#do i wanna make another comic................kind of yes...

[thecrowsart]

rough sketch/doodle of the alternate scenario where they go to natori's room and eat cake together...........it's crazy how much this scenario has been sticking in my head

[ckret2]

Chapter 72 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen. 

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe). 

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway LISTEN I told 'yall November was gonna be "obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU" month, and I really did not INTEND to post my daily words for it again this year but also, like, fuck it, we ball. No promises I will update EVERY day this time around but again: fuck it, we ball. ( also uhhhhh I've been writing this fic kinda-sorta-semi out of order lately but there is still a significant chunk of word count I'd already written that I would've pre-gamed and posted YESTERDAY if I'd thought I was gonna be doing this, sooooo hope nobody minds us kickin' off the month with like an extra 5.9k on top of the 1.6k of obligatory sugar that I ACTUALLY wrote today behind this here cut? yes? no?? Bueller???? )

get sugared, Super-boytoy. Tim, you just . . . you just do your future-supervillain best over there, buddy. you just do what you can with yourself. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I wanted to,” Tim says again, and Kon glances away and bites his lip, turning the flowers by the stem again. 

“It’s, uh–pretty,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s–cool. Thanks.” 

“If I can’t bring you fresh ones, well . . .” Tim shrugs. Kon glances back to him, and very briefly presses one of the orchid blooms against his own mouth. His face is still all flushed and his eyes are still a little soft, and it’s . . . it makes a picture, alright, even if it's not one Tim's specifically set up to take. Especially with the gold eyeliner and his blue eyes both matching the orchids. 

Tim didn't plan that, obviously, but he thinks it makes up for the sapphire versus ruby thing.

“Um . . .” Kon trails off, biting his lip. Glances down at the orchids from under his lashes. It doesn't make him any less of a picture, for sure. “So, um–do you wanna see the ‘something nice’ I got?” 

Tim blinks, immediately thinks of the most embarrassing option that Kon could possibly mean, and desperately tries to fight back a mortified flush at the idea. But, well–everything he can see Kon wearing is something he remembers buying him already, so . . . 

Oh god, he needs his brain to shut up right now. Immediately. Right now and immediately and forever. 

“Sure,” he says like a normal person, trying not to panic. “What is it?” 

Kon, thank god, pulls a little rectangular package inexplicably–and inexpertly–wrapped in newspaper comics out of the same coat pocket he tucked the jewelry box in. There's plain white string tied around it in a bow. 

Tim . . . blinks. 

If he didn't know better, he'd think Kon had . . . 

“I, um, got you something?” Kon says, and Tim stares blankly at the package. He–what? “For once, anyway. Well, I guess, uh, technically you got it for yourself, and actually this is kinda stupid maybe, you can literally just get yourself whatever you want whenever, obviously, but I just thought, uh–” 

“You got me something?” Tim repeats in surprise. Kon turns pink and shoves the package at him. Tim is too bewildered not to take it. 

“I thought it’d be, uh–fun,” he says, biting his lip and still very visibly blushing. “I mean–that we could have some fun with it. Y’know?” 

Tim stares at the package for another moment, then looks up at Kon. Alright, this maybe isn’t exactly the vibe he was going for here in terms of who’s paying for what and who’s giving things to who, but . . . well, Kon apparently used his allowance for whatever this is, at least, which gives him a reason to have wanted the allowance, so . . . he can work with that, he figures. Like, it’s an “in” to work from; a step in the process. 

He can’t tell what Kon’s gotten him from the shape of the package, though the edges are hard even though it doesn’t feel like it’s in a box or anything. “Have some fun” isn’t much of a clue, though he supposes it does imply something interactive. Maybe it’s a game of some kind, or–

Tim unties the bow and splits apart the clumsy seam of the comic-page wrapping paper with his thumb, tugging through its layers to reveal the package’s contents, and Kon flushes a little darker and watches him just a little bit nervously. 

Tim doesn’t actually know what to say. 

“I just thought, um, a real one’d probably take better pictures than a phone can,” Kon says sheepishly, slanting his eyes away and half-hiding his face behind the orchids. “I made sure the battery was charged and the guy at the store said it's got a lot of storage, I guess, so . . .” 

“You got me a camera,” Tim says blankly, which is the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him short of, like . . . no, it’s pretty much just the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. By far it’s the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. 

“You like taking pictures, right?” Kon fidgets a little, then smiles just barely shyly as he glances back at him. Tim's heart skips a few beats. Or more than just “a few”, maybe. “So, um–I thought maybe we could go do that . . . somewhere. You know, after dinner.” 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him a little stupidly. It’s not a particularly good camera, honestly–like, it’s a perfectly functional model for casual amateur use and a decently reliable commercial brand, but he’s got much better ones that are all professional-quality. He hasn’t used any of them in a while and most of them are admittedly a few years old now, but . . . yeah, this was a hundred bucks max, if that, and his cheapest camera was over five hundred. 

Note to self: raise Kon’s allowance. 

Also, apparently now his favorite camera is the kind of camera civilian amateurs just take random family photos on. Apparently that’s a thing. 

Tim really doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Kon not only remembered something he mentioned having an interest in, Kon bothered to actually get him something he thought he’d have an interest in. That is really, really not the dynamic he’s been encouraging here, for one thing. And also, why even would Kon do that? Like–really? 

“Thanks,” Tim says sincerely, turning the camera over in his hands and feeling incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “I love it.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, biting his lip around a smile. His face is still a little pink and he looks all soft and pretty like that, especially with the flowers still in his hand. Tim really was not prepared for Kon having “soft and pretty” in his repertoire. Like, that was not a thing he ever expected to see from his cocky, crowing brawler of a teammate. 

Kon’s only a brawler because he thinks he’s supposed to be, though, Tim’s pretty sure. Like–increasingly sure, at this point. 

He really, really needs to figure out how to get Kon to tell Robin more about his TTK. Or, like . . . anything about it, apparently. Just literally any single thing, at this point. 

“Thank you,” he says again, inspecting the camera assessingly and making note of all its functions and ports and the generally obvious basics. “We could go take some shots around downtown later, if you’re up for that?” 

Kon turns bright red, and Tim doesn’t understand for about half a second before remembering–the last time Kon had talked to him about taking pictures, he’d offered . . . 

Oh Jesus. 

Tim is either incredibly stupid or–actually, he doesn’t even know. Lucky? Embarrassing? The dumbest moron alive who didn’t even realize he was being flirted with again? All those things and several even worse ones? 

Kon had offered to let him take spicy pics of him the last time they'd talked about taking pictures, whatever “spicy” means to Kon–brash, impulsive, shameless Kon–and Tim’s the idiot whose first thought upon Kon following up that conversation by very literally giving him a camera was to go take pictures of fucking downtown.

He is the most useless “sugar daddy” to ever sugar. 

Well, to be fair, it is Gotham downtown, so it’s very–

“I like taking pictures of streets and buildings,” he blurts belatedly, fumbling to sound like just the oblivious idiot that he is and not some kind of weird fucking perv who’s trying to get Kon arrested for public indecency. Jesus, he’s stupid. “And people-watching is interesting too. You know, stuff like that.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks several ways at once, including both a little relieved and a little disheartened, which . . . okay, Tim would literally die if they actually went somewhere to take spicy pics tonight, so is unfortunately unavoidable. He’s not trying to make Kon not feel–attractive or anything, but he needs at least twenty-four hours to make a plan and also two or three or seventeen contingency plans before . . . anything like that happens. Ever. Even in theory. “Um–yeah, sure. That sounds cool.” 

“Cool,” Tim says, still desperately pretending to be an idiot. It’s not hard, on account of the fact that he very much is an idiot. 

Kon pauses for a moment, then perks up a little, seeming to think of something, and asks–“When’s dinner?” 

“Our reservation’s in forty-five minutes,” Tim says, double-checking the time on his phone just to be sure. “Well, forty-six. I figured that’d let us take our time walking over and maybe we could window-shop a little on the way.” 

And also shop-shop a lot, if Kon gives him literally even the slightest indication that he wants or needs something. Just if it comes up or anything. That’s all. 

Tim definitely did plan their route to the restaurant to cut straight through the middle of the downtown shopping district, either way. 

“We could’ve just met there, dude,” Kon says wryly, but grins anyway, glancing down at the orchids in his hand again. “Forty-six minutes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Tim confirms. 

“And you like taking pictures of streets and buildings?” Kon asks, his grin turning just a little bit sly. Tim frowns briefly in confusion, not sure what the grin’s about. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotham has a lot of really interesting architecture and design. Like, it’s an old city, and one that’s been pretty resistant to updates in a lot of areas or just not had the money for those updates. So you get a lot of places with a lot of character and it’s basically the bastard child of gothic and art deco design with a side of industrial warehouse, depending on the part of town you’re in. Like, Crime Alley and the Diamond District have very different vibes, but they’re both very Gotham vibes, if you know what to look for. It’s–” 

Kon is grinning really widely at him, for some reason. Tim realizes he’s rambling like a moron and turns red. 

“Uh,” he says, repressing a wince. “Yes. Yeah. I like taking pictures of streets and buildings.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, and then he carefully packs the orchids back into their box and it back into the gift bag and transfers the chocolates and jewelry back into it too, then grins even wider at him as he hooks the bag’s handles over his arm and into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t drop the camera, babe.” 

“Wha–” Tim starts to say, and then Kon grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closest alley, which is terrible survival instincts for Gotham, oh god, but before Tim can say anything about that Kon’s wrapped an arm around his waist just tight enough to just barely lift him off his feet and bolted straight up into the air with him. “Shit!”

Tim doesn’t drop the camera because he’s held onto cameras while falling off literal buildings before, but definitely only because of that. Muscle memory, or whatever. Also he’s been snatched off his feet by Bruce and Dick plenty of times and thrown off rooftops by multiple rogues and thugs over the years and these days gets regularly dragged around by Bart, all while holding very important things he could not afford to drop, so it’s not like either the sudden jolt or the effort to keep his grip on the camera are as disorienting as it otherwise would be. Just . . . 

Ugh, Tim realizes, absolutely unimpressed with himself upon realizing that the breathless feeling he’s having right now is not actually related to the swift and sudden increase in altitude, but is actually just because it’s Kon holding him. 

He is an idiot, isn’t he, he reflects resignedly. Just an actual literal idiot. 

Jesus. 

“Whatcha think?” Kon asks with a grin as he comes to a stop in mid-air with him. He stops very suddenly, but Tim notices a distinct lack of jarring with said stop, which implies Kon’s got his TTK around him again and probably completely around him, which means–

Oh god, Tim thinks, and very quickly makes himself stop thinking about that. 

“It’s cool,” he says, because a normal civilian would think flying was something interesting and unusual, but it’s hard to act too excited about a move Kon probably pulls on literally everyone he–

“I meant the view, babe!” Kon says with a laugh, and Tim . . . blinks. 

And then he looks down. 

They’re hovering a few thousand feet up, and downtown is already lit up bright in the early evening gloom. And Kon . . . 

“Streets and buildings, as ordered,” Kon says, grinning wider with a smug, cocky look on his face. 

Oh no, he’s hot, Tim realizes with dread, and then blinks again. Stares down at the city below, past the whipping wind and down into the busy streets and the bright, dazzling lights cutting through the murky gloom. He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, obviously, because of course he has–he’s been climbing these rooftops for years, and every night he runs across and swings back and forth between them and utterly fails to learn how to do more than a double backflip. 

One day, he promises himself distractedly, and then looks back at Kon. 

He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, but never just because someone thought he’d like it. Like–not like this, he means. Dick's shown him a few particularly special or exhilarating views over the years, yeah, but . . . definitely not like this. Not for a reason like this. 

And definitely not while peacocking all smug and pretty dressed up in clothes that he bought him and holding him close enough to kiss. 

Kon’s expression turns a little sheepish; a little soft. Not quite shy, but . . . 

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice pitched a little quieter, and Tim has the much worse and even more dread-inducing realization of oh no, he’s CUTE.

He swallows, briefly, and feels his face burn. 

“Yeah,” he manages in an almost-normal voice. “I like it.” 

Kon grins at him, brighter than any city light, and Tim barely keeps himself from dropping the camera after all. 

“Thanks,” he attempts awkwardly, making himself focus on the camera and resisting the urge to take an immediate shot of that city-light grin. 

Then he takes one anyway, because of course he does. Kon laughs in surprise, then makes a face at him teasingly. 

“Hey, you can buy this face in any cheap gossip rag, focus on the fun stuff,” he jokes, jerking his head towards the city below. Tim looks searchingly at him for a moment, and then for obvious reasons snaps another picture. Kon flushes a little again. They probably won't even come out from this close, but . . . 

“You’re the most fun I’ve had all week,” Tim says, which is definitely too honest but clearly necessary to make a point of saying. Kon turns redder, ducking his head and grinning around his bitten lip. 

“You don’t have to say that kind of thing to me, man,” he says, and it comes across almost like a reflex. Tim hates . . . yeah, just literally everybody Kon’s ever known in his whole entire life, actually? Like, pretty much everybody? Bart gets a break because he grew up alone in VR and is therefore terrible with people and the girls get a break because they haven’t known any of them that long, but everybody else can just take a long walk off a short gutter, in Tim’s opinion. 

Especially any “everybody” from Cadmus. 

Or Metropolis, at this point. 

“I’m not saying anything I don’t want to say,” he says simply, and goes to the effort to frame a few shots of the skyline so Kon will know he appreciates . . . well, not the angle, exactly, but the thought. 

Technically he is usually on top of a building when he’s doing this, so the angle is actually a slightly different one than he’s used to–not that he’s been taking photos lately, just–not the point, really. Kon got him a camera and brought him up here because he clearly thought he’d like it, and damned if Tim is gonna do anything to make him think he doesn’t. 

He has better cameras for things like this–aerial shots and night photography and long-distance and the like, and better cameras for closeup candids too–but he already knows these pictures are all going to be exactly what he wants them to be, even the ones that don't come out. 

Or especially those, maybe. 

He's not sure how he'd explain that feeling to someone else. 

Kon flies them around, staying out of sight behind the light pollution and among the shadows of the buildings, and Tim takes . . . a lot more pictures than he needs to, actually. He was just trying to make sure Kon knew he appreciated him thinking of him, but actually . . . 

Well. 

It’s fun, that’s all. 

It’s . . . been a while, kinda, since he got to spend this much time on just photography and nothing else. Or–any time at all, really. 

Not that this is nothing else, obviously, given that Kon’s holding him and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything besides that, but it is the kind of a view a standard civilian never gets, and it’s kind of nice to be flying for non-work-related reasons, for once. Like . . . novel, he guesses. A different experience. 

Technically he and Dick do “fly” together just for fun, sometimes, but that’s different. Like–so many kinds of different. It helps them in their work–keeps the rooftops familiar and them both in shape and in sync–but he can’t take photos when he’s trying to keep up with Nightwing across the rooftops of Gotham, and it’s not like Dick’s carrying him either. 

Also, it’s much less flustering and difficult to concentrate through, because again, Dick is not carrying him, and also Dick doesn’t do things like wear clothes he bought or do his eyeliner and paint his nails for him. Or, uh . . . anything like that. 

Also, definitely the “spicy pics” thing is not at all a thing, with Dick. Like, not even slightly, in any way whatsoever. And they’ve also never made out in a changing room or the back of a planetarium or– 

Look, there’s a lot of ways it’s different, okay? 

A lot of ways. 

“I'm not boring you, am I?” Tim asks a little bit sheepishly as Kon lands them on a ledge just behind one of the bigger gargoyles, tucked in tight in the shadows between it and the building it's perched on. “We can probably still fit in some window-shopping before dinner, if you want.” 

“Oh my god, dude, I promise we can do things you don't have to spend money on,” Kon says with a laugh as he lets him down on the ledge. “Though if it helps you technically did spend money on this, given how I got the camera and all.” 

“It's your allowance,” Tim says, because he wants to make sure Kon actually gets that. “You can spend it however you want.” 

“Well, I spent it how I wanted,” Kon says, and then steps closer into his space with a smile. Tim ends up sitting on the gargoyle’s back as Kon leans down to kiss him, and it's not like he's never kissed anyone while perched on a gargoyle before, but somehow it feels like something new anyway. New and electric, bright and easy and smeared with the city lights and thrilling in its shadows, and– 

Kon breaks off the kiss, though he keeps a hand on Tim’s arm, probably to make sure the squishy untrained civilian won't accidentally fall off the ledge and get splatted on the concrete. Tim barely holds himself back from chasing his mouth. 

“It's cool, anyway. Um, doing stuff you're into with you, I mean,” Kon says, looking a little soft and almost-shy again, and never mind, Tim not only needs to chase his mouth, he needs to set up a damn manhunt for it. “You're real cute when you get excited, man. I mean, uh–just–” 

The manhunt is going to require a very significant budget, Tim notes. 

