#i crave more bart

[bobbinalong]

organizing jon week hasn't been as much of a hassle as i first feared, so:

@bartallenweek

[faceless-ghostt]

listen, you should all expect this from me by now… meme redraw Pt i think 4?

Fun fact, this is actually a picture of me and my friends i drew over so uh, sorry, no reference this time. Close up under the cut tho

[mamawasatesttube]

expectation: core four in a car with the windows down going down the highway and singing loudly to their bops playlist on the way to the beach, having a great time!!!! summer vibes!!! havin a blast!!!

reality: bart puts the entirety of the alvin and the chipmunks discography on the playlist and cassie threatens to throw him out of the car (bart: oh nOOOooOoo. DON'T throw me out of this slow as shit car so i can just run to the beach and back 500 times while you're still in the next mile.) tim is just like "i don't know what you expected cassie" and meanwhile kon is singing along to the chipmunks too

bart: "i wish i had a horse!" cassie: "wh--" kon: "a bright and shiny horse!" cassie: "oh no." both: "A HORSE I COULD CALL MY OWN!!!!" cassie: "why do you both KNOW this song?!"

(tim, driving: "we don't kill, we don't kill, we don't kill...")

[brucewaynehater101]

please i am frothing at the mouth I NEED to hear your take on how the bats find out about JJ and Tim losing his wing in the Wingless Wing AU and how they react.

please brucewaynehater101 my lord and savior give me the angst i so desperately crave

Of course! With praise like that, how could I refuse.

I hope you enjoy the angst :D

Here's the post in reference for anyone unfamiliar.

Alright. In that post, I mentioned they find out at the same time they find out about Tim's missing spleen. We'll call that the funny path.

Ye asked for angst, though. Here's some delicious angst:

TW: JJ, wing removal, brief mentions of anti-hybrid sentiments, mentions of trafficking/selling body parts

Tim's back constantly aches. It's been years, but he can still feel the harsh hacking into his shoulder blades as his wings were removed. He can't bring himself to look at the jagged lines in his back.

When Bart saw the then raised pink scars, his face morphed into grim understanding. With careful movements, he slowly got Robin used to pressure and hands on his back. It took months for every small step forward, but the speedster was patient. He was casual and never drew attention to the small gestures. He analyzed the subtle shifts in Tim's body and backed off without being asked.

The rest of YJ eventually caught on as well. When Tim was finally able to have people's palms upon his back, Kon, Cassie, and Cissie would bicker about scar tissue massages. Eventually, it became a team bonding activity to help others with their pain (whether through massages, offering heat/ice, or moral support).

When Tim gained a gnarly gash upon his throat, the same careful process occurred again.

YJ was broken up after Tim returned with a scar upon his abdomen, but Bart, Kon, and Cassie still helped with his healing process as he did for them. They supported each other through every scar, visible or not.

When Tim first got the scars, he spent a year teaching the muscles on his back how to work properly. He added exercises, stretches, compression, and heat packs to his daily routine. It was insanely difficult to research and experiment by himself, but he managed. By the time he offered himself up as Robin, he already had strong arm and back muscles. They weren't enough for Robin, but they worked.

While Tim was Robin, he took extra care not to get damaged on his back. He lied and hid any injuries he did obtain, often seeking out YJ for help instead (after they reach that point of trust). This process worked for years. There were a few close calls, but Tim has called Kon in extreme cases.

At first, Tim didn't want anyone near his back. He hid his scars from the batfam because of his trauma and his internalized anti-hybrid sentiments (he knew most of the Waynes were hybrids, but he also thought they would kick him out if they knew he was too. Just the horrid stuff his parents spouted and conditioned learning). Eventually, as he grew closer to YJ and more comfortable in his skin, he still hid from the Waynes.

He considered telling Dick a bunch of times, but everyone else didn't foster a relationship with him where he felt comfortable. Cass knew, but she also isn't a hybrid.

There's a ton of factors in play for why Tim never told them.

When Tim gets fired from Robin, it's agonizing. He created fake wings just to maintain that role.

In his desolation, he comes to the realization that he can change his wings. Instead of the bird ones Robin has always had (at least until Damian [which is another point of contention]), Tim can have back his dragon ones. They'll be fake, but some part of him aches to have wings resembling his old ones.

Dragon wings are rare, and this causes some tension between Tim and his family when he returns. Out of all the wings he chose to fashion, why did he choose the rare, highly sought-after ones? To their knowledge, he isn't even a hybrid. They trust Tim, obviously, but him choosing dragon wings doesn't help their already strained relationships with him.

Jason especially, as someone whose had to take down a fuck ton of hybrid trafficking rings or underground selling of hybrid parts, has issues with Tim choosing dragon wings.

To prove a point, Jason chats about a pair of dragon wings that keeps getting sold around the black market. It's been years of Red Hood chasing these wings down to try to stop them from being passed around. He wants to honor them by giving them a proper burial.

One of the reasons Jason is so hung up about them is that they are so so small. They obviously came from a child.

Tim turns pale. Jason thinks that Tim finally realizes the error in his ways until the teen asks Jason to describe them.

Hood is pissed as fuck that Tim wants descriptions of the wings and initially misunderstands.

Then he notes the way Tim's arms stop in an aborted movement to wrap around himself. He catches the paleness to his face, the trembling of lips, and the hunted look in his eyes.

Jason hesitantly answers.

Tim collapses to his knees and throws up.

No one else in the family was there for this interaction. However, they see the effects.

Jason no longer berates Tim (particularly about the dragon wings).

Joker, the next time he escapes, loses a leg.

Jason and Tim hang out more with the older being more affectionate and mother henning.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 12th

Day 12: Sex Toys // Dirty Talk // Breath Play

Max Phillips x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Vampirism, breath play, choking, vaginal sex, oxygen deprivation, intense orgasms, blood drinking

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

His hand is cool around your throat. Tight and restrictive as he smirks down at you. “You good, pumpkin?” His tone is mocking and you would fucking slap him if you knew it wouldn’t just turn him on.��

“Tighter.” 

The flash of fangs might frighten someone else, might make their heartbeat careen higher and their adrenaline start to spike, but you like the sharp incisors that prove that Max Phillips is a creature of the night. 

“Good.” He chuckles, fingers flexing as he squeezes tighter, right to the point where dark spots start to gather in the edges of your vision and your cunt clenches down on his hard cock buried inside you. 

This thing with Max is perfect. He’s a cocky son of a bitch and he can drive you crazy, but he’s a decent fuck and he’s willing to do anything kinky. 

Asphyxiation is a huge turn on for you, breath play gets you dripping and intensifies the orgasms you have when you are just on the edge of passing out. You don’t know why, but it does it for you and it’s not like you are going to go see a therapist. You like what you like and you make no excuses for it. 

The problem was finding a partner willing to do it. Every guy you had wanted to choke you seemed to think that it was just as easy as wrapping their hands around your throat and throttling you like they would Bart Simpson. 

It’s an art. Applying the perfect pressure to cut off the air supply and not leave lasting bruises under your skin or damage your windpipes is a skill that not many men can do while they are absorbed in the feeling of your hot cunt around them. Getting lost in their own pleasure and not prioritizing your comfort or safety in a kink that could be dangerous. 

Max doesn’t have those issues. He has the ability to hear your heartbeat, your breathing, better than anyone else. He hears the very blood that rushes through your veins. Even when he is balls deep and hammering into you like a fucking animal, he’s still in control. 

You moan, his cock punching deep and your chest starts to ache, the need for oxygen to be replenished in your blood makes your lungs start to scream. It heightens every nerve in your body, including in your cunt. Making the sweet sting of pleasure that much sharper. 

