#like... both sides of the debate are not just one side

[moonstruckme]

remus one shot where he can’t stop blushing around the reader because he has a huge crush on her and sirius and james are like dude please ask her out already?? 🙈

cw: the trials and tribulations of a restaurant job, semi-confident reader (or at least she can withstand Sirius' flirting, which I couldn't), James and Sirius' shameless wingmanning

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The cafe is crammed. You’ve almost tripped over two kids already whose parents let them run loose, you did let a glass slip from your tray when a customer stuck his leg out into the walkway without looking, and you’ve quickly reached the conclusion that today was definitely the wrong day to break in your new work shoes. You’re on your last straw at only ten in the morning, but your pasted-on smile becomes twice as genuine when you see a table of your favorite regulars. 

“Hi,” you say warmly, clicking your pen and readying it above your pad. “How are we doing today?” 

You’re greeted with two dazzling grins from one side of the booth and a shyer smile from the other. 

“Y/n,” says Sirius, in his suave, flirtatious way (you’ve learned not to take it personally), “you’re looking stunning.” 

You know your hair is suffering from the weather outside and there’s orange juice down the front of your apron, but you smile at him anyway. “Thank you, so are you.” 

“How’s your morning going?” James asks. These boys are never ones to skip over pleasantries to get to their meal, and while with other tables you might try to hurry them along, you never mind in this case. Today especially, you welcome the break. 

“Oh, it’s going,” you try to joke, looking pointedly down at your orange juice stain. “Could be worse.” 

He makes a face. “Yikes.” 

“It’s fine,” you say breezily. “What can I get you?” 

You look to James, because really he’s the only one you ever need to ask. The other two are fairly consistent, but James seems inclined to try something new every time he comes in. 

He doesn’t disappoint now, locking eyes with you seriously over the top of his menu. “How is your butterfly lemonade? No—actually, what is your butterfly lemonade?”

“It’s…” You bite your lip, thinking. Sirius snickers, and when you look he seems to be sharing in some joke with Remus’, whose cheeks have gone a tad pink. “I’m not sure, honestly, but it’s sweet. I think you’d like it.” 

“That, then.” James slaps down his menu decisively. 

“Right.” You write it down. “And then, a caramel latte and a tea?” You look to Sirius and Remus for confirmation. 

The former shoots you a grin you take as a yes, while the latter nods and says quietly, “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” You soften your smile for Remus. You adore all of these boys, but you have a bit of a tender spot for him. Remus is by far the quietest of his friends, though really just as friendly when he does talk. It’s terribly endearing. 

You click your pen again. “Okay, back soon!” 

The boys’ table remains a bright spot in your morning for as long as they’re there. Their antics you’re rather used to—the flirting, and the pranks, and the teasing way both James and Sirius poke at Remus while his blush worsens and worsens—but it surprises a laugh out of you when you joke that you’ll have to spit in Remus’ food if he orders the brioche (which infamously holds up the kitchen every time) and Sirius snorts doubt he’d mind before yelping and jumping in his seat. By the time you’re bringing them their ticket, the cafe has reached its late morning lull and your day is remarkably brighter than it started off. 

You seem to be interrupting some sort of debate when you approach their table, Remus leaning forward to whisper across the booth before he catches sight of you and sits back. The tops of his cheekbones are tinged pink. Sirius, on the other hand, is grinning wickedly, whereas James looks mostly exasperated. 

“Thank you,” James says kindly, taking the ticket from you. Remus starts rifling through his pockets for cash, but Sirius only looks at you as though sizing you up. 

“Y/n,” he starts to say, ignoring how Remus’ eyes narrow in his direction, “are you seeing anyone at the moment?” 

You feel your eyebrows lift. “Not currently, no.” 

“But why not?” He affects a look of puzzled contemplation, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re a pretty girl. Are you not looking to date?” 

You shrug, fighting the urge to cross your arms defensively. It’s not that you’ve never gotten these sorts of personal questions from customers before, but you weren’t expecting them from this table; you thought you knew better than to take Sirius’ flirting seriously. “Nothing has come up lately, I guess.” 

“Do you fancy men?”

“Sirius,” Remus hisses. “Leave her alone.” 

“What?” Sirius spreads his hands, guileless. “None of us would care if you didn’t, lovely—well, some might care, but no one would hold it against you—” He yelps for the second time today, this time shooting a glare at his friend across the booth. “Anyway, you don’t have to say if you aren’t comfortable.” 

You’re laughing a bit now, half nervously. “No, that’s okay. I do, yeah.” 

“Interesting.” James sets down the ticket. It seems you have his full attention now. “And what do you think of our Remus?” 

Remus makes a horrified sputtering sound, and you turn to find him looking at James in betrayal. He’s pink to the tips of his ears. 

You can’t help a small smile as you catch on. “I think he seems very sweet.” 

“Mm, well spotted.” James nods, tenting his hands like a man at a business meeting. 