Then he kisses him again, obviously. Kon melts down into it–into him, really–and wraps his arms around his neck, and Tim feels several kind of ways about it. Admittedly, it's the easier option with him sitting on the gargoyle and Kon leaning over him, but Kon's put his arms around his neck a couple of times now, and, well . . . 

That's just not something he would've expected from him, he guesses. Not “cool” or masculine or badass or . . . whatever, exactly, Kon thinks he's supposed to be. 

So Tim . . . likes it, he thinks, that Kon doesn't seem to think he needs to be like that around Tim Drake. 

Robin’s sure as hell never seen Kon in eyeliner. 

Robin's loss, Tim thinks. 

. . . maybe he's compartmentalizing a little too much these days, but still. 

Kon makes a very, very soft little sound between their mouths and then laughs, and Tim promises himself he won't stop at Gotham: he'll take over Metropolis for this asshole one day. Even if that means putting up with Lex Luthor and Superman. And also, like . . . everything about Metropolis. 

He'll figure it out. Supervillainy is still a long-term plan, so he's got time. 

Anyway, if he gives it to Kon after he takes it over he won't have to put up with it, so it's whatever. Sugar daddies do that kind of thing, right? Get their sugar-ees a city? 

. . . okay, definitely not. Like, very definitely not. 

“Okay date idea, then?” Kon asks as he leans back a bit and does a very bad job of biting back a smile, his face a little flushed and arms squeezing a little tighter around his neck. 

Tim will get him Metropolis if it kills Lex Luthor. 

“Very okay,” he says, smiling back at him. Kon grins, his face turning just a little bit redder, and then kisses him again. Tim has absolutely no complaints about that. Ever. He can’t even imagine a complaint he’d have about that, in fact. 

Worst case scenario, he’ll get them in at another restaurant if they miss their reservation. 

He really doesn't know what else he's supposed to do about how easy Kon blushes. 

They definitely spend too long making out against the gargoyle and Tim definitely lets himself get too riled up during it–and does not think about tactile telekinesis or any kind of related passive perception while he does–but by the time he’s the one pressing Kon back against the building, he really doesn’t care anymore. 

The fact Kon is even willing to let him do that when there is literally no way Tim could ever actually pin him anywhere without a way to sabotage his powers is . . . really, really distracting. Just–so distracting. 

Jesus, Tim thinks, breaking off just long enough to catch his breath for a moment. Kon pants softly against his mouth, which sabotages that even worse than kryptonite would sabotage TTK. 

Jesus, Tim thinks again, and then crushes their mouths back together. 

He doesn’t need to breathe that often. 

Kon makes a softer, breathier sound this time, and Tim does not let himself make it weird by letting his hands wander anywhere outside of second base territory. Frankly he’s not sure second base territory isn’t him making it weird, but Kon started it, so hopefully it’s not? Like–logically it’d follow that Kon wouldn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want touched, right? 

Well–hopefully, anyway. 

The air feels tight, Tim notices suddenly, like the feeling of sinking into deeper pressure when underwater but all at once, and then realizes–oh. 

Uh. 

Okay. 

“Um,” he says, and immediately the feeling of pressure vanishes as Kon jerks back and claps a hand over his own mouth. Which is mostly him pushing Tim back, given their position, but he does crack the brickwork behind him a little. 

Whoops, Tim thinks. 

“Sorry!” Kon blurts. “Sorry, sorry, that’s–sorry! I just, uh–got a little too into it. I won’t do it again.” 

“It’s really not a problem,” Tim says, with absolutely no idea how to take the idea of Kon getting “a little too into it” when kissing him, or the idea that getting a little too into it apparently involves getting wrapped up in TTK a lot more noticeably than making him bulletproof at the museum did. “I mean–it didn’t hurt or anything, I was just surprised.” 

“I–yeah, I know, it’s just–weird,” Kon says, still looking mortified. “So–sorry. That’s all.” 

“I don’t mind weird,” Tim says, because actually the idea of being temporarily at least as invulnerable as Kon is while making out with him implies being able to devote a lot more attention to said making out, as opposed to keeping half an eye out for snipers or rogues or random rooftop criminals. Not that he’d stop paying any attention to that, obviously, just–yeah. Well. 

It’s a little tempting, that’s all. 

“Uh–you don’t?” Kon bites his lip, still looking a little embarrassed. 

“It kind of just felt like scuba-diving, but with less equipment involved,” Tim says with a little shrug, keeping his tone light because “seriously, you have no idea how much I’d like to not be compulsively keeping an eye out for snipers right now” isn’t a very “civilian” thing to say. “And I’m not about to complain about you enjoying kissing me that much either way.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and flushes a little. “Uh–really?” 

“Really,” Tim says, smiling at him again and tugging gently at the lapels of his jacket to pull himself back in. Kon blushes, and grins, and meets him halfway for the kiss. The sensation of pressure wraps him up again, gentle but undeniable, and Tim feels several kinds of ways about it. 

Maybe even a little bit safe, or at least as safe as anyplace outside the Batcave ever gets. 

Tim knows there’s no such thing as being perfectly, completely safe, but getting all wrapped up in Kon’s TTK and kissed for it makes it hard to remember that. 

Very, very hard. 

They spend a much longer time making out this time. Tim is vaguely aware that they still have a dinner reservation to make, but . . . well, he did pad the time to allow for window-shopping, so even with the time they spent flying around taking pictures, it's probably fine? 

Yeah, no, they’ve definitely missed their reservation by now. Probably way past missed it. Just so, so far past missed it. 

Weirdly, Tim doesn’t care as much as he should, even though he really prefers when things go to plan and also needs Kon to feel appreciated and like he got properly spoiled and taken someplace nice. He’s going to have to figure out something else on the fly, though, because he really does needs Kon to feel appreciated and also needs the excuse to get him more used to getting money spent on him and–

Tim remembers that he needs to breathe more than he's currently breathing and breaks off the kiss. Kon half-chases his mouth with his own, audibly breathless himself. Tim is not equipped to handle Kon breathless. 

That might actually be more flattering than the TTK thing. Or, uh–flustering, maybe. 

Both, maybe. “Both” is probably accurate here. 

Jesus, Tim does not know what he did to deserve Kon getting breathless over something he’s done to him, much less all soft and pretty and–

They have definitely, definitely missed their reservation. Usually Tim has a better sense of time than that, but usually Tim doesn’t have Kon wanting to make out on a Gotham rooftop with him, Like, he thinks he can forgive himself a little bit of disorientation on that one, considering. 

. . . as long as Bruce never finds out he messed up that bad, anyway. Because Bruce would definitely not like hearing he’d messed up that bad, TTK or not. 

Probably especially involving the TTK, actually. Probably Bruce would not take “yeah I let Superboy get distracted enough to unconsciously wrap me up in his Kryptonian-level superpowers while he wasn’t in full control of them and actually, like, encouraged it, kinda? like, explicitly encouraged it, actually”. 

Yeah, Bruce would not like that. 

“Um,” Tim says, and clears his throat a little awkwardly. “So, uh–hungry yet?” 

“You could say that,” Kon murmurs, then flashes him a sharp, wicked grin with his eyes slit open just enough to fix on Tim’s mouth. Tim spares a moment to compartmentalize just enough to not lose his mind about that, then makes the mistake of licking his lips anxiously, sees Kon’s hooded eyes go hot at the sight, and immediately fails to not lose his mind. 

“Uh,” he manages, and then decides they don’t really need to get dinner just yet and maybe they could just, like–no, no, Kon is definitely not getting enough calories from that stupid barely-legal underground lab’s stupid definitely-not-health-code-compliant cafeteria, Tim is not gonna be a bad enough date to not get his date a respectable amount of calories. That is just not a thing that he’s gonna, like . . . thing, as a thing. Or whatever. 

Not like Superman’s been bringing Kon casseroles or anything, the prick. 

“Um, I–uh, might’ve let us get a little too distracted, sorry,” Tim attempts after a moment of mental fumbling, making himself push back from Kon a little and pulling his phone out to check the time. Yeah, they have definitely missed their reservation. Very, very thoroughly have they missed it. 

Dammit. That is not Bat-quality situational awareness. 

“You think that was just you, man?” Kon asks with a little laugh, just barely ducking his head and biting his lip. It is . . . very distracting. As is his face. And his hands, which are still loosely on Tim’s back, and his TTK, which is still loosely . . . basically everywhere, yeah. Just–way too many places for Tim to be rational about, basically. 

“I mean, I was the one who made the reservation,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he does his best to at least fake rationality. “So, uh, I should’ve been paying attention to the time. I can see if there’s someplace we can still slip in, it’s a little last-minute for a Friday but–” 

Kon kisses him again. 

Tim was saying something, he’s reasonably sure, but he couldn’t remember whatever it was with a gun to his head. A gun to his head while out of his suit and without Kon on the same floor as him, to be clear. 

Kon leans back and grins at him, all bright and pretty and cutting right through the shade and shadows of Gotham like a spotlight-signal lighting up the cloud cover. Tim remains vaguely aware of the fact that he was doing . . . something. At some point. In theory. 

God, Kon is so pretty. So, so pretty. And everything he’s wearing is something Tim bought him, coat and clothes and jewelry and all. Just–all of it, as far as he can see. 

Tim does not let himself think about what else Kon might or might not be wearing right now. Just–that way lies madness, and also Kon not getting a decent dinner and decent spoiling. 

. . . there’s probably some other ways Tim could spoil him, technically, if he just– 

Tim does not finish that thought. 

“You’re so fucking cute, daddy,” Kon says, still grinning just as signal-bright and pretty at him. Tim is not prepared for literally any of that and nearly melts right off the ledge into an incoherent mess of street pizza. 

“Uh,” he says, swallowing roughly. “We should–are you hungry yet?” 

Kon laughs, for some reason. Tim very quietly and carefully burns alive, and then Kon floats up a few inches and ducks around him and back out into the open air, leaning down to grin at him and reaching to–probably he’s intending to pick him up again, Tim’s brain is vaguely aware, but the rest of Tim is thinking more like hurr durr pretty boy, which is definitely why he ends up reaching up to cup Kon’s face in his hands and tug him down for another kiss, pushing himself up on his toes on the edge of the ledge to reach him easier. Kon makes a soft, breathless little noise, then laughs in delight and kisses him back. 

The wind is cold and sharp and the evening sky is all heavy dark clouds and hazy light pollution and Kon’s wearing clothes Tim bought him, some of which Tim even suggested to him, and he put on makeup and painted his nails to come see him and he’s got a gift bag of little things Tim picked out for him hooked in the crook of his elbow and he liked all of those little things, and they’ve not only missed but obliterated their dinner reservation, and they’re half-on a ledge high above the street and kissing and Kon is just so pretty.

And Kon also bought him a camera and brought him up here because he thought he’d like it and called him “cute”, which are all facts that Tim is definitely going to have to compartmentalize to fully process later, or else he really will melt right off the stupid ledge. 

The spicy pics thing, also, is a thing. The spicy pics thing is, uh–very much a thing. 

Tim is maybe just never gonna process that particular fact in, like, self-defense. 

Ever. 

. . . god, he’s going to have to process that fact at some point, isn’t he. God. That is . . . that is a whole thing that he is going to have to do. Like, effectively and well and throughly.

Maybe it’s not too late to just go supervillain right now, actually. Maybe Kon would be open to, like, minionhood or something. Lots of supervillains put their minions up in their lairs, right? That’s totally a thing, isn’t it? 

Ugh, no, Kon deserves a place he can really feel like is his place and also he has not laid near enough groundwork to get Dick to switch sides. Like, Alfred would, obviously. Alfred will be on-board the second the rusty crowbar and shrapnel bomb plan comes up and will probably have useful notes to add. But Dick is gonna require some more long-term finessing and Babs definitely won’t come if Dick doesn’t and– 

Kon laughs into the kiss and cups Tim’s face in return, which is incredibly distracting, and then squishes his face, which is incredibly annoying. 

“Hey!” Tim sputters, and Kon laughs again and leans back just enough to grin at him. 

“You are so weird, dude,” he says. “I can literally hear you thinking.” 

“. . . that’s not me being detached from the situation, I–” Tim starts, unable to repress a wince, and Kon just grins wider, grabs his wrists, and tugs him off the ledge and–oh, okay, that’s a weird sensation, Tim notes, because gravity does absolutely nothing at all to him until Kon’s pulled him into his arms and wrapped him up in them again all easy and secure. . 

So that’s . . . yeah, no, “incredibly distracting” isn’t actually gonna cover this one, considering. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking a couple of times. That. That is definitely not how Superboy holds Robin. 

Frick. 

“I just gotta keep you better attached, right, daddy?” Kon purrs–really purrs, his chest briefly vibrating against Tim’s–and then grins wider at him again with eyes that are, unfortunately, literally goddamn sparkling right now–thanks, gold eyeliner, Tim didn’t need those higher thought processes–before giving him another quick little kiss that Tim actually would like to turn into a four-hour make-out session and maybe also a sleepover and–

God he needs to remember how to compartmentalize. He really, really needs to remember how to compartmentalize. 

Also he needs to kiss Kon’s literal friggin’ brains out, the smug friggin’ asshole.

Mid-air makeouts are the worst possible idea Kon has ever inflicted on him and Tim would sooner fight Killer Croc without his utility belt than point that fact out to him. 

He winds his arms around Kon’s neck and kisses him back, and Kon makes this tiny little–not pleased, not content, but actually happy-sounding noise and kisses back harder. Tim feels gravity stop being a particularly relevant concern again and feels like he’s floating in deep, heavy water but also like he’s the lightest he’s ever been in his life, and it is . . . it is a feeling, alright. 

Kon is a menace. Kon is a problem. 

Kon is so, so damn cute. 

“You are an actual literal brat, baby,” Tim mutters slightly more feelingly than he means to, and Kon’s laugh comes out a little breathier this time and he ducks his head to the side and his face flushes and–

No. Nope. No. Tim needs to not learn anything new about himself or Kon tonight, or, worse, anything about him and Kon. That is just not a thing he has time for in his schedule. He’s got to fit in an anxiety attack and three full files’ worth of casework this weekend, for one, plus his science presentation and that make-up book report, and also come up with someplace else nice enough to take Kon to dinner tonight. 

“So, uh–dinner?” he says very quickly–self-defense, again–and Kon bites his lower lip and grins around it, his face still turned just a little bit away. Tim pretends they’re not effectively pressed together from knee to neck right now. Pretends valiantly. “I mean–um, if you’re hungry yet.” 

Kon laughs, ducking his head lower, the dangling gold teardrop hanging from his ear gleaming warmly in the murky electric city light. Tim goes through multiple stages of emotional processing to keep himself from kissing his neck right behind that earring and completely forgetting about not only dinner, but all his homework and casework and even the anxiety attack. 

Does Kon laugh this much around Robin? 

Tim really doesn’t feel like he does. 

He also doesn’t tell Robin very important things like the fact that he can make other people bulletproof on a whim and map out an entire mall just by standing in it, which is objectively much worse and potentially dangerous a thing not to do, but also Tim is already positive he’s going to miss that laugh like crazy every time he sees Kon with the mask on. 

Robin doesn’t get to see Kon like this at all, even when he lets the asshole eat both stupid boxes of cinnamon bread. 

“Dinner, yeah,” Kon says, grinning again and then taking off backwards across the sky, apparently unconcerned about their chances of hitting a building. Tim’s not really in a proper carry so much as just stretched out against him and wrapped up in his arms, but given the nature of how Kon’s powers work, an actual carry is obivously not really a concern, so . . . 

Oh, Tim realizes as Kon tips back just enough to be reclining in the air, still flying without any apparent care or concern for the aerodynamics of the situation or anything but staying more or less out of view of anyone on the street below. 

Avoiding the street view is good. 

The part where now he’s essentially laying on top of Kon is . . . less good, maybe. 

Maybe he won’t have to convince Kon to go supervillain, at least. Maybe Kon’s already there. 

“Where to, daddy?” Kon asks with a smirk, keeping one arm looped around Tim’s waist and folding the other behind his own head like he’s laying out in a lounge chair on the beach. Tim thinks longingly of smothering him and also of getting him to take down his TTK so he could bite a hickey or five into his neck. Maybe six. He could probably do six. 

Or seven. 

“Northeast towards Broad Street,” Tim says as he tips his head in the appropriate direction, then pulls up the camera again and snaps a quick shot of Kon’s smug smirk, which immediately breaks into a surprised laugh as the other flushes again. 

He takes a picture of that too. 

“You flirtin’ again already, man?” Kon asks with a sheepish little laugh, like the bastard has any room to talk. 

“The position’s pretty good for it, that’s all,” Tim says with a level of casualness he absolutely does not feel. Kon flushes darker and bites his lip again, still just barely grinning. Tim, ethically, has no choice but to take a few more pictures. 