For Max, it’s about control. The ability to do with your body what he wishes. He could anyway. He’s a vampire, a supernatural being and he could just hypnotize you or overpower you, but it wouldn’t be the same. You beg him for this. Crave it like you have come to crave his cock. Or perhaps it’s that you crave it as much as you crave him being deep inside you and choking the shit out of you while you squirt all over his length. The first time you had done that, he had crowed about it for days around the office. 

“That’s it, my little air breather.” He growls, eyes starting to flash that familiar yellow and you feel the press of his growing nails against your tender throat. Knowing he could also rip it out in a flash adds to the sensation and bleeds the oxygen from your system a little faster. Speeding up the intensity of the high you are riding. “Beg for more. You can take it. I will expend everything from you. Wring you dry.” 

The strangled gasp that bubbles up against his hand can’t come out, you can’t force it past the need to intake oxygen but the pressure prevents that. He watches you, even with the smug, almost ghoulish grin on his face, his eyes are focused. Slightly easing up enough to allow just a small stream of air to flow when he knows that you are pushing the limit you’ve established. 

It’s good, the rush of oxygen is like a drug and your body responds in kind. Lighting up pleasure centers and intensifying the curl in your guts when Max is ramming against them with the thick head of his cock. His pace is dizzying on its own, but when he pairs that with the large hand around your throat, it becomes your favorite addiction. 

“Oh, you’re going to cum, aren’t you?” He taunts, licking his lips and as soon as that precious air is inside you, his hand is clamping down around your windpipe again. Cutting your body off from the necessary gas. “Pretty little pussy is going to cream all over my cock while you scream silently, aren’t you? Gonna soak me? Soak the bed like you did last time? That was hot, but maybe I can make it more. Ruin it.” The fact that he is greedy is also such a beautiful thing. He will string you out to the point where you are almost losing consciousness, just to breathe air back into your lungs so you can soak him before sucking it back out again. That was what had happened the last time and you had ended up passing out. 

Your eyes roll back, reaching up and grabbing his arm. Holding tight to it and squeezing as he pushes you towards that perfect goal. Your toes ache, curling in on themselves and your muscles start to stiffen. Your vision clears and then starts to go a hazy white, signaling how close you are to cumming from the lack of air alone. 

This is where Max proves how good he is. His hand starts to pulse around your throat. Timed to the beat of your heart, he expels more air from your blood. The quiet hiss from your lungs unheard by anyone but him, as he growls in approval. The snap of his hips follows every little pump, pushing it out of your body and into the surrounding heat that has cocooned you. 

Until the stars burst. Your shriek is silent, mouth falling open and nothing coming out, there is nothing to release. Everything has been bled from your lungs and your body is completely starved of breath. It’s explosive, a chain reaction throughout your body as it seizes up, bowing under the pressure and pleasure that is coursing through you. 

Max hisses, his teeth clenching together and his fangs flashing as he snarls. The wet heat of your juices coating him and his hand releases from your throat at the perfect time, allowing him to bury those pearly white fangs into the delicate flesh of your neck, finding the rush of oxygen flooding back into your bloodstream to be just as addictive to him as being deprived of air is to you. It’s the perfect combination as you both come apart together. 

[realpokemon]

personally i think you’re irresponsible for not feeding bart MORE saltines. he craves them so. at least give him some ritz. as a treat

bart craves anything he can get his silly little paws on. i have had to stop him from eating so much plastic. i'm never taking him to a grocery store

[necrotic-nephilim]

is this random?? maybe probably but the brain worms said Bart/Dick because maybe Wally didn't reciprocate and a lot of the younger heroes look up to Nightwing so like actually Dark Dick/Any of the younger heroes but for me especially Bart/Dick. Is Dick taking advantage of a crush? Yes. Is he doing it because he wants Wally but a younger more malleable speedster will have to do? ABSOLUTELY. anyway Dark Dick taking advantage of young people yadayada 🩷🩷

RANDOM YES BUT ALSO DELIGHTFUL??

first of all, i firmly believe Bart should be shipped with older men. i can't even articulate *why*, i just think he's a delightful lil guy who should be in more dead dove shit. it's fun to explore that weird balance he has going on of naivety fueled by growing up overnight, versus being very *very* knowledgable bc of the sheer amount of information he holds as well as how quickly he processes the world. he's treated like the silly, almost dumb one a lot. and certainly the comics will put him in that light, especially in how he approaches social situations and his lack of understandings on how social rules work. but he's *smart* in other ways, and it makes him delightfully fun to stick him in a position of being groomed. all it takes is for *someone* to finally compliment him on how quickly he thought through a problem, or how well he handled a fight and he's fucking putty. the manipulation goes straight over his head.

and i just. i adore a darker Dick. sunshine Dick is out. angry but still righteous Dick is also out. i need a Dick Grayson who is tired of having to be the good one. who is tired of serving others with no return. Bruce, the Titans, Bludhaven, all of it. i think a lot of times, people gloss over Dick being a cop (and the copaganda of it) bc it doesn't feel like it fits him and goes against a lot of the themes of the Batfam and how they stand against corruption and all. but i think it's fun to lean into cop!Dick. someone who's authoritative and "fixes the system from inside" and thinks "you can still do good with a badge". bc it adds that greyness to him. there is no *good* way to be a cop in Bludhaven, with the system he works for. so it creates some level of "the ends justify the means" mentality in Dick and what he'll overlook to get something done. back to the point of him and Bart: i think using that mindset for a darker Dick can easily make him willing to groom someone. especially someone like Bart. kill two birds with one stone kind of situation. the personal, selfish reason that he had a thing for Wally that never worked out and now he just for *once* wants something that's his, and who better than a little speedster who looks like Wally and already has a clear crush on Dick. and the more pragmatic reason: Bart has potential, but he lacks direction. no one is guiding him in the right way. you used the word malleable, which is so fun. Dick can mold the partner he wants, *and* the hero he wants out of Bart. there won't be any more complaining from Tim about how Bart screwed up a mission, or listening to Wally or Max Mercury go on about how hard it is to keep Bart on task.

i think Dick would be *so* methodical about it. he has the time, Bart is still young and if Dick starts things *too* early, it's going to cause an absolute scene in the hero world. so he starts with compliments. he's the one squeezing Bart's shoulder and saying "you did a good job out there, kid. that was smart thinking." and then just leaving it like that. the simpler the better, because it leaves Bart wanting *more*. craving scraps of attention and always being on his best behavior when Dick is around. or even when Tim is around, bc maybe that means Tim will tell Dick about the good thing Bart just did. i love a slow burn and i'd love if this took place over *years*. building up more and more, but staying within the realm of casual hero colleagues. it makes sense for Bart and Dick to run into each other a lot, with Tim and Wally, and even more so when Bart becomes a Titan.

i love if this intentionally drives Wally up a *wall* too. Bart would never shut up about Dick. he asks Wally about Dick at least once a week and Dick just shrugs bc *hey*, all kids have a favorite hero, Wally should see the way Tim talks about Ted Kord. he doesn't make a big deal about it.

