the car, smiling at you with earnest eyes and a mischievous grin, and told you: “If Dick’s friend Wally hits on you, tell him I still have the pictures from last summer.” 

You were a ball of nerves in the elevator, stomach dropping as it went up, up, up to the Penthouse, shying away from the stares and whispers that follow Tim around. But now, encased in house music and the saccharine smell of young lust and birthday magic, your anxiety eases and the smile you send your best friend’s way is finally sincere. 

He takes your hand to lead you through the erratic rhythm of dancing bodies, sending dirty looks to men who look at you too long, leading you through the suite like he’s Orpheus on a mission. He doesn’t turn back to smile at you until you’ve reached your destination, the large rooftop patio where the pool lives, here you find Dick–front flipping into the pool fully clothed. His form is perfect, spinning into the water with a ballerina like elegance, a visage so striking against the electronica pumping through the night. 

He comes up for air with far less grace, however, shaking his hair out like a dog and yelling at Kory to join him. When he sees his little brother, his face breaks into the most earth-shattering smile, before he breaks into senseless giggles–telling everyone, “You guys! My baby brother Timmy is here!” 

Tim, a boy who loves his brothers more than anyone except maybe you, grins at the older boy's voice–pulling you along to greet him properly. 

“Happy birthday, Dick!” You tell him, voice raising to be heard over the music and the squealing euphoria of his guests.

“Oh my! Timmy’s little Chicken is here!” Dick’s fondness for you is no surprise, as a professional older brother it is his job to love everyone his siblings love. “Jason! Look who's here!”

It's almost comical how fast you look up, how curious you are to see him, so curious you don’t hear Tim’s sigh or the way his hold on your arm tightens. Like Magic, Jason stands in front of you, leaning against a wall like a poor parody of James Dean. He looks a bit put out, a little annoyed to be interrupted in what looks like a riveting conversation with Roy Harper– a man you’ve only ever met through Tim’s phone on nights when he goes out without you. 

“Hey guys,” He says, friendly enough yet you can’t help but notice how much tenser he looks now that Tim stands before him. “Timmy, I heard you’re taking up more and more roles at Dad’s,” he sounds strained, but it’s obvious that he’s trying. 

“Yeah, our little baby brother is awesome, Bird, but let’s not forget it’s my turn to receive your  compliments.” Dick exclaims, panting a bit from treading water. 

“Yeah, yeah, Dickie, you just gotta wait for it, man.” Jason says, before turning back to Roy, you know at once that their exchange is over, you’re not sure what happened… It seems almost like Tim and Jason fought, niceties were exchanged, yes, but the look in their eyes: exhausted and awkward, says more than the short conversation they shared. 

They get like this sometimes, a phenomenon you don’t quite understand… You’ve witnessed moments where they seem like best friends, joking and joining together in teasing Damian, yet there's other times… Moments like this, when it seems like there's years of separation and frustration between them. 

You can feel Tim pulling you away, his hold on your hand a little tighter than you would like it to be… You can hear Dick yelling at him to stay, ‘the waters nice and warm,’ he yells, yet it's obvious he’s not too worried about it once Kory swims over to him. More than anything you can see Jason, nodding at you from his place against the wall–his drink tipping your way as if to say goodbye. 

You’re still a little confused when Tim drags you back into the suite to dance, finding Conner and Stephanie along the way. The four of you twirl and laugh and drink, the boys spinning you and Steph around and around–passing the two you back and forth until you're dizzy and drunk. Tim’s hands steady you, leading you in a crazy dance the two of you made up junior year, and grinning when you drunkenly tell him you love him. The night is alive, it’s burning with winter yearning and the feeling that you’d never be this young again. How you love your friends, how you wonder what's ailing them. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The music is thunderous, eating away at your ear drums and seeping into your bones until your body sings along. You’re not sure what time it is any more, or where Tim went… Your last memory is Conner giving you his jacket before pulling your friend away, a sight that made you giggle and roll your eyes. Steph’s seemed to disappear too, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, swaying in time with the music and whispering jokes to nobody. 

