#hes logically logiced himself to logically ignore it

[milktiicup]

HEH I SAW YOU ASKING FOR REQUESTS SO.,,

How about a scenario where in an alternate universe, maybe, reader is a complete hikikomori and HATES to leave the house and that results in them always staying together and developing some kind of separation anxiety? Maybe reader gets money by doing some job on their computer or something, and that’s how they can afford it!

(Feel free to ignore if you don’t wanna do it/feel uncomfortable with it!)

-🦁 anon!!!!!

a world apart, together!

It was like a dream come true that he couldn’t exactly go outside. It meant he was yours, here and only here, where nothing could hurt him. Nothing could take him from you. 

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ wow as much as i loved this idea, for the life of me i just genuinely couldn't think of anything to write until i had to go to the store and it was like a eureka! moment. sry for the wait my fav little anon <3

warnings. aaaaaabsolutely none!

You didn’t like going outside. You mean, why would you? There’s nasty people out there, there’s nothing for you to even do out there- everything you ever needed was right here, in this little apartment of yours- work, comfort, food. Naturally, the first time you step outside in a while transports you into some whole other realm. 

Thankfully for your own sanity, you couldn’t communicate with most of the monsters, and whatever words you did pick up were relatively simple and repetitive. Monsters that towered over you, landscapes that defied logic, and the pervasive, bone-deep fear that you’d never find your way back. The one thread of hope that kept you moving, like a lifeline in the dark, was the thought of home.

Home meant safety. Home meant control. It meant not having to face the unknown.

Of course, under no circumstances, could you ever find  romance with your lifestyle. You didn’t like going outside. You didn’t have any dating apps. The only way for you to ever somehow magically get a partner, was if it was shoved onto you. 

And now you have a live-in monster-ghost-roommate-boyfriend-thing that’s totally into you and you’re totally into him. You weren’t complaining, though- he fit into your quiet little life perfectly, a ray of sunshine in a pitch black room, a kiss in the morning and someone to watch TV with a gasp and ‘ohhh’ and ‘ahh’ at all the exciting moments. 

It was like a dream come true that he couldn’t exactly go outside. It meant he was yours, here and only here, where nothing could hurt him. Nothing could take him from you. 

But it’s not like you can stay inside forever. Appointments, errands, obligations- it’s a part of life, that sometimes, you’re just required to go outside.

You hated it. You felt sick. You felt the nervous bundle up in your stomach, twisting and turning at all angles, never relenting. Your mind races with all the possibilities of things going wrong- you could trip and fall and embarrass yourself in front of everyone, you could miss your train to your appointment and be late, or you could lose your phone, house keys, sanity…

“You not okay.”

You pause, pacing halted, and thumb with teeth marks. Your gaze shifts to Mr. Crawling, hands on the floor in front of him, head tilting and hair dangling with worry. A frown tugs at your lips, mirroring his, and you take a breath, sitting on the sofa. This would never get any easier.

“You walk around. What wrong?” Mr. Crawling asks, pulling himself up beside you. Immediately, his long arms encase you in a cold hug. It grounds you.

Sighing through your nose, you lean your head against his shoulder. You breathe in- he smells of something otherworldly; a mix of ozone and yet of the damp earth as if it had just freshly rained, but the hint of death was noticeable. “I have to go outside.”

His frown deepens, arms wrapping tighter around you, as if shielding you from the world. Mr. Crawling wasn’t stupid- he could tell you weren’t fond of the world outside of your apartment, not that he was complaining. “Outside bad?” he puzzles, but you can tell he already knows the answer.

“I don’t like it,” you swallow, body burning, “It’s loud and busy, and… I just don’t like it. I hate it.”

“Hate?”

“Big dislike.”

“Big dislike outside…” Mr. Crawling ponders. “No want you sad,” he peppers kisses to the top of your head, hands rubbing at your shoulders and back, “Me worry you. Me go with you, come. Me go together you.”

Warmth blooms through you like a flower in the fresh spring. The idea was comforting. A small smile tugs at your lips- it’s a sweet gesture, but impractical. “You’d come with me?” You cup his face, dragging your thumbs over his grey cheeks. “People might notice. Or… freak out.”

Mr. Crawling grasps onto your wrists gently, nuzzling his face into your palm. “Someone else not important.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s not that simple. I don’t want you to get hurt. Or worse, you know… discovered.”

He takes a moment to process your words, your language catching onto him. He tilts his head, his bottom lip pouting out. You can see he was deep in thought. Mr. Crawling’s sharp giggle cuts through the silence, and he darts away to your bedroom. You furrow your brows. You watch, bemused, as he rummages through the few jackets you own before settling on a loose hoodie. He throws it on, the oversized garment hanging awkwardly off his frame, the hood nearly swallowing his hair.

“See? Me hide,” he announces proudly, the sleeves flopping as he stretches his arms out for emphasis. 

You press your lips together in a thin line in a futile attempt to stifle your laugh. Mr. Crawling looks ridiculously- adorably ridiculous. “I don’t think it works like that,” you say, words soft. He’s pulling at the strings of your heart so harshly it’s hard to not throw yourself at him.

“Me go together you!” he insists, crawling back over to you and plopping himself on the floor at your feet. “Me with you. Me come, afraid, not here. You mine, me yours. Protect.” His long arms wrap around your legs, and he rests his chin on your knee, the oversized hood drooping over his face.

You lay a hand on his head, the hoodie fabric soft under your touch. The hood drooped over his face, but you could still see the hopefulness in his grin. Your face falls, sighing, and you resolve crumbles. 

“Alright, you can come. But you have to stick close to me. And no scaring people, okay?”

“Okay!” His grin is instant, and he nuzzles his head against your knee like an oversized cat.

You hadn’t even stepped out the door, and already, you couldn’t wait to come home. To pull him back into your arms, where he belonged. Where he was safe. Where he was yours. And the thought of leaving him behind, even for a moment, made your heart ache in a way you weren’t sure you could bear.

[inferno-0]

⌞ SATAN X READER ⌝ - Headcanons

I have never written about them yet, my apologies for the oversight..

* The courts, of course, are an interesting part of the concern that surrounds him to this hellish day, to administer justice, to formulate a clear task, and in the end to give his lawful word. Honestly, it freezes out, even if it has interesting stories on the part of the plaintiff. There are many ways to summarize, but he will be much better off when the trial ends with your conversation. To be more honest, Satan likes to immerse himself in your wording, which is actually much more logical than the rest of the sinners in the area. Even an ordinary word coming out of your mouth makes him listen and agree. Satan, as it turned out, finds it easier to cope with this turmoil next to you (Somewhere in the corner of the hall). Simply put, without you, he would have already gone out of control several times, completely ignoring Yogirt.

