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fuumiku · 8 months ago

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Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

#Dungeon meshi #Ask #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Marcille donato #chilchuck tims #Marchil #You me the parking lot after i finish and post my arc analysis #Sobbing……… we’re 20 over here in the rarepair pit come on. Like do u not see how obsessed i am. Do u think they like. Mean nothing to me #Do u think it��s all incidental and i slipped and the 10 thousands of words I write for them had no thought or feelings behind them or #Their arc is so beautifuuuuul they come to see each other and her standards become more real while he allows hope and openness #Into his heart again 😭😭 not the way two of their scenes lowkey read as a proposal…#Anyways I hope this makes it clear I’ll fight to my dying breath for them.#I don’t want trouble and i imagine you don’t either so just don’t come shitting on my doorstep #In positive news my fic Grind Me Down Sweetly recently reached 100 likes and 1k hits <3 it can also be read as just platonic so if you like #Them as a duo even as friends give it a shot #Every time I see someone shitting on marchil I start making marchil content faster btw #Not art #Unstoppable force x immovable object my beloved. They need someone stubborn loving methinks. One who loves stubbornly and one who confronts

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rq-producerperson · 3 months ago

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Hi April, hope you are well.

i wanted to ask a quick point of clarity - in episode 23, is the date on post 14 (in the case file) correct? It is a strange date, and I don’t know if its a) lore-strange or b) typo-strange, and I need to check before my red string pinboard gets any bigger.

thanks so much

Astute of you haha

Alas, It’s typo strange, it should read 03-09-18. Our editor also clocked it shortly after release T-T we’ll be uploading a corrected version after season 1 is done.

#tmagp #answered asks #behind the scenes #the magnus protocol #whoopsies #sometimes writing is hard

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toxintouch · 22 days ago

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yk how in veres likes on his character sheet it says he like cooking (badly)…… WHY HAS NO ONE DONE A FIC ABOUT THAT YET‼️⁉️⁉️ THAT SHOULD NOTTT BE A WASTED OPPORTUNITY. i’m not even joking im ab to send this to so many people because i can’t let this go to waste 😞

Here u are anon! For the record, you are completely free to send this prompt around wherever you’d like! It was such a fun idea, I’d love to see more takes on it. ^^

Warnings: Vere talking Innuendos? Innuendos. So many, and I don’t guarantee that they are funny lol. Just a general silly vibe and imo: absolutely tooth rotting fluff.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅SOUS CHEF ‧₊˚♡₊˚

You find yourself wandering through Lowtown during the lunch hour, trying to decide what sounds like a good meal.

Your mouth waters at the scents being carried on the breeze, a plethora of pleasant aromas wafting out of the eateries nestled inside the Amaryllis District, so fragrant that you can smell them all the way down on the bustling streets of Lowtown as long as you stay downwind.

However, if there’s one nice thing about knowing Leander it's that you also know you don’t have to go that far (or spend that much) for a delicious lunch.

Near enough to the Wet Wick, there’s a series of side streets that make up an eclectic amalgamation of Lowtown and the Amaryllis District, and in it: a small and inconspicuous eatery. The menu changes often, though you aren’t sure if that’s out of innovation or necessity, but the food is always filling and reasonably priced.

You follow the winding streets, getting lost for a brief moment before correcting your course, traveling until you see colorful chipped girih tiles and wide, clean windows. You let yourself into the shop, the now familiar sound of hinges in need of an oiling welcoming you.

There’s an assortment of goods on display–jars of honey and spiced fruit and loaves of braided bread with seeds–all kept safely locked away beneath an enchanted pane of glass.

Looking around, though, you don’t see anyone selling said fantastic wares.

You call out, expecting the shop keep or her wife to come running but instead you hear…silence.

Followed by a loud metallic clatter.

You freeze, unsure what to do, what the threat is–if there’s even a threat?–but before you can make up your mind, you’re greeted by a most unexpected sight.

Vere comes out of the kitchen area, his hair swept into an artfully stunning up-do that reveals the long line of his neck and clavicle, blemished only by the heavy collar locked around his throat.

He’s wearing a weighty linen apron over his clothing, presumably to protect his outfit, though–his long gossamer sleeves are completely discordant with the notion, making you think that maybe the apron is more of an aesthetic choice.