“Oh my god,” Kon says, laughing again and unfolding the arm he has tucked behind his head to hide his eyes behind instead. Tim is maybe a little bit too aware of the line of his throat under the neck of his shirt, without his eyes and the sparkle there to be distracting him into a useless stupid mushbrained might-as-well-be-a-civilian, observationally-speaking. “I’m not a building, you absolute nerd!” 

“I said I liked people-watching too, didn’t I?” Tim points out reasonably, though mostly his brain’s occupied with the question of–“Hey. If you let down your TTK a bit, could a baseline-DNA human give you a hickey? Like, is that physically possible, or are you too Kryptonian for that?” 

“Oh my god,” Kon repeats, laughing harder even as the flush on his face spreads down his neck. Tim wonders how warm that might feel under his mouth. “I, uh–dunno, man. Maybe?” 

Tim silently resolves himself to finding literally any excuse to conduct that experiment and moves a hand to cup the side of Kon’s throat, eyeing it consideringly. Kon makes a slightly weird noise and visibly swallows, and Tim belatedly realizes that he’s paid literally no attention whatsoever to whether or not they’re about to hit a building or a flagpole or a roof this entire flight; he just assumed Kon had it handled. The Bat-paranoia kicks in and he glances up reflexively, and just as reflexively slides the pad of his thumb across Kon’s pulse. Their flight path is clear; they’re high enough to avoid most of the buildings in this area. Definitely still gonna need to keep an eye out for radio towers and billboards, but . . . 

Kon swallows again, the gesture a little bit rough this time. Tim feels the other’s throat flex against his palm. That sure is . . . that sure is a thing that Tim feels right there. That invulnerable throat flexing right there against his palm, and maybe not necessarily having to be invulnerable, if Kon didn’t want it to be. 

. . . . . . he already said he didn’t have time to learn anything new about himself tonight, dammit.

[nights-at-crystarium]

Fragments - episodes 47-52 author notes

You can find similar breakdown posts on older episodes in my pinned!

Time to recap the first proper wolgraha miniarc. See what you might’ve missed, or simply enjoy the extra content in form of my rambling.

47 stands out as a bit disconnected, floaty, introspective episode fully focusing on Exarch’s pov. I’ve scattered some breadcrumbs for him throughout the entire comic, time to pick those up. He may be an oblivious fool in certain moments, but I believe he wouldn’t keep insisting on staying deaf and blind when evidence’s shoved in his face. So, this moment of recollection and rethinking marks the start of the canon divergence, all of his future actions are colored by this.

Vivi has a dire effect on some people even without trying to manipulate them.

The composition forms a star here :3c

This panel should make their likeness even more obvious, they’re mirror reflections, albeit deliciously twisted ones. Also, the V sign is literally something that Vivi. Just. Does.

Exarch's heard from Vivi himself that they might be the same, Urianger literally tells him to go to a mirror and ponder, but when he does, and tries to look a bit more like he imagines Vivi, he can't stand what he sees in the mirror. They still aren't the same in his heart of hearts, even if reality itself tries to prove otherwise.

Hidden Angst Time! I can only hope that most readers are familiar with the flashback bubbles by now, and that this panel reads as it should: Feo Ul embraces Exarch while pointing out that they’re also being ostracized by their kind. Though the ultimate fae wisdom lies in accepting something the way it is, and just not caring too much.

More under the cut~ 

*rewinds all the way back to episode 1* hehe

“Does a hero have to be happy about his job” is one of my personal fav lines so far, I think it hits hard, pointing not only at Vivi, but at Exarch as well, and the visual supports it. I think this encapsulates Exarch’s ideology.

Exarch’s GASP could be interpreted as saying GASP out loud, which only makes it funnier.

Vivi carefully plans his entrance in order to make the atmosphere less formal. Approaching normally just wouldn’t do it. Also he just feels relaxed and safe to be silly. Remember how lowkey he was since his arrival to the First? His behavior all but contradicted what I said and showed about him in the ARR arc and outside of the comic.

Well, that’s in the past now. He’s finished assessing the situation and concluded that it’s okay to be more himself.

Feo Ul's upset that Exarch used his “radar” to detect Vivi’s ambush while they’d just used a similar ability to make sure that no emet-selchs are around.

If you catch a flirty vibe from Vivi in this episode, you're correct.

Vivi when he's remotely interested in a man:

My flavor of lampshading the obvious exposition dump. Oh Exarch, you asked for this, no take-backsies.

Another few hard-hitting questions from Exarch. It's easy to gloss over these, but if you slow down and think, it's decent angst material. Has anyone ever been concerned about Vivi's feelings, or was it more convenient to look away, even if intently, even if both sides knew they're better off not talking about that, for there's indeed no wol replacement. What good does acknowledging the situation if you can’t change it.

This's Vivi's memory, thus he appears small against the looming forms of the world leaders. Rigid, formal, impersonal. Raha's memories of the Ironworks seem to have a different vibe, despite all the parallels of the duty imposed by the world on one special guy. Also yeah I do wanna make my own version of the 8UC timeline and characters someday, for now these are just random characters that I consider as placeholders. And the dunmeshi cameo x’D

Yes, he mocks the people that he's saved. He's VERY frustrated with his job.

I offer you a fun game: spot all the mannerisms that make Vivi and Emet so alike. I genuinely never thought about this until this year, while this scene's pretty damn old, i.e. Vivi's always been like this, it precedes my Emet brainrot.

I swear that this line also was there before my Emet brainrot, but now it makes for a hilarious kind of foreshadowing.

You could already tell how "fit" he is for solving trolley problems.

This’s his “oops I talked too much shit” face.

The way Exarch just quietly TURNS and LOOKS at Vivi cracks me up. Don't undermine the tone with random jokes, dammit. But is this random? I’ve already analyzed this moment somewhere but for the sake of keeping important things in one place: they wrestle for control here. Exarch winds up for something serious, while Vivi wants to steer the convo towards more casual. It does somewhat lower the tension, though Exarch doesn’t relinquish his lead in the convo.

This doesn’t save him from becoming Frank forever from here on.

This miniarc’s rich with raw, hard-hitting words, so I’ll bring this up again.

We’re finally getting the explanation and context for a lot of previous episodes:

And the following episodes only help driving this point home. Vivi already sees the First as a viable escape from the Source with all of its shitty people and endless problems.

"This's why I... enjoy my time away from the Source": even at this seemingly high level of trust between them Vivi won't openly tell Exarch about his plans to stay here, a variable he doesn't want to become a risk.

Yes, he does an entirely calculated and strategic flop. A literal thirst trap.

Meme provided by my discord server:

Vivi casts provoke, it's..... not effective

^ This’s one of my personal fav exarchs I’ve ever drawn DADDY PLS

A panel that everyone loved to bits :>

I pair angst with other flavors to make it fun and non-repetitive. It's not "boohoo I can never kiss my hero, the world will end if I do, I'm so aggravated with myself", it's the hooded Exarch (duty) being mad at the unhooded Exarch (human), and delivering the same notion in a fun exchange. You can't help but laugh at the comical chibi violence, at the same time you acknowledge that it's a pretty fucked up act of suppressing one's innate human desires.

It's not a date, they just sit and talk <- the water in which Exarch is being slowly boiled.

I rarely talk about the visuals, but here I intended to make it look like a magical moment frozen in time. It's immersive, whimsical, full of color and movement. Despite the perceived warmth, the composition splits them apart, they're alone together. It’s still Raha’s pov, Vivi doesn’t seem to have any fond memories of the Source at all, we only hear about the past from his current jaded self.

An in-universe acknowledgment of the ARR arc lasting only 11 episodes x’D Though it’s all by design, it was meaningful only to Raha, while being a forgettable blip in time for Vivi.

Episode 52 opens with.... *drumroll*

NIP SLIP

I lovingly rendered that nip and I’ll make you look at it.

Ibuprofen meme would be the first thing that comes to mind, but consider the better/worse caption: "come to daddy". In all seriousness though, it’s a cool panel that I wanted to appreciate again. This IS Vivi’s pov.

The grimy beaten up Vivi creates questions that are answered in episode 53, which is yet to be released publicly at the moment of writing this. Some episodes, like 52-53 and 42-43, come in pairs that only make sense together due to the non-linear storytelling.

Yes this’s Aymeric, no I won’t say anything else :’> One thing that’s worth noting is the face Vivi makes here. And the distant, emotionless tone with which he recalls the moment of his own near-death.

Lemme spell it out even more plainly: Vivi romanticizes the moment he almost died. Exarch just happened to be present in that moment, and Vivi latched on to him as someone who would grant him escape, freedom, peace.

“A kindly wizard from fairytales”. I regret to inform you that we have two delusional fucks on our hands. Both see each other as some kinda dreamt up, idealized, mythical figures.

This miniarc isn’t over yet, but I’m wrapping up the recap here. Thanks for reading till the end~

[intheorangebedroom]

The corner deli, part 2

Summary: Frankie takes you on a second date. Somehow, firearms are still involved...

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N:  Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 Thank you so much for your kind response to part 1! I hope you like this part too (pun intended). And please, see the end notes 🧡

Word count: 4.1k (I managed to cram in nearly all my kinks, can I get a woot woot?)

[part 1] [blog masterlist]

Part 2: Crimson and Clover

“Isn’t it cheating, though?”

The carnival rifle looks comically small between his hands. He presses the trigger, and a fourth balloon explodes with a loud popping sound, amplified by the wooden box. You jump. He doesn’t even blink.  

“How is it cheating?” he asks, looking down at you with a cocked eyebrow as he casually reloads a tiny lead bullet into the rifle’s barrel. Wow. Competency, much?

“Well, you were in the Army. Don’t they train you to shoot at stuff?” you ask, eyes trained on the little target inked on his left hand.

He shrugs. 

“You want that teddy bear, or not?”

“I do. I do want the teddy bear. It’s– it’s a plush Grogu, but yes, I do want it.”

“The plush green alien, yea.”

You make a face, taking mock offense.

The date —he said it was a date, so you guess you can call it that, right?— has been going extremely well, so far. Conversation flowing easy, stolen glances that don't make you wanna crawl out of your skin; he’s asked you a lot of questions, but it didn’t feel forced. You’re not sure if your brain is not gonna ask for payback at 3am on a Sunday, but you're feeling relaxed and at ease. He’s paid for everything, the diner, the rides, even the cotton candy, but he didn’t make a show of it. You could get used to this. The hanging out, that is, not necessarily the paying for everything part. 

“I’m teasin’ you. I love Star Wars too.”

“You do? Wait, are you one of those fans who’s gonna tell me I am not a real fan because I haven’t read all the books and comics and I can’t speak Jawa, but really it’s because I got a vagina?”

“Do I look like the kind of man who feels threatened by a vagina?” 

Oh. Oh shit. Ok.  

“Guess not,” you whisper, ducking your head so he can’t see your cheeks, that are fucking burning up. 

“Star Wars is actually the reason I became a pilot.”

He brings the butt stock of the rifle to his shoulder, adjusting his aim, and oh boy, he’s a sight to behold. That poor t-shirt of his is pulled taut across the breadth of his shoulders, seams ready to burst. You admire the way his thick finger slides around the trigger guard, and in, before another balloon goes BOOM. 

The young man keeping the stand lets out an ostentatious sigh. He grabs a long pole with a hook at the end to get you the toy, but really, it looks more like it’s a pitchfork he’s gonna chase you away with.  

“How’s that?” you manage to articulate. 

“Han Solo is the coolest, and I wanted to be as cool as Han Solo.” 

He gives you a shy grin, setting the rifle down on the counter. 

“Shut up! I wanted to be Leia!”

His eyebrows shoot up.

“Is that so?” he asks, taking a step closer to you.

Oh. Oh. 

Oh, that’s close. He’s crowding you against the counter, towering over you, his heady scent wrapping around you and he gives you that cocky look that turns your legs into Jell-o.

“Yeah,” you whisper, trying your hardest not to stare at the dip between his collarbone, and the little freckles on the tanned skin of his neck. 

The stand employee shoves the ginormous Grogu into your back, propelling you into Frankie’s chest. The man is HOT. Like, really hot. His skin is on fire, you can feel the heat through his threadbare t-shirt.

“Can I take you and Grogu home now, or is it too fast?” he says, his breath fanning your lips. “I don’t know how these things are supposed to work.”

Oh god, his hips are pressing into yours.

“I’ve no idea either, but I think you’re doing fine.”

“Yea?”

“Mmh mmh,” is the only sound you manage to produce.

“Good. Let’s go. Gonna make you see stars,” he adds, pushing away from you, and he immediately winces at the lame joke.

“Wow. Really?” you laugh. 

He flinches, hiding his pretty face under the brim of his hat.

“Fuck…”

—

Well, he wasn’t lying. You saw stars. And then you saw stars again. And again. And then you saw some more.

But the first thing you see when you get to his place is how clean it is. Tidy, but in a lived-in way.  

It’s a one-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a brick building. The kitchen sink is empty, a single plate and set of cutlery drying on the metal rack next to it. Some magnets adorn the fridge, among which you recognize a picture by Manuel Álvarez Bravo, and another by Berenice Abbott, and you try to police your expression because these are your two favorite photographers and that’s a pretty freaky coincidence, right? 

You step into the living-room while he washes his hands. It’s cozy. A soft amber glow pours in from the streetlights through the three narrow windows, behind a big slouchy leather couch. There’s a plant that looks alive and well on the console next to it, and an entire wall of seemingly handmade shelves, lined with books. The TV is old, downright ancient, and there’s a turntable propped onto a vintage stereo. An opened book lies face down on the coffee table. 

You crane your neck to read the title. Engineering Circuit Analysis. Okay, so that won’t be a conversation starter. 

You don’t know if the place always looks this tidy or if he cleaned it because he thought you might be coming over, and you’re not sure if the sheer assumption shouldn’t be a red flag, given it’s only the second time you’re seeing the guy, but you find that you don’t care. You really don’t. Not in the least. 

He joins you in the living-room, but he doesn’t turn the lights on. He’s taken his hat off and he’s combing his fingers through his thick mane of curls, and that sight alone was worth driving all the way here in his truck. 

“Want something to drink?” he asks, and that’s a very good question, do you want something to drink? 

You should, probably, because your mouth is so dry you can’t even gulp, and your nerves could use some alcohol, but you just stand here, like an idiot, watching him walk slowly toward you, wondering how close he’s gonna get before he stops walking.

Very close, apparently.

He looks so fucking tall and broad, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, but then again, it’s only the second time you see him. He leans over you, you have to twist your neck up to keep your eyes on his, but really, what you want to do is chew on his lips. Or his neck. You’re not picky.

He hooks his index fingers into the belt loops of your jeans to draw you in. Fuck, now your panties are ruined.

Time goes in slow motion as he licks his lips, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your mouth. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now. Is it ok?”

“Yes, please.”

Yes, please, Jesus fucking Christ, can you get any more cringe?

“There’s a lot of things I’m wanna do to you, if I gotta be honest,” he adds.

Oh, there, you can gulp. You think people might have heard you swallow from the other side of town.

“Okay. You can… do your worst, Morales.”

“You sure? Because my worst is… You need to tell me if–”

“Yes. I’m sure. You got my consent. All of it. Please.”

Who needs dignity? Not you. Not today.

“You’re fucking adorable, you know that? I am going to ruin you.”

You hate meeting new people. Meeting guys. You hate that whole dance, when you have to pretend you don’t really wanna fuck each other, oh but really you do, you hate getting undressed in front of a literal stranger, the awkwardness of it, new skin, new touch, everything grosses you out and you feel like curling into a ball inside your own skin, waiting for it to be fucking over. 

But this, this is different. Of course, it’s different, everything has been since you’ve laid eyes on him across that aisle in the corner deli.

You want him. God, you’re practically vibrating with it. And you want him to want you, too. 

He presses his lips to yours, and it’s subtle, the delicate, albeit insistent press of it, testing but also very much signifying you he’s gonna do everything he said he would, pulling you closer with your belt loops. 

Fuck it, you think. Fuck it. You want this. All of it. The taste of him and the weight of him and his touch and his skin. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you lean into the kiss with a quiet little moan, your hands traveling up his large back, balling his t-shirt in your fists. He doesn’t miss a beat, his hand comes up to cup your face, fingers carding through your hair and you feel the wet glide of his tongue, prompting you to open. 

You do. Oh god, you do, and you taste the cotton candy as he licks into you. There’s the little tickle from his mustache, the pressure on your waist, the sparkling tingle along your spine and everything is delicious. His other hand is kneading at the curve of your hip, sliding down to your ass and he grabs you there, strong fingers splayed right between your cheeks, it’s firm and hungry and commanding.

He pulls you flush into him, and with a gently swaying motion against your belly, he lets you feel it. Feel what you do to him. Feel how much he wants you.  

Your body goes slack and tense at the same time, loose limbs, loose chest, clenching cunt and hardening nipples. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling away just a bit, “fuck, you’re sweet.”

He doesn’t give you time to answer, not that you’d know what to say, his mouth is on yours again, his plush lips a perfect fit against yours, his tongue swirling inside you. And the kiss lingers, languid, unhurried, his hands roaming your figure, strong and slow, kneading your curves and using the grip to press you closer and closer into him.