The crowd seems to have gotten bigger and the drinks stronger, a revelation that sends you in search of Tim or Dick, or someone you know. Yet, you can’t find them anywhere, off with Conner and Kory surely, abandoning you with only vodka and an empty chip bowl to keep you company. The party seems lonelier now, the music dull and throbbing in your ears, and all the dancing seems out of rhythm. It’s almost like you’ve stepped out of the faery ring, released yourself from an enchantment, and now everything that was once magic is all wrong. 

That things happening, that thing where you begin to have nostalgia for the moment you’re in, a kind of bittersweetness veiling over your eyelids as you take in the dark room. This happens sometimes, where you get a sudden case of the blues–too much adrenaline, too much happiness for one person, so it comes out as sad. It doesn’t help that you’re all alone, that Tim left you to go kiss Conner and you don’t really know anyone else, not truly–not the way you need to know them for a moment like this. 

You find yourself on the stairs, leaning against the railing as you attempt to regain your balance. The world seems to be spinning, whether it's from the alcohol or all the dancing you’re unsure of, yet the sky seems to be under your feet. You wished Tim was here… he always knew what to do, always knew how to make you laugh when you’re sad and get you home without a scratch… Stupid Conner, you think, stealing your best friend from you when you need him most… typical. 

It's minutes later that you feel someone nudging you awake, shaking you from your place on the stairs. The person's hands are rough and warm and gentle, easing you back into consciousness, accompanied by  whispers of “come on, little one.” 

You don’t feel very good, the alcohol and the sadness filling your throat with the taste of vomit, yet you find it in yourself to look up. Light invades your senses and that same blaring electronica finds a home in your ears again, a repeated refrain of call on me beating into your bones. You find the eyes of the intruder, green like summer; they’re looking down at you in concern, all squinty like a crescent moon. It's not until the song changes that you realize it’s Jason looking at you, your mystery come to find you. 

“Jason?” you ask, your voice covered in sleep and intoxication. “What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing, Where’s Timmy?” 

“Off with Conner.” You harrumph, sneering at his name as if they aren’t two of your most treasured friends. 

“And he left you all alone?” He looks a little surprised by this, and a little upset, a combination that will surely keep you up thinking about what it means. 

“Yeah, can you believe that?! He’s a treacherous traitor who betrayed me.” 

“You know, I’m pretty sure all those things mean the same thing.” He laughs a little, and you wish you were sober just so you could really hear him, the fear you feel that you might not remember this fills you with dread. It's so rare that you get to see him, so rare that you get to talk to him without Tim around to make things different and tense… your crush on Jason is not so hidden, a truth that eats at you in moments like this. You’re sure they probably all know, can all see how flustered you get around him, but you’d never act on it–you’d never do anything to hurt Tim, (that includes kissing his brothers), thus you pretend like it doesn’t affect you as much as it does. But here now, with Jason sitting next to you on the stairs, sharing space and oxygen and more words than you’ve ever spoken to each other before, you feel it becoming harder and harder to pretend. 

“Why are you sitting with me, Jason?” You ask him.

‘What?” He replies, eyes wide in shock or maybe confusion. “You’re my little brother’s best friend and you’re asleep on the stairs, why wouldn’t I be sitting with you.” His voice is pure Gotham, it brings a smile to your lips. 

“I see, is it just because I’m Timmy’s best friend.” 

“Are you flirting with me, Casanova?” he laughs, bringing a bottle of water up to his lips. 

“Never ever, Mr. Todd, I swear it, cross my heart.” You can see how he’s smiling, goofier than you’ve ever seen it, less sculpted than the usual smirky grin he wears around his brothers. 