“What’s this–? A mouse? In my kitchen?” Vere asks playfully as you continue to stare, dumbfounded. He wields a spatula in his hand like a weapon–swatching it into his off-hand like a riding crop with a decisive snap.

“Where is–?”

“–The shop keep? Wherever she pleases–the shop’s closed on Mondays.”

(You really don’t like the way he’s watching you… Or the way he keeps inching closer…)

You take a step backwards, your eyes never leaving his. “Oh,” you say, bandaged hands reaching blindly behind you. “I didn’t realize. The door was unlocked, so…” You trail off.

You find the doorknob at last. You attempt to turn it only to find that it won’t budge.

“Was it?”

Vere saunters up to you, tail swaying behind him. You manage to tear your eyes away from his predator stare to search for possible exits, though you know for a fact you won’t be fast enough. You look back and he’s already in your space, crowding you against the entryway.

(He smells really good, actually. Like leather and spice and the subtle cling of perfume and incense. And beneath that, something–earthy–animalistic, but in a way that’s intoxicating as opposed to unpleasant.)

“I was just about to make myself a snack–how nice that a snack came to me.”

“Stop playing around.” You try to steel yourself and inject the perfect amount of scolding into your voice while combating his heated stare. “I know you’re just fucking with me to try and get a reaction; you and I both know you’re not going to eat me.”

If he was, he would have done it by now. Sometime within the weeks you’ve known him. …Probably.

Unless he just likes to play with his food.

“I didn’t realize you knew me so well,” he says, looking amused. “Perhaps I didn’t plan to, but now I simply can’t resist. You look so absolutely delectable, how could I possibly contain myself?”

You don’t get the chance to reply. Vere’s countenance changes suddenly–you watch his ears flatten a second before you hear the screaming whistle of a teapot. His ears twitch in annoyance at the sound, his perfectly sculpted face showing a sour sneer. He gives you a sideways glance, calculating.

“Then again. I find myself in need of a sous chef. Congratulations on your promotion. Come along now.” He hooks a finger into your cloak and pulls you easily into the kitchen. (To be fair, you don’t struggle. Anyone would want to see where this is going, right?)

He releases you once you’ve crossed over the threshold, waving his fingers uncaringly towards a second apron affixed to a hook on the wall as he beelines to remove a glass teapot from the stove and stifle the noise. He moves quickly as you watch, casually throwing aside the spatula in his hand in favor of an ornate silver teaspoon. He measures a vibrantly colored tea into the inlaid steeping container of the equally ornate teapot and takes a pleased inhale as the tea’s fragrance blooms, humming as he flips over a delicate hourglass to keep track of the steeping time.

There’s silence for a moment–

Him watching the teapot and you watching him.

“Well?” He asks, without looking up. You’ve seen this look before, you think – this pensive, almost lonesome look that makes your heart ache against all better judgment. “Staying or going?”

He grins when you put on the apron. You search his face for some sincerity, but he’s all sharp teeth and tall ears, covering any glimpses of deeper emotion with a sheen of smugness. He circles you once you have the apron on, taking in the image.

“Mm, don’t you just look adorable. Very domesticated.”

You’re pretty sure that the word he’s looking for is domestic. But of course, he knows what he said and he meant to say it. You decide that he’s probably betting on your correction, already armed with a witty retort. You smooth the apron down while pointedly looking away, deciding that you won’t give him the satisfaction. You hear him chuckle.

Since you’re avoiding looking at Vere, you look around the kitchen for the first time.

It’s a spacious workspace–moreso than the storefront, even. There’s a large iron stove unlike anything you’ve ever seen, covered with magical runes and dials, with a large hearth built into the belly of it. A plethora of pots and pans have been placed on the burners, left to sizzle and pop in the red hot heat.

Oil is singing from the heated, shallow basins but you don’t see anything cooking inside.

There’s a slab of meat diced into neat squares and a heaping bowl of lumpy batter set to the side of the stove top.

“What are you making?” You ask, trying to make sense of the scene.

“Panko crusted fish filet. And there’s a pasta in the oven. For dessert, I was thinking–” he gives you a sly look, one that makes your ears feel warm, “hmm, well. I just had a much better idea in regards to dessert.” He makes a show of licking his fangs, the movements of his tongue slow and sensual.