When your fingers thread through his hair, you give his locks a little tug that has him grunting into your mouth. He breaks the kiss, but his mouth remains on you, lips sucking along the edge of your jaw, teeth scraping down your throat, slick pooling sticky and wet between your hips. 

There’s the ghost of a bite over your pulse point; you moan into it and suddenly, time accelerates. His kisses get frantic, he’s devouring you, only lifting his lips off your skin to tug off your t-shirt, deft fingers unclasping your bra. You pull so hard on his shirt you might as well rip it, but he only bites you harder, pushing into you stronger. The back of your knees hit the coffee table, you fall onto the couch. 

And that’s when everything slows again.

His gaze, raking over your naked breasts as he stands before you. His tongue darting between his parted lips. His movements, as he unbuckles his belt. 

You get lost in the sight of his chest, bare, broad, golden in the orange semi-darkness. 

“Take off the rest of your clothes, baby,” he says, and the endearment shoots right through you. 

You’re never recovering from this night, this much you can tell. You’ll want this man forever, you are so fucked. 

You manage to get rid of your shoes and your jeans, but it’s a damn miracle with how much your hands are shaking. He’s toed off his boots and unbuttoned his pants without taking his eyes off you even for a split second. 

There’s something carnivorous in the half-smile dancing on his lips. He’s palming the bulge tenting his black boxer briefs, and you’re about to slide off your panties without a second thought when he stops you. 

“Wait. Bedroom. C’mere.”

Yes, sir. 

You stand up on wobbly legs and his hand skims around the curve of your hip, down the swell of your ass. He takes your arm, lifts it up to wrap around his neck, and you follow, diligently, circling your other arm around his broad shoulders. 

He picks you up like you fucking weigh nothing, how strong is this guy? What do they feed them in the Army? 

He keeps you there for a moment, your legs wrapped around his tapered waist, skin on skin, his head slightly tilted up and his eyes boring into yours. His hands grasping your ass cheeks, a bruising grip, the tip of his fingers reaching into that hollow curve at the top of your thighs, under the line of your panties, where you’re soaked with want for him. 

Your heart is beating so fast, pounding so hard, it’s going to tear out of your chest. Land right into his. 

The crease in his brow deepens, his gaze on you intensifies, thoughts clouding his rich brown eyes. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but closes it again.   

“Frankie—” you start, but he cuts you in. 

“Wait. I need to know this is not a one-time thing. I’m gonna see you again, right?”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

There are people laughing outside in the street. The sound of a police siren in the distance. A dog barking. You commit everything to memory. The amber darkness, the city noises, the hope in his eyes. The sensation of his strong hold, and that of your hardened nipples grazing his chest. 

“Yes. Yes, please,” you whisper, and he smiles, that wide dimpled smile you’d do everything for, his fingers burrowing a little deeper into your flesh. 

He carries you into the bedroom, bathed in the same orange semi-darkness, and lays you onto his bed. You sink into the fluffy cottony material of the comforter that smells like him. Leather and musk and safety. He hovers over you, eyes locked on yours. 

He rocks gently into you, just a faint press, his waist spreading your hips open, his hands roaming along the expanse of your naked skin, palming your breasts. The fabric of his tight boxers catches at your soaked panties, the button of his jeans biting into your belly. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks, his voice a low husk, and for a second, you think he’s asking if he can kiss you again, but you quickly register, and your eyes grow wide. 

You nod, unable to articulate around the anticipation swelling in your throat. 

He makes a start at moving over you, but stops, and instead leans in to kiss you again. A wide, hungry kiss, licking into you avidly, pressing into you greedily, swallowing your moans as your fingernails run through his nape and into his hairline. 

He pulls away, and you all but whine, chasing his lips, rising to your elbows. Unwavering, he moves down on the bed, and there’s another flash of that carnivorous smile as he takes off his jeans, as he kneels between your legs. 

You watch, wide-eyed and ragged breath, as he brushes his knuckles along that curve at the top of your thigh, thick fingers hooking under the elastic band of your panties, pulling it to the side. He smiles at you again, before his head dips. 

His tongue parts your fold, and your head lolls back between your shoulders with a strangled cry. His hand pushing up the back of your knee, spreading you wider than you ever thought your body capable of, he licks into you with a rumbling groan. 

The curled tip of his tongue dives deep into your cunt, tasting you with thorough strokes, but he lifts his head with a pained grunt and a sliver of self-consciousness rips through your chest. 

“Fuck, baby, I think you’re going to ruin me.”

Your arms buckle, your back hitting the mattress, and he slides your panties down, twisting them around his wrist, before hooking your legs over his broad shoulders, and he buries his face into your cunt again. 

The wet glide of this tongue is hot and heavy, licking in broad stripes, sucking on your clit, thrusting into you. Arousal pools in, sticky and rich, at the base of your spine, streaming down your walls. You moan and wither against his mouth, and he chases your movements, cueing his ministrations to your reactions. 

Wet, explicit sounds fill the bedroom. He plays you like an instrument, your hips bucking against his face, wanton whimpers spilling out of you like music, fingers threading through his curls, and he brings you close, so close to your release, without ever letting you tip over the edge.

He’s taking his sweet time about it, true to his word, and you're begging now, sweet little moans you didn’t know your voice could carry, Frankie, Frankie please.

Gently, he eases your legs down, sitting back on his haunches on the bed. It’s a hitched breath, a broken little cry as cold air hits your soaked cunt but he runs a soothing hand along your inner thigh. 

“Shh, I got you, baby. I got you.”

Empty. The word flashes through your dazed brain, and you turn your head to the side to hide your face in the comforter. 

You’re empty, and you want him to fill you up. And you don’t know what you’re hiding from, if it’s from him or the embarrassment of being so fucking needy or the magnitude of your desire, but there’s this abyss inside you only him can fill and fuck, you’ve never felt this vulnerable before. Why now? Why him?

His finger presses at your entrance and you let out a quivering breath. A shallow thrust, an easy glide, and he adds another. Your back arches with relief. A flex of his digits, and he’s stroking a soft spot inside your cunt you didn’t know existed. 

With your last shred of strength, you lift your head up. He’s watching you, his boxers pulled down, practiced fingers circling his cock, dragging slowly up and down along the length of it. The orange glow from the streetlights ripples over his skin in amber shades and dark shadows. Your eyes trace the broad span of his chest, his strong, corded neck, the dark crown of his curls. 

The man looks like a fucking god.  

“Jesus,” you whimper, and he chuckles, that wolfish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The bottom half of his face glints in the semi-darkness, shiny with your slick. Precome dribbling over his knuckles. This is fucking filthy. You revel in it.

Your head drops with a soundless laugh, hips swaying along with his stroking fingers. 

You’re going to lose your mind with how good it feels, you think, but then it gets even worse, or better, when he lowers his thumb to your clit, rubbing smooth circles over it and your chest heaves with a silent plea. 

Soon, a tremor sizzles along your thighs, your release coiling brisk and strong at the center of you. It builds up like electricity, like liquid fire, potent and fast and white-hot.

Your entire body is alight with it, it travels down every nerve-ending and you come undone, you fucking unravel, his name dragging out on your lips. 

He lowers himself to slant his mouth over your cunt and you recoil, but he’s careful, his tongue darting swiftly into you, drinking your release with greedy groans. 

When he’s sure to have it all, he moves back over you, his face out of focus through your glazed eyes, the bulk of him engulfing you, his heady scent filling your lungs. 

“Wanna taste how sweet you are?” he asks, and you nod, sprawled out, boneless, pliant. 

His hand hinges your jaw open, thumb on your bottom lip. His spit rolls down his tongue into your open mouth and his hooded eyes, black with want, flicker down to your throat as you swallow it all. 

“Oh, you’re a good girl,” he marvels, and the praise is like a shockwave, like a second high, it coats your palate and sticks to your skin. You could swear it’s fucking tangible. 

You need more, more of him, more of that, but you’re not sure what’s next. This is uncharted territory. No man has ever prioritized your pleasure over his, before. 

You lift your hips off the mattress, bucking into him, but he frowns.

“If you need time—”

“I need you inside me,” you plead. 

“It’s a lot more than two fingers, baby,” he warns and yes, you can tell, with the heavy weight of his cock thrumming hot and angry against your belly. 

“I can take it.”

He huffs a smile, but it quickly falls when you tip your chin, wrapping his thumb between your lips. Your tongue curls around the pad of it as you suck on it, and you hear him gulp. One all. 

Oh, but he was right, it’s more, much more than two fingers, and his first thrust, however gentle, however shallow, has you squirming around the stretch of him. Your fingernails digging into his arms, he grunts with the effort, pushing in slowly, pulling out, and in again, sweat beading along his spine, restraint tensing his jaw. 

You lift your head, scraping your teeth over that bare patch in his scruffy jaw. 

“I can take it,” you repeat, and he growls, head dropping into the curve of your neck, sinking his sharp teeth into the soft skin at the base of your throat. 

He shoves himself in down to the base, and you cry out, but he doesn’t stop. He moves into you. With deep thorough thrusts, fast-paced and rough, he fills you up, just like you wanted, just like you asked, skin catching around his girth at your entrance. Sucking hard on the tender skin of your neck, sharp little bruises blooming in purple flecks along the column of your throat. 

Knees hitched up high along his sides, you feel sweat breaking on your forehead as you ease into his relentless rhythm, into the impossible size of him, into the pleasure-pain, because this is what you wished for. To feel him tonight. To feel him still tomorrow. And perhaps the day that follows. 

His grunts fan the shell of your ear, sending more slick rushing down your walls. His hand squeezes your breast, his trigger finger and thumb pinching your nipple, merciless, and your cunt starts to flutter along his length, a frantic collapsing of your walls, eyes clenched shut under your pinched brow. 

“Oh god, I’m so close,” you whine, and he straightens up without breaking his rhythm. 

“I wanna see your face when you come on my cock”, he growls, hooking his elbow under your knee, using it for leverage to bear you down on his cock as he picks up the fucking pace. 

His broad hand splayed reverently over your belly, the heel of it is a steady pressure over your clit, and when you come, your whole body quaking with the force of your second relief, he quickly follows, pulling out just in time to spurt thick pearly ropes over your quivering skin. 

“Oh shit, look at you,” he pants, before he collapses on the bed next to you, chest heaving. 

You lie there side by side for a beat, the room around you slowly coming back into focus. That damn dog is still barking, the night traffic a low and distant hum. 

Would it… would it be okay, acceptable, if you gathered his come with your fingers and licked them clean? Could you ask him to fuck your mouth, next? Or should you scamper off the bed to gather your clothes and leave? What’s the common protocol here? No one has ever turned you into this feral, greedy little monster before.  

He clears his throat. Oh fuck, that’s it. He’s gonna politely hint that you should now be leaving the premises. 

“Can you stay the night?”

Your eyes flutter shut. A hindered little sob rattles inside your chest. You address a heartfelt thank you to your lucky star for the midnight cravings that placed you in that corner deli the same night as him. Fuck, you’ll throw one in for that armed robber too.

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask.

He turns to his side to face you, folding his arm and propping his chin in his hand. His soft brown eyes meet yours. And there’s that gentle smile that swells up your heart three sizes.

“Yes, please.”

****

End note: the opening scene is very much inspired by one of the fair scenes in Anchor Stitch, on Ao3. Not for every one, but one of my all-time favourites. Also, this is fanfiction, so I wasn't going to bother with a fucking condom, but I know you're smarter than that.

Part 1

[raguiras]

Mionn's art & writing ship trade event

(Click the art for better quality!)

I'm hosting an art & writing event centered around ships & duos (multifandom)!

🖤 REBLOGS ARE SUPER APPRECIATED

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I've recently reached 200 followers on this blog, 900 on my meme blog, and 100 on Instagram!! Honestly, I don't even know what to say... I feel so damn honored and am so grateful for the support!! 🖤🖤🙏

As a multi-milestone celebration as well as an event for the official Spade of Storms (Deuce x Allen) day, which is on the 27th of July, I decided to host a TRADE EVENT!!!

Basically, this event is going to be an open art/writing trade that's all about ships (or platonic duos).

The event starts on 7/23 (today) and lasts for rest of July as well as for the entirety of August. For every Allen x Deuce art/writing that I receive during this duration, you get one of your own ship from ANY FANDOM back!

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Why am I hosting this?

it's a way to thank everyone for three different follower milestones

a contest/DTIYS/raffle wouldn't promise that everyone gets something back, so I went for a trade event

the event allows me to post more about other canon TWST characters and draw them while not having to neglect Allen x Deuce

I wanna make new mutuals & friends, get to know more ships, and strengthen friendships with mutuals I already have!

Artfight is/was tons of fun, but I only do/did colored sketches there & ships are a tricky subject. Meanwhile, I'll do ANYTHING here!

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Basic information:

Make a drawing/writing/comic of Allen x Deuce. (Ideas can be found in this post's pink "starters for my ship" section.)

Post it on your blog, tag me in it, and refer to my event. (While posting is by far preferred — especially for bigger artworks and written stuff — you can also just DM it to me.)

In return, you'll receive a gift of the same type for your own ship from any fandom (OC x canon, canon x canon, OC x OC)! I'll DM you about the ship, so make sure that your DMs are open.

For example: If you submit a sketch, you'll get a sketch back. If you submit a fully shaded drawing, I'II make a fully shaded drawing for you, too. If you add a background, I'll (do my best to) do the same. If you write a drabble... You know the drill!

ANYONE can join, whether you follow me or not! However, new followers through the event are super appreciated!

EVENT TIME: July 23th (today) - August 31st

Anything submitted before or after this event duration will not receive anything back (unless we explicitly do a trade), but be held in high regard nonetheless!

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Rules:

The portrayal of Allen x Deuce must be shippy/romantic.

Please keep angst at a minimum unless it has a happy ending. Comfort is allowed.

Please DO NOT add your own OC or another canon character to the submission. Including them in the background as a wingman or something is alright, though. Additionally, any kind of romantic implications between Deuce and another character/OC are NOT allowed.

Please no NSFW. Harmless implications and slight spice are okay, but keep in mind that these characters are both minors.

AUs are very much allowed! All the previous rules apply here, too, and I'm willing to give an overview of some AUs via DMs.

Please no genderbending.

Please DO NOT draw Allen or Deuce as a standalone character. This is a SHIP event for a reason.

Please don't change their appearances too much, especially when it comes to the color schemes & body types.

Giving them different outfits — especially event outfits — is absolutely cool (yes, you can draw Allen in a skirt if you wanna), and changing their hairstyles is okay as long as they still look like themselves.

This is NOT A DTIYS event, so please DO NOT redraw one of my Allen x Deuce arts. Please come up with something original.

If you have any more questions, please DM me!

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What CAN you submit?

drawings // comics // writings // animatics

For drawings, anything from a quick sketch to an extremely detailed drawing with a background is allowed! You'll get something of the same quality back. The same also goes for writings/fanfics.

Animatics will receive a drawing in return.

What CAN'T be submitted?

Gacha videos // edits // memes

-> You can theoretically submit all of these and I'd appreciate them, but I wouldn't be able to give you anything back.

Memes refer to funny pictures that simply have Allen & Deuce's faces in them. DRAWN memes/meme redraws count as DRAWINGS.

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Starters for Allen x Deuce

Got no clue what to draw/write about?

Check out the few already existing Allen x Deuce posts on this blog for proper lore and facts.

Check @spade-of-storms for fun facts, shorter rambles and additional info.

In any case, you can't go wrong with simple fluffy, romantic scenarios! Dates, kisses, cuddles, whatever!

For information about Allen himself, please check my pinned post.

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Q&A:

I want to join the event, but I don't have any ship (OC x canon, canon x canon, OC x OC) you could draw/write about for me in return.

That's okay! In that case, I'll gladly draw/write about two separate characters or a platonic duo for you.

Can I do multiple submissions for this event?

Obviously, and every single one will be "revenged"!

Can I get something of another type/quality back? For example, can I get a fully shaded drawing for my sketch, or art for my drabble?

Unfortunately not, as I prefer to always give something of the same type back. There are only the following two exceptions that I AM willing to do:

you do a drabble/oneshot —> I do a sketch

you do any type of art —> I write a drabble/oneshot

Is there anything you refuse to draw/write about?

Deuce ships (other than Deuce x Allen). NSFW. Family x family. Minor x adult. Any ship considered to be problematic.

How do I tell you about the ship I want you to draw/write about for me?

I'll DM you after you post your event submissions.

Do you prefer to do OC x canon, canon x canon, or OC x OC?

I have a bias towards OC x canon and canon x canon ships. However, I'm willing to do any ship that's not problematic! In the case of OC x OC, I simply need you to provide information on two OCs instead of one only.

Will you do poly ships?

In order to keep things fair, no. But I could include the third party as a plush or chibi head.