“You’re drunk.” He says, before handing you his bottle of water, “Drink.” He says it like a command, like something you couldn’t say no to even if you tried, so you listen, yet you can’t stop thinking about his lips around it just a few seconds before. It invades your senses– the image of his rosebud lips curling around the top like a kiss… What is a kiss if not two mouths touching? What is a kiss without a kiss? Shared saliva and phantom smiles pressing against your own? 

One of his large hands goes to the bottom of the plastic bottle–tipping it up further as if to get you to drink more, his eyes swallow you, commanding eye contact as the water tumbles down your throat. “That’s a good girl.” He tells you, voice low and pleasing. It’s only when the bottle is empty that he takes his hand away, lowering the bottle from your lips and looking back into the humid party. 

How handsome he is, you think, it’s obvious he dressed up a little more for this than when you usually see him. He’s in all black, slacks and t-shirt displaying some 90s anime, he even has jewelry on: silver rings and heavy chains around his neck… He looks ravishing, like someone should take him home before other people can perceive him. You remember that first time you saw him, that fifteen year old boy on the news who looked like Peter Pan; you remember how you felt when you read that he was missing, if only you could have told yourself you would have found him one day. 

“Jason?” You whisper, “Where did you go?” He’s surprised at the question, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t seem mad, more tired; exhausted by the memory. 

“Neverland.” He whispers back, a response that brings a smile to your lips even though it’s not an answer. 

“What was it like?” 

“Hmm,” he says, thinking about his answer. “Well, it was pretty, there were pirates and mermaids, and little fairy girls like you.” That makes you laugh, a big booming thing that escapes. 

“I’m a little fairy girl, now?” 

“Oh yeah, I saw you spinning earlier… round and round like you were trying to fly.” 

“Well, I’m all out of pixie dust.” You tell him, which brings that goofy smile back to his pretty face. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just sits quietly with you, humming songs he knows and snorting at the drunken antics of Dick’s guests. It’s nice, just sitting with him–there is no need to fill the space, just peace and quiet. Finally, when you’re feeling sober enough to be a little worried by his answer, you ask, “Why’d you leave? I mean what made you come home?” 

It takes him a moment to answer, but when he does it’s full of secrets and saved up sadness, his voice gruff with the memory of it. “I just had to grow up I guess.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

Days later you’re still thinking about that conversation on the stairs, how sad he looked… how vulnerable and young he appeared. When Tim finally showed himself, he was shocked to find you with his brother, thanking him over and over again for keeping you company. You remember how Jason smiled, sweet and sleepy, before he said No problem, Timmy, you just get her home safe. It’s less of a memory and more of a dream, like you went off to Neverland too. 

It was difficult to find sleep that night, too shaken and embarrassed by your own behavior… Nerves ate at your brain every time you thought about how natural it was to talk to him, nerves that only got worse when you wake up to a text from an unknown number: 

 ‘Hey, fairy girl, it’s J. just want to make sure you got back alright’ 

It filled you with heat and parasitic flutters in your belly, but you couldn’t answer… couldn’t get over the guilt you felt when imagining Tim’s reaction, no matter how innocent it all was. So you left it alone, didn’t answer him and went on with your day as normal as you could make it: lunches with Tim and group chat gossip with Duke and Stephanie, anything that could distract you from the fire blazing in your veins. 

You were still a little cross with Tim for leaving you all alone, but after making him take you out to breakfast and promise to buy you whatever you wanted for the next week, you thought you’d cut him some slack. He was acting a little weird, he kept making that face that only conjures itself when he’s trying to figure something out, and he repeatedly asked you if Jason said anything interesting to you– a question that has you shaking your head every time.

His words were just for you, you knew that more than you knew anything, so even though it was unfamiliar, you kept it from your best friend. 

It’s been a week since that fateful night, a week full of sleeplessness and butterflies when you thought about his bright eyes and warm hands. You’ve always had a bit of a crush, but now it's stifling–incinerating you with the absolute truth of it. Even here at work it suffocates you, presses down in between the dark archives of old newspapers and preserved textiles. It's just another day of paperwork and organization, studying old books on Cherry Hill in hopes to find something that could help stop the impending gentrification. 