You think you tied your apron too tight; your airway is feeling a little constricted. It seems to be getting worse the longer you watch.

You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away. More ingredients, most partially prepared, and a host of dirtied pots and pans greet you. You turn your back to him as you explore, fully engrossed in all of the views that the mess of a kitchen has to offer. You’re almost afraid to ask: “So, what am I here to help with?”

“Oh?” You don’t hear Vere come up next to you, but you feel him brushing up against you. “Does my darling sous chef require…instruction? A guiding hand, so to speak?” You freeze, feeling his breath against your ear, shivers running down your spine at his light and teasing chuckle.

But then he’s breezing past you, making a wide dramatic gesture toward the large tome perched surreptitiously on the counter. “Lucky for you, I’ve a recipe.” His tail wags swishes elegantly behind him as he beams with pride.

His tail knocks the whisk out of the mystery batter beside the fish filet but he takes no notice.

Vere hops gracefully up onto the counter, reaching for the batter. He does an impressive twist in order to grab hold of another whisk and you take the time to appreciate that. Then, with Vere occupied and seemingly ignoring you, you take a look at the recipe book.

The text is old and withered with the occasional dash of sprawling spidery script painting the margins. (Said writing is utterly illegible–you’re actually not sure if it’s in a language you can read, though if you squint you think you can see something that looks like the word ‘cake’.) The page it’s opened to is ripped in half, rendering precious steps of the recipe lost to time. You spot a mysterious bite mark piercing through the corner of the leather cover.

And can’t stop yourself from surreptitiously glancing over at Vere. He’s moved on from the batter (which looks as lumpy as it did a minute ago) and is now eating skewers of raw fish with his nails.

“You’re not supposed to eat while you cook,” you say, the time worn words out of your mouth before you can examine your personal stance on them.

“Says who? Some limp dick? No shame in indulging, pet.”

“You’re not even gonna have anything left to cook,” you warn.

“Hum, sounds like my sous chef should get to work covering them in batter instead of just standing there before I eat them all.”

You roll your eyes, but follow through with instructions. The space is unfamiliar and your movements are slow and unsure with Vere looming over you from his perch on high, watching.

One of the pans of oil gives an ominous pop. “Hmm, sounds like it’s hot enough,” says Vere. “Move over.”

“Is that safe?”

“For me,” Vere says simply. “And it’s faster. Now stand further back or you'll get splattered–and not in the fun way.” Idly, he tosses a batter covered filet into the shallow pan. The resulting hiss makes you both cringe.

As if on queue, the hourglass for the tea gives a gentle chime, lighting up with a golden glow. (You’re beginning to wonder how this humble shop can afford all these magical items, but then again this is the city of secrets. You’re probably better off not knowing.) Vere’s ears perk up, pleased. He tosses the remaining fillets in the pan without a fuss, setting lids on top of each to contain the oil, acting as if doing so is going to stop any potential disaster.

Main course forgotten, he moves on to digging something out from inside one of the many cupboards. “Be a dear and cut this for me, will you?” He hands you a delicate peach before heading to the tea pot, stirring the contents and adding what must be a priceless amount of honey.

The peach in your hand is overripe but still vibrant–amazing, as you haven’t seen fresh fruit at all since you came to Eridia. Your mouth waters anew as you remember what led you here in the first place–your quest for a meal–and you’re almost tempted to take a bite, follow Vere’s advice and sink your teeth in.

“My, my. I’m almost jealous. I thought you only looked at me like that.”

Vere shushes the denial from your lips, bossing you around regarding how he wants the peach sliced before shooing you out of his way and finishing his remaining tea preparations,with the look of an artist at work. The tea is a warm oolong color, made only more alluring once the infusion of peach is complete.

It’s refreshing, too, once Vere serves it to you over ice.

You can almost ignore the great plumes of smoke coming from the oven.

Vere cooks how others might enjoy a leisurely stroll.

Which is to say, he seems to be having fun, but you’re not convinced he intends on really going anywhere. Still, there’s a rhythm to it–a dance, though he leads you in expected loops and turns, changes the tune at a moment's notice. He’ll get bored of the task at hand and find some new spice to peruse, demand you taste test an ingredient or give your opinion on a dizzying new flavor he’s concocted.