I want to make Allen x Deuce content for you, but not receive anything in return.

That's also super appreciated anytime (and totally doesn't make me freak out /pos)! Simply share it as a gift and don't mention the event.

How long is it going to take you to finish your "revenge" on me?

It depends on the type of submission you make & what I'm giving you back. Some things can be done within a day while others may take much longer, but either way, you WILL get something of the SAME TYPE back & that's guaranteed.

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Personal notes:

My health isn't the best and I also have a job. Please be respectful and don't rush me nor get mad when I'm being slow.

Please do not start a discussion nor get mad at me if I refuse to draw/write about a ship I deem problematic & want you to pick another one instead. Preferably pick a ship that's by far NOT problematic from the beginning.

I'm unwilling to draw/write about any Deuce ships other than Deuce x Allen because I kin Deuce a ton and tend to feel uncomfortable with many of his ships, so please don't ask for any. I'm asking you to not start a discussion over this, either.

I won't post everything I make for the event on this blog. Sketches and writings will either be DMed to you or posted on one of my other blogs.

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That's it for now! If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to DM me.

And again, thank you so much for 200 followers!

♤ Happy trading! ♤

[profundcherrylady]

SINGLE DAD!SAE ITOSHI

Exclusive interview with Sae Itoshi!

A/N: I had this in mind while writing the last scenario. This one was so short y'all, promise next one will be a little longer but I've been busy. Also I posted this waaaaay too early before I had finished it omg I wanna kms

Warnings: None this time, y'all are safe.

Contents: Sae being a loving father and lots of fluff; MAY be ooc but be fr I'm convinced Sae would be the sweetest if he had kids.

Description: Exclusive interview! After having won another very successful match, the media takes advantage of the fact that Sae Itoshi can't shut up about his daughter to actually interview him.

He didn't even flinch at the countless flashes of the cameras directed towards his eyes, the news photographers and paparazzi fighting to get a good picture of the still sweaty Sae Itoshi. As usual, his performance on the field was remarkable and the victory of his team undeniable. This was normal to him, of course, but this day wasn't just some ordinary match; his daughter was watching him today. Like, in person, on the stands! It wasn't a common occurrence, and not because she didn't want to but because Sae would almost always say no. After all, he couldn't really keep an eye on her while playing and he felt a little conflicted about just leaving Mao by herself. However, this time she just wouldn't stop insisting, so he had no choice.

It was almost comical to see the little girl sitting among the other serious people in the VIP section, but she was someone important as well. Important to him, at least.

When his team ended up winning thanks to his last goal, he could see her enthusiastic expression and hear her voice cheering for him. She was practically bouncing on her seat, waving her hand trying to get Sae to notice her.

"Papa, that was amazing! Papa, look! Papa, I'm over here!" her screams, of course, reached his ears, and he waved back casually on her direction, an almost unnoticeable smile on his face. "Hi, papa!!"

As much as he would've wanted to go to his daughter immediately, he was unable to avoid the interview, so she would have to wait a little.

"Amazing performance today, Sae." she'd say, and he'd try to ignore so he could go to his daughter, but his efforts were useless as she just kept getting on his way on purpose with the microphone pointing at him and the camaraman following closely. "Any words you want to share with us about it? How did you feel while you were out there?"

"Mhm." that wasn't even an answer; he just wanted to get out of there and get his daughter. But the interviewer was NOT about to let Sae Itoshi walk away from this, so she had to use her last resource.

"Can you tell us more about your daughter being here today?" Sae perked up inmediately, but he wasn't stupid, he knew what she was doing, so he tried to keep his answer short.

"She said she wanted to see this match in person so I brought her."

"Would you say she's a fan of the sport?"

"I'd say she's a fan of me." and just like that he's drifting off. "She does ask to play with me sometimes, but my guess is she just wants to ask for something she knows I'll say yes to; she plays it safe."

"Aww, she asks to play with her dad? Do you think she's good? Maybe we have another Itoshi soccer prodigy in the making!"

"No, don't get me wrong." his voice was sharp and direct, cutting off the enthusiasm off the interviewer's voice. "Weather or not she decides to follow the same career path as me is entirely her decision. I encourage her to do what she likes and find out what she wants to do with her life by following her own passions. I wouldn't put that kind of pressure on her."

"I-I see..." she was a little embarrassed by the way she was cut off, but she was getting answers! "So, what kind of things does she like to do?"

"Mao is a very calm kid, most of the time. She has lots of energy but she's still very quiet when she's at school. So she likes basic things, like drawing, playing with dolls and stuff. Oh, but she has this bunny plushie that she absolutely adores; that's the one she carries everywhere. It was a gift from one of my trips, I don't remember which one, but I gave it to her and she would die if something happened to it. Seriously, there was this one time when she lost it at the park so I had to drive all the way-"

He paused.

Goddamnit, they got him.

He was supposed to end this quick and go get Mao, not stay and ramble about her! When has anyone ever seen Sae Itoshi ramble??? He just gets to the point and leaves??? What is happening to him???

"And what happened?" the interviewer neared the microphone to him, trying to get him to continue. Well, not this time. He cleared his throat before responding, casually gaining back his usual nonchalant expression.

"End of the interview, goodbye."

"What?! Um, w-wait! I have more questions! Uh... how does your daughter see herself in the future?"

"She's six."

"Dang it." she almost bit her tongue while she went through the questions on her head. "W-Well, I mean... what does she want to be when she grows up? Has she told you?"

"I... don't think she has." weird, maybe he should ask after all. "I'll go now. My daughter isn't the most patient person."

"Wait, so, is there nothing she's good at?"

"I didn't say that." he almost got offended. HIS daughter, talentless? Hell no. "She seems to enjoy dancing, and she's pretty good at it. Well, for her age, at least I think it's impressive. I suppose it requires an amount of agility and footwork similar to soccer."

"She must've got it from you then."

"If not me, who? Her mom... is... terrible at dancing..." he drifted again, this time at the thought of his late wife. But NO. He was NOT about to have a moment and cry infront of the media; he had to lock in. "She... was... terrible at dancing." he finally corrected. "So... she must've gotten it from me. Or perhaps is a talent of her own; I don't have to take credit for everything she does."

"But is she good at soccer?" then it finally clicked in his head. WHY was he even answering this questions?

"How is any of this relevant for the interview?"

"Um.. w-we just want to know if... well... your performance on the field was so impressive today! And your daughter is here so... would you say you say you put in a little extra effort for her?"

"Are you implying I don't put in effort normally?"

"No! I just... no, no, no!" they should really give this woman a raise for putting up with this and improvising her questions. "Y-You're such an amazing player, you make it seem effortless..."

"Sure..."

"Would you say your daughter is a big inspiration for you?" he knew the answer to that question; it was yes. Everything he did was for his daughter ever since he became a father, and yeah, he loved the kid, so what? He did like to show off infront of her a little so she could brag about him at school (which he knew she did with frequency). He'd hear from teachers and other parents about his daughter's constant rambling about how cool his dad is, and whenever he did his chest would fill a bit with pride. Ironically, he had millions of people who admired him but the only one he really cared about was that little girl who also asks him to take the crust off her sandwiches and cut it into little star shapes because that's how she likes them, he guesses. And he's tried to tell her is the same thing but she insists they taste different.

"I can say I'm happy to have her. I find myself feeling a bit proud about every little thing she does."

"Any big accomplishments lately?"

"She learned how to count backwards, from ten to one. She can also help me in the kitchen sometimes; with supervision of course, but she tries her best. And she-"

"Papa!" he flinched when he heard Mao's familiar voice nearby, and he saw her running around and getting herself among the crowd trying to reach him. She was carrying that same bunny he talked about earlier and Sae was quick to get her in his arms once she was in arm-length reach. His instincts then kicked in at the first sound of a camera taking a photo as he inmediately hid her face against his chest.

"That's enough now, no photos." in some aspects the media was somewhat the same as a child. You tell them 'no' and they take it as a reason to do it anyways, because the camera flashes grew more frequent and intense.

"Wait! Just one more question!"

"Sae, over here!"

"Look over here!"

"Can we take a look at the kid?"

"Let her answer a question with you!"

"Enough with the cameras." his voice was low, yet firm enough to cease all the commotion. Poor Mao was all fussy with all of those bright flashes and sudden sounds. "Let's go home." he said, his arms now holding a more secure hold on her to walk through the crowd of reporters.

"Papa, you were amazing!"

"I know. I'm always amazing." she giggled, and the sound made him smile as he walked through the crowd of reporters who were still fighting to get his attention. "Are you hungry? I took longer than I expected."

"A little. Papa, can I play soccer too with you?"

"If you want to, sure." he would lie if he said he wasn't tired after the match, but how could he say no to his little girl asking to spend quality time with him? "Let's play when we get home."

"Can I have ice-cream, papa?"

"Why do you want ice-cream suddenly?"

"Because it's yummy!"

"I guess it is." he should really learn how to tell her no. "Sure thing, we'll buy ice-cream on our way back."

"Yay!"

[kamwashere]

saw your tags and yes PLEASE do a proper fic rec list!

5 times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did by keikoHPfan [T, 1K]

Wade isn't a fool. And he knows better, whatever Spidey says. Or five times Wade didn't believe Peter, and the one time he did.

✦ kam's notes: The first ever SMDP fic I’ve ever read! I had this bookmarked in 2016 with a note saying, “I wanna scream but fam is literally right hEre so I'm just here making this weird sound in my throat this fic must be treasured for life.” Super angsty and fluffy!

The Perks of Being Smarter Than Everyone Gives You Credit For by alphasaceraptor, Orcusnox (Cat9894) [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 32K, WIP]

Peter Parker, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, is sapiosexual. You'd think, working as an intern under Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, he'd have his pick of the best brains around. But apparently not. Someone's been lying about how smart a certain mercenary actually is, and that puts Peter in a sticky situation when said mercenary starts interacting with Peter. And with trouble brewing at Stark Industries, you just know this is going to be a wild ride...

✦ kam's notes: Sadly, I think this has been abandoned  as it hasn’t been updated since 2017 but it’s still worth a read! Featuring super smart Wade and super horny about it Peter. 

Propositions by stuckybarnes [T, 8K]

“Yeah…” Deadpool drawls. “Anyway, Pretty Boy, I have a proposition for you.” This makes Peter kind of want to throw up. Propositions by Deadpool always end up with them in varying degrees of pain, and a lot of explaining to do with the Avengers. OR Wade finally convinces a very tired Peter to go to New York Comic-Con with him and enter a Deadpool and Spider-Man cosplay contest, sure they'll win. Obviously. It doesn't go exactly as expected, and Peter is not thrilled.

✦ kam's notes: Spidey and DP go to Comic-Con! Fanservice, cosplays, banter, and feelings! All that fun stuff.

Ooh, Spicy by misato [E, 2K]

“It’s me,” he croaks, and Peter readies his web-shooter, aiming it at his mouth. He starts talking. Fast. “I’m Deadpool. Wade Wilson. I’m from another universe. In that one you’re dead and I’m more than a little bit bummed about it.” Surprisingly, that’s what gets Peter to loosen his grip. “You’re from another universe?” he sighs. “That’s so last week.”

✦ kam's notes: Hell yeah, another Peter B./Wade fic! This one is very spicy, kinda sad, but still sweet. Wade worships every version of Peter and I love that. 

baby, i’d victoria your secret anytime by ghostsoldier [E, 4K]

Peter’s known Wade for a while now, so he can maybe see how this makes sense -- like, maybe Wade has a thing about going commando and just happened to have an old girlfriend’s panties lying around, one thing led to another…but… “And the bra?” Peter croaks.

✦ kam's notes: Wade (unknowingly) seduces Peter with lingerie (!!!) and pancakes. Spice ahead!

I Think I Missed a Step ('Cause I'm Fallin' For You) by mokuyoubi [E, 42K]

There’s a weird familiarity about the kid's tone and posture, and it’s true that Wade is pretty far from home today but he’s also certain he’d remember that baby-face if he’d seen it before. On the other hand, he has spent the better part of the past few years feeling like he’s missed a step, so this conversation isn’t exactly anything new. [[A hot guy is willingly talking to us. Go with it.]] [Don’t make an ass of yourself.] “Shaddup,” Wade grumbles, though Yellow has a point... OR Peter thinks Wade knows his secret identity, and Wade is really confused by the hot coed who keeps popping up and hanging out with him.

✦ kam's notes: I debated putting this here a lot since when I first read it, I did so without reading the tags or the notes and missed the Tom!Spidey disclaimer but please don’t be discouraged, it is still a very good fic. Peter is aged up (still feels like a weird loophole) and is a full-fledged adult. Anyways! This fic lovingly abuses the classic identity porn trope. Very good and there is a variety of MCU cameos.

what light through yonder window by hellornothing [M, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, 14K]

The figure moves quickly, but Peter’s faster. He’s still adjusting to the sudden brightness, so dark red is really the only thing he takes from this initial encounter, but it’s enough. ‘Deadpool?’ - aka the one where they get together via late night window visits

✦ kam's notes: This fic has EVERYTHING: late night talking, identity reveal, pining!Peter, TLC. I really love Wade in this; he’s so tender, funny, and charming. This is also domestic in ways I can’t explain.

finger tap pulses by twentytwosevens [T, 3K]

"The first time Peter’s timer stops he is eleven years old. It times out in the middle of the night and wakes him up like an electric shock. The blank timer stares at him from his wrist as he yells and screams for his aunt and uncle." Spideypool AU with timers where Wade keeps getting killed and making Peter's timer go blank. By the time they meet he's pretty pissed off. This was certainly a summary with words, but they were not good ones. Based off a tumblr prompt that I cannot find anymore.

✦ kam's notes: Oh, this one has a delicate amount of angst and crack. Poor Peter! Deadpool-typical suicidal ideation, be warned. 

BDE (Big Dick Emergency) by DerRumtreiber [E, 6K]

“Oh my god,” he says again. “Oh. My. Gaa-awd, Becky. Did you?” Wade is visibly vibrating. “Did you really say ‘giant penis problem’? Really? Truly?” “What did you think I meant the first time?” Peter asks through clenched teeth. “I dunno, wrong hole?” ~*~*~ Or, the one where Peter is in need of some practical advice, and Wade is always happy to share his ass knowledge.

✦ kam's notes: THEE BOTTOM!WADE FIC, imo. Peter has unsatisfying sex life due to his Big Problem/Blessing and Wade is determined (and super thrilled)  to change that. Not to be a spoiler but he definitely succeeds. 

Love of a Different Lifetime by alicat54c [T, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 15K]

In another time and place, Wade would have gone back to Weasel’s bar and met the love of his life, Vanessa. However, in this life, predicated by a squeaky skateboard wheel, he met Peter instead. ... “Yo mamma so dumb, she thought Tiger Woods was a forest in India.” Wade's arm spasmed, causing his swing to go wide, sending the ball clear out of the course and across the sidewalk. Peter carefully kept his eyes on the score sheet as his companion turned around, expression playfully murderous. He scratched a line with a short pencil. “So, that’s one point against you.” The older man’s face split into a toothy grin. “Oh, it is on, baby boy.”

✦ kam's notes: And to end this fic rec, I bring you the ultimate filmverse!Spideypool fic. It rewrites both DP1 and TASM1 and it entwines both of the film’s canon together. In this fic, Peter doesn’t have his powers yet but he does meet Wade pre-cancer. They fall in love. While Wade goes into the program, Peter becomes Spider-Man. Cue Deadpool being born, Spider-Man trying to stop him, heartaching reunion and all that. Loved this one. 

Oh, and also there are some Team Red moments!

As usual, I'll just add my own fics as well —

my heart is wild (and my bones are steel) [T, 9K]

Out of the corner of his eyes, MJ quietly takes the seat across the younger Peter, swiftly sliding into his place. He visibly relaxes, resting his forehead against hers. They belong together in a quietly intense way. Longing burns hot inside of him, like a branch caught in a forest fire. It’s strange. Even if this version of Peter has lost virtually everything, he still finds a way to be envious of him. He thinks of Wade. For some unfathomable reason he isn’t quite ready to examine yet, he misses the idiot.

No Way Home, but in Peter-Three’s perspective.

all the skeletons you hide (show me yours, i’ll show you mine) [M, 23K, WIP] [Just updated]

A wave of affection and longing almost makes him stagger on his feet. Just seeing him in that suit—looking less than impressive, scratching his butt—makes him realize just how much he missed him. “Wade,” Peter cringes at how his voice catches, “Hi.” Wade turns around, turns back, turns again and does a double take. He eyes Peter up and down and to his surprise, turns away snootily. “Sorry cutie, any other day, I would be super into this hipster nerd slash skater boi with an I you’ve got going on—devastating combo, by the way—I’m sadly not in the mood.”

Peter, fresh out of his multiversal escapades, gains a new perspective in life. One that includes a certain mouthy mercenary, perhaps?