Tim’s on his way with lunch, something Alfred cooked up to be sure, an exciting but slightly unnerving prospect. You’ve never been afraid of your best friend before, but you’ve also never kept a secret from him… you know it's not a big deal, so what if you and Jason had a sleepy drunken conversation at Dick’s birthday party? It wasn’t like you kissed! Hell, his hands barely even touched your skin except to wake you up, yet the fear of hurting Tim is so massive and encompassing you can’t help but feel like you need to hide it. 

You hear him say hello to your coworkers, hear his graceful steps down into the basement, he takes the stairs two at a time. When he finally arrives in front of you, he is jovial–smiling wider than you’ve seen in awhile. He dawdles on, handing you your lunch and telling you about how Alfred made twice the amount so all his kids could have some. It’s nice to hear him speak about his family, you relish in it… how happy he sounds when he speaks of his brothers, Alfred and Stephanie, the smile in his voice when he tells you you’re invited to another Friday Dinner. 

“Barbara and Kory are coming too, you’ll be there, yeah?” 

“Yeah, Definitely,” You tell him, but your heart isn’t in it. Tim notices it, of course he does, but he doesn’t call it out. You’ve been acting strange lately, but he trusts that you’d come to him if you really needed help. He stays until you both finish your lunch, kissing you on the head before he heads back towards the WE building; the guilt creeps back in when he leaves, roots of shaming entangling you like vipers. 

This routine follows you into the week, Tim bringing lunch and stories of Conner and Duke and the mischief they’ve gotten themselves into. Your work kept you busy, working late into the night– the book you found on the Founding of Gotham was interesting, and it was proving to be rather helpful in proving your suspicions that the original City Hall was located in the Cherry Hill suburb of Gotham City. You hoped you’d be able to find all the sources you needed, but it was becoming a bigger and bigger project than you ever realized–a project that was impeding on your life. 

It was late into the afternoon when Jason came to see you, bringing with him a smile and something hidden in his book bag. 

“Knock-knock, Little fairy, can I come in?” He asks you, halting on the last step. It's dark down here, lit only with lamps and reading lights, still he is beautiful–the white streak in his hair curling down over his eyes. He looks rather comfy, wrapped up in a sweater and a leather jacket, his book bag crossing over his chest and falling around his hip. God, he’s lovely, and he’s here… Why is he here? 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, startled by his presence and the life it brings. 

“I wanted to bring you some flowers,” He tells you, a secret smile playing on his lips. You look at his empty hands, a confused grin finding its way to your face. 

“Where are the flowers, Jason?” You laugh, although it halts when that goofy grin emerges again. Looking at you slyly he takes something out from his bag, pulling out a stack of books and handing them to you. Still confused you shuffle the pile to read each title,

 Dandelion Wine, White Oleander, The Chrysanthemums, Daisy Miller, The Secret Garden… 

Oh dear, you think, how sweet is this boy? And why? After you’d ignored his message… 

“Flowers,” he says, tilting his head towards you, that charming smile still living on his face. 

Who is this wonderful, handsome boy? When his brothers speak of him, they describe him as gruff and unlikable–mean and sulky. Yet this Jason is bright and euphoric, sweet and happy and mischievous…

He brought you flowers… flowers that you could keep on your shelf forever; stories of life and sadness and magic. 

“Oh my,” you say, “Thank you, Jason.” 

“Of course, I wanted to make sure you were okay…” He hesitates for a minute before continuing on, “Y’know, you never answered my text and I thought maybe Dickie gave me the wrong number.” 

“Oh, no it was the right number,” you sigh. “I just don’t want Tim to feel weird about the two of us becoming friends…” 

“Are we becoming friends then,” he asks you, eyes brighter than before. He looks so young like this, starry eyed and grinning like he won a blue ribbon. 