once Bart is old enough, Dick really leans into it. he finds more reasons to "run into" Bart, starts inviting Bart over to have a place to crash while his wounds heal bc hey, even with the superspeed Bart needs somewhere to sit and let his body do it's thing while he inhales a lot of calories. Dick listens when Bart complains about Wally being too hard on him. Dick gives "sagely advice" and casually walking around without a shirt. (or: in his police uniform the first time he notices the full body blush Bart gets seeing him in it)

i think it's extra fun if Dick orchestrates a pretense like sex pollen for them to get together officially. which is tricky, bc how do you dose a speedster's metabolism. but he'd find a way. bc then, not a single person can blame Dick for it. Bart Allen of all people, in a "fuck or die" situation? just about anyone would end up so annoyed they'd cave to the sex. and it puts Bart as the one who "initiates" and feels the guilt of coming onto Dick. which is so easy for Dick to manipulate and mold into what he wants. he's got Bart in his hands and soothes him after the sex, saying that it wasn't Bart's fault and Dick doesn't blame him. after that, it's easy for it to become a repeat thing. Bart gets too wired or stressed or full of energy, and sex is a very easy distraction to mellow him out. then, before Bart knows it, he's pretty sure they're *dating* bc Dick is giving him flowers and gifts and taking him out to dinner. and Bart is still convinced he somehow caused this, so he's got that fun dash of guilt that Dick can use to get what he wants out of Bart. any time Bart acts out, Dick just has to give him a Look. just full-tilt manipulation and grooming. i think it's also fun if they publically date as civilians, bc once again, Dick being a cop, other Bludhaven cops are the last ppl to question the morality ambiguity of the age gap. they just laugh and clap Dick on the back for finding "such an easy twink". the news would filter into the hero world, but by then Bart's a (barely legal) adult and everyone knows about the sex pollen. there's not much anyone can do, and really, Dick doesn't hold blame bc he was in such an awkward situation. he has his cake and eats it too, especially everytime he sees that sour look on Wally's face, when Wally knows damn well he can't say anything.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Was it all for nothing?

Mycroft had warned him. Countless times. But Sherlock was stubborn. Besides, John was different he’d thought. John would never lose his faith in him. Or would he? He’d sounded quite convincing when he talked to John from the roof of Barts two years ago. But at Sherlock’s grave John had asked him for a miracle.

Don’t be dead. For me.

So, Sherlock was at a loss, and the blood froze in its veins when Mycroft told him that John had moved out of 221B. Moved on with his life.

“What life? I’ve been away,” Sherlock had spat at his brother.

The look Mycroft gave him then, brought Sherlock back to his childhood. When he’d misunderstood the simplest things regarding social behaviour. The look of pity.

“Well, at least you can count on your family to have your back,” Mycroft told him.

John used to be all the family I needed, Sherlock thought.

“Spare me the-blood-is-thicker-than-water speech,” Sherlock scoffed.

***

After all those months abroad wearing various disguises, it was a relief to once again have his armour on. A bespoke shirt and suit, newly polished shoes, a cashmere scarf and his beloved Belstaff. Its weight comforted him. He had to get his befuddled mind under control, though.

John gone from Baker Street. Seeing a nurse from work. Mary Morstan. American. A too perfect CV. John was going to propose to her tonight. John, his best friend. The one he’d sacrificed everything for. Would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he would be safe.

He had hoped that John would’ve waited for him. A stupid thought. John believed Sherlock was dead. There was nothing to wait for. How could he have expected John to wait for a dead man? Stupid!

Sherlock was tempted to leave it that way. To hop on the next plane to whichever part of the world. But he craved to see John again. One last time, if it came to that. John would probably be angry with him. Livid. Definitely livid. John was never pleased when Sherlock left him out of the loop.

He should make a plan but couldn’t come up with anything. Sherlock was tired of it, after almost two years of planning every second of the day. 

Do what feels right in the moment.

***

John had grown a moustache. He looked old with that caterpillar on his face. Sherlock preferred him clean shaven. He considered going over to him, asking if he was keeping it.

A bit not good, Sherlock.

John’s voice was loud and clear in his head. The left corner of his lip lifted slightly. He stood perfectly still for a moment drinking in the sight of the man he’d missed more than oxygen. A sudden jostle to his back made him cry out in pain. His wounds were still fresh. He could feel blood trickle down his spine.

“Sorry,” a man told him and hurried in the direction of the rest rooms.

Sherlock breathed hard through his nose, tried to get control over the intense pain. His eyes were closed and when he opened them, John stood in front of him.

“Sherlock,” he whispered.

“John.”

He closed his eyes again, gritted his teeth, and steadied himself on the column he’d been hiding behind.

“You’re hurt,” John stated, the doctor personae automatically surfacing.

Sherlock couldn’t speak. He was overwhelmed by the pain and John’s presence. The scent of him and his proximity calmed Sherlock considerably. John’s arm was on Sherlock’s wrist, checking his pulse while his eyes took in the rest of him.

 “Torture?” John inquired with a trembling voice, indicating the marks on Sherlock’s wrist and his back.

The blood had apparently soaked through his coat.

Sherlock nodded and prepared himself to leave when he saw Mary approaching. Just one look at her and the word radiating from her was “liar”.

“Always the doctor, John,” she cooed, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock that John almost cringed at the statement.

“Goodbye, John,” Sherlock said and walked out of the restaurant as quickly as he could manage.

***

John had seemed all professional and detached, and that was even worse than his fury would’ve been. Was it all for nothing? Did John want him in his life now when he had Mary? It didn’t seem like a match made in heaven to Sherlock, but then again what did he know about such matters.

He carefully removes his shirt in the bathroom. It’s stained with a red flower-like mark. The wound in question is the one just out of reach. He must call Mycroft to get someone to rinse it and change the bandages. Not tonight, though. Sherlock needs to gather himself and catalogue his thoughts before he meets his flesh and blood again. 

He hears footsteps on the stairs. Mrs. Hudson can’t be allowed to see him like this, but then he listens more intently. It’s not her. Her hip and age forbid her to take the steps two at a time. Besides, he knows those steps.

John.

Before Sherlock has the time to cover his torso, John is standing in the doorway with a grim look on his face. Murderous more like. Sherlock prepares for the blow he knows is coming. It never comes. Instead, warm and steady hands explore, careful not to inflict pain.

“The ones responsible for this?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Dead,” Sherlock tells him.

John nods satisfied, manhandles Sherlock to sit and gets to work. Sherlock tries not to wince when the wound stings. When John’s finished, and Sherlock stands, John buries his face into Sherlock’s chest.

“Don’t you dare leave me again,” he murmurs.

“I promise,” Sherlock says. “Never again.”

@flashfictionfridayofficial @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl @@calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @safedistancefrombeingsmart @phoenix27884 @topsyturvy-turtely @gregorovitchworld @peanitbear @helloliriels

[cer-rata]

Request guidelines!

(This is a thing I do now!)

I'll write short fics, headcanons, and if you want some info about what someone's deal is in the AU that maybe hasn't come up yet or I haven't explored much, that's also valid and fun. (Who knows, maybe I'll start thinking about your fave...)

I'm trying to keep these fics under 1.5k but like...listen...we'll see...

If something truly doesn't jive with me or I don't think I can make it work, I'll answer the ask letting you know so you're not left wondering. otherwise I intend to work on it. I intend to get these out quickly, but I'll spend the time to make it something I'm happy with before it goes out.

No NSFW, I don't have a problem with it, but I'm really not good at getting it done unless I'm inspired, so for now let's just not.

You can suggest scenarios as well, but I might change those some, but if I accept the request I will follow the spirit of it always.

If there's an idea you're really not sure about, feel free to DM me before you send the ask if that's less stressful.

I'm down to write for DC, Marvel and MHA, I know a fair number of characters and enjoy researching new ones for fics,but DC ideas are more likely to get done, and more quickly likely, as that's where my current fixation is.

Characters that I'm generally excited to write for/have been craving inspiration for:

(DC) Damian Wayne, Billy Batson (and co), Jon Kent, Garth of Shayaris, Kon-El, Bart Allen, Colin Wilkes, Suren Darga, Selina Kyle, Metron, Bekka, Orion, Mr. Miracle, Big Barda, Mr. Terrific, Sinestro

(Marvel) Miles Morales, Peter Parker, Mary Jane Watson, Norrin Radd, Loki, Susan Storm, Darkhawk (yes, really), Various assorted X-Men, Various assorted Eternals

(MHA/BNHA) ...Honestly pretty much any of the students.