(He manages to convince you to sample a bit of cucumber soup from the cold box. You retch, proclaiming it salty, downing another glass of delicious peach oolong–

“I can still taste it in the back of my throat…!”–and he cackles wildly.)

Thick locks of hair are falling out of his up-do by the time he’s satisfied, framing his face and bringing your attention, again to the inviting line of his clavicle. He tosses his loose hair over his shoulder, preening.

The recipe book is basically ruined, and the pasta is null and void, but some of the fillets look mildly edible. The artful garnish is beautiful, at least. The kale and orange slices really bring out the crispy burnt bits. Vere seems to enjoy plating the food a great deal, humming and rearranging and circling the display until he deems it arranged to perfection.

He’s elegant when he takes a bite, biting down with a crunch. His tail goes very still for a moment, then shivers microscopically as he chews. He swallows in a manner that you can only describe as dignified, dabbing his lips with a napkin. You wait in anticipation, but Vere says nothing for a long time. Then, he quietly takes the old recipe book and throws it away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t insist on you trying it too.

You end up snacking on some of the pre-made goods, drinking the remaining tea and lounging at one of the shop’s cozy little tables. The mood is light and easy, and the view is magnificent. Outside, there’s nothing but trash littered streets and urchins, but inside…the afternoon glow coming from the window illuminates Vere like a sunset, painting him in dazzling shades of gold and red and bronze.

Vere hums, peering at you pointedly through his sooty lashes. “So, dessert?”

You can’t imagine the look that comes across your face–whatever it is, it makes Vere laugh.

“What are you giving me that look for? My intentions are pure.” His voice is a masterclass in syrupy false-innocence. “As clean as Leander’s bed sheets after–”

“Please don’t finish that sentence and give me any mental images,” you beg. “I have to sleep there tonight, I’d rather not know.”

“Ignorance is bliss.” Vere agrees, closing his eyes and appearing to bask in the sun for a moment. His face does something that you don’t quite catch–some hidden expression–but then, he’s smiling easily. He must really be relaxed if he can still smile seconds after thinking about Leander. You’re still admiring him when the shadows against the walls flicker, and suddenly he isn’t sitting next to you any more.

Instead, he’s returning from the kitchen, a tray in hand.

He sets it down in front of you, revealing an assortment of strawberries and an ornate silver porringer of what appears to be melted chocolate. Vere sets it down on the table, plucking the small dessert spoon from the chocolate once he’s seated across from you again.

“Occasionally, life does offer up something sweet to savor–only for those willing to go out and take it.” His tongue darts out to lick the chocolate off the spoon in his hand. He maintains eye contact as his tongue laves across the basin and–embarrassingly–you think you get a little lightheaded from the intensity with which your blood rushes to your face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you that he know exactly where your mind has gone.

Setting the spoon down, Vere instead picks up a bare strawberry, leaning in closer to press it gently to your mouth.

The chocolate is overly bitter–a little burnt, perhaps, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you’re tasting the remnants of it on Vere’s lips.

(Before leaving, you plop a few coins down on the counter as payment. You brought enough to cover your food…but definitely not enough to cover the mess in the kitchen. There’s really nothing you can do about that.

You hope you don’t get blacklisted. You’d like to come back next Monday.)

Hope you enjoyed if you made it this far! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#Hmm! I think they should become cooking buddies I say; I think they should make this a weekly thing #which is my way of saying ‘my bad if this was too much time spent on the set up etc and not enough on the cooking oops ahaha’#this is not how u make panko btw this is some amalgamation of panko and tempura batter don’t ask #The owner & her wife know that Vere does this btw there is a whole thing happening behind the scenes #the number of grease fires Vere has started. Is not zero.#SLICE OF LIFE IS SO HARD TO WRITE FOR ME ATM OMG??#but I hope it was a fun time #i now crave…angst lmao #touchstarved game fanfic #vere x mc #vere x reader #toxintouch: {pick} prompt {your poison}#i feel so caught up on writing now wow time to SLEEP #no good title for this one i will keep thinking?? i;ll just name it whatever in the morning lol #not that ppl need my permission to share prompts #we are all living in the same fandom biome we must share our resources to thrive #i messed around with the formatting a little :) i think it is kinda cute #toxintouch writing

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paintpanic · 1 year ago

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Professional ghost hunters.