“I don’t know, Jason, are we?” 

“I’m inclined to say yes, fairy girl. I don’t steal books from the library for just anyone.” 

Shocked, you turn the books over and sure enough, the library's barcode sits against the hardcover. 

“Jason! What the hell?! You can’t just steal from the library!” You yell, yet all he does is laugh. It’s such a pretty sound, deep and melodious like a song you can’t forget the words to. You wonder how often he really laughs like this, true and belly-full, like he means it. 

“I work at the library, Sugar, don’t worry.” He rasps out, “I’m the person who has to buy the new books anyway… so don’t worry about it.” The pet name rolls off his tongue salaciously, finding its way into your tummy, filling you with warmth and a vision of him at Gotham City Public Library. You’re not sure how you never knew, how you never saw him there in your late night book runs for your work. It fills you with fondness and makes your smile somehow brighter than it already was. 

“Well, thank you anyway, J.” You tell him. “Really, no one's ever given me flowers before.” 

When his eyes meet yours the floor shakes beneath you, destabilizing you into nervous fidgeting and shy smiles. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe your mystery is standing in front you–vulnerable and handsome and smiling. He brought you flowers… God, what are you going to tell Tim? 

You see he’s getting ready to leave, so you ask (quicker than you thought possible,) “Do you wanna stay for a while? I’m just reading through some sources, but it might be better with company?” The smile he gives you is serendipitous, magical and dreamlike. 

He stays with you long into the night, reading all the left pages as you read the right and sharing his own suspicions. He mentions books at the library that might be useful, and tells you how cool he thinks what you’re doing is, he smiles the whole time. It's late when you finish, yawning and blinking away the strain, he looks more and more like that school picture you once fawned over– young and happy, Peter Pan. 

He insists on walking you home, leading you through the still busy Gotham Streets with a hand grazing your back and a watchful eye on the city. Every once in a while he stops to make sure you’re going the right way, and to ask if you’re still alright, a question that brings a smile to your lips and goosebumps on your skin. 

When you finally make it home, skin bitten cold and his jacket hanging off your shoulders, he smiles faintly at you, bringing his hand up to push a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. 

As he turns to leave he tells you, 

“Don’t forget to get those flowers in some water, see you Friday,” And with the way your heart stops, you know you’re doomed. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

Tim Drake is lots of things, but a fool is not one of them. He sees how different Jason is acting during patrol: stumbling over ledges and pulling out the wrong gun. He’s been weird since Dick’s party, quicker to smile and more interested in you than ever before… he remembers seeing Jason try to covertly listen to the Comm when Dick asked Tim how you were,

 “How’s Chicken Little doing, Timmy?” 

But before he could answer, Damian swiftly responded: 

“She doesn’t like it when you guys call her that, can’t you see her nose scrunch up in disgust? Honestly you’re all a bunch of buffoons.” 

Tim, however offended he might be at Damian thinking he knows you better than him, couldn’t help but focus on Jason instead. His face might be covered by his mask, yet his body language is unmistakable–he’s more interested than he should be. 

“Might I remind all of you, she is off limits, do not disturb, dead end… I will kill you and send your entrails to Lex Luthor to make some weird clone of you if you even think about it.” This message is for all of them, but you’d have to be stupid to not realize it was really only for Jason–Dick and Kory have been basically engaged since they were 20 and Damian still drinks bug juice for God’s Sake… the only other person it could be is Duke, but if the gagging sounds he’s making over the comm mean anything, he doesn’t need to be worried. 

Nobody says anything for a second, laughter from Dick and Duke creeping in through his ear piece, yet it all stops when Jason speaks up for the first time that night. 

“You know, you really should let her make her own decisions… She’s not a little girl.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Hood?” Tim asks, getting actually truly angry for the first time. There’s a reason why he tried to keep you to himself in the beginning of your friendship, he knows you think it’s because he didn’t want you to date his brothers, but really he didn’t want to have to share another thing. So much of his life belongs to his family, he just wanted one thing to belong to him. 