* If you know how to manage your emotions and always remain calm in any stressful situations, Satan might have signed up for therapy with you. He lacks this, believe me. The Big Boss really needs this quality, even though he is the personification of Wrath himself. Partially, he can control it, but his inner bowels always crawl out, keeping the rest of the sinners in fear. You prefer to be silent at such a moment, because you know where you need to do it and where you can't. Not all personalities will like the way they are silenced in anger. After the trial, you go to talk to him, knowing what you will ask and what is the best argument for him. Yogirt claps his hands in happiness, meeting you again.

* Satan is really calm to us when he is left alone with you, sometimes steam can come out of his nostrils, when he remembers the judgment that took place while telling a story, But your slow stroking on his paw immediately melts the irritation. Anyone else might be reflexively bent over in fear, but you still continue to walk towards him without a single thought of danger. Satan admires you and is not even afraid to tell you so, but more professionally, so that it does not sound like flirting, although he does not mind about it. The mortal sin may continue to show his temper only to meet you again. Yogirt is about to tell you everything, while Satan looks at you briefly during another growl to the entire room.

I'm writing to you through a translator, that's why my English is lame.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Do I look like him?

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Lewis one-shot inspired by a tiktok I saw :) If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

Lewis adjusted the cuffs of his new white racing suit, still unfamiliar with the crisp feel of the fabric. When the team had informed him that Mercedes was switching to white for a portion of the season, he’d shrugged it off. A suit was a suit, and he figured it wouldn’t change much. That was until Qatar.

The sun had been merciless that day, beating down on the paddock as they prepared for the reveal. He stood under the glare of photographers’ cameras, the bright white of the suit reflecting the sunlight, making the whole moment feel surreal. And then he saw her.

His new teammate, YN.

She stood a few meters away, laughing with one of the engineers, her blond hair catching the light like spun gold. Her blue eyes sparkled with the kind of carefree joy that reminded Lewis of summer skies over Monaco. The sight sent a jolt through him—an uninvited rush of memories he hadn’t revisited in years. Nico.

It wasn’t just the physical resemblance, though that was hard to ignore. The sharp blue eyes, the blond hair that framed her face like an artist’s brushstroke—she was like a mirror of the past. But Nico had been more than just a teammate, and calling him that now felt reductive. They had shared triumphs, arguments, and something much deeper that neither of them had dared to name aloud. Seeing her, YN, brought it all back like a wave crashing over him.

Lewis had thought he’d buried those feelings long ago, yet here they were, unearthed by her mere presence.

He tried to ignore it, telling himself it was a coincidence, a trick of the mind. But YN was everywhere. She was always around the garage, her laughter spilling over like champagne at a podium celebration. She moved with an effortless energy that demanded attention, weaving through the paddock like she owned it—or maybe like she belonged in it more than anyone else.

Every time Lewis turned a corner, there she was. Her laugh echoed in his ears when he tried to focus on race simulations. Her voice lingered in his mind when he closed his eyes to rest.

He had dealt with distractions before. Fame, rivalries, the weight of expectations. But this was different. This was personal.

Lewis clenched his jaw and told himself he was imagining things. She was young, far too young for him, and the age gap was an obvious line he couldn’t cross. It would start drama he didn’t want—tabloid headlines, whispers in the paddock, questions he wouldn’t know how to answer. He’d worked too hard to build his reputation, his legacy, to risk it for something that might not even be real.

But the heart was a stubborn thing, unwilling to listen to logic.

He caught himself watching her during strategy meetings, his eyes drawn to the way she furrowed her brow in concentration or bit her lip when she was nervous. She had a way of lighting up a room, even when she wasn’t trying. And that smile—God, that smile—was a weapon, though he doubted she knew it.

It was worse on track.

In the heat of the race, when adrenaline pumped through his veins and he was supposed to be focused on nothing but the apex of the next turn, she crept into his thoughts. She was fast, fearless in a way that reminded him of himself when he was her age. She pushed the car to its limits, and Lewis couldn’t help but admire her for it, even when it meant she was nipping at his heels or overtaking him.

Every time he glanced in his mirrors and saw her car there, he felt something he couldn’t name.

He told himself it was pride, the kind a mentor might feel for a prodigy. But deep down, he knew it was more complicated than that.

She made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and it terrified him.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of practice, he found himself alone in the garage. The engineers had gone home, and the cars sat silent, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Lewis stood by his car, running a hand over the sleek lines of the bodywork, when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Long day?”

He turned to see YN standing there, still in her race suit, her blond hair slightly disheveled from the helmet. She smiled at him, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Long day.”

She walked over, her steps light but purposeful. “You okay? You seemed a bit... off today.”

Lewis hesitated, searching for the right words. How could he tell her the truth? That she was the reason he was off. That she had unsettled something in him he wasn’t ready to confront.

“I’m fine,” he lied, forcing a smile. “Just a lot on my mind.”

She nodded, her blue eyes studying him in a way that made him feel exposed. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here. Teammates have to look out for each other, right?”

“Right,” he said softly, his chest tightening.

As she turned to leave, Lewis watched her go, the knot in his stomach tightening with every step she took.

He knew he couldn’t let this go any further. It was wrong, it was reckless, and it would only end in heartache—for both of them.

But as she disappeared around the corner, he realized something that scared him more than anything else.

He didn’t know if he had the strength to stop it.

[sunshinetomioka]

He also said Jayvik was a bromance (which is a term I really dislike as I've always seen it used by cis men to discredit mlm ship) and now homophobic fans are using it as an "own" (you can't tell me he didn't know it would have this effect)

And like in all good faith we need to take a step back and realise a lot of (again) cishet men who are "ok" with Caitvi as a ship but against Jayvik because (according to them) it has no logic and that it's just bromance (and now adding the asexual part) are homophobic and riot never really tried to do something about it.

You just gotta see how they treated K'sante, barely writing a good lore about him, just throwing in there he had a boyfriend and just completely ignored him during the heartsteel era. Like cool there's a bunch of lesbian but honestly I'm wary about it since LoL is mostly aiming at cishet dudes like... Arcane did make a lesbian ship not sexualised and feel like an actual real couple but there's lot of underlying homophobia in the community.

Also back on the literal ableism, I've seen people explain that Viktor was aroace cuz he ignored Sky (?????) and was too focused on hextech (he was literally trying to save himself from dying ???) and yet they'll say that if you don't have the vision then you didn't see well ??? And it's also something I've seen talked about with Jinx :///

Sorry for ranting on your post OP :') it's just so frustrating.

I'm not a fan of Viktor being asexual because that reinforces a lot of stereotypes about this community.