#kirby series #marx kirby #gooey kirby #taranza #elfilin #ask 2 tag #i've been watching a lot of ghost hunting viddy game so the natural conclusion was “what if blorbo did it”#what do you think of my handwriting? i've been told it's nice #well. it's me writing with a computer mouse as that's how i draw.#but! progress is being made behind the scenes on obtaining a tablet. very slow progress but so it goes

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hayaku14 · 1 year ago

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GUYS I'M BEGGING

SHINICHI ON A SKATEBOARD

PLEASE

#I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIND A FANART OF GROWN UP SHINICHI ON A SKATEBOARD FOR YEARS TO NO AVAIL #so i took a reference and went FINE I'LL DO IT MYSELF #BUT ALSO I HAVENT DRAW IN AGES DEAR GOD #as usual fuck anatomy and foreshortening #BUT ALSO PLEASE SEE THE VISION??!??!?!? SHINICHI ON A FUCKING SKATEBOARD?????#KAITO TAKING VIDEOS AND THIRSTING????#DETECTIVE BOYS CHEERING??????#shinichi would be doing some skateboard tricks cause the kids asked him (with kaito's prodding behind the scenes hehe)#GUYS PLEASE GIVE ME MORE SKATEBOARDER SHINICHI #lowkey hope this shitty drawing frustrates someone enough to actually draw him on a skateboard HHEHEHEHEH >:3c #or else i'd have to do it myself FUCK NOOOOOOO #also not me drawing something when i just posted earlier i should pick up a pen and start writing LMAO #dc prattles #dcmk #kudou shinichi #kaishin

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shirecorn · 11 months ago

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I'm super excited to see Donner! I originally thought Vixen was Donner cuz she definitely looked like she could eat her family (and yeah I was one of the many who didn't know it meant fox) and then I learned a new thing that Donner is thunder! And then how do you draw a sound?? I can hardly wait to see what you came up with. The whole reindeer line has been fantastic so far!!

Its more than a sound! Thunder is a feeling. It is a rumble that rolls through you. it is a color. it is a smell

Thunder is a person

Thunder is an act and thunder is a place.

Thunder is ever changing and old as time.

Close your eyes and taste it.

What color is thunder? What shape? What are things that accompany thunder? What come before and after? If thunder was a hero, what would its voice sound like? If thunder was villain, what would they wear? How does thunder make you feel? How does it make a mouse feel? How would thunder make you feel if you were the one from whom the sound came?

If you could control thunder, what would you do with it? How would you use your powers for good? How would you use them selfishly? If you had to fight thunder what weapon would you bring? If you described thunder to someone who has never experienced it what would you say?

Can you change the proportions of a muscle or the texture of hair to get closer to it? What do you SEE when thunder opens its mouth? What do its teeth look like? How does its breath smell? Does thunder have good hygiene? Does thunder accessorize or roll out of bed?

NOW draw thunder. It's in your mind and it flows down through your hand and out your pen.

Only a few of the questions you asked will be obvious in your answer, but all of them will whisper in the edges of your lines.

That is how you draw a sound

#art tips #shire screams #ask #prose #writing #behind the scenes

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ragnarokhound · 4 months ago

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hiii im working through all your jaytim week stuff bc i had to be in a wedding that week and i missed it 😭 i WILL leave an annoying amount of comments on ao3 but for now i just wanna say that i love the baseball au fic so bad. i don’t know a single thing about sports but i worked a summer job at the ballpark for a couple years and now whenever the weather gets hot i miss the vibes so bad and i CANNOT stop thinking about Them. do you have any more thoughts or rants or really just any crumbs from this au bc it’s delicious ty

AAHHH OMG I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE WEDDING and you have said the magic words because BOY DO I

I love baseball au!! I am actually very pleased with and proud of baseball au!! In my heart, baseball au has a massive rivals-to-lovers slow burn plot that I simply did not have the time to write OTL so instead for jaytim week, we got the scene that I would have reread over and over again if it had been a book I read in high school lmao

My notes this is a fucking outline how did that happen on baseball au:

Jason was the ace pitcher for the Gotham Knights for a few years running, taking over that mantle from Dick Grayson after he traded to the Bludhaven team. Jason was much more aggressive compared to Dick, and he was a two-way player - he could hit well enough to not need a designated hitter when it was his turn to go to bat, and that versatility made him unpredictable and a threat.