“Don’t get angry, please, Birdie?” Jason replies, there's no heat in it, just exhaustion. 

“What. Do. You. Mean? Hood?” Tim says again, getting more and more frustrated by the minute. 

“I just mean she’s a grown up, and she should be allowed to talk to whoever she wants to, even if it weirds you out.” 

It strikes Tim as something that wouldn’t bother him if it was about anyone but you, if it was Steph or Bart or Cassie, it wouldn’t have mattered. But it is you, the first friend he’s had that's entirely his own–you’re his best friend in the entire world, the person he loves the most, and he doesn’t need anyone, especially not Jason Todd, telling him how he should act with you. 

“Keep your advice to yourself, Red Hood,” Tim barks out to his brother, yet there's a piece of him that's thinking about what he said, a voice in the back of his head that tells him maybe he should listen. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

When Tim calls you to tell you not to come to family dinner, you can’t help but be confused and a little hurt. Sure, he said he’d just come over to yours instead, but the thought that someone was upset with you, or worse that Tim used his brilliant brain to suss out your crush before you could tell him, and now he’d never let you back around his brothers again, whittled its way into your heart and wouldn’t let go. 

You never wanted to do anything that would hurt Tim, he’s the person who you trust most in the world, the only person you could say confidently that you would kill or be killed for. You love him, infallibly and wholly, and thinking that he might be hurt by something you’ve done, even as innocent as a couple moonlit conversations with his brother, consumes you into a hellmouth of anxiety. 

He arrives at seven, the time he said he’d pick you up for family night, but instead of meeting you at your door, he barrels in. There’s a wild look in his eyes, a look you’ve only seen once– when your Philosophy 204 professor fell over and began to aspirate through a seizure–it’s painful and worried, and you wonder what's making him so upset now. However, when you ask, all he does is shake his head, almost like he’s trying to shake out the worries, pound them out like water in your ears. He looks beyond you, into your kitchen and his sighs become heavier and more sporadic, did he run here? 

“I’m trying to figure something out,” He tells you, his voice kinder than his body language made it seem like it would be, yet you’re not surprised–in the five years of being his friend, he’s never once raised his voice at you. 

“Okay, what's up?” You ask, anxious. 

“Are you and Jason in love? Are you having some sort of gross affair?” 

“What?!” You exclaim, sure you have a crush on Jason, and yes you think it would be quite easy to fall in love with him, but come on… Two conversations and childhood crush don’t suddenly turn into an affair. 

“Don’t “what” me, Chicken! I have Jason telling me to treat you like a grown up and now I walk in here and his jacket is hanging from my chair… MY CHAIR!” He says, shocking a laugh out of you, “The chair I sit in, god what has life come to?” 

“Timmy, we’re not having an affair, he just walked me home after bringing me something at work.” You approach him like a snake tamer, slow and kind in your steps–the same steps you saw the zoo keeper take the last time you and Tim brought Damian to Gotham Zoo. 

“But you like him?” He asks, suspicious and guarded. You can’t tell what’s happening in his head, can’t seem to read his mind like you usually can, so instead you let your hands fall onto his shoulders–fingers splaying out to run through the hair on his neck. 

“Yes,” You say, quiet as a mouse. “Is that okay?” 

Tim lets his head fall into your tummy, blowing out a big gasp of air into your shirt, which makes you laugh and push him away. 

“Of course it’s okay, Chicken… I just want you to be happy.” He sighs, “I just don’t really know if you will be happy with him… my brother he’s,” He hesitates, thinks about how he should say this without ruining anything, before he continues: “Jay’s complicated, what happened fucked him up… really bad. And I love you, more than him, more than anyone–you’re my girl. I don’t want you to feel trapped in a bad situation, and feel like you can’t come to me cause he’s my brother… I’ll always be on your side.” 