Apparently the co-creator of Arcane said that Viktor is asexual right after the show ended and people started shipping jayvik... Sorry but it looks weird!! Are you trying to stop people from shipping these characters? Because it won't stop!

You know, disabled people, people with autism and people with mental illness are often portrayed as asexual because they think they're incapable of falling in love or that they don't deserve to be loved. Furthermore, with disabled people reinforce the idea that they aren't desirable. People can't imagine the idea of them having sex, enjoying intimacy.

Sex education condemned that with Isaac's character!!

I mean sure, it's okay to headcanon Viktor as asexual (more if you are asexual, we need more ace representation), but I don't think the co-creator of the show is doing that in good faith. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know that asexual people can fall in love, have a partner and even had sex (obviously depends on the person).

Also, sure make the guy in your show dealing with no feeling emotions and become some kind of machine the ace representation of your show, how original! Never seen before!!

[beebeeswee]

i will be a juvia defender until the day i die.

i really do welcome anyone to dm me or send me an ask and i'll talk about this more - because i really think anti-juvias completely misunderstand both her and gray's characters, and the context of the show they're in.

juvia is a character who has been excluded her entire life, her magic made her abandoned by and outcasted from her peers and former romantic partners. then she meets gray, the only person in her whole life who has stopped the rain (and when he leaves her the rain comes back), and she falls in love with him and the rest of fairy tail, where she finds people who accept her wholeheartedly. i think it's beautiful that she's able to stay resilient and wear her heart on her sleeve after everything she'd been through.

gray is a character who doesn't believe he deserves love, he has such a deep self-loathing he can't imagine a world where he's worthy of happiness after 'everything he's done', and juvia is someone who loves him unconditionally, who never turns away from him, despite everything he's done to her. part of his development over the main series and 100yr quest is him realising that about himself. they heal each other.

the biggest complain that anti-gruvias have is that she's a 'sexual predator' and a 'stalker'. @ermbehindyou made the excellent point that if she's a sexual predator by that logic so is gray - his constant stripping (even infront of minors!) would be enough to get him on a list in pretty much every country in the world. but that is naturally ridiculous.

(mentioned multiple times in this scene that he is fully nude - not just in his underwear and wendy is on the boat the entire time).

fairy tail is a show that plays on sexual gags constantly, which i do take a real issue with. but that's the show, that's the humour and standards set from the beginning of the main series, and like most of the characterisation of the show, it has become insanely exaggerated as the series progressed. having said that, i think it's misogynistic to single out juvia's actions and ignore the actions of every other character. and i mean that.

call me a crazy feminist all you want but i think many of you are seeing a confident, unashamed female character with overt sexual desires and it repulses you, because it doesn't conform to society's standards of femininity. this was definitely not mashima's intentions when writing her - but his interpretations of her aren't relevant to this debate anyway are they?

i'll end this by saying juvia and gray truly match each other's freak when the humour allows it; but who show true and serious displays of selfless love for one another when it matters, and it's beautiful.

[fordtato]

Hi. I finished your new video essay yesterday, after two sittings. Had to split it, because it came out in the late evening in my timezone, and my roommate was already sleeping - I was super afraid of waking her up with my loud, uncontrollable bursts of laughter (your sense of humor never fails me). I was so, so excited about this video for many months (I almost dropped my phone when I saw your runtime post), and, as always, you managed to completely amaze me in every possible way. 

As always, of course, the backgrounds and decorations, the whole setup - were stunning. I LOVED the stained glass - is this a pattern now? I want this to be a pattern, you have a gift - and the wax wings, and the nonchalant way you glued them together throughout the video. Your shirt-vest combo was also what made it so good as a whole and also made me want to rob your wardrobe. Beware. 

Ford's faults (and "faults") you mentioned and your arguments against them were something I've been deeply convinced of myself for years now and expected to hear them from you as well. It was deeply, deeply satisfying to hear them ALL, even the smallest, most ridiculous ones, out loud, for the first time ever. It was truly a freeing experience, and I can't thank you enough. You took all of those allegations - from the lack of a better word - that people have been coming up with since 2015 and pointed their lack of logic, thought, and attention to detail, or sometimes just plain stupidity and ignorance, out. And did so with style. 

I could ramble here for a really long time about my thoughts on the character of Stanford Pines and how, for years, I observed people interpreting him in a way that's been completely different from mine. About how it baffled me, angered me, made me sad. But it's no use for me to do so because you've said everything I've ever wanted to. You saw all the same things and pointed them out in a way no one else in this fandom could. And it healed something in me. It made something click back in place. Thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart.

The thing that I DO need to point out specifically is the ending. Something that I think always angered me the most in Ford's canon story. How after everything that happened, after everything he's bern through, he doesn't see himself as a victim of Bill, a victim of abuse and manipulation that ruined his life. He sees an Icarus metaphor. And it is the way the narrative wants us to see him - it wants us to see Ford as a man that fell because of his "pure ego", overachieving behaviour, because of his refusal to listen to the voices of reason, because of him isolating himself. His happy ending in the series is bound to being remorseful, apologising to everyone he's ever hurt and changing, and then getting the forgiveness and happiness coming from it. He's made a lot of mistakes, of course. Some of them he made completely on his own, because of his flaws, personality, and ways of perceiving the world. But others (and I would say the biggest ones, the ones getting pointed out the most) are a mix of both his personality, and, majorly, abuse and trust being broken over and over again. And in the end, it doesn't get acknowledged, not really. He doesn't say, "I am a victim of abuse." He says,"I was wrong. I was cruel. Please, forgive me." And shows ends it on that note, making it the final conclusion. And it's a thing that always has been the root to Ford's tragedy in the series to me. And I've never seen anyone mention it, talk about it, even amongst Ford's defenders. And you pointed it out perfectly with the Icarus metaphor in the end.

I don't know how many too-long-for-my-own-good-and-probably-yours-too asks I will have to write again, but I know that as long as you continue to make your "little" masterpieces, I'm going to watch them on the same day, and then think about them for weeks after. And in many of those cases I feel the need to inform you of my constantly growing amazement. I hope you don't mind. I hope you know your work is admired by many, many people, and I just happen to be one of them. I hope you get some well-deserved rest. And for the last time here - thank you so, so much.

I've had this sitting in my inbox for a while and I've struggled to find the words to respond, but I'm very glad the video resonated with you so much. And I'm honored that you enjoyed it like this.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Simon's body matures into its prime. There's only one mate he wants. #GhostPriceWeek.

Day One: Confession/Kneel.

cw: omegaverse, penetrative sex, dubcon by nature of Price's sex negative attitude, gentle sex, bonding. ( @gomzdrawfr )

Simon wasn't sure what had changed or why, but he knew he was looking at Price differently these days and he couldn't ignore it for much fuckin’ longer. It was driving him even more insane than he already was.