The problem is, the mercenary doesn’t seem to remember him. Like at all. He has a sneaking suspicion it has to do with that spell thing Peter-One was talking about…

‣ Both are a part of the new york isn't new york without you series

[diminuel]

Wanna hear something crazy re-“are these entitled commentators demanding updates actual readers?” question you just asked:

When I was in another big fandom, some…dedicated haters of the ship/character I liked would seek out BNF's and do basically what’s happening here: demand updates, criticize the characterizations but in the most wank-y way possible, etc, in order to make the creators feel like “real” fans of the ship/character hate the writer's work. More than one of the newer/younger authors&creators would end up quitting because of it! (Add to the death of real comments from real fans and the hater comments stand out waayyyyyy more ☹️, no wonder people just don’t bother after a while)

Yes this is psycho and yes it’s like, do you not have your own ships to have fun with??

(extra psychotic cus it was often by fringe members of the most popular ship (at the time anyway)?? Like, it’s ok! Go enjoy your many fan works with your ship! For bonus points the popular ship was only really a *thing* in the newest live action adaptation and in the older fan works of the original medium (comics) because they changed the canon ages and like merged 2 characters together, so they were extra like, insecure about how there were older, more popular ships in the fandom pre-adaptation or something so they deliberately went after even works that predated the adaptations and would attack it for being out of character!? Idk it’s crazy.

But once the open hatred of the ship/character didn’t work to discourage the creators/fans (and in fact would fuel the creators! or they would just delete on sight), the haters then learned hide their open hate as entitled “fellow fans” demanding updates or leaving “criticisms” of the writing. Like if an author complained in tumblr or discord to their friends of actual entitled fans of demanding updates and mentioning it hurt their drive to keep writing out of spite, these dedicated haters that literally stalked(!) these fan spaces would then start sending those same styled update demands, knowing it would drive this creator away from the hater's hated ship/character! Like, get a job! Touch grass!

So if you are in a fandom with a known amount of dedicated haters towards your ship/character (like say to the point where they have their own nickname for those shippers something like “Heckers” or “H*ll*rs), one sadly needs to be aware that haters those don't just stay in their lane, even if it is the 2nd or even 1st most popular part of the fandom! Punching up or down they justify it either way as “but they are hurting MY fav ship/character by writing this therefore I’m “justified”!” Crazy)

But also, yeah Fandom etiquette has TANKED in recent years and with the new generation because of both the rapid growth and mainstream awareness, maybe for good and bad because. Say the example of SPN, the old “don’t bring up shipping and Destiel at Cons to the actors!!” attitude has changed, for the better really! It’s no longer treated like a dirty little secret! Yay changing attitudes towards the gay community! Destiel fandom existing and creating most definitely lead to Cas continuing to be on the show and Destiel being canon at the end! But also like, you now get fans directly threatening the lives of actors/writers etc on Social Media for “sinking” their ship or playing an evil character or asking TRULY inappropriate questions at Cons, etc. so…

In conclusion, some of these entitled questions and demands for updates are 100% legitimate bad mannered fans being entitled and rude, because bad mannered fans have always existed and now fandom is sooooo big and fractured there's basically no common etiquette. And also, more then 0% of them might be obsessive haters of your ship/character mimicking the style&language of that kind of fan BECAUSE they know it makes the creator annoyed and less likely to continue writing for the ship/character they hate! Crazy I know! Either way, ignore them! If they are real fans and readers of your WIP then they are not the kind of reader you wanna creator for anyway! And they also might be crazy haters trying to smother your creative flame cus they are jealous! Do your thing!

I’m old and have followed works that got updated 10 years (!) later! A few extra days/months/weeks means nothing to me and it should mean nothing to real fans! It’s what the subscriber button is for! And also if you as a fan wanna give the author incentive to write more, leave them real and engaging comments! T'is the true, renewable energy! Not using these nasty , smelly, smog making demanding comments as fuel aka the whale oil of comments! And commenters, when writing these motivational fuelling comments, don’t even mention it’s for motivation! Heck don’t even say something like, can't wait to see more! at a certain point, just be happy it was written at all in any amount and extend that gratitude to the author (with your desire for more being your fuel for your comment!)

(But if you wanna maybe get the bad mannered fans off your back, remove any exact dates from your authors note after a while and like make a progress post on Tumblr to link to where you can just edit and add your time estimates and “announce” delays there so the poor widdle fans don’t *have* to “dig” thru pages of wonderful art and other (🙄) fandoms the poor dears. But it may also help so you feel less pressured if you don’t make yourself beholdened to a schedule, unless you like the deadlines for your own productivity lol then I just salute you. But that way you can just point to any annoying demands for updates to that one page)

Good luck! Do your thing! Enjoy a new fandom and the new creative energy it brings! A starting a new fandom gives you such a different rush/energy than an old, mature fandom for you. Neither is better or worse but it’s fun to have both! Enrich your enclosure !

Interesting and to be honest not entirely surprising? I’ve been in fandom for a long time too, so I’ve seen people be mean for no reason other than they enjoyed being mean and belittling fellow fans for enjoying their fandom differently than they did.

And you see quite a lot of stupid things in the Supernatural fandom when it gets to ship wars and slinging insults at each other. I had the feeling that I've seen everything but eh, fandom can still surprise me.

I do think people should get different hobbies than pretending to be fans and leaving mean comments to discourage others from writing. I don’t know if that’s what’s happening because who honestly cares enough about my niche A/B/O Destiel fanfic to want to sabotage it now, after 50 chapters are already out?

Just the general idea that fic or fanart of one thing is somehow eating up valuable “screen time” that should be dedicated to other fancreations (of different ships, dealing with different themes) is ridiculous in my opinion.

I could somewhat understand people being tense and overdoing it trying to prove to themselves and the creators that they are the true fans of the show and that they need to be catered to. But why put that effort towards fanworks of a show that’s been over for nearly 4 years? Prospective creators and platforms aren't going to look at AO3 and think "this random person wrote this historical arranged marriage AU, the SPN continuation should better follow its lead!"

You are completely right that I feel fandom etiquette has tanked. The barrier between fandom space and creators is just too brittle or at times even nonexistent in today’s media/ digital landscape. And social media aren't curated fandom spaces, it' all kind of things mashed together. And some people don’t seem to understand that the fanart and fanfic they scroll past on twitter isn’t “content” that is being produced to garner their attention. Likewise, my fanfic isn’t content I’m paid for to create that is just there for people to consume. It’s for fun, it’s free, it thrives on community. Nobody pays for it, which means that clicking away and ignoring it doesn’t cost anything. It’s no waste of time or money.

Anyway. I want to have fun in fandom. I try to share that fun. And sometimes I just fall down into a hole. And not just a different fandom hole... This whole year hasn’t been easy and that affects how and what I can create even though it’s not obvious what is going on behind the screen if you just look at my output.

All in all, creativity doesn’t always translate to a regular and consistent update schedule.

[raisedbythetv89]

Ok ooooook OK SO.

Spike was literally made for Buffy because he was made for and by Drusilla, and Buffy and Dru are the same person:

Innocent, kind-hearted young girls, with special gifts that cause them to carry more guilt/burden than others and they are used/abused/traumatized by angelus/angel, then neglected and abandoned, with Spike being there to pick up the pieces and nurture, care for, and love them the best he can to help them move past their angel trauma (which is actually an impossible task with Drusilla because of the sire aspect but isn’t with Buffy)

WHICH is why I believe William’s first act as a vampire was to try and save his mother. He was literally created to be Dru’s knight. Not only her protector but her healer. Which is why his first instinct when it should be all about blood lust is instead, to heal his mother who he still loves even as a vampire. I mean even Dru, a certified nutcase, is like you wanna do WHAT?!?! When Spike tells her his plan to save his mom😹

This is also why I believe angel trying to mold Spike into his image never really took or rather Spike was able to break free from it. Angel was created by darla for the intent of death, torment and destruction.

Spike was created to care for and love Dru. Which required an OBSCENE amount of patience, determination, humility, and love of a challenge. Which is why he was so intrigued by slayers, another seemingly impossible task - but the joy/fun was in the TRYING, the thrill of the unknown and the unpredictability of it all. Which are all the traits he needed to be there for both Dru and Buffy while also ensuring he never gives up on them as long as they want him there, and then some lol.

IM FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS

Because also this is soooooo not where I planned on going with this but “I was made to love you” episode title is now drawing in the connection of, is this why Spike didn’t initially see the problem with the Buffy-Bot until he saw the reaction of Buffy herself who often acts as his moral compass as he relearns what is “good” after 100+ years living by vamp code because him AS A HUMAN, in his vulnerable, dejected and devastated state was killed and made into a vampire for the sole purpose of loving and caring for Drusilla selflessly, without regard for himself, much like the bots were!! So why would he see the harm in creating something like that for himself when no one was going to die in the process and it meant he could stop fixating in the real buffy? Both of which to a vamp who’s only been trying to live by human morals again for like 14 episodes vs 120 years with NO help just trial and erroring his way through becoming a white hat which his starting point is “I would like credit for not taking advantage of bleeding disaster victims” and “what do you mean building a shrine to show how deep my devotion is and chaining you up, offering to kill my ex, and forcing you to talk to me and admit your feelings aren’t the way to do this??” 😹😹😹 like he gets it so wrong, it’s comical in season 5 because he truly is so earnest about all of it because while yes it is all for a chance with Buffy, he genuinely wants to be better for her so he can earn that chance. As he says to Riley “a fellas gotta try” after saying he doesn’t think he has a chance with her.

He was an Eleanore who desperately needed his Chidi. Which Buffy is his moral compass but she ends up being a “let them fail/push them into the deep end” kind of guide. So he makes A LOT of mistakes along the way as many of us often do in general but especially those of us who were raised by abusive parents; who in our adulthood, have to learn to discern what is healthy vs abusive to be a good person to both yourself and others and be in actual healthy relationships with boundaries and respect with zero practical experience or good instincts to go on.

NONE of this excuses any harm that Spike causes at all. That is not the point of this to say “oh he didn’t really do bad”, no he did. Spike caused a lot of harm but this perspective that I’ve finally been able to put into words is why none of the harm ends up being a deal breaker for me and many spuffys because it puts his choices in the right perspective which is not that of a human even though he looks like one a lot of the time.

Spike pre-soul, making the mistakes he makes isn’t the same as a human or a vamp with a human soul making the mistakes because he doesn’t have his human soul motivating and informing the decisions he makes. It really mimics different cultures in a lot of ways as anya really demonstrates during her wedding with all her talk of demon culture and tradition (and her own struggles to assimilate into the human world again and she HAS a human soul and xander to help her) and the initiative being VERY n*zi coded and Riley being called a bigot because he is ignorant to much of demonology. So un-souled spike has a more potential for forgiveness of his mistakes than human soul havers because he is always genuinely TRYING to do right by Buffy even when he gets it horribly wrong. And the characters in the show always hold him accountable and make him feel TERRIBLE for the mistakes he makes.

Why does he have such potential for forgiveness you ask? The best example is to think of the concept of someone trying to assimilate themselves into a new culture. We can’t expect them to blend right in perfectly and get all the culture norms right, right away (again -anya-but also a real life example - when I travel in Italy and catch up with friends there I STILL always stumble and forget they’re always gonna go in for a double cheek kiss greeting - pre covid anyway - and I KNOW it’s a thing but if I’m out of practice it takes me a while to start greeting people that way again and it makes for some AWKWARD ENCOUNTERS until I get it down😹). It takes time, and normally guidance and patience from others that spike honestly doesn’t often have except in the form of being yelled at or beat up until he gets his soul. But his willingness to TRY anyways despite failure, rejection, ridicule and cruelty. How can I not love him?? He is me, I am him!! I was also met with so much unhelpful criticism and cruelty when I was just trying to learn and do a good job.

Both as someone who is autistic and didn’t know it for a lot of life; I too felt like I was blundering through without a guide or a rule book and I was sure I was making mistakes because people would get upset but I had NO help identifying what exactly I did wrong or what to do instead. So I knew I was messing up but had to keep guessing and trying anyway and getting it wrong again and again!

And as someone raised by an emotionally distant/abusive narcissist, navigating healthy relationships became even MORE difficult and I made a lot of bad choices along the way that landed me in some awful relationships much like what spike and Buffy devolve into towards the end of season 6 because both of them are up stream without a paddle when it comes to healthy relationships, healthy coping mechanisms, and communication. They know pain, avoidance, fighting, torment, and ecstasy from always living in extremes and life or death situations (notice Buffy struggles the most in the season with no threat of the apocalypse until the last two episodes - season 6 - which is SO common for people with trauma, you really fall apart when things are low stakes)

It’s why the tenderness and gentleness of season 7 means SO MUCH. Both of them experiencing these tiny pockets of true peace with each other after everything they’ve been through individually and together. Experiencing true peace like we see from them is one of the hardest things to accomplish if you have severe trauma.

I’m always really happy when I can digest these complex themes enough to communicate why I love them so much and why they’re so important to me. The fact that this show had so much in-fighting amongst the writers and misogynists trying to make spike pathetic and accidentally making him one of the most complex characters, plus episodes based specifically on neurodivergent/queer peoples’ traumatic coming of age experiences because the parallels are SO strong there no way they’re not lol. This all means I can probably spend the rest of my life dissecting the layers of this show and learning about myself in the process and always find something new 🙃🙃🙃 and clearly I love all aspects of spuffy so god damn much as they each embody a big part of my life experiences in so many beautiful yet tragic ways.

[elvisabutler]

mess dress

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( army era ) x female plus size reader word count: 2323 warnings: thigh riding. uniform kink. mild innocence kink. public play-ish. implications for future p in v sex. author’s note: welcome to day 7 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, uniform kink with elvis presley x reader. so fun fact i've had this 95 percent finished since friday. i have also been without internet because construction knocked out my internet for the weekend. however this is done now. so this erred accidentally into a sort of public play kink thing as well. hopefully y'all enjoy it regardless. this is sort of a sequel to called ya, didn't i? but you don't have to read it for this to make sense, necessarily. i do really want to hear how y'all feel about my fics and i know i don't always reply to comments but reading them delights me so much. as always imagine who you'd like i'm not picky.

You're no stranger to Army functions, little soirees that you shouldn't be invited to but you are because your Daddy's always loved showing you off even as there were whispers about how it wasn't proper that his daughter's waist didn't taper just so. But being at one when you're involved with Elvis Presley- well, that's another thing entirely. It's one thing to be on your Daddy's arm and another to be on your boyfriend's arm knowing how that arm feels wrapped around your waist as you do things very good army brats shouldn't do.

The thing is, you want to think Elvis is willing to stay with you, you want to think he's a good man even if all the papers and the press think he's cavorting around with every girl in Europe. And he's been proving it with every innocent date and every not so innocent moment where you cry out for release as his fingers play you better than any guitar. Elvis wants to be with you and even as things are winding down in Europe, he's whispering jokes and plans about asking your Daddy if it's alright for him to whisk you away to Memphis.

"Told 'im I'd take real good care of ya. No funny business, either. Not 'less I got a ring on your finger."

After hearing that, you almost swooned like you were a Victorian maiden, the rush from hearing those simple words— that simple potential promise had your mind whirring and your heart thumping a quicker beat than it ever had in your life. Never mind that you and him already had indulged in some funny business, it was all the kind that could be hidden. Not the kind that had you filling out dresses and telling your Daddy he's got a grandbaby on the way.

Hearing that put your mind at ease and allowed you to dream a little of a future with Elvis. It allowed for a picture to be painted of you at Graceland or in Hollywood, maybe with a child or two— and a world where you might still be told you don't look proper for a woman but there's gotta be something about you that's got Mr. Presley all shook up and stuck on you. Saying yes to Elvis about going to the function was easy after that even if you had to tell him that he didn't have to get you a dress despite his arguments for doing just that.

"I-I jus' wanna show 'em how pretty my girl is. Tell 'em what they missed out on. Show Charlie I can get me a ree-spec-tuh-bull girl." He had teased, hands against your hips as he kissed your neck in front of your mirror.

Your hands should have swatted at his arms and you should have told him to keep his hands on your waist but instead you moved your hands to lay on top of his and smiled. "You will, Elvis. I'll pick something pretty and we'll have pretty pictures to look at. You'll probably even have one to take home."

A look flitted across Elvis's face that you couldn't quite put a name to and you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at it before he shook his head. "Yeah, I can have a picture. Just— I mean it, baby, I'm gonna show ya off. Tell 'em I like ya wit' or without all this dressin' up."

It's practically comical the way you and Elvis look at each other the moment you open the door to see him standing there in his full dress uniform. You've seen him in uniform before and had told him rightfully that seeing him in it did something to you between your legs but seeing him like this? All ironed pants and dressed without a hint of a flaw had your mouth watering as your eyes traced over every inch of him, settling embarrassingly on the subtle bulge between his legs. You've felt it before but to see it look like it's starting to rise to the occasion just from looking at you right now in those slacks has your breath escaping from your lungs in a quiet whine.