Unfortunately, after a big argument with Bruce about the game, he was hit with a hard injury during the playoffs one year. Everyone said it would be career ending. Bruce said to prepare himself for the worst. Jason takes a year off to recover and doesn't speak to Bruce the whole fucking time.

Enter Tim Drake.

Drake is a rookie, a nobody no one's ever heard of, but he's an excellent pitcher. He's got a million tricks and keeps a cool head. He can read the other team to filth and is ready to change tactics at the drop of a hat.

Word is that he bullied his way into the GM's office and demanded a tryout; Bruce was gonna throw him out. But then he saw him pitch. He was hired on the spot.

They started Drake as a relief pitcher, but it quickly became apparent that he was wasted there. He's switched to starter. They don't make it all the way to the Series that year, but it was pretty fucking close and in large part due to Drake. Not bad for a rookie.

Jason hates him on principle.

Apparently, Jason still has a spot on the team. But they've bumped him down from starter to relief. He knows it's necessary, that his injury still needs babying, but he's still not happy with Bruce. He hates it-- and the games he's relieving for Drake? He hates them most of all. He can't stand the guy.

(He's better than Jason.)

(And he won't quit staring.)

Drake doesn't actively antagonize Jason when training starts. Actually, for the most part, he tries to stay out of Jason's way, watching him quietly from the sidelines while Jason tests his frustrating new limits. But Jason's not about to let Bruce's new golden boy off that easy.

(He's almost surprised by the bite hiding behind those bangs. How fast those watching eyes can narrow in acidic consideration before he tears Jason a new one. He takes vicious satisfaction in seeing Drake sink down to Jason's level. And Drake needs a fucking haircut, but far be it from Jason to give this asshole tips.)

Their synergy is garbage in the first half of the season. Jason prides himself in his game, but when they're sharing the pitch, it throws everything out of whack. They butt heads over everything, and they get hyper competitive; half the time, they're not playing against the other team, they're playing against each other.

By the third game its plain they can't be paired together. Either Drake or Jason fuck up on the mound because one of them was doing something (For Jason, Drake's creepy, unblinking stare is enough to piss Jason off; for Drake, Jason's discovered he can get a rise out of him just by raising an eyebrow at the right time, as if to say really? That's what you're going with?) and the coaches (Babs) have just about had it with them.

They're switched to play on different days when possible, and given stern looks and reminders not to fuck up on the days they have to play together. It grinds Jason's gears, but he sucks it up because he's a fucking adult and his career is on the line. Maybe Drake can do the same.

Things start to change, though Jason can never quite remember when. Maybe they needed the space or whatever, maybe Jason needed to go drinking with Roy and just dump about Drake and Bruce and all of it and hear Roy's drunken two cents, maybe the game against Bludhaven meant seeing Dick and being forced to hear his two cents; maybe he needed to run into Drake at the coffeeshop a block away from the stadium one morning and see him bleary-eyed and clearly hungover. Maybe seeing him outside of the job, his gaze wandering out the window and not fixed on Jason for once, willing to shit-talk Bruce (and to a lesser degree, Dick), shifted something in Jason's brain a little to the left. Maybe it made Drake into a different person, and maybe Tim is someone Jason doesn't actually know that much about. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

They start to improve. They have to play more games together when one of their alts wrecks his ankle, but Jason is still pretty fresh compared to everyone else after being babied all season, and his injury hardly bothers him these days. Tim still flusters Jason at the mound sometimes, but it's not for the same reason. He doesn't know what the reason is yet, but he knows it's not the same. The prickle on the back of his neck that says Tim is watching isn't a precursor to anger, or spite. It's something else.