Price had been helping him–them, all of ‘em–through ruts for the last few years. When it had just been the two of them, Simon would spend the few days leave in Price's Hereford flat exhausting himself between Price's legs and then they would return to normal once the cycle had passed. It had been hard at first, trusting someone, but like in everything, Price had his back. He had only ever treated Simon with dignity and respect.

When the other two joined, Simon didn't bat an eyelid. It made sense. Price was logical like that; easier for them to fuck him and get it over with in a few days, than long it out over a week and risk them snooping around the local villages, potentially ending up with a pup brewing and an angry farmer at the barrack gates with a shotgun. Johnny had priors with it too. Simon had seen the indiscretions on his record, and Gaz was so painfully good-looking that Simon wouldn't be surprised if there were already a few Garrick pups knocking about North London. 

The arrangement bloody worked. Everyone seemed satisfied. So why had Simon started… yearning?

The word had appeared when he'd googled his symptoms one day in a coffee shop. He'd headed off base to do it because all the search histories passed over Price's desk at some point, with questionable or worrying shit highlighted by the IT team for review, and he really didn't need that conversation. “Why are your guts aching, Simon? Do you need medical?” Price would ask, that stern line between his brows, lips pressed down in a deep frown. 

No, sir, my intestines seem to twist themselves in knots every time I see you shirtless at the moment and I can't stop thinkin' about how much I want to shove my tongue down yer throat, now about that requisition form… 

But it wouldn't be like that. Simon would stand there in dumb silence trying to find the words to explain that being around Price at the moment made him ache in ways he had never experienced before. That when he was alone in his own flat a short bus ride away from base, he thought of their time together with a hand around his knot and his knuckles between his teeth. He thought about how good the indomitable John Price would look in the throes of heat, completely vulnerable.

He must have been acting differently, because Price had become more distant. Detached, almost. He was shorter, sharper, than Simon had ever known him to be, even when his temper occasionally flared in the face of red tape and stupidity. Simon needed to get this, whatever this was, under control.

Sitting in that café with his black coffee and Bakewell tart, Simon had learned that an alpha of his age was reaching full maturity and his body was ready to find a permanent mate. By mid-thirties, an alpha’s strength and esteem within a pack was fully established, or it would be if the world still worked like it did a few thousand years ago. If they were still in loincloths, Simon would have battered his fair share of pack alphas and worked his way to the top by now. An omega would select him as worthy and choose him to father their pups. His body was just doing what it had done throughout millennia. Preparing.

In all honesty, his sex ed’ had been woefully lacking. Partly because the mixed comprehensive he had attended had been in special measures and the PSHE lessons had been all out brawls at some points, but also because his attendance had dropped below fifty percent fairly regularly throughout his compulsory education. ‘Very intelligent and capable, but limited by his frequent absences,’ had been his school report a few months before he had scraped just enough GCSEs to fall into a trade apprenticeship, and then September eleventh had happened and his whole world outlook had changed.

The guidance on the website also told him that his scent would change. That he might experience more attention from fertile omegas, and notice their scents more, their bodies. There was a paragraph about consent that followed and Simon had winced at the implications of needing it. He had met enough knotheads in his time even outside his own deranged father, fuckin’ Roba, to know why it was there. While most omegas were dominant and fierce by nature, the modern world had flipped things. Sometimes it just wasn't that straight forward.

The notes said it would pass. By late forties, his hormones would ebb away to normal levels again and by then he'd either be mated or, in his case, probably dead. The odds weren’t exactly in his bloody favour with his current choice of career. They also said his attention would probably flit between options, from omega to omega, as his body sought to spread its genetics as far as possible.

Except it fucking didn't, did it?

There were other omegas on base. A gorgeous blonde in logistics with tits and arse for days, a strapping redheaded mechanic with strong thighs and a pretty smile, then there was the brunette in medical. But those are cursory observations. Simon saw them as attractive in the detached manner you looked at someone who was attractive in the traditional sense. Yeah, he could see it, but he didn't want it.

He wanted Price. His fockin’ captain.

Tart and coffee finished, Simon had headed back to base. He tried to exhaust himself in the gym, finished some paperwork, and eventually wandered to the mess hall for some dinner. It was just as he was tucking into a pile of mashed potatoes and gravy that his phone pinged. 

CJP: My office.

Simon chucked his tray onto the trolley and headed out. By the time he was knocking on Price's door, his heart was beating hard in anticipation. Of fuckin’ what, he had no idea. Clearly needed to watch less porn because the image his mind provided of Price spread out on his desk, presenting, was bloody unhelpful.

“Simon.” Price acknowledged him with a glance as he shut the door behind him. The room was warm, the old radiator beneath the window chucking out more heat than was strictly necessary this early in October. The lights were dim too, the brightness on Price's monitor turned down lower, and there was a subtle, sweet scent beneath the must of paper, furniture polish and old wallpaper that usually hung in the air. 

The primal part of Simon recognised it for what it was, and the rest of him caught up as he got a good look at Price; his cheeks flushed, his blue eyes bright. Pre-heat. Price was getting more sensitive to everything; light, the cold. The smell in here had to be bloody awful to his sensitive nose. Simon blinked slowly, taking a deep breath through the fabric of the mask just to taste more of that glorious promise. If he could lick it out of the air, he would.

“We've got a problem,” Price murmured, slumping back in his chair, his fingers wounded together over his belly.

Simon didn't need to ask. He knew. “S’not a problem, sir. I can keep it under control.”

Price looked down, his face twisting in a brief grimace as he considered the edge of his desk. “S’not just you, Simon. It's me as well.”

Simon blinked, shifting his weight. “Wot?”

“Yer think I can't smell ya? When ya left the gym few hours ago I was meetin’ with Saunders about some performance data. Could smell ya from the otherside of the corridor.”

“Weren’t that fockin’ bad…”

“T’ normal man, no.”

There was an edge in Price's voice. Simon knew his secondary sex was a sore spot. If Price could have chosen, he would have been born an alpha. He despised everything about what he viewed as his ‘condition’. No one else knew, of course. The captain played his personal life close to his chest. Most of the time people assumed he was an alpha and didn’t look any closer. He was six foot two, built like a soldier should be; there was no reason to assume otherwise.

Perfect in every way, Simon's mind offered unhelpfully. Followed by an intrusive thought about how strong and intelligent their pups would be. Fuckin’ ‘ell.

“Was’the plan?”

Because there was always a plan and Simon would follow Price into hellfire if he asked. 

“Thought about sending you away, reassigning you,” Price said, his gaze flicking up to level Simon with a pensive look. “Bu’ I couldn't. Need ya. 141 needs ya.” 