...That's it!

[radioactive-earthshine]

Why do you ship prestonthad?

They are different enough to be compatible and complimentary and yet also both share some similarities that they can bond over and help each other grow even if their abuse is drastically different, and the end result with their abusers are different.

Preston to Thad is the walking living and breathing version that he too can have love after so much indoctrination and abuse, that being failed so tremendously does not mean he needs to doom himself because "nothing matters" but because yes, he does matter.

Preston liked him when he was pretending to be Bart, yes he was a little mean sometimes, but Preston still found joy in his company as Bart Allen and they were still compatible as friends.

The story of Mercury Falling was sort of two pronged to show that Bart as he was was still valid and loved, but also that Thad was worthy of love as well, and he was.

Also this is something that sort of got written out of Preston's character but Preston is also a little mean sometimes too and is a devious little shit with big ambitions. I think anyone that is Bart's friend has to be a little bit of a little shit themselves just to keep up with him.

Thad to Preston is someone that can listen to him vent and rant about his own abuse and struggles in an authoritarian household where it implied that his own dreams for making movies was belittled, and that he might 'never be anything more' than what his mother wanted him to be. When others might go "awww" and "oooh you poor thing" Thad just nods and agrees "that was bullshit" and it's not awkward or weird to talk about it.

Thad is also more studious than Bart and I feel like he would be a great second nerd for Preston to talk about film specifically and plot structure. Wade exists for this sort of niche too but two nerds are never identical and Thad might fill a different area that Wade doesn't and it might be one that Preston really craves interaction with.

I also think Bart's outrage at finding out Thad is dating one of his best friends is hilarious.

Note: all of this is pretty much dependent on a redeemed version of Thad who accepted Max's offer in Mercury Falling or just... FMA never happened.

[rynekins]

Once again my mind is plagued with Sideshow Bob brainrot and I must infodump about him for a bit to clear it. This is a sorta continuation of this post where I ramble about how prison warped Bob’s personality. While I often consider doing a more structured series of Sideshow Bob reviews, I have nothing concrete planned at the moment, so posts like these will remain sporadic. However, I am rather open for more discussion with those who dare ask.

The focus today is on Sideshow Bob’s defining character trait.

There are many popular labels used for Sideshow Bob that fail to paint a full picture because the very opposites of those aspects are also true to his character. Highly educated with a great capacity for idiocy. Sophisticated with bouts of unhinged rage. A mastermind whose plans never work. A murderous psychopath who’s never actually murdered anyone and has attempted to reform. A villain who has saved the day, more than once. A failure that never gives up. All of these apply but I feel he has a more comprehensive character trait. One that remains true in every appearance, exemplified in all of his actions and downfalls. Above everything else, and I say this with the utmost affection, Bob is an attention whore.

Bob needs an audience like he needs air to breathe. All the world’s a stage and he lives to perform. He's pathetically desperate for your reaction, whether it’s praise, scorn, fear, or a laugh. He’ll sing, act, tell jokes, contort his body, or share the details of his cunning scheme with you, even if it jeopardizes everything he’s worked for, in exchange for a fleeting moment of recognition.

He wants to be seen, heard, known, understood, celebrated. Don’t we all. But his craving for validation can never be satisfied, which led him down this road of suffering. In the flashback in “Brother from Another Series”, during the sidekick audition, Bob looks a bit more composed than usual.

This is the earliest moment in his life that we witness. He’s hiding all his iconic hair in a hat and presents himself with dignity and poise; is this where he gets bit by the acting bug and everything changes for him? Doubtful, since his mother is a famous actress and he probably grew up in a home that valued the arts. I think he might have been repressing a lot of his more comical tendencies at this point, then unleashed them due to an unexpected pie to the face. Bob is angry at first, but within seconds relishes having an audience’s approval. All it took was Krusty calling him a “genius” and Bob’s fate was sealed. In “Krusty Gets Busted,” it’s up to interpretation if Bob genuinely wanted to solve Bart’s problem out of the goodness in his heart, or if his ego demanded that he prove to his audience what a good role model and host he can be. In��� Sideshow Bob Roberts,” he charms everyone in town with his silver tongue, but is still so insecure about how he’s perceived that he feels he has to cheat to win the election. In “Cape Feare,” Bart compliments his voice and he’s all too eager to boast his musical talent. In “Sideshow Bob’s Last Gleaming,” being called “smart” is enough to let his guard down.

He needs constant reassurance that he’s smart, talented, and loved. I believe that in “Black Widower”, Bob’s courting of Selma wasn’t a ruse, at least not at first. They probably had nothing in common (certainly wouldn’t bond over media taste) except that both were painfully lonely. They fell fast in what they thought was love because they showed each other the slightest bit of affection, then opened the floodgates of built up feelings that had nowhere else to go. But realizing there would always be another man in her life more important than him, MacGyver, any love Bob felt towards Selma evaporated.

Combine this pettiness with his freshly warped sense of morality courtesy of Springfield Penitentiary, and he would find this sudden violent hatred justifiable. But everything has to be a spectacle with Bob, so of course he would end things with a heckin’ fiery explosion. As we have established, Bob is prone to self-sabotage. He can be unbearably pretentious, so he struggles finding others that share his passions. But Bob isn’t a gatekeeper for these interests. He would love nothing more than to discuss art, music, literature and theater and convince others to appreciate them as well. He has a desire to teach, and finds fulfillment when he helms his own educational program with an audience willing to listen and cheer him on. He doesn’t have such luck with his peers, who tend to throw his books back at him. In the episode “The Man Who Grew Too Much”, Homer mentions Mozart’s name and you can tell Bob is ready to drop everything and gush about a special interest, but Homer then reveals that he doesn’t really care. So imagine being in an incredibly niche fandom with no one but the void to hear your headcanons or fan favorites. That’s Bob's predicament, but he’s persistent (and maniacal).

Little brother Cecil is similar, but he’s more likely to back down when the audience doesn’t indulge him.

It is left to our imagination what their childhood was like. Their mother might have encouraged them both to pursue theater, but did either of them ever feel pride in their accomplishments? Is there a reason Cecil gives up and Bob can’t be stopped? Perhaps Bob leans into the villain role because he’s convinced himself he was born for it (give him credit, he does play it cartoonishly well), but when the tables turn he’s equally as enthusiastic playing the part of a noble hero. He seems unable to turn off the dramatics either way. There have been a few moments when he admits he does not want to commit to a violent act, and you could argue it’s because deep down he knows he’s playing a character that he's taken too far and that it isn’t his true self, or maybe he's horrified his true self is a monster and he’d rather play a different character as a means to contain it (I am not referring to moments from “Day of the Jackanapes” or “The Great Louse Detective”, moreso “The Man Who Grew Too Much”, “Gone Boy”, and “Bobby It’s Cold Outside”). His instincts during these moments seem to be to run away.

But Bob can’t live secluded in his lil lighthouse forever, even if it means no one gets hurt and he would be free. Prison made him crazy. Isolation would destroy him.

[ukthxbye]

All That Glitters and Gleams

So it has been over a year since I writer Sherlolly. Thought I might be done because of my focus on my two books and trying to get an agent... life is funny.

When this photo showed up in the sherlolly discord,

the wheels started spinning and 24 hours later, you're welcome.

cw: semi-public sex, fingering, light dom/sub, begging

Glittering.

Gold and silver statues and everything shiny draped dramatic fabric in this room normally spare dingy blue white.

And he hated it.

But impressed all the same. The banquet hall of St. Barts transformed to another age. Sherlock scoffed when Molly asked him to this 1920s fundraiser, rattling facts about all the false opulence for what.