You smile and let out what feels like all the air in your lungs. How you love your stupid, silly, best friend, as if Jason would ever make you feel trapped and horrible when all he ever wants to do is be free? 

“You don’t have to worry about me, Timmy, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” The nickname makes him smile, brings him back to college when all you guys would do was watch Chicken Little and drink bottled sweet tea, when you’d call him Timmy and beg him to let you prank call his dad. Yet, the sentiment makes him sad, how are you a big girl if you’re both still just kids? He doesn’t feel that grown up yet. 

“That’s what he said you know,” He replies. “Just, why didn’t you tell me?” He’s watching you, looking at you in that way that makes you spill all your secrets, so you tell him, 

“I didn’t want to upset anyone, and I don’t know if he even likes me back, so..” 

“Are you crazy?! Of course he likes you, my brother hates literally every single person he interacts with other than Alfred, yet he’s coming to your work to surprise you? Come on.” He’s laughing though it sounds a little pained. It does little to comfort your swirling thoughts. You’re so happy Tim’s not angry, so happy that he’s not throwing you onto the curb like you expected, but he still seems so sad. 

You wish you could swaddle him up and make everything okay, promise that you’d never stop being friends, make sure he knows that you’re not going away–that all of this is a little dramatic for a little crush. 

“Are you okay, Timmy? With the chance that something might happen between me and Jason?” 

“Yeah, Chickadee, just…” he sighs, “Don’t forget what I said, okay? About him being complicated.” You nod, but before you can say anything, he speaks up again. “And, Chicken? Remember our pact about getting married for taxes… it’s you and me spending our afterlives together, not you and Jason.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

You wake the next morning a bundle of limbs and sleepy energy, Tim is barely conscious next to you and the apartment smells faintly of cheetos and ramen; you’d spent the night watching Avatar: The Last Airbender and reminiscing about the good old days. You told him about everything that's happened with Jason, starting from that first sight of his missing poster and ending with the bouquet of books. He was obviously a little grossed out to be talking about his brother in this way, but it felt good to see you so giggly and happy. 

He’d felt bad for making you skip out on family night, a feeling of guilt that shook in his bones as his father and eldest brother texted him about skivving out on family bonding. But, he wouldn’t go back to change it, he was so afraid he was going to lose you, that you’d get tired of him and make friends with other people, that having this night with you was well worth all the lectures he was going to have to put up with. 

He’s watching you now, anxious and blushing, and he can’t help but feel in awe of you–his pretty best friend, really crushing on someone for the first time. Some part of him is glad that person is Jason, at least then he won’t feel too bad about breaking his nose if he starts any shit with you. 

“Everythings gonna be okay,” He says, using your first name in a rare scene of seriousness. 

“Yeah, I know.” You tell him. “I just, don’t wanna ruin anything.” 

“You know, he’s working today… might wanna bring him some flowers.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ 

The library is alive, warm and inviting like a lover’s embrace. It smells like parchment and dust and clorox wipes, a combination that instantly brings you back to school–elementary crushes and schoolyard gossip. 

There’s not very many people here, too early on a school day for anyone to really be finding solace between the aisles, but you see him. Jason sits behind the front desk, wiry glasses settled on his nose and a book in his lap. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too absorbed in his work to really be paying attention. For a minute, you just stand and admire him–this mysterious creature who walked into your life and never left. All these feelings are brand new and ancient… romantic and friendly, respect and admiration. It would all be so easy, with him–to lose yourself in love and friendship–you want it so badly. 

You can see it so vividly, waking up with him and spending nights intertwined, reading together and researching maniacally. Falling for him is easy, loving him will be hard you know, but seeing him now: pretty and warm in the afternoon light makes the decision rather easy. 

“I’d like to return some books,” you say once you’ve reached him, startling him out of his reverie. 