Simon realised he could breathe again. The mere idea that Price would send him away - to fuckin’ where? No reasonable officer would take him on - left him frozen, every muscle seizing like he'd been turned to stone. Need ya.

Not just the 141. But Price. Price needed him.

“Then wot? Wot we doin’ ‘ere?” Simon’s voice crackled, the words cloying in his throat.

That grimace was back. A pinched look of regret pulled Price’s lips back, his eyes squinting. He scrubbed a hand over his beard and breathed in a deep breath through his nose. “Gonna ask ya sommin’. Ya can say no. S’your right t’ say no. Ya’understand?”

Simon’s fingers clenched into his palms, and he dipped his chin in a barely perceptible nod. 

“This… whatever it is. Could put ‘em danger, Johnny, Gaz, any soldier we have with us. It's foggin’ our minds, distractin’ us. I can't afford that in the field,” Price spoke slowly, like he was trying to reason with himself as well as Simon. “Way I see it is we need t’ nip it in the bud. Best way to do that is give it what it needs. A bond.”

An errant gust of wind could have knocked Simon to the floor at that moment. Like a giant rotten oak tree barely clinging on in the soil. His mouth went dry, huffing in another deep lungful of Price's scent as his heart accelerated in his chest. 

“I know ‘m askin’ a lot of ya. More an’ I ever have. But what we do, the greater good we fight for, s’too important t’--”

“Yeah.”

“Wot?”

“Yeah, I'll do it. I wan’ it. Wan’ you.” The confession tripped out of Simon's mouth before he could stop it. He stepped up to the desk, his hands planting on the surface, which, in hindsight, had probably been a poor choice. He watched Price tense in his chair briefly, before he slowly rose to his feet, weathered palms planting opposite Simon's to level him with a stern look.

“That's the hormones talkin’. Ya need t’ think it through.”

“Naw, I don’t,” Simon said, studying the freckles on Price's face, the sun damage on his forehead, the wrinkles around bright blue eyes, strong jaw framed by his uneven beard. A face he linked with safety and certainty and leadership. “S'you, s’always been you.”

Price dropped his eyes away, his head hanging for a moment, the sigh that followed sounded dog tired. When he looked up, those blue eyes had hardened, the light dulled.. “Simon, ya committin’ to a bond. S’for life. And ya not gettin’ a sweet thing that’ll fawn over ya. I'm not gonna give ya a pup, no family of yer own, ‘m not gonna kneel for ya, not gonna walk barefoot round yer kitchen, do ya laundry. ‘m not some pretty arm piece, Simon. Few years of lookin’, ya might find yerself a proper mate.”

“Don't care ‘bout any of that. Never have.” 

“Because ya never gave yerself a chance,” Price growled, rubbing at his face again. “Take a day. Think about it. Fer…” he swallowed, “...fer me, if not for yerself.”

Simon could smell something new. It was bitter on the back of his tongue. Distress. He lifted one of his hands without thinking, reaching for Price's face, but the captain flinched back. It was an involuntary response and Simon hated himself for causing it. “Sorry,” he grunted, fingers curling into his palm. 

“S’fine, jus’...” Price stood up straight, adjusting his t-shirt, thumbs hooking in his belt. Recovering himself, “...go, fink it over, don't give me an answer ‘til tomorrow after work.” 

“Right.” Simon stepped back from the desk even though every instinct was screaming at him to protect Price from whatever was causing that smell. There was no immediate threat so he couldn't even fight something; his entire skill set rendered useless in the face of whatever battle was going on inside Price's head. “See you for mornin’ briefing, sir.”

Price nodded. Simon left.

He didn't sleep that night. He stared up into the gloomy grey above his bed, wholly fixated on the parting image of Price, his face pinched, his scent riddled with distress and misery. He didn't want this, did he? Didn't want Simon like Simon wanted him. But what was new? Simon was perpetually unwanted. It was the story of his life. 

This was the right thing though. For the 141 and, Simon knew, for him. A mate like Price was more than he could have ever aspired to in normal circumstances. He had resigned himself to dying unbonded, to never experiencing what it felt like to be one with another person, to hear their voice and feel peace, to smell their scent and feel joy, to taste their skin, hold them, and feel whole. 

He had given himself to Price in all but bond anyway. This was a natural next step, even if Price himself seemed conflicted. It was an imperfect solution, riddled with grey, the cracks in the facade papered over, but that was them through and through.

The following day went by slower than a slug crawling across a salt flat. Price was nowhere to be found, sequestered away in his office while he tried to tidy up urgent matters before his three days of booked leave. Simon ran courses with the new batch of rookies up for selection and sparred with Johnny in the gym. The opportunity to exercise his physicality was welcome. His body was strong, capable, the best part of him. The part of him that would serve Price loyally. 

After dinner, Simon headed back to Price's office and tapped the door. The voice from the other side sounded even more exhausted than it had the night before. “Simon,” Price said, not looking up from the form in front of him. “Got yer answer then?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, “it's a yes. I accept. I… wan’ to bond with ya.”

Price placed his pen down slowly and leaned back in his chair. There was sweat on his temples and Simon could smell him even stronger than the day before. Fuckin’ delicious. “Right,” Price said. “Simon, you, uh… you need to know my heat, it's uhm… I find it difficult. Never shared it with anyone before.”

Simon could see Price's discomfort. How much he hated exposing this vulnerability. He sniffed, scratched his chin, and finally looked up at Simon's masked face. Simon blinked slowly. “S’ok. We’ll take it at your pace. You headin’ off tonight?”

Price glanced at the duffel bag on the chair by the window and nodded. “Yeah. You, uh… we can wait ‘til next time if you were savin’ yer leave for somethin’ special.”

“Naw, I'm good. You alright to put it through so I can go shove some pants in a bag?”

Price huffed. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, not only approvin’ your leave requests but now I'm fillin’ ‘em in for you lazy bastards.” He tapped at his keyboard and jutted his chin at the door. “G'won. Leavin’ base at nine. Don't be late.”

Simon left Price to do his paperwork and headed back to his quarters. He grabbed some underwear, some clean t-shirts and a pair of flannel shorts, his headphones and the Asimov paperwork he was chewing through at the average pace of a single page every three days. Omegas needed to sleep at some point, right? 

The final hour for departure sped by and soon Simon was heading out into the base car park to find Price's old Land Rover chugging away on the tarmac. Price sat in the driver's seat, wrapped in his coat and scarf, beanie pulled low over his ears, breathing into his hands.

“All good?” Price asked as Simon climbed into the passenger seat.

“Yeah. You… uh, you ok to drive?”