"It's fun to pretend," she'd said in the wry, sad resignation he knew like a drug. Nearly as unpredictable. She might tell him to forget it and go with someone else. She might let him rattle off facts as they walk in and still pull him along, suffering the embarrassment.

She blessed him with the latter. 

He couldn't refuse anymore what she asked for. His life depended on her happiness… like a new addiction.

But he'd denied her the one thing she craved. She denied herself more. 

"They shouldn't have spent so much money, you were right," she said at his side. "You've every right to hate this. It's dancing and talking to higher ups. We can go home."

"Well, at least the champagne is cheap," he said glancing at woman walking by with two green bottles in had. But home, where is the adventure in that? Can't critique and complain until we have the facts," he said, slipping off his long wool coat, handing it to the hired coat clerk… no wait, it was a boy from the cafe. 

"Gerald, they roped you into this?" Sherlock frowned at him. 

"Ticket sir, you try to have a good time, eh?" the boy said, coats piling up on his right. 

"Yes…yes." Sherlock offered him a cocked tightlipped smile. 

In instinct he turned to Molly, and without interrupting her conversation with a heart surgeon he disliked, his hands reached around her shoulders, grasping the lapels on her equally long coat.

The lights, low in the room but travelling across a mirror ball, landed at her back as he slid the dark fabric down like a curtain.

Glittering.

But he liked it.

He vibrated, her scapula bones meeting like wings of an angel as she dropped the coat off her arms. 

She'd not let him look at the dress until now. Beadwork in a line down the straps, down and across her waist. Shadow and bones and gold. Champagne dripped down her frame, soon like on her tongue.

She matched the room and enhanced it to a mind numbing quality. 

"Come on, there's Stamford," she said with a half grin, and grabbed his hand.

 Like fire on a golden pyre. 

He accepted her lead, lost in the light playing off her skin. He'd mapped it before. He mapped everything. But why does it look different here?

Do her nerves jump when his hand drifted up to her elbow, gripping like a secret, waiting? Lost to the bunching pale satin, but… she responded each time, ending the conversation.  

She let him hold her hand absently as she tugged him from one corner to the next. Satin gloves threaded in his fingers, robbing him of hers.

But her back, exposed, and his touch strayed there often to catch her attention, drawing her into him so he could mutter in her ear some amusing observation he'd about someone she chatted with. 

Her skin cooled like a glass of cold milk. He craved it the same. But he feared his hand gave him away, warming more with every risked caress. 

She flinched the first time, her wings shrugging him away.

But now she let it lay there, even as he chased a shadow up the nape with his finger. 

Her shiver is not from the room now. 

He smiled to himself, but the oncologist next to him took it as an opportunity to speak. I can do two things at once. Sherlock kept his fingers near her scalp, his fingernail grazing along the hairline until she quivered, and fanned herself with her purse. 

They made many more rounds, each one more exhausting. The satin under his hands, the hand on her lower back enticing. Every man who tried to insult her field of study with backhanded compliments boiled his blood.

 His mask slipped, and he half insulted the last surgeon they spoke to. 

"You're getting rude," she said, dragging him down by his collar to her ear. 

Oh, don’t do that…

The tug switched on a part of his brain he'd kept safe from her. They'd both been so good since his sister nearly destroyed everything.

Such respectable friends, open with their emotions except for…

I'm going to ruin that now. 

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?” She searched his face for understanding in the dark. 

“I thought you said all surgeons are like footballers, egotistical and overpaid,” he sniffed. 

She leaned back and frowned. "You said that."

“Hmm…” he matched her frown, then smiled, running his tongue along his teeth. “Oh, yes… I did. But you might have agreed.”

He gasped. She snatched his collar again, with a curl twisted in it now, setting a delightful tingle across his scalp. 

“Why is it so hard for you to behave…”

He turned enough so she could meet his stare. "You like me when I don't… why change that now?" His tongue strayed across his lips, letting his gaze drop to hers. 

In the dark and flashing light of the room, it hit perfect timing for the scarlet of her lips to show. Her teeth parted and her tongue licked her own lips as well. 

“Come with me,” she said, low, releasing him when someone glanced their way. 

They reached the bathroom on the front left corner of the room, with no one around. “You know what? Wait here for a moment and then we'll talk.” She stepped in and his hand caught the door as she pushed close it.

Wide-eyed, she let him push it back and close it behind him, meeting her stare. 

"Sherlock, what are you—"

His finger to his lips and she clamped her mouth shut. His lips lifted into a sly smile. 

"Is there something wrong?" She moved to him and glanced at the door, his hand going back behind him and clicking the lock. 

“No, I wanted to talk… privately.”

She sighed out in relief. “We could have gone outside.”

“Then I couldn’t look at you in that dress.”

The bathroom decorated for the theme, feather arrangement, lights low. The cream walls normally boring matched her antique faded gold satin. He soaked in the room along with her. 

One last look before you leap…

"Oh, don't be silly…" she chuckled, crossing her arms, and his eyes dropped to the cleavage.

He remained wordless, a hand in his pocket, waiting for her to catch up.

She squinted, shaking her head as she whispered, "Oh… no."

"Molly."

She ran a hand through her short cropped hair. How soon might I do the same?

“Are you really going to do this here? This dance for… god I thought we'd settled this,” she said, the plead in her tone only urged him on more.

“Oh, my sweet Molly, like ice cream on my tongue, freezing every word… until this dress.” he shifted near to her, and she stepped back near the sink. 

"I'm not sweet," she said with folded arms, looking down at the cleavage, realising the effect and moving her arms, bracing on the sink basin. “We should go… before you say something you shouldn't.”

"I'll be the judge of that."

She turned toward the mirror with a scoff. “Your judgement is terrible. I don't trust it. But yes…you always thought me too sweet… is that all compassion is to you?” Her gaze went down as she said it and he counted the vertebrae in her neck, concentrating. 

How did I get here? How do I get out of it? 

But he was bored with ignoring the chemicals running under his skin when she was near. 

He closed the distance behind her, and she stiffened. His eyes travelled from the hollow of her throat, slowly following the pink path each capillary displayed with the pump of her heart. Those lips, red and not yet swollen as he'd make them. 

His gaze lifted from there up as he spoke his stare meeting hers in the mirror. "My mistake then… I do confess to the two mistakes you accused. But then I recall less gentleness when your hand stuck hard," he raised his hand, tenderly tracing his thumb along her cheekbone, and licked his lips when she shivered. “Do I deserve it again?”

The beadwork, gold and silver sparkling in the low light, entranced him. He traced down with a finger, following along its path, ending in a v, breast swelling with her heightened breath. Her heartbeat was so strong the pulse beat a rhythm under his fingertips. But he never broke his stare, and she held it, her eyes dark and shining.

Gleaming.

And he loved it. 

Would she imagine him closing the gap, a canyon between what they've been… and what they will be? Never letting his lips touch, but he assured his breath and its heat performed the same duty as he spoke into her ear… and then her jaw. 

"But tell me… did you know how I fought every urge and when it changed… how many times we've almost. When we considered all the possibilities and said no…was it not because you were so principled?" He said with a smirking grin. 

Crack.

She’d spun around to face him and struck his left cheek. She gulped hard, and he sighed, waiting for her words to catch up with her hand. 

“If this is a game… It's very cruel. You can read what I want without touching. You know every ache, every want… you…” She drew a deep breath through her nose. “Always did. Question is… will you be too high minded … or will you…” She squinted as she spoke, but the tremble he expected was absent. 

But this was the Molly he'd fallen for all along, in her own power and never under his. Quite the opposite. Her lips parted, her eyes on his lips as well.

Her breath matched his, and his lungs ached for them to share the same air. 