(And so what if Jason finds himself sticking around after practice days? So what if Tim catches him once, working on his swing, and he offers to pitch for him? So what if Jason suddenly knows he wants to find out how that crooked smile tastes, and threatens to break his bat on it instead? So what if Tim laughs at him like he was joking, because they joke now, and it makes Jason's stomach churn, makes him sick with wanting? So fucking what?)

Bruce even talks to him after a game, all fatherly concern and judgment, wanting to know if it's going to be a problem for him and Tim to be playing together. If he can trust Jason not to jeopardize the game over personal disagreements. Jason doesn't know how to explain it to him and he also doesn't fucking want to. He tells him no, it won't be a fucking problem.

It freaks him out. He backslides, hard. Tim had been warming up to him, but he's obviously surprised about getting the cold shoulder. Surprised and pissed.

He corners Jason in the locker room after a game Jason nearly lost them, a loss that would have shut them out of the Series this year for good. Jason's been closing every game he plays, but Tim had to be sent back in to clean up after his piss-poor showing. He lays into Jason. He reads him to filth. He correctly diagnoses the source of Jason's insecurities and his beef with Bruce that's older than basically any of his other problems, and basically tells him to quit yanking the team-- and Tim-- around. He storms out with the last word, and Jason fumes with his head in his hands.

(Apparently, Tim looked up to Jason, once upon a time. Apparently, Tim was a fan before he was a colleague, a rival; a friend. Apparently he'd been nervous but excited at first to meet Jason in person, to get to talk to one of his heroes. Jason feels like a heel.)

They don't talk after that except to play the game. Tim is professionally distant, doesn't stare at Jason the way he used to, the way he was starting to. The roles reverse-- one week later, he's the one who stares at Tim, watches him take the mound during the game that will decide their fate, decide if they'll go to the Series this year or not, with an awful, burning need bubbling in his chest for Tim to look back at him just once.

When Jason takes the mound for him, Tim glances at him. It's brief, but he nods at Jason, a dare in his eyes that Jason wants to take. It loosens his lungs and lets him breathe for the rest of the game. He plays the best he has all season. And Jason knows the reason.

They win the Series. Bruce offers to put Jason back as a starter next year, but Jason declines and does one more year as a relief pitcher. He's done taking stupid risks with his body, with his career, and he knows if he goes back now he risks a flare up. If he's gonna show Tim up, he's gotta give himself his best chance.

Cue the fic. (They absolutely fuck in the dugout btw. Tim asks with his hands already on Jason's skin-- "Can I touch you?" Tim asks with his mouth already on Jason-- "Can I--")

So i hit the character limit but TAH DAH thats bb au <3

#basically bruce and jason's beef and jason's insecurities are the actual villains. jason just convinces himself it was tim at first lol #this was just gonna be some short little notes to let you know what was cooking behind the scenes. i swear. heehee hoohoo anyway #THANK YOU OMG i'm so excited to hear what you think <33 i also know nothing about sports but i did a silly amount of googling for this fic #greenmatter34 #asked and answered #jaytim #my writing #not!fic #jaytim baseball au

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skyward-floored · 4 months ago

Note

How did Malon get her brand scar? 🥺 (Downfall IAU)

- hero-of-the-wolf

You are so good at poking my brain in just the right way to make me want to write things Wolf (...or Emmie? I just looked at your blog and realize you go by that skhjhsfjkhkld) and I couldn't resist again. writing a little fic was easier than just explaining it all XD

This is set like... further back-ish. Time is probably still alive though, and Twilight and Legend are younger. Aside from that... vague. lol.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m sure you know why you’re here, Malanya.”

A glare was all Dark got in return from the woman in front of his desk, her hair falling in her face. It was coated in nearly as much dirt and animal hair as the rest of her was, and there was a streak of blood across her cheek. She looked exhausted, and Dark was certain she still had a fair amount of adrenaline coursing through her based on the faint tremble in her limbs, but none of that really concerned him.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything in your defense?” he asked after several moments had dragged by.

“You’ve already decided I’m guilty, I don’t see the point,” Malanya finally said, voice short.

“Try me. I’m curious as to why we caught you breaking into a restricted area, and seemingly doing nothing but releasing animals that are government property,” he said, crossing his arms behind his head as he leaned back. “Alone, at that. Unless... those other footprints we found weren’t actually more of your own?”