Price’s jaw twitched and Simon regretted opening his stupid fucking mouth. “Yeah. Fine. Stupor will set in later. Once I'm…” his voice dropped, “nesting.” He said it like it was an embarrassing admission, not a natural part of his instincts and cycle. Simon didn't probe any further and sat in silence as Price pushed the Landie into first and pulled away. The drive into town was quiet. Price turned on the radio once they'd pulled off base and they listened to the latest chart on BBC Hereford & Worcester. 

Price had a little one bedroom flat in Leominster that he commuted from most days. Sometimes he kipped over in the barracks after a long shift and it wasn't unusual to find him asleep in the rec room if a briefing had over run and he was too tired to drive back. The 141 knew it well as they had spent their ruts there since they'd joined the task force. It was cozy, clean, with traces of their captain as a man rather than a legend. 

When Simon stepped through the front door, the Land Rover tucked up for the night in the carport, he drew in a deep breath and felt his eyes flutter. He shed his coat and kicked his boots off and watched with no small amount of affection as Price grabbed them immediately to stack next to his, before slipping into a pair of well trodden slippers. “Brew?” Price asked as they headed into the open plan living room.

“Yeah, gaspin’,” Simon said, placing his duffel down by the arm of the couch before slumping into the middle of it. The material was a well worn brushed cotton, with two tartan fleece blankets thrown over the back. Simon pulled his mask over his head and ruffled a hand through his flattened hair, before burying his newly naked face into the scent of Price soaked into the soft material. He could picture him here in the evenings, wrapped up and snoozing, probably snoring his bloody head off like he did on op. But relaxed, at home, nested.

“Yer like a fuckin’ bloodhound,” Price grumbled as he walked over, a steaming mug of tea clutched in each hand. 

“I ain't drinkin’ outta that Liverpool mug.”

“Ahh, wind yer neck in, it's mine.” Price dumped the other mug on the coffee table in front of Simon, and then fell into the armchair. Still keeping a slight distance. This was different from when they met to weather Simon's rut. Simon was the vulnerable one in that and he trusted Price implicitly, but now their roles were reversed, and Price wasn’t used to not holding the leash. 

Simon slurped a mouthful of tea - perfect brew, strong, two sugars - and glanced at the telly when Price switched it on. The ten o’clock news, a slew of reports about how the world was going to shit and the rich were benefiting from it. Simon was only half paying attention, maybe not even half, because from the corner of his eye he was observing Price. 

He was slumped low in the chair, his lips parted, his eyes misty. The scent rolling off of him was saccharin, deeply appealing, and Simon's fingers twitched against the warm ceramic of his mug. Price managed to finish his before his eyes slid closed, his breathing growing a little ragged as his fingers kneaded at the arms of his chair. “Captain?” Simon prompted, his mug landing softly on a coaster. 

“Yeah, I'm good…”

“D’ya need anythin’?”

Price swallowed, observing Simon from beneath low lashes. A grimace passed over his face, his thighs pushing together. “Gonna shower… there's scran in the fridge, help yasel’.” His accent thickened briefly as his mind struggled to find purchase, and Simon watched him head into the bedroom with a faint smile. He listened to Price move around his bedroom through the wall, and then the rush of water as he turned the shower on. 

How long did he wait? Did he coax? It was usually easier than this. Price led the way, tugging Simon's clothes off, praising him in that rough, no-nonsense way he had; stable, certain. This Price was different. He was distant, anxious, even. Simon waited until the stream of water was disrupted, sloshing against the glass and tiles, before he rolled to his feet.

Maybe it was a shitty thing to do, but he knew he needed to do something. Price was clearly struggling. Limping through the last few hours before his heat settled in and dreading every moment of it. Simon pulled his clothes off, folding them over the laundry basket near the bedroom door, before he walked into the bathroom. He found Price panting in the steam, his hands against the wall as the water streamed down his freckled back, head bowed low between his shoulders.

He wasn't quiet as he slid the glass shower door to the side and slipped into the cubicle, his palm sliding over Price's ribs to glide up his chest. Price startled with a snarl, twisting around to latch a hand around Simon's throat as the other snatched his wrist. “Easy,” Simon whispered, airways restricted as Price squeezed. “Lemme help. Not gonna hurt ya, John.”

Price's shoulders heaved, blue eyes bright and feverish. Simon leaned into the palm at his throat and realised Price’s arm gave. He was shaking. Simon slid a palm up the tiles and eased Price back against his forearm as he pushed further, closer, until his lips slotted to Price’s and his tongue swept until his mouth. Simon used his greater height and bulk to his advantage, enveloping Price in his arms and drawing him into the warmth of his body, hand sliding down his back to his arse to bring their hips together.

Price was skittish, he wanted the kiss but kept drawing back before licking forward again, like head clinging onto the cliff edge by his fingernails. His hands scrambled over Simon's chest, pushing him, gripping him, uncertain how to respond to the alpha swamping him. Price wasn't small, not by any standard, but Simon had a little extra, enough to cradle him, make him feel safe. Where Price was athletic and lean in his height and strength, Simon was bulky. Lots for a hungry omega to sink his teeth into.

“Simon…” Price grunted, tensing up as Simon's mouth kissed down his throat to the slope of his neck where his gland sat beneath his skin. His nails bit into Simon's shoulders, lips peeling back in a low growl. “Don't… not… not ready, can't…”

“S’ok, I know,” Simon murmured. “Relax. Need ya t’ trust me. Not gonna hurt ya.”

“‘m… don't judge me, for…”

“Not gonna. None o’ this will make me think anythin’ less of you, sir. S’a gift.”

Price flinched. “S’a curse. I… I fuckin’ hate it.”

“I know,” Simon murmured, opening his mouth to suckle on Price’s neck as he caressed up and down his body. Every pass of his palms over flushed skin seemed to be easing the tension in Price's body, gentling him into his heat. His touch only paused to grab the soap and shampoo, washing Price’s hair and body tenderly, encouraged by the way he arched and writhed beneath the smooth glide of skin on skin. Simon worshipped every scar, every mole, every dip and curve of muscle. Those ragged pants broke around soft whimpers and soon the steam was saturated with the scent of an aroused omega’s heat. 

When his fingers slipped over the full curve of Price’s arse to the crease of his thigh, Price’s foot shifted out, inviting Simon's caress between his legs. Simon gladly provided, fingertips stroking gently over slick folds, pressing a little firmer with each pass until he was teasing Price's slick hole, tight muscles fluttering at Simon's finger.. “Fuck… you're wet…”

“‘m.. in the shower..” Price rasped, sounding dazed, and Simon smiled against his neck. Tentative hands began to explore Simon’s body, following familiar paths around his full tits and down his stomach to the thick, hot length of his erection pressing into Price’s hips. Simon shifted his own until his shaft could slide between Price's thighs. Spread as they were, it was just a tease, the ridge of his crown drawing back and forth over Price's slit, glans catching across the swell of his own small cock and making him stutter. 