“Which one of us will break… that delicious thick tension we’d spun for years… but…” he tipped his nose against hers and with his hands on either side of her on the washbasin, holding on to the porcelain for dear life, he said near her lips, “It was always yours to take… stop asking for permission.” 

Come on now, my Molly.

He let her kiss him, and answered the swell in his chest deepening until his entire mouth encompassed hers, his tongue licking the champagne sugars off hers.   

“You kiss like you want me, Sherlock Holmes.” She sighed into his throat, breathless. She'd pressed her body against him when the kiss deepened. He couldn't dare put his arms around her… I might never let go.

He swallowed hard. "The easiest thing I've ever done. You'd be correct… you always were."

“Oh, yes… too sweet. Then…” she said with a huff, leaning back, robbing him of her nearness, and he missed it.

He met her knowing stare. 

“You're correct… you always were.” Honesty at last. But he couldn't see if it would help or harm the mood. 

She shook her head slightly. “Don't be like that. I don't know what to do with that. It can't fuck me properly.”

“Then tell me what you want. As in to say… I'm done thinking for now. It bores me.” He spoke into her neck, “Tell me the fantasy… I can only read so much from your breath and skin singing under my touch… instruct me to see how to get you there. New memories.”

"Beg me. On your knees. And make sure you say please.”

He sighed. “Now Molly… I wanted to tease you more before I have use of my knees… have you lost patience—”

Her hand covered his mouth, and she pushed him down until her knee dug into his shoulder hard, on his knees in front of her.

“Beg… it's the least you can do if you want me so much… wanted me so long. We're both ignoring our principles now…” she said, each word strong ringing in his mind. “So beg.” 

Her mouth is so pretty when she says…

"So beg." 

He quieted his mind, a singular focus now. Every sense dialled in to her rich floral perfume, her touch and heartbeat. 

The light played on the satin before him, transfixing. “Please,” he said low, running his hands lightly along the golden sleek cloth, seeking her bones underneath like a lost road. “Teach me, tell me what to do.”

“I don’t want to ruin this beautiful dress… put your jacket next to the basin.”

He lingered his hand fascinated with the precise folds of the skirt, shining and shadowing, like the folds he’d soon… he trailed a finger along one close to her hip.

“Now will you be a good boy…and do what I asked or do I…?”

He looked up into her eyes, so far above him like a goddess’ blessing. He held her stare as he snatched the coat off and handed it to her to arrange.

“Now set me—oh!”

As he stood, taking her with him as he grabbed her hips and arse, fingers digging the slippery dress and sat her on the counter so hard she bounced.

He smiled sly as irritation on her skin coloured the same as her blush. I like both too much. 

He held his hands up in false surrender. 

She huffed out, “Are you going to take instruction or are you gonna improvise your own here?”

 “I’ve matured, I like collaboration.” He shrugged a shoulder, leaning over and snatching an ostrich feather out of the full vase next to her. How perfect for the theme this evening. The sheen on the feathers caught the light golden as her dress. He twirled it between his fingers, waiting. 

“Nothing else unless I say so,” she said. He didn't miss the gravel and struggle to breathe. Her stare unblinking on the feather.  

“Then…” he held the feather out in front of her and lowered it, leaning in meeting her half lidded gaze. “Tell me what to do.”

“I think you guessed I like a tease.”

He nodded, “Oh do I ever…we've done years… little kisses on the cheek like friends,” he let the end of the feather fall across her face, moving it in time to watch the colour rise deep scarlet. “But since we remedied that… … but what's a little more?” He lowered the feather across her neck and she turned her head, opening up and he imagined her nerves jumping.

That neck was like cream he wanted to lick and bruise with his teeth. 

Ah, there is the demon I've always feared.

He teased with the feather down between her breasts, and she shuddered with her sigh. Her eyes closed, and he trailed the feather up again, teasing her clavicle, the bones showing their angles in shadow and he wanted to add his own shadow there as well.

She leaned back, head against the mirror. ��More,” she whispered out.

The feather up her throat, and he trembled, the tip of it caressing her lips. Now I'm jealous of a feather. He wanted to kiss her again but now bound by the agreement. She'd broken so many rules for him. I can keep this one.  

Her breath shuddered as she leaned back over and looked up into his eyes. 

“That's enough. Kiss me… kiss me so hard I might bleed.”

He shook his head, and squinted, “Don't ask me to do that. I'll do anything you ask… it is what you deserve, but… those demons don't need to come out yet.”

She gritted her teeth under her lips, “Then kiss me like you love me.” 

I'm gonna ignore those tears. They're not here to stay.

 He kissed her so tenderly he thought they both might break. 

She stopped for a breath, and spoke into his ear, “I love you too… Now that's out of the way, kiss me however you want… but I want your hands to move this skirt out of the way.”

He lifted her and shoved it out of the way behind her, and she helped gather the top. He hates the skirt now. Should have encouraged her for a short flapper dress, one with a delightful fringe he could have twirled in his fingers near her knee.

No matter. The music kicked up loud outside the bathroom, the low beat thumping under his hand resetting just beside her thigh like a heartbeat. 

“Tell me what you want… my touch or my tongue.” He licked his lips, drying from his breath increased as much as hers. Oh, to find out how sweet she really is.

“Touch… I think that's all I can stand for now,” she said with an unsteady voice. “Talk to me. Tell what you want… tell me what you will do… your voice is the only sound I want in my head.”

His thumbs strayed to her thighs, bare and like silk. Circles and caresses, and he leaned into her ear, “Can you please…” he caressed over her knees. "lean back to the wall, my love, I don't want you to hurt that pretty head."

“Yes… more,” she said, exposing that creamy throat again.

“Can I kiss your neck… please?”

“Yes… god yes, but… I need your fingers,” she reached a trembling hand and grasped his, setting it on inner thigh. "I need them inside me." The fire like heat pulsed against his palm. She's so wet for me… 

But first, he raised his fingers up to his mouth, letting her observe him wet them, meeting her stare. 

He tugged her soaked knickers aside. Two fingers found her folds. So ready for him, his knees nearly buckled. He turned his fingers and met her clit with his thumb, gently as she was so hard. She pulled and tugged on his fingers, whimpering, calling him like a siren's song.

She's always been the rock I'd dash myself on. 

His lips on her throat, and she burrowed her nails in his curls and scalp. Those low moans barely reached his ears, but they vibrated under his tongue, the salt of her skin mouthwatering. 

Bang bang.

The lock jiggled.

They both glanced at the lock, wide-eyed, but it held. 

Oh, that will not do. 

Her movement on his fingers wavered, but he pressed further, finding the spot that nearly made her cry out and he grinned into the hollow of her throat and flicked it with his tongue. 

Her moan louder, but he clamped his hand tight over her mouth, every knock urging him on, his thumb playing with clit, soaking wet dripping down as his fingers curled. Her panicked peeks at the door replaced as she closed her eyes and smiled into his hand, her sigh hot and panted. 

He turned her face and leaned into her ear, nipping as he spoke. “Is that adding to the effect? There'll be no mistake what I did to you when we leave together… they’ll know… shame they can’t hear the crying moan I want to hear… A shame for me. Tell me. Harder or softer… how long do you want them to wait?”

She panted into his hand. "Harder… oh god… I'm so close. Don't stop that or I'll hit you again."

The brat in him wanted to tease her. But this wasn't the time. 

But his deep voice, he knew its effect, and he spoke, meeting her lidded stare with his own.

"They love our brilliant brains, don't you think? But they don't see us as humans. Never will, but we can see and feel it now. It's our little secret how human we can both be."

She whimpered and tightened but… no it's not quite there.

“Can you come for me… please?”

“Kiss me one more time… I… oh…” she said with a shudder, her legs tightening on his hand.