Not that your boyfriend was any better, taking in the way your dress outlined your chest and your hips and practically shimmered in the light. You matched his dress uniform almost to a tee with a little feminine flair. Your mother is the one who comes upon the two of you staring at one another and tuts quietly, shooing you out the door with a shawl and a yell about how Elvis needs to bring you home before a certain time. You don't dare speak until Elvis enters the other side of his car and sets a hand on your clothed thigh.

"Honey— ya tryin' to kill me? 'Cause it's workin'. Didn't know ya—" He starts before you silence him with a kiss and a shy smile.

"I had it specially made. Thought tonight deserved something special, since you said you'd show me off, remember?" You bite your lip, knowing full well you're probably ruining your lipstick. What you're saying is the truth but a part of you, a small part that's listened to a friend or two who thinks Elvis is so sweet on you that he might want to marry you thinks this was the perfect outfit to prove you're the sort of girl who can be Mrs. Presley. All sophistication and charm that a good boy— a good man like him needs.

"I- I do. Now I'm thinkin' everyone's gonna be tryin' to steal ya from me if I show ya off. Lord, darlin'. Make a man wanna—" His breath comes out in a rush, a puff of air that moves a surprisingly errant curl from his head as you giggle.

"Maybe later? Before you take me home?" The words are questions but from the way you look at Elvis you know that he catches your meaning. That you want him to do something to you as much as he wants to do something to you. Truthfully just looking at the buttons of his uniform and every single detail on it has you clenching your legs together— forgetting that Elvis's hand is right there until he groans as he starts the car.

"Gonna be the death o'me," he mutters only to hear you laugh again and say three simple words in French.

"La petit mort."

You both know it's a little improper to have you sitting on Elvis's lap, but the night's been winding down ever so slowly and Elvis— can get away with things other men can't. Sure, this might get back to your Daddy but it's not as if he doesn't already have an inkling that Elvis is head over heels in love with you. You haven't ended up with a baby in your belly yet and that's— well, that's as good as he can hope for when it comes to the pair of you, he figures. He'll allow it as long as he can think his daughter is as pure as can be. Besides, Charlie is very good at covering for you and Elvis when things look a little more salacious than they should. Right now as Elvis's leg keeps bouncing between your thigh, you figure you'll get use out of those skills yet tonight.

The conversation is one you're not fully paying attention to, having heard half these things a million times over as you've grown up but when you feel the brush of warm air against your ear your eyes widen just a hair.

"Fallin' asleep on me, darlin'? Gonna leave me to talk to everyone by myself?" His whisper is low and inviting in a way that has you shivering just slightly as his arm grips your waist a little tighter. "That woke ya up?"

You don't trust your voice just yet especially when you feel Elvis's leg jiggling between your thighs, his knee brushing against your clit with almost every movement. Your only answer is a small hum as you smile at other people.

Elvis flashes a charming grin as he shifts both of you, allowing the bottom of your dress to cover his leg entirely and exposing your underwear covered vagina to his knee. He bounces experimentally and watches as your eyes widen and you let out a soft whimper that you quickly cover with a cough, your chest bouncing from the effort. Your thighs try and tighten around his leg in an effort to stop the bouncing only for his hand to grip your hip, reveling in the way it feels underneath his grip.

"Elvis," you hiss, turning to look at him after one particularly intense bounce as your nipples hardening in your bra and has you starting to soak through your undergarments. "What are you doing?"

"Ya been eyein' me up like a piece of meat all night, baby. Know that place 'tween ya legs has been achin' somethin' fierce 'cause of it. Didn't think ya wanted to wait. Jus' in case I gotta rush ya home." He explains like it makes all the sense in the world and you find it's hard to argue with him over it even as you know how bad this looks.

"But we're in public. Just because I wanna rip your uniform off doesn't mean we need to—" you start only to have him brush against that spot earning a bitten back whine and a grind down from you. "Elvis— oh."

It shouldn't be pleasurable, your fear of being caught and the potential shame should stop you from doing this but the only thing it's stopping you from doing is ripping off Elvis's uniform that you've seen on a million men before but none of them have been him. Maybe it's the way you had seen the bulge between his legs pressing against his pressed slacks or maybe it's because he was all dressed up to take you somewhere. To show you off. Whatever the reason was, you don't stop Elvis from moving his leg, from bouncing it just so in a way that has your vision starting to blur and has your nails digging into his other thigh in order to keep quiet.

"Gonna make a mess of us, ain't ya? Gonna stain my uniform, darlin'? Make it so I gotta tell everyone I had a lil sweat on my knee?" He mutters his filthy words against your ear and you nod as slow as you can as your eyes dart around the room and around your talking companions. Had any of them noticed what was going on?

"They ain't payin' attention. Ya a good girl, 'member? God, darlin' wanna see ya come apart in front of 'em. Do that for me, will ya? Do that and I'll ask ya daddy to marry ya tomorrow. I gotta or 'm gonna ruin ya 'fore I can."

You have to take a breath or five to be able to speak as his knee picks up speed. "You'll wear your uniform when you do? So I can see it again?"

The grin on his face is downright evil as he nuzzles your neck and places a kiss or two against it. "'Course. Jus' for you. Jus' to see ya get all hot 'n bothered 'bout it again. You gonna make a mess f'me, mama? Gonna show how I got the best girl 'round wit' ya plump yittle thighs and those big breasts a yourn? And that stomach that's softer than anythin' army issued?"

Any other time and you might feel a might bit embarrassed about the way you nod quickly. Truthfully you can feel a bit of shame when you catch the eye of one of the other women. Her eyes are a little widened and you— that should be your cue to stop but you're so close that you can't help but cast your eyes downward as Elvis follows where your eyes went.

"She's just wishin' it was her. Wishin' her date would do this to her. Don't— Don't be shy. I gotcha, darlin'. Let go f'me?"

Somehow the way he phases what is technically an order or a request as a question sends a jolt through your body and has you holding back noises that threaten to leave your mouth as you feel yourself coming. Feel that tension inside your lower belly finally release. You feel your body twitch ever so slightly as the pleasure rolls through your body as Elvis's arm tightens around you to keep you from slumping forward. Your chest heaves in the confines of your bra and your dress and Elvis's lips curl into a bit of a smirk against the back of your neck as you try and catch your breath without being too obvious. Against your backside you can feel Elvis's cock nudging you and with a bit of a smile you shift just so in order to hear him grunt.

"Are you two okay?" You both hear someone ask— maybe it's Charlie or maybe it's someone else, you're both not too sure but it prompts you to stand up, adjusting your skirt as you do and eyeing the sizable damp patch you've left on Elvis's leg in his uniform. His eyes look down before they widen and he pulls you back down to sit on it.

"We're— we're fine." A short answer said by both of you as the two of you exchange a look and you grab Elvis's hat to plop it on your head. The look Elvis gives you is filled with more love than you thought he was capable of even though you can see his still blown pupils and see the arousal lingering in those ocean blue eyes.

After a moment of staring you turn back to everyone and smile, "so what were we talking about? You've got both of us at attention."

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust, @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @elirobin, @goldieharry. i'm tired i don't know if i tagged everyone sorry if i forgot you..

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Hi!

Would Platonic Yandere! Scott Summers ever manipulate reader? Or just fully or subtly infantilize them to keep them safe? Or maybe even gaslight them?

To him it would just be like oh I’m doing it to keep you safe of course even if I am making you rely on me but I don’t want you to realize this :)

(Sorry if this is a crappy ask I haven’t gotten a chance to really get into X - Men and the idea was really only half formed when i submitted it)

(Ps why does Scott kind of lowkey give off Platonic Yandere! Dick Grayson vibes? No just me? Ok 🥹😂)

HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️💙💙💙💙

⭐️anon

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍…

!!! GN reader, manipulation (shocker), strict Scott, control issues, Dck Gryson cameo, accidental infantilism, accidental gaslighting.

X-Men content is like a drug. I was dragged in by ‘97, then started watching the OG cartoon, then started picking up the comics, and now look at me. My life is ruined. Run while you still can.

Scott’s manipulation completely comes in the form of abusing his leadership position. He’s not afraid to threaten you with disciplinary action as the field commander of the X-Men, even if it’s over something as little as you not wanting to abide by his made up curfew. If you wanna be an X-Men, then you have to listen to him both on and off the field. How can he depend on you if you don’t, huh?

Scott has to be in control. Bad things always happen when he’s not, so the thought of not having you — someone he views as a sibling, or even his own child — under wraps is absolutely terrifying. Yes, it might seem like he’s being a total prick to you, but this is just what all of the trauma over the years has done to him. He can’t really help it!! Please respect his authority!!

He just wants to keep you safe… please let him keep you safe…

Now, I usually imagine the reader to also be an X-Man when it comes to platonic Scott. But if that’s not your cup of tea, then the whole leader thing kind of falls flat. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hold the same commanding presence, however. “Because I said so” is his main go-to for manipulation (if you even wanna call it that), and he’ll say it in the same tone he uses against Wolverine or Gambit whenever one of those bozos are acting up. He’s older and wiser than you, and that obviously means he knows best. Why are you questioning him?

As for the Dick Grayson comparison… not gonna lie, I’ve thought about a Nightwing/X-Men collab idea before, but that’s beside the point. Dick has a full arsenal of manipulation tactics at the ready, one of them being the more stricter, no-nonsense angle that may be reminiscent of Scott’s. But whereas Dick likes to metronome between any and every possible manipulative strategy out there, Scott pretty much only has one. And it’s barely a conscious decision, either. Should he ever have to actually think about manipulating you, he’s actually feel pretty guilty about it before convincing himself it’s for your own good.

Infantilism is less of a manipulation tactic and more of a way he shows his love. He is 100% convinced you’re just a little baby and doesn’t find it weird at all to treat you as such. His delusional ass will absolutely carry you around in his hip and think you’re the crazy one for not liking it. There might be a little gaslighting in that regard, but definitely not heavy-handed or on purpose. You’re an adorable little thing… don’t all adorable little things like to be carried? Huh… weird. Maybe you’re just not used to it.

All and all, while he’s sharp enough to see through most forms of manipulation, actually executing it is another story. This man is way too blunt to be charming and too emotionally constipated to lean harder into his softer side. Heads up: there’s a chance you may walk in on him reading books on parenting.

[tokoyamisstuff]

No One Loves You (Like I Do)

2,2k. words | Yandere! Enrico Maxwell x gn! Reader

Synopsis: Love had always been a foreign concept to the bishop, but when you stumbled into his life he got painfully aware how deprived he truly was of it.

GIF Source: bitches-love-cannons (deactivated)

A user on Ao3 asked for Yandere! Maxwell with a shy/quiet Reader.

Warnings: forced relationship, captivity, gaslighting

A/N: I absolutely loathe this work of mine, sorry

Even though he never built any meaningful connection himself, Maxwell at least intellectually understood human bonds. Selfish and fragile mechanisms they were to him, nothing more.

The bishop always thought himself to be immune to such inferior sentiments, that he could see behind everyone's act...

...until he met you, that was.

Because no matter what circumstance, relations were always connected to some kind of advantage, weren't they? Security, influence, power...no one would willingly keep someone in their social circle that didn't provide anything useful for them.

Hell, even Anderson only took care of the young orphans - including himself - out of religious necessity, because it makes him feel righteous and morally superior, he was sure of it!

Friends and acquaintaces were made through shared time and experience, similar views and other feeble components. Always threaten to change randomly and without our influence. Even familiar bonds were formed out of obligation and our ingrained instinct to pass on our genes.

That was his theory when he first met you, a desperate attempt to rationalize those feelings blooming in the bottomless pit he called his soul. Yes, surely it had to be a biological urge and nothing more. He was only a man too after all, even if he took great endeavour to ascend that pathetic state.

But you, precious little thing you were, caused him to stumble across the biggest mystery he had yet to resolve: Romantic love.

What was the reason that humans revolved their entire thought, energy, self around one another? Making someone else the centre of their life, accomodate even if it meant personal disadvantage, as long as you could be together?

How could anyone wanna expose the most vulnerable part of themselves? No matter how much he tried to wrap his head around it, he failed to find an answer.

Back when you met at that fateful morning two months ago, you had no clue who it was that sat next to you on that park bench. Certainly a handsome man, that much credit he'd give himself, but might as well be a nobody to an uneducated heathen like you were one.

And yet you treated him with nothing but kindness and sincere interest, even though you couldn't hope to gain something from it.

He remembers clearly how timidly you had tapped his shoulder, excusing yourself for overstepping but wanting to ask if he was alright. Well no, he was visibly upset over a triviality at work, and your sudden inquisition unwillingly caught him so off guard that he just started ranting to a complete stranger.

It was so soothing just to talk about whatever topic crossed his mind, your calming aura helping him to sort his thoughts as you quietly nodded along and offered him an encouraging smile from time to time.

An incredible feeling, actually being listened to by someone other than dimwits or bootlickers...especially since even without knowing about his status, you gave him the respect he thought he deserved.

This was too good to be true, he thought when he found that note with your number tucked between his bible. Yet after letting the organization do a quick background scan on you, he soon realized there was nothing suspicious to be found.

Quite the opposite, even: Such a plain, pathetic existence. It was almost comically ironic how much worth you would gain just through his interest.

And the more he learned, the more his curiosity deepened into a downright addiction.

You were special, overlooked, always had to work much harder than anyone else in order to survive - just like him.

You were so excruciatingly lonely that it broke his heart just to think about it - just like him.

You deserved way more than what life had offered you - just like him.

And he'd be damned if he didn't save you from that fate and put you right where you belong - at his side, with your every wish fulfilled by your shining knight.

Maxwell found himself fantasizing about building a life together, spiraling deeper and deeper into his own delusions.

Set aside that dating was out of question let alone because of his faith, he thought the formal way to approach you was beneath him. In his opinion during that one meeting the two of you had already formed a connection that was way more intimate than ordinary people could ever hope to have.

So the Iscariot leader had his members abduct you in the security of your own home, brought you to him without question or remorse. With his kind of influence it was an easy task to tamper some evidence, making it look like you started a whole new life far away, so no one would ever bother trying to find you.

However, reality is oftentimes much harder than those yearning dreams that make our everyday life more bearable.

In the end the person he invited - no, misplaced - into his home didn't even come close to the idealized version of you he had created in his head.

Altough he had prepared every miniscule detail prior to your arrival, things went south the moment you came back to your senses. You were afraid and confused in the beginning, that much he could sympathize with.

But the fact that you were still so damn ungrateful even weeks later was simply unacceptable!

Enrico explained it to you several times now, didn't he? Then why in the Lord's name aren't you happy?! You should fall to your knees and cover him in praise for freeing you from the shackles of your own ordinarity!

Instead you flinch every time he just so much as innocently touches you, have tears dwell in your eyes like he was some kind of monster that kept you prisoner.

All he ever wanted was some genuine fucking affection and even that he couldn't be granted?!

The bishop was already irritated before the door fell into it's lock, tossing his bariefcase into the next best corner before stepping into the luxorious apartment. Usually he'd crave the peace of his solitude, always claiming to need no one, but recently he couldn't wait to meet the only person he was able to tolerate.

There you were, sitting in the living room right at the huge windowsill, dreamily gazing outside to watch free people go about their day. He clears his throat to gain your attention, and immediately you turn around, eyes wide like a deer in the headlight.

"Welcome back" you coo, heart racing as he approaches you with a fake confidence in his steps. He sits down right besides you, taking one of your hands and placing the ghost of a kiss over it. "I missed you painfully" he admits and you manage to crack a smile, not knowing what reaction he expects or if you'd even be able to provide it for him.

You could, or rather should play along, it would make things so much easier for both of you. But you wore your heart on your sleeve, which made him both furious and admiring that you were unable to tell any comforting lie.

But that also means once you give in to your fate, he'll know it's for real.

Maxwell's eyes wander up and down your form, satisfied with what he sees. Everything from the clothes you wear up to your perfume had been handpicked by himself, and it granted you an ethereal kind of glow. A sight for his sore eyes, really.

Surely if you understand that all of his wealth, power and influence is now also yours, you'll be delighted to stay at his side.

"You look amazing..." he murmurs, letting his knuckles stroke across your cheek. You bite your lip, cautious yet to him it was endearing really. "Tha-thank you, bishop-"

He makes a both warning and placating gesture with his hand, putting on a fake smile as he reminds "I told you to not call me by my title. It's just Maxwell for you...or Enrico, whatever you prefer."

The Enrico Maxwell you got to know was a soft-spoken and gentle man, at least that was the facade he wanted to maintain. Deep inside of him however was another, disturbed and sinister part of him. You were aware of it, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from you.

This huge contrast between his behavior and the reality of your situation was simply absurd, the twisted obsession he thought to be love suffocating. You swallow nervously, stuttering with every syllable. "Alright...Maxwell."

Panic rose in your chest as you licked your dry lips and immediately found his gaze stuck on them. Hesistantly, he leans in to close the gap between the two of you, and frozen in fear you just allow it to happen.