Simon moaned into Price’s neck, the scent, the heat, the feeling of Price's strong body yielding to him inch by inch, it was a heady mix that was teasing him higher into feverish excitement. But he couldn't knot Price here. The first one took a while to go down and he didn't fancy keeping six foot plus of omega pinned to cold tiles while they waited for the tie to end. 

Simon drew Price out of the water and wrapped him in the warm towel from the radiator. The bedroom was warm, the bed even warmer as Simon lowered Price into it, tugging the towel into the floor, and nudging his thighs apart as he leaned down for a kiss. Simon ground his cock through Price's folds, smearing slick and precum over flushed hot skin. Price arched, opening his hips and hitching his legs high up Simon's sides. 

Simon gathered one of Price’s hands and wound their fingers together, pressing them into the mattress above Price's head as he reached down to guide his cock. He held it steady as he thrust his tip into the tight clutch of Price's body, teasing back and forth. It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Simon, hnn, ahh… please…”

“Tell me ya wan’ this.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck… ahh, please…”

“Yer fuckin’ gorgeous, sir. Look at you.” Simon kissed him, sucking his lips, his tongue, but drew back when he began to thrust in deeper. He wanted to watch Price’s face as he was taken for the first time. The way it relaxed in bewildered pleasure, blue eyes rolling; glistening, kiss-swollen lips parting as a low moan trembled from his chest. Simon bottomed out, his balls pressed to the underside of Price's arse, full and heavy in the heat. 

He had never wanted to knot and breed so much in his life. Not even in the chokehold of rut did the urge feel this strong. The scent of heat soaked his tongue, cloyed in his throat, and as Simon began to thrust deep into Price's body, the snug, warm grip of it sucking so eagerly on the thick girth of his prick, Price finally relaxed, his head tilting back as he panted and moaned. 

The sheets dampened beneath his arched back, Simon's hand slipping beneath him, encouraging the curve of his spine as Simon sat up on his knees, drawing Price up onto his lap to bounce him down onto his cock with his furred chest pressed up and open, letting Simon suck and kiss his full tits, his dusky nipples pebbled hard in arousal as tongue and teeth swept over them.

Price clenched a hand in Simon’s hair, the other dropping behind him to support his weight against the mattress so he had agency in the roll of his hips, meeting each of Simon’s thrusts over his sweet spot. Now that he didn't need both hands to support Price’s body, Simon snuck one between them, thumb rubbing the swell of Price’s leaking cock.  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck–”

Price's thighs pushed wide as his orgasm curled through him, sinking down until every inch of Simon’s thick cock was inside him. Simon ground in, growling low in his chest as he felt Price pulse and throb around him, slick dripping down his balls and thighs. Price was completely lost in pleasure, fockin’ beautiful, flushed and euphoric. He didn't fight when Simon shifted him onto his front and raised his hips, mounting him while on his feet, two big hands pressing down in his waist. Price dropped his chest to the bed and spread his knees wide, cocking his hips so that Simon could thrust deep. 

Watching Price's back muscles flex, his arse cheeks ripple under the force of Simon's thrusts, hearing his blissed out noises as they were punched from his chest, soon teased Simon's knot out of him. It swelled just as Price's second orgasm tightened his hole, and Simon ground forward, circling his hips until it popped inside clenching muscle. 

Price cried out, his orgasm intensifying as his body pulsed, instinctually milking Simon for every drop as he came. It was intense; mind-fuckingly good. Simon scrunched his eyes closed and saw lights behind his kids, and he listened as Price’s gravelly voice broke and whimpered through the swells of pleasure rolling through him.

When the aftershocks calmed, Simon eased them onto their sides, wrapping Price in his arms as his knot stayed snug inside his body. He pressed kisses into his damp hair, teased sensitive skin, and whispered praise. They dozed like that, surfacing to exchange lazy kisses before drifting off again. When Simon's knot went down, he drew out gently, only to replace his cock with his fingers. Price's hole was sloppy, loose and relaxed, and Simon groaned low in his throat. “Gonna breed you, love. Gonna make you mine.”

Price chuffed softly in response, thighs flopping open so that Simon could caress him properly. Simon didn't need asking twice.

They mated throughout the night into the early morning. Simon left the bed long enough to get some food and water, and helped Price with both as the haze of heat made his movements sluggish. After a few hours of sleep, Simon woke him with another knot, holding him back to chest as he slid into him from behind. Each knot was a thorough breeding, their hormones, their scents, their bodies mixing until Price was ready to be bonded. 

Simon was hilt deep when he finally sank his fang into Price's gland. His omega draped over him, back to chest, strong body arched in submission. Simon cupped beneath a thigh, thrusting into him with a semi-inflated knot that was making his eyes roll in overwhelming bliss. He tilted his head away under the guidance of Simon's hand at his chin, and Simon finally claimed the object of his desire, knot swelling inside him and triggering an intense wave of pleasure that made Price's body seize up.

The wound stopped bleeding as Simon licked it. He remembered vaguely reading something about alpha's having a clotting agent in their saliva sparked by the process of mating. Price’s pained huffs faded into softer sighs, and Simon held him as his body adjusted to the sudden surge of hormones in his bloodstream. Simon slid his palm over Price’s belly and cupped beneath its slight swell. 

“I know ‘m not your first choice,” Simon whispered in the quiet, his throat hoarse. “But…”

“Simon,” Price murmured, soft, wistful. “You're it. Jus’... always thought ya deserved better ‘an me.”

Simon's heart clenched in his chest, his nose burying in Price's hair. “Ain't nothin’ better ‘an you.”

“Got… bad taste in clothing and men, that bloody bally…”

“Olrigh’ boonie hat,” Simon chuckled, rocking his hips up a little in revenge. Price groaned, his body bearing down around Simon’s knot in a sudden throb of pleasure. “Heard bonded mating is a whole new level, but this… fuck, the noises you make.”

Price huffed softly. “Gettin’ a big head, Riley…”

“Naw, reckon I'm on the money, maybe I need t’ remind you again.” Simon slid a hand down Price's body to stroke his cock, rolling his hips slowly to grind his knot over Price's sweet spot, the stretch just the right side of too much. Price gasped, his back arching, and Simon clamped an arm around his chest to keep him still, giving him no choice but to endure the heated pleasure curling through his hips.

They had another day and a half to secure their bond before they had to return to work, and in that time, Simon would make sure Price never had a reason to dread his heat again. 