And kiss her he did, so hard she might bleed and she cried out into his mouth and shuddered down into her orgasm, pulsing so deliciously around his finger he almost came himself.

She slumped, and he stared, pulling out. 

When she met his gaze, she whispered, “You can taste the results… and think about when we get home.”

He sucked his fingers clean, not blinking and her smile, slight, ended with a shivered whimper. 

Much too sweet… I can't wait for more. 

[kidflashimpulse]

Finally got to read the new chapter and oh my goodness. So many moments that just made me go ‘awwww.’

I love the way you write Barry and Bart’s dynamic. Obviously we’ve seen a bit of the tension the two of them can have with one another, but this time we got to see some of that sweetness (and humor). Bart trying not to grin when Barry tells him he did good was so sweet. Then there was that part of them talking with the kid, and the mention of Bart helping out at Barry’s job (and bringing donuts! I love when people bring donuts to work… best coworkers for the day).

Then there’s a bit of Bart and Ed. Poor Bart- he should’ve just woken Ed up, he’s about to go a long while without him and his maaaaasive… heart :) (Barry’s borderline horrified reaction hahaha). Also the bit about Bart saying he can’t quit Ed- that’s so sweet dude omg. HELP AND BART SPREADING GAY RUMORS ABOUT HIMSELF? Who would’ve thought the public took him for a straight man… poor Bart.

Lastly the mentions of Jay. God, if Bart doesn’t see him before he leaves that’s gonna make it even more soul crushing. And man, you really laid it on thick this chapter. The but about him tucking Bart in sometimes- I don’t even have words that’s just the sweetest thing I may have ever read.

Overall, 100/10 as usual. Incredible work; thank you for sharing your art with us. I know you mentioned a new story about Bart being missing in space, but nonetheless I don’t know what I will do with myself when this one finishes. New chapters have been something I look forward to for… goodness, over a year now? Anyways, thank you again. I hope you have a good day/night whenever you’re reading this <33

u would not believe how hungry i was for donuts when writing that in like i’m still craving them as we speak when will i get my goddamn donuts damnit

it’s so important to me to try to remember to flesh out the good moments between bart and barry, especially since i’m such a fan of them beefing and having tension/discord, i feel like if anything it contributes to the “stakes” of their relationship so i’m really glad to hear that from u :) <33

this is probably way too serious of an answer to smn that doesn’t warrant it lol but hey, what the heck 😂 so of course ppl perceive queerness in all sorts of different ways considering it’s such a spectrum but to me bart’s appeal as a gay guy (in both the comics and the show) is that he’s just such a guy (i have no other way of expressing this 😭) but then he can also so easily slip into having more neutral traits and insights that r just really refreshing in gender expression (not necessarily wrt to his identity, just his overall sense of being), i don’t know, obviously a massive chunk of my interpretation lies in my subjectivity, but the way i see him, i could see “media” perceiving him superficially as straight + combining that with what i feel like is a “speedster reputation” (atleast in YJA) just results in a bunch of moments that allude to those things, that scene included, whether it be for laughs or a very low-key social commentary 😂 but ultimately i just enjoyed writing those scenes cause they cracked me up so i’m glad u enjoyed them too 😂😂

can u imagine bart jetting off into space without resolving anything with jay? that would actually be so funny, don’t tempt me 🫡

regarding that new story of bart in space, yes it largely revolves around the time of his disappearance during YJ phantoms because i’ve been kind of dying to write that (it’s been 84 years and i still can’t believe the episodes ended up like that) but it’s my least developed drafted story so even though “chronologically” its a Part 2 in the series of fics that AAIT is a part of, Retrocausality is the current sequel to AAIT, that hopefully, once AAIT is finished, you might be able to look forward to <3

it’s actually so bizarre that it’s been over a year now with AAIT (possibly even two at this point ??? i have no idea lol), i never imagined it to turn out the way it has and i have to say, it exceeded my expectations (just purely based on the writing journey and experience) by so much, and that’s 100% because of the feedback i managed to get from it. I know i say this time and time again but it’s just so true, i really mean it so much, the response to the fic has really added so much life to it ! and honestly i probably wouldn’t have been anywhere close to finishing it if it weren’t for all the support throughout it. Truly incredible stuff that I will never forget !!

so THANK YOU for ur continued support and joining the journey, i can’t put to words how much i appreciate it truly ! Thank you again for reading and I really hope I continue to write stuff that u can enjoy 💛💛

[educatedinyellow]

Vid WIP meme (continued)

Thank you so much for the ask, @thetimemoves!

"How fun! I would love to know more about the two Sherlock vids: Memento Mori and Headlock. I’d also love to hear more about the songs you associate with different characters."

Memento Mori is a song by the group Fish in a Birdcage. I actually started to make this vid in the somewhat frantic run-up to the most recent round of Holmestice before switching tacks to fic writing. I was introduced to the song via a wonderful Sherlock & Co. playlist on Spotify, and as soon as I heard it, I thought the darkly playful sound was perfect for the more frenetic Holmesian adaptations, like BBC or the Ritchie films. The theme of the song seemed to me to be about the adrenaline rush that comes with mystery + the fascination of death, plus the abhorrence of mundanity (my mind rebels at stagnation, give me problems, give me work!) That repeating chorus ("I never wanted to sleep") plus the self-aware, mordant cheek of the verses ("ashes to ashes, dust to dust, filling up my coffee cup") -- there's an awareness here that this character craves the stimulation of violence/danger and the exultation of being constantly in overdrive. The "hound" references in the bridge obviously lend themselves to Baskerville. The verse "inside the timeless cage, I never wanted to sleep" definitely brings the Mind Palace sequences to mind, especially in The Abominable Bride where he mentally retreats so far into another time and place that he temporarily loses his sense of reality.

I started this vid with images of water cascading down paired with Sherlock stepping up onto the ledge at Barts in The Reichenbach Fall. Then we cut to a shot of John choking on smoke inside the Guy Fawkes pyre paired with a shot of a beautiful, flickering flame. The title card comes up -- Memento Mori -- and we get Mycroft's dialogue ("You're not haunted by the war Dr. Watson. You miss it. Welcome back.") That's all timed over the opening instrumental and when the first verse starts (ashes to ashes, dust to dust) we cut first to the shot of dirt flying around John at Maiwand as he's shot, then to the opening of ASIP and the glimpse of the gun he keeps in his drawer, and a lingering shot of him near tears in his bed, post-nightmare, "I never wanted to sleep." I timed out some of Sherlock's riding crop swings at the corpse to match the initial percussion when it comes in. Plus: "Memento mori leaves a debt, you haven't paid it yet" = Sherlock rotating the IOU apple after Moriarty's visit in TRF.

Anyhow, that's about as far as I'd gotten. The process is slower than it used to be because I lost all my old vidding programs when my former laptop died a year ago, and I'm only slowly learning new programs/finding alternatives that work. It's still an open question whether I'll get any new vids done, especially anything that would require me to rip new footage (the software to do that is increasingly elusive, at least for me). But we'll see :)

Headlock by Imogen Heap is another song that I thought has the right sound for BBC Sherlock. The theme seems to be about self-sabotage, a person -- or two people -- who have convinced themselves they aren't cut out to let their hearts rule their heads ("You say too late to start, got your heart in a headlock"), which works as a running Johnlock theme. There are little phrases that remind me of John and Sherlock's first meeting ("throw a stranger an unexpected smile". And then John being at a loss how to be anything but a soldier -- "with big intention, still posted at your station" -- transforming into something joyful in that crazy rooftop chase when he first jumps after Sherlock and forgets his limp: "still going on about the day you should have flied.")