Some of the color leeched from Malanya’s face, but her expression stayed remarkably level.

“And... it’s strange, too, but some workers seem to be missing after the events of tonight. Let’s see... Romani, I think was one of their names?”

More color gone.

Dark hummed, rather amused by the situation she’d landed herself in. He knew full-well what Malanya’s goal had been on this mission of hers— both goals, in fact. But he enjoyed making her squirm. It was nice to exercise some of the power he’d painstakingly built face-to-face sometimes.

Especially towards the wife of the man he had personal beef with.

Oh if only I could be there to see his face after this.

He'd been trying to catch her or her husband in incriminating circumstances for years now, and she'd practically dropped this in his lap. She'd been sloppy, Dark could only assume because her cousins had been involved, and now he was reaping the rewards.

And the perfect opportunity to show why I shouldn't be crossed.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense now?” he asked, and Malanya regained some of the fire in her eyes.

“I don’t know about missing workers, but I do know you weren’t using those animals for anything except cruelty,” she spat, eyes blazing. “I could hear them crying out every time I went past, and I refused to let them suffer any longer. Do what you want with me, but I don’t regret freeing them.”

“Dangerous words,” Dark said, smirking at her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want us to punish you.”

Malanya went silent again.

Dark let out a theatrical sigh, and glanced at the guards holding her, then back at her face.

“I think a lesson in obedience is necessary here,” he said in a soft voice. “Though... the punishment has the potential to be lightened, if you decide to tell us about any partners you may have had helping you.”

“There was no one else,” Malanya said smoothly. And Dark almost would have been inclined to believe her if there hadn’t been just enough evidence pointing to the contrary.

But he was willing to be gracious. If this was what she wanted, who was he to deny it to her?

“If you were the sole instigator, that would mean a much harsher punishment,” he said in a low voice. “I’m afraid an action like this is simply something we can’t ignore.”

Malon raised her chin, and looked him in the eye, her blues as fiery as her hair.

“I was the only one involved.”

Dark couldn’t help his chuckle, and he stood, walking around to her side where she couldn’t easily see him. “I see once again why Link married you. You know, your fire is something I’ve always admired, I’ll admit.”

He leaned close to her ear for his next words, and reveled in the way she flinched from his breath on her skin.

“We’ll see what he thinks of the mark this earned you.”

Her eyes went wide, and Dark smirked at the slight hitch in her breath.

“Yes. Normally you’d be imprisoned for a period of time, or sent to a work camp for a while for an action of this caliber, but I think a branding will serve as a much better warning. And reminder, in case the idea of doing this again ever happens to cross your mind. It sends a much stronger message to everyone, don't you think?”

“You don’t have the authorization to carry that out,” she breathed, and Dark grinned.

“No? Didn’t you know? I’ve been promoted again,” he said, watching in delight as her expression fell. “I’m now the head of the entire Department of Superhero Surveillance and Inspection."

He leaned in so close to her face that he was only inches away from Malon’s nose.

“Which means I control your entire life.”

“You won’t keep getting away with this,” she said in a voice so quiet he barely heard it. Her face was definitely pale now, with a glimmer of fear shining in the blue, and even the guards had exchanged glances when Dark had mentioned her punishment.

Which was exactly how he wanted it.

"Nothing's stopped me yet," he smiled in response, and poked her nose, just to see her flinch. "Dismissed. You know where to take her."

Malanya struggled as she was lifted to her feet by the guards, but it was halfhearted, as if she knew it was pointless. That or her exhaustion had finally caught up to her, but Dark didn't care much about which it was as she was dragged away.

He was too busy imaging the look on Link's face when he heard and saw what had happened to his beloved wife.

#answers from the floor #lovely hero of the wolf #downfall iau #writing from the floor #again i feel like this needs a tw but idk what it should be #ask to tag #i guess #does this even make sense? i wrote it pretty quick and seem to have picked up a headache lol #i'm just cranking these out aren't I #I haven't written a good villain in a while though so this was fun #but yeah #this kind of marks the start of when things get REALLY bad #and while good ol Dink may not technically be at the very top of the totem pole #he has a lot of money in his pockets #and controls a lot from behind the scenes #you'd be surprised how far a grudge takes you

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