He can’t believe it’s you, beautiful and bright–like a protagonist out of an Austen novel. He thought he’d never be allowed near you again, thought he ruined it all by bringing you up to Tim, but here you were–lovely like the morning. You’re carrying books, flowers, and your smile is starlight. 

“Well, right this way, Ma’am.” He tells you, once he finds his voice. “I didn’t realize you could replant flowers after you’ve picked them.” He’s teasing you, but really he’s not sure why you’ve brought the books back–is it a way to let him down? Or are you just returning the favor? 

He leads you into the back, unprofessional sure, but he needs to be alone with you. You’re so anxious, he can tell… he needs to be able to reach out and feel you. 

“I just felt like you deserved flowers too, Jay.” You tell him, sweet and lovely like always. 

“Hmm, well I refuse them… they’re all yours, I already replaced them.” His eyes are mischievous again, burning with joy as they stare into yours. You’re reminded of that night on the stairs, when he made you drink water and burned you alive. 

“I talked to Tim,” You tell him, watching as his smile drops. 

“Let me guess, he told you I’m bad news and doesn’t want you around me, right?” He asks, rough with the hurt of past bruises. 

“Actually, he told me you’re bad news but he’s trusting me to be able to handle it.” Jason looks surprised, his summer green eyes wide with shock. He guessed he never really thought Tim would be okay with it… 

He remembers seeing you for the first time: soft and gorgeous in the lowlight of the manor, he was sitting with Damian and remembers how the breath shot out of his lungs at the sight of you. Dami’s been teasing him about it for years now, bringing you up to piss Tim off and making plans for you to bring him to the planetarium on days when Jason said he’d pick him up–like a goddam parenttrap. He thinks back to that night on the stairs a few weeks ago, you looked so pretty spinning around with your friends, like Thumbelina. When he found you on the stairs he was panicked: worried about you and worried about Tim who never left your side, but you were still just so pretty. 

He can’t believe you here now, bringing him flowers and his brother’s approval. He’s waited for this for so long, for the okay from the one person dearest to you, the one person who could make Jason actually care about listening to him. 

“He really said that?” Jason asks you, hesitant and careful like he’s worried you’re playing a joke on him. 

“He really said that,” You reply, laughing when Jason pulls you into a hug. He holds you for a few minutes, feels the air in your lungs press into his belly as you breathe in and out, it feels so good to have you here, to know that he’s not making anything worse by wanting you. 

“So that means you’ll go out with me then, fairy girl?” he asks you, his rough fingers moving up to grasp your chin, tilting it up so you’re looking into his eyes. He waits for you to nod, then waits for the word, yes, to emerge from your pretty lips, before lowering down to kiss your forehead. He feels you sigh, feels your hands shake from their place on his arms, his kisses move down down down until they meet the corner of your lips. You're smiling slightly, like you’re having a happy dream, and when he kisses you for real that smile becomes a big grin. 

It’s all teeth and laughter and the awkwardness of a first kiss, but Jason holds you up and lets you gasp into his mouth and swallows your sighs. He licks into your mouth and clashes his teeth against yours and calls you his fairy, his magic girl come to take him back to Neverland. He holds you tighter and tighter, and feels you shake under his affection, how lovely it is, how badly he wants to make your bones rattle. 

“I’ll bring you more flowers on our date, sugar.” He tells you, kissing the underside of your jaw, before pulling away. He’s sad he has to let you go, frustrated that he has to stay at work while you get to go and hang out with Tim and Damian at the Museum all day, but the kiss you press into his hand–innocent and earnest–makes it worth it. 

He leads you out of the back room and into the well-lit main entrance, pausing only to grab his book from the front desk. “By the way, I found this while I was stacking shelves, I thought it might be useful for your project.” 

In his hands is a book titled Gotham City’s Founding Buildings, and on the cover, miraculously an illustration of Cherry Hill. 

It’s too easy to fall in love with him, you think again, smiling as you pull him into another kiss.