The song's bridge is perfect for a Mycroft-Sherlock interlude ("You've been walking, you've been hiding, and you look half-dead half the time. Monitoring you, like machines do, you've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye"). The sound of a pulse monitor flat-lining in the middle of the song before the big instrumental kicks in would work perfectly with the whole Mary shooting him business. I don't know, I just see lots of story hooks in these lyrics, and it seems right for the frustration of an unrealized love story that ends with a tentative try at believing that a new start is possible after all.

The second part of your question was about songs that I associate with particular characters despite not being tempted to vid with them. This can happen for a lot of different reasons -- maybe it's a song I associate with the character because someone else already made a great vid for them with it! Or maybe it's a song where the lyrics are right but the sound/tone is wrong for source material, or maybe there's one perfect verse but the rest of the song doesn't work nearly as well. Most often, though, it happens when there's a song focused heavily on emotions/interiority that perfectly matches my headcanon for a character but doesn't really lend itself to any specific story elements from the source material the character is in. That makes it hard to storyboard a visual narrative to go along with the song. So, to give a few examples...

This is a song I will forever associate with Sherlock because humansrsuperior made a wonderful vid with it over a decade ago (which has long since vanished from the internet): Hi by Psapp. ("Compulsive: every page I turn I want more. I never know the next thing in store, 'cause you excite me like a locked door does.")

Here is a Sherlock song where the lyrics are right but the sound is (in my opinion) not an easy match with the source material: Curses by The Crane Wives.

And for those headcanon songs that express a character's interior life/emotional truth vividly but are hard to visually storyboard, the two at the top of my list are love songs for my two favorites from SPN, Dean and Cas. Dean's song is a cover of A Modern Leper by Julien Baker. ("And is that you in front of me, coming back for even more of exactly the same? You must be a masochist, to love a modern leper on his last leg.") And Cas's is Two by Sleeping At Last. ("I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well. I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved myself....I will love you without a single string attached.") Both a perfect summation of, like, 10,000 fics, but neither easy to vid with footage from the show itself.

And to conclude on a Holmesian note, for me one of those headcanon 'this is what he's like on the inside' songs for BBC Sherlock is All I Really Want (Acoustic) by Alanis Morissette.

<33333

[brucewaynehater101]

Santa AU

Gun batman Tim doesn't have the gift anymore, neither to the other young justice lords, using the gifts for serial killer or joker nonsense would cause them to lose it, the naughty and nice lists takes a lot of stuff into account, since they don't consciously know they have these abilities then it would be hard for them to consciously abuse it

the gifts work all year long, they just work faster/better in July and December, Cassie can always speak/understand whatever language but if it's not July or December it takes her about a minute to register that she knows it

Kon is always aware of the vibes of a person but in July and December he can clock someone on the naughty list without even looking at them, yj might start getting kon to vibe check their dates before they go out with someone, especially cissie and greta, they just text him a picture with a question mark and he sends back a thumbs up or down

In July/December Tim not only knows a person's deepest desires but he also can wrap a present better than Alfred, his wrapping skills go back to pre gift level when it's not July/December

In July/December, someone just has to look at Greta and they get a sense of relief that there's someone safe to talk to or who can help, outside of July/December Greta has to speak up and get a person's attention before it kicks in, if she's confronted with someone who needs help and that help is outside of her wheelhouse then she gets one of the team on the line to help her

Cissie has the tony hawk effect but when it's not july/december some people might say something like "oh, you have the same name as that one movie star" the paparazzi is always on the look out for her and they always fail, the only time she's been in paparazzi pictures is when she takes pity on tim and acts as his arm candy for some trendy social event where he's stuck being the Wayne representative

Bart really craves sweets in july/december more than he usually does and they tend to keep his appetite in check for longer periods in july/december than other times

if anita made gingerbread in july/december then it could withstand a punch from superman and still taste delicious, there's no reason for it to do so, so none of yj ever discovers this, any thoughts about the gingerbread tasting especially good in july/december is attributed to the way things can hit different at holidays because of nostalgia and memories

Thank you so much for expanding and clarifying. I love figuring out how powers work, what their constraints are, and how different aspects apply to them.

The explanations make sense, and I'm definitely vibing with them. I would definitely read a fanfic that just subtly explored these aspects (especially if YJ just never finds out). I wonder if Gun Batman thinks about how he's lost the ability to know what people. Does he trick himself into believing he still knows or does he see it as a necessary loss for his mission?

[icantstandher]

Peanut Brain Rattles and this is why

Hi Dear -

12/31 It’s been a a bit more than a handful of days without you and the bitter feeling of you leaving hasn’t stopped me from thinking how tragic it is in my own perfect world. Outside I’m able to shine with the positive that you have filled me and hope of being able to love, when I’m alone at home sitting in the quiet I can only let out a deep sigh with a wish and a slow “I miss her a lot”. I seen your instagram stories and it’s nice to get a subtle hi from you through there peering to your life so I know you’re doing okay and just overall living. I really appreciate that. I’ve been trying to asses where I belong in your life. When you are here, what parts still ring with a sense of you. How much of the stuff you gave me still feels like yours but just in my possession. I read the note over and over and it suckers me into seeing the cuteness that you turned this into. I was imagining you crossing out the letters and just trying to imagine your demeanor doing it or when you came up with the idea. I miss you Caro. Have a good new years!

1/2 I had a strand of your hair on my sweater vest and I’m dumb because I was considering picking it out and placing it somewhere it won’t get lost. Ahh man I’m obsessed. I don’t want to feel like you’re gone from here. I very much liked your company in my home and feel like if I toss it I’ll have a little more of you leave.I went to walk to luckys by my house which passes Bart. The noise of the Bart arriving at the station would fill me with excitement and happiness. Now I see that it’s become a little less exciting each time but reminding of the cute travels came out of it. Something about saying goodbye at a station is so romantic to me. I think it’s because it’s using whatever needs we needed to so we could see each other. And something about “meet me at the station” is such a movie quote. I had a craving for that spicy cashew today and I laugh at the fact that you still teach me about new places. It was so different. I swear I liked it. Different is nice.

1/3 I was thinking about how different the dynamic was the very first day you came over vs the last time. The first time you dropped by just the idea that you were in my home was crazy to think about. Here we are reconnecting years later however in the silence, we were comfortable, in the mess of it all we were still ourselves. I remember you asked me if I wanted help to setup the TV and I was thinking she's so sweet it's close to 11pm and she wants to build the TV stand. All I wanted was to relish the time you were there with me for, and so we did. We did until we knew it was time to go. I wont forget how misty the air looked on my way home and the completely empty freeway. I was absolutely drained but the spirit of what just happened kept me completely awake. You are so sweet for still trying to make sure I take care of myself. I'm at the point where I am realizing how much you could wave a wand and have me at your doorstep. Be it right after work, in the night, 3am - I'd kill to have another 5 minutes. The drive is damn worth it.

1/4 You can tell me how tainted you feel or how much you think I should feel the need I went your admiration but I’ll just go about my day loving you just the same. Tainted flaws and all I don’t care - I keep finding perfection in who you are, who I was able to spend the time with in December. That girl is Caro and I want her, all of her how she is now. I don't question why you mean so much to me and I want to continue having these feelings for you without pushing them to the side. I miss you a lot and I miss talking to you everyday joking and bantering about our lives. I miss your cold hands and your stinky hair. I miss your crusty attitude and your selfishness of stealing my fries, and my lips. I miss how you stole my breath with our kiss. Fuck how I miss your besos. I miss how you made me go insane when I couldn't hug you for 5 minutes straight. I miss walking the streets of SF mindlessly. I miss staring at your face knowing damn well you are aware i'm doing it. I miss it all. I miss our keen sense of having our own communication, with our own stupid little insiders. I still can't stand you and I will never stand you but contradictory to that, I miss you. L L L