The kiss was tender yet demanding, you could physically feel his desparation radiating off of him. It made you wonder how long he was starved of this kind of intimacy, or if he ever experienced something like it at all. He dwelled in the sensation for as long as possible, not yet daring to wrap his arms around you like he envisioned so painfully often...

...when he finally broke the kiss however, your eyes were already open and glossy with tears.

"What?" he sadly asks, face contorting in disappointment. Anger boils up in his stomach but he tries to calm himself, to not lose face in front of you, yet it was almost impossible to hide the aggravation in his voice. "Why...what is it?!"

Enrico wanted you to go back to the person worshipping his every step, clinging to his lips like they spread some kind of ancient wisdom, not...this...

A quiet gasp escapes your throat and you wince back, only enraging him further. He internally whines at his own inability to be the man you need, the man you'd willingly give yourself to. Letting out a deep breath, he starts again, tone smoother this time. "My love, I can't bear to see you cry." He reaches out to cup your cheek but decides to give you space instead. "Tell me what's wrong, I promise I won't get mad."

His strategy seemed to work, your stance slowly relaxing as you fumbled with your words. "It's- it's just..." Feeling bold, you tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear to appease him. "I miss my family, that's all."

Your family? Your pathetic excuse of a family?! That is what's got you so worked up, what you prefer to choose over him?

Seems like his prayers are never being answered.

If it wasn't for the balmy sensation of your fingers brushing against his aching skin, he definetly would've snapped at you. Yet he merely groans, rubbing his temple in frustration. "Seriously? Don't be ridiculous." You wish you could hide from his sharp gaze, but Enrico softly lifts your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. "Don't you get it? They only care for you out of obligation. But I..." His smile is honest now, almost innocent when he declares "I chose to love you."

Maxwell's confession caught you off guard, lets your blood run cold for a moment - until you realize that you could use his own emotions against him.

This would be your ticket to freedom.

"You...you love me?" You mindfully place a hand on his when you ask him again. His answer is quick and serious, thumb running over your palm, absentmindedly circling the skin. "Of course I do." To him it was so obvious, he almost felt offended you didn't realize.

Why else would he go out of his way to forcefully intertwine your fates together?

"Then-" you stop briefly, but decide to at least try to convince him. What's the worst that can happen? After all, asides from keeping you here, the bishop never gave you reason to think he would harm you in any way. "Then let me out."

Before he could object, you quickly sealed your wish with another kiss, feeling him sigh against your mouth. He melts into the unexpected voluntary closeness, the promise of more to come.

"You said you would grant me every wish" you gasp for air as your lips part again, "So let me out, just once in a while. I want to feel the sun on my skin again, I want to talk to other people, I want-"

"Alright, alright" he announces with a charming voice, as if he was doing you a great favour. Positive anticipation clouds his judgement, making him ponder. "Well I guess as long as you stay on Vatican ground and are accompanied by guards, I can allow you some more freedom."

"Thank you!" Out of hope for a possible way out, you can't help but tackle your captor in an excited hug, even though it was contrary to your wish to get as far away from him as humanly possible. "Thank you so, so much, Maxwell!"

"You're way too humble with your wishes" he notes. If he had known earlier that it'd be this easy to make you comply...

Finally enjoying what he craved most only further fed his delusions, his mouth splitting into a manic grin as he trapped you in his hold, whispering in your ear like the snake of Eden itself.

"Give yourself up to me, and I promise you there's nothing you'll ever miss again."

[meanbossart]

DU drow asks time

Lore questions/sweet messages/stuff that made me laugh that's about DU drow specifically that I decided to compile in a single post!

First of all, "outraged to be used as a medium for old man gay divorce" is a hysterical sentence LOL

As for his thoughts on the Ansur debacle? Negative ones. He hates the emperor, he doesn't care about his third-time-twist real identity, he doesn't particularly care about Wyll either (well - he kind of finds him entertaining, he's kind of really frustrated by him, it's complicated) but he saved his dad on a whim to spite Mizora anyway. BUT HEY, all that trouble would have been worthwhile if he's about to get an ancient dragon fighting alongside him - this old duke sounds a little too confident in this fairy tale, but stranger things have happened, right?

Then the situation unfolds as it does, and if he wasn't eager enough to use that orphic hammer before, he certainly is now. There is very little that the Emperor does past Act 3 that DU drow doesn't find a way to twist into something that confirms his resolve against him. If he could have taken Ansur's side in that fight, he would have - not that he shed any tears over killing him either.

Sick sword though, that helped soothe his nerves a bit and I'm sure spared everyone a little bit of a tantrum at camp later.

HAHAHAHA I can't confirm nor deny because I see so few large body-type elves as it is (which is fair, elves aren't usually... That massive). I did set age to 50% because it does look a little weird when it's all smooth. Maybe that's the trick?

Though I guess if you find it unsettling, then... No wonder it suits him! however this just looks like an impressively handsome fella to me, to be honest. I insist on fucking him up further whenever I draw him for that reason.

Thank you so much for following along and for giving the fic a try!!! And no worries, english isn't my native tongue either so I've been there 😎👍

I do actually have a couple of very short comics planned that take place pre-tadpole, but my backlog of WIPs is... Massive. Not to mention the commission work I do (currently not taking any more). I have one that's about his first interaction with Orin and another about a business dinner with Gortash gone-wrong, but I have no clue when I'll be able to work on them. Hopefully soon though!

You know, I've always hoped that after I died I'd be remembered as the guy who inspired others to make their nipples card-swipe-able.

Joke's aside, thank you LOL I love that my guys' nips have taken up non-insignificant room in your mind, it's always comforting to know that you aren't the only one.

Piercings and the such aren't really his style though. While he finds his scar-work weirdly comforting, he isn't so interested in aesthetic results as much as he just enjoys having pain inflicted upon him in a controlled environment, by people that he loves - He doesn't recall this post-tadpole, but the scars were a result of a kind of... Recurring ritual between himself and Orin that served to replace normal intimacy, pretty much.

Since you touched on it though, I do like to believe that Astarion finds his cut-up body fun, both on the eyes and on the hands LOL.

I'm starting to think you guys are all in on this. It's like the fifth time someone catches me in the act - god damn it, is it that obvious that I wanna slide down Peter Steele's cold corpse like he's a a ride at the Magical Ice kingdom... Which is to say, yes, both the guy and his music are not-so-lowkey a big inspiration behind a lot of DU drow's characterization!

That's all for now folks, thank you so much for the asks!!! This isn't all of them but I try not to spam people's feeds when I can help it/space them out. I see all of your messages and I guarantee you that if I have an interesting answer for them, you will see a reply eventually!

[mistahgrundy]

I watched the second Joker movie. after the cut, massive spoilers! Massive rambling!

It's bad. Yes.

Little bit about me in case this escapes containment: I like villains. I'm a villain guy. I make a comic about villains! I've always liked them most in cartoons and comics etc since I was a kid. I am not an incel, I do not hate women. I am in fact a married gay trans man. I liked the first Joker movie. I like the joker. Although, gotta say, my fav joker is mark hamill joker because I am a man of taste lmao. I'm not really a Joker/Harley kinda person. I don't have strong feelings about that couple either way. So, that's me. I'm just a normal guy. I like batman comics but I don't keep up with them.

aaaaanyway. So like, the first movie is alright. It's not my favorite movie by any stretch of the imagination and I prefer the movie it's very obviously cribbing from (The King of Comedy).

a little confession: I did not watch this legally. I watched some kinda cam recording of it from a theatre. Maybe you're mad I did that or maybe you're glad I didn't give Todd Phillips money. Either way keep that to yourself I don't give a shit, I'm not going to a theatre to get covid for this.

Damn I am typing!! Sorry sorry I'll get to the movie. Here I go!

The movie starts with like a five minute fake old warner brothers looney tune starring Arthur Fleck in which his shadow keeps stealing his identity and hurting people. Weird. Ok. I kinda knew at that point I needed to buckle up for some self indulgence.

Short description of the plot: Arthur/Joker is in Arkham asylum now and he's medicated, the guards treat him like shit and pay him for jokes with cigarettes. He's got a lawyer and he's getting ready for a competency hearing to judge whether or not he can stand trial or if he'll be declared legally insane. The movie seems to weirdly imply that if he gets declared incompetent he'll be released but that's not how that works in real life...

While he's in Arkham he meets a girl named Lee in a singing group and here's where the movie just takes a hard right down into a drain. From now on you're in for a lot of off key singing from Arthur and pretty Ok singing from Lee (I mean it's Lady Gaga). It's kind of a drag on the movie, takes up a lot of time, and I think the movie would only be an hour long if it didn't have these 1970s style variety show interludes.

Arthur starts his trial and at some point Lee convinces him to fire his lawyer and defend himself as The Joker. The guards back at Arkham hate this and one night they all attack him in the shower and the movie seems to imply they did something pretty bad to him. Then when he's lying catatonic in solitary the guards murder one of his only friends in the asylum while he listens. He sorta just gives up at this point and doesn't wanna play anymore.

Nobody likes this. Lee hates it. Everyone abandons him. He wipes his makeup off confesses his mother's murder and just as the jury is announcing him guilty on all charges a carbomb goes off outside the court and Arthur escapes into the street aided by some guy dressed up as the joker.

After that Arthur finds Lee (Harley Quinzel) on those tall ass stairs from the first movie and she sings him that's entertainment signifying that their relationship is over and the cops arrest him.

He's taken back to Arkham and re medicated. Some time later a guard comes and gets him and tells him he's got a visitor and on his way another inmate stabs him to death, the end.

No you don't get to find out who that visitor was!!

Okay, so, thoughts! First of all, Arthur Fleck in this movie gets treated like an innocent baby man. In the first movie you can tell he's got problems, obviously, and he's a little bit pathetic and empathetic in the beginning but he's also you know in charge of himself despite his difficulty with reality. He's the one deciding to hurt others and murder.

But in the sequel it's all baby man all the time. He's a widdle baby a widdle birthday boy and none of this is his fault. Everyone's soooo mean to him. :( Harley Quinnzel is sooo conniving. She lied to him, boohoo, she's rich actually, she's a temptress. The movie goes out of its way to let you know that Arthur is low IQ, never went to highschool, his own mom hated him, he's gullible, he's passive and docile. He'd never hurt a fly... You think the movie will switch this up at some point and redeem itself? Hahahaahahaha nooooo in fact that way he just dies at end almost paints him as some martyred saint like biblical figure. If they make a (or were planning to make) a 3rd movie where he resurrects I am going to be so mad.

So Harley lies to him from the get go, tells him she's from his neighborhood, she's an arsonist, her abusive dad's dead, her mom's awful. In reality she's a rich girl with a psychiatric degree, her alive parents are doctors and obviously she is not from his neighborhood.

Honestly, and this probably would have made the movie even more fucked up, but I do wish the movie was more about this. It's barely about this. Joker forgives her basically instantly after a weird little musical fantasy sequence and it's like whatever. He has to forgive her, he's the perfect liddle baby man, remember? He's there to get abused and used by wily females. From Harley to his lawyer to his mother...

There was one scene in the movie that was good, and it was during the trial when they bring out Mr. Puddles from the first movie to testify. Mr. Puddles was in the party clown business with Arthur, he's a little person, and watched Arthur murder someone in the first movie.

He has a scene where he talks about how scared he was and how small he felt and how being there for that has hurt him and ruined his life and Joker almost has a moment of clarity. The only good scene in the movie. The scene where the movie itself almost has a moment of clarity.

Big props to Leigh Gill, who owned that scene hard.

Everything from Harley abandoning him after lying about being pregnant with their child (another wily female thing, baby trapping!!), his death, his trial, it's all just. Oh look at the poor lil guy. I find the whole thing really creepy. And all that for nothing. It was barely important to the plot.

Like yeah the musical interludes ground the movie to a dead halt and made the pacing very bad, but whatever about that. It's the PLOT that's the bad part. Holy moly.

Sorry if this is also poorly paced and not well thought out, lol, I'm just mind dumping after thinking about the movie for a day (I watched it yesterday)

But yeah them's my thoughts.

Also my cat just ate a click beetle and I don't think she liked it.

[afinestoutlove]

things i love about heartstopper 6/?

Characters that would be stereotypes in other stories are whole human beings.

Imogen and Isaac are the best examples I think. Imogen would just be the cool girl in another story, a bit ditzy, kind of fun, mostly there for the laughs. Here she is all those things, but she's also a deeply empathetic character, with understandable motivations. Even if you don't love her, you can understand her and sympathise with her. When Nick asks her "Do you ever feel like you're just doing things because everyone else is?", you can see the recognition in her face. That's her whole story across 3 seasons. And you care about her, you empathise with her, and you love her (well, I do), even though (because) she's a walking disaster a lot of the time.

Isaac deserves a whole post to himself (I LOVE HIM) so I'll save most of what I could say about him for that. But the sweet, book-loving, nerdy friend character could so easily be a caricature, and Isaac isn't. He's closer to that in S1, maybe because he was filling the place of Aled who has a whole backstory of his own and they hadn't quite figured out his role yet? But even in S1, his personality is never just book-loving nerd. He's funny and sassy and kind and insightful, and then over the seasons he becomes so much more than that. You can see why his friends love him. You also get a sort of feel for why he's so book-obsessed, when most similar characters "just are" with no real thought beyond "well they're a nerd". I think one of the things I love about his story is that his friends sort of accidentally pigeon-hole him, too, the way other stories often do. And part of his arc is pushing back against that, and them realising they need to do better (and then they do, which is so fucking good, I love them all so much!).

You can see this humanising process with the “villains” of the show, too.

Ben Hope, the worst person in the story (imo), has his main humanising moment in 'Sorry' (I think it was done better in the show than the comic, pls don't come for me). It breaks my heart every time, when that rainbow ocean gets close to his toes and he turns and walks away I wanna cry. Because it's so clear he could have been different, he could have chosen something better for himself and everyone around him. He could have chosen not to be entitled and cruel, and to not inflict his own pain and shame onto others. And he could have chosen this moment to do that too, but he doesn't. He cuts himself off from the possibility of freedom, which means he'll keep hurting other people and himself for who knows how long. (Sebastian Croft did such a good job with this character, he's so believably awful.) It's such a perfect moment. Even though I do feel real empathy and sadness for him, that doesn't make what he did okay and the show is always clear that he's wrong and he needs to be held accountable. Yes, we see that his family and environment led him here, but he could have made a different choice. He could have learnt from Charlie the way Nick did, but instead he tried to destroy all the parts of Charlie that would have helped him. We see Darcy struggling with similar pressures throughout S2, and they make a very different choice from Ben at the end of this same episode. We see how Ben got there, we see him as a full person, and we're never asked to approve of him or minimise the hurt he caused - it's basically spelled out in Ben and Nick's conversation in 'Family':

"I was going through some personal stuff." "I don't care, you hurt him!"

Probably the weakest characters in terms of being humanised are David and Harry. David has the most punchable face, but as the show progresses you can see a little bit of what’s underneath. It doesn’t make you like him and it’s not supposed to. But he’s not just a cardboard cutout. He’s a hurt little boy who, unlike Nick, leaned into the shittiest form of masculinity to try and get the validation he desperately wanted from his dad, and then everyone else. And it shows up irl for so many families. The older sibling who was just that bit older when their parents separated often has a much harder time adjusting, and often compensates in some shitty ways - especially if one of their parents is neglectful/toxic. On first glance, it's wild that Sarah managed to raise such different sons, but the context we get makes so much sense. Yeah, the "my parents are divorced/dad is a dickhead" manchild is a stereotype still, but there is an actual person there.

Harry is similar to David in terms of character, but probably gets the least humanising attention. He and David both like to poke at people until they get a reaction that they can be angry about. Harry gets a little bit of an arc of his own, but he never really gets far from the stereotypical bully - as Tao says, a "rich bellend". There are a couple of moments where you can see a human face underneath, though, if you're looking for it. His face when Nick stands up to him, there's more than just anger there. Or, perhaps, you can see when the anger hits and what's underneath it. You can see what drives his constant poking at people to get a reaction (especially if you've had to deal with assholes like that irl). There's insecurity, and sometimes a weird sense of shock when people snap at him, as though he didn't expect it - that's so true to life as well, and often something that gets left out of this stereotype in other stories. But later on, when he tells Ben he shouldn't call Imogen a bitch, you can also see something else there, the potential to be better, even if it's just for people like Imogen who he's friends with. (Maybe we'll see more of that in S4?) Props to Cormac Hyde-Corrin for those little moments, he did them really well.

I think what’s so valuable about the humanising moments for the “bad guys” of the show, even the tiny ones you have to look for, is that you are supposed to empathise with them to some extent, but you’re never asked to forgive them or absolve them. You understand more about who they are and sometimes why, but they’re still responsible for their choices. That's how people change, right? When we see their humanity and then expect better of them. It’s so important.