[syndrossi]

Loved the chapter! The heart break at Jon not trusting rhaegar. I could feel his heart break

I think what makes it especially rough is that he tries to involve Jon in his own little investigations (mostly involving the level of influence Daemon's under) and keeps giving Jon opportunities to do the same, only for Jon to continue to choose to cling to secrecy. At the Gates of the Moon, the only people they could trust was one another; it's a foundational piece of their brotherhood.

(Though this is not the first time Jon failed to trust Rhaegar with something important. With Crayne, he had the opportunity to tell him about the murder attempt, but he chose not to, convincing himself somehow that he had a better poker face than the twin who grew up wearing a mask. Yes, there were risks, but Rhaegar wasn't even given a chance to be an asset. Jon assumed he would be a liability.)

The main conclusion he has to draw from it is that Jon perceives him as either weak (unable to resist the candle) or a liability (there is nothing of value for him to contribute, he would only be a burden, etc).

And given how much he idolizes Jon, it cuts all the deeper, because he must see some flaw in Rhaegar that he's been ignorant of.

It's also frustrating, because Jon's own candle logic isn't even close to consistent anymore, and if that was his basis for deeming Rhaegar untrustworthy but Jon safe from influence, then it's a flawed assumption! Which means Jon is putting himself in danger.

[neon-catarina]

character design for mind (storm and a spring) for cccc the musical, anyone?

because my handwriting probably is intelligible, the second 1 after the readmore says "uses his logic to logically logic his logical brain to diss heart logically for 11 logical min(s)"

cccc the musical au by @finleyforevermore

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[miixz]

Mu Qing being chosen as the major representation for lower class struggles in the TGCF fandom (as far as I've seen it at least) is a choice that I find... interesting.

I understand where it's coming from, of course, and I see how his bitterness at the class system could be relatable, but it feels odd to me that Hua Cheng is missing from those discussions while we've seen that he was very much not living in any luxury as a child. He was in fact worse off than MQ who got to study cultivation and work for the prince.

I don't quite know how to put this into words, but I do think it says something about unconscious biases that the man who was able to ascend and enjoy being at the highest class he could possibly aspire to be while doing nothing to further criticize those systems is the one propped up, while the one who did achieve success but through unconventional means isn't.

Being the king of a city full of ghosts just isn't as glamorous of a fantasy to live vicariously through as a golden palace in the heavens, I suppose, in spite of this being something MXTX is actively criticizing in her book.

[daily-hanamura]

[necrotic-nephilim]

18, 19, 20, 22!

for the chose violence ask game!

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

oh SO SO many things. so many things this fandom sleeps on, by proxy of a lot of people not reading the comics. i think the fandom is sleeping on the fact that Jason was Red Robin before Tim. i think the fandom is sleeping on Batman: Prodigal, the *first* time Dick was Batman and Tim was Robin with him and how they bonded during that era, when it was just them. (the DickTim potential. it's all i'm saying.) i think the fandom is sleeping on Helena Bertinelli in *general* and her connections to the Batfam. i think the fandom sleeps on the family that the Bats have outside of the Batfam. (ie: Cass' siblings, Damian's family on his mother's side, Dick's sister, Steph's mom, etc) i could go on forever. but i think the main thing is family, just bc to me i always find it odd when the Batfam are stripped of their family and important relationships outside of their little sphere bc i find it wildly unrealistic and boring and sometimes i wonder if the fandom knows these characters even exist.

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

BAD PARENTS JANET AND JACK DRAKE. it's my guilty pleasure. and i KNOW it's not canon and OOC from the information we have. i even actually really enjoy Jack Drake as a character and i especially enjoy Dana Winters, Tim's step-mom. in canon i find these relationships are really nuanced and rich. but for fanon? everytime i will always lean into the Drakes sort of sucking. i'm just unhinged for concepts where they're cartoonishly neglectful, members of the Court of Owls, literal criminals/psychopaths, etc. it's so fun to add that layer of nuance to Tim even though the whole point of Tim was he was a normal kid with a normal life who happened to find out Bruce Wayne was Batman. like i will always defend Jack Drake when discussing canon. but i will write him as an evil, evil bastard in fics. i can't explain it. it just calls to me.

20. part of canon you found tedious or boring

when Bludhaven blew up and the whole One Year Later thing. it felt sloppy and so fucking needlessly petty on behalf of Dan Didio. he wanted to kill *one* character he had a hate boner for, and an entire city gets nuked and then we flash forward a year? it's just such needless writing. it's tedious to work around in fanfiction and i always ignore the entire thing. nothing about it was done to develop Dick or any other character, or done to have real consequences and a thought out plot compared to things like No Man's Land, it was just Dan Didio trying to kill off Nightwing. so i don't like it. i also found the era when Jason was Wingman pretty boring. i think it could've been fun to try to pivot Jason's character but the whole thing is bland to me and i ignore it, even as a pre-Flashpoint Jason stan. also, the entirety of War Games. but i wouldn't say i find that boring, more-so i find it infuriating how much the writers despised Stephanie Brown and bent over backwards to make her the villain and put so much destruction on the back of a teenage girl just trying to be good. also i find most Crisis Events tedious and i ignore them. i simply cannot be made to care.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

oh this is so tough to answer without repeating answers from above oh god. i think the fact that Helena made Cass' Batgirl suit is a big one for me, and that she was briefly Batgirl. there are so many interesting things to be done with Cass wearing a suit that Helena made instead of making her own. and that the mouth covering is something we associate with Cass' verbal issues, but it was Helena who put it there first, meaning Cass didn't pick it, but she leaned into it anyway. i think you could do a lot with that character wise. also Bette Kane. i would like her to stop being ignored. oh and the entirety of Knightfall. how is such a massive arc in the comics largely glossed over by the fandom, i will never understand that there isn't at least *mention* of Jean-Paul in fics where Tim is Robin.

oh ALSO my favorite thing, that Dick has hallucinated Jason multiple times while Jason was dead. that will never leave my mind. the common thread of most of the Batfam hallucinating people is just neat in general.

[thecatspirits]

- TO DO LIST -

Analysis of the queer coding of Eddie and Richie across all IT canon material (1986 novel, 1990 miniseries, and 2017 & 2019 films + possibly The World of IT, Official Character Spotify Playlists, and 11/22/63)

Analysis about my interpretation of the Losers Club fears in the 1986 IT novel and the changes made in the 2017 & 2019 films

General character analysis of each Losers Club member

Time-accurate music playlists for each Losers Club member for my IT AU called Ouroboros

Analysis of the queer coding in the Quarry Scene

[july-19th-club]

harrykim and tomparis hopelessly awkward in the cafeteria what social blunders will the commit!!

[narwhalandchill]

btw if u equate childe and aventurines backstory in any fucking way please leave this blog and unfollow me <3 preferably block me while ur at it too uwu