“Yes, very good taste,” Sirius agrees. 

“He’s a dateable bloke, no?” James asks you. He jolts in his seat a little, but doesn’t yelp like Sirius had. Remus appears caught between wanting to hide his face in his hands and wanting to burn his friends to cinders with his gaze. He’ll be lucky, you think amusedly, if he doesn’t burn himself up first. The hue of his blush is only getting deeper. 

“He is,” you agree. You look at Remus again. This time, he meets your eyes, his look softening. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says miserably. 

Your grin spreads. “No, don’t be.” 

“So would you like to date him?” James furthers. 

Remus does put his head in his hands now, letting out a muffled groan. “James.” 

“What? Clearly you aren’t going to do it yourself, and I am sick of trying to eat my breakfast whilst you moon over—” He jumps in his seat again, and goes quiet, reaching down to rub at his leg. You tuck your lips in to hide a smile. 

“I’m just going to take this,” you say, reaching for the customer copy of their receipt. You bend over, scrawling your number down on the signature line. “And if anyone has more questions for me later, they can give me a ring. Okay?” 

You look at Remus. He looks nauseous and stop-sign red, but he manages to give you a small smile. “Alright,” he says, tentatively.

“Perfect. Bye, boys.” You shoot them a wave as you go to your next table. You hope Remus sees how your smile is really only for him.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I don’t think most people can really be trusted with home wax kits if I’m honest. That’s a job best left to professionals. I think this because of the one time Brendan and I tried to wax ourselves with disastrous results.

I’ve always hated pubic hair and Brendan was like a satyr of a man so we decided a fun together activity would be waxing each other. We picked up a home kit and sequestered ourselves in the bathroom.

My first sign that things were about to go horribly wrong was that the first thing we saw in the kit were warnings about how to not horrifically burn yourself. But I had not yet developed a healthy sense of fear. We were going to have an adventure.

Brendan and I stripped and crowded around the heating wax, excited and silly, looking forward to our future hairless states. We debated what to wax first and since I loathed having crotch hair I volunteered my pubes to begin.

The first hurdle proved to be getting the wax where we wanted it. The sticky mess resisted the wooden slathering sticks with all its might and adhered to anything else. Arms, countertop, sink, walls, until finally I smeared some where we were trying to go.

I slapped paper onto the malleable wax and waited for it to set. I asked Brendan if he’d pull it but his eyes welled up with sadness and he protested he couldn’t possibly hurt me until I sighed and tried to rip out my own pubes.

I have seldom experienced worse pain than that moment. It was excruciating and I fully screamed and fell off the edge of the tub where I’d been sitting as a fiery relentless burning agony settled into my crotch. The only saving grace was I’d started off to one side rather than going down the landing strip.

Both Brendan and I were horrified to see that every hair follicle I’d ripped up was now welling with blood. I staunched the bleeding and turned watery eyes on him. “Your turn.”

Brendan was not a coward. He would not let me suffer alone. But he also didn’t want a crotch full of blood, so he smeared a bit up the thicket of his leg hair and ripped. He threw his whole body into a painful silent scream, pounding his fist on the counter as all the cells in the bare patch of his leg lodged a formal protest.

We stewed in silence after that, pain throbbing along our bodies with each heartbeat, balefully regarding the wax on the counter. We didn’t want to give up but the pain register of this task was well beyond our capability to bear. We looked at each other. I said, “Maybe it will hurt less on my leg.”

He looked at me dubiously but we both knew my leg hair wasn’t as dense. The last wax that would ever touch me was slathered on a modest patch of shin hair. I stared at it for a long time, steeling myself against the coming fury of my follicles. I ripped. I managed not to scream but I clenched every muscle in my body against the fresh wash of unpleasantness.

My leg didn’t bleed but I tapped out. It was too much, we couldn’t do it. We tidied the bathroom as best we could we kept finding new wax patches where we’d made a mess for weeks afterward. It took a few hours before we could laugh about the misadventure. My two bald spot were stark for the next few weeks, matching Brendan’s single missing strip of leg hair.

We would go on to try to shave Brendan with disposable razors, a Sisyphean task that blunted three disposable razors and resulted in innumerable cuts and ingrown hairs. Eventually we just accepted defeat and Brendan continued on as hairy as he began.

[arislary]

Foggy - Han Jisung x f!reader Drabble

Synopsis: You see Han Jisung wearing his glasses during class and can't help yourself.

Pairing: nerd!Han Jisung x f!reader

Genre: Suggestive 18+

Warnings: fc takes her panties off.... A FREAK

WC: <1k

A/N: I feel evil for not writing more smut, I just like to tease 😉 but tell me if you want a part 2 with an actual smut scene. Also kind of want to keep this nerd!Jisung and reader going, I don't know I like their vibe, tell me if you want to see more drabbles of them! UNEDITED

Taglist: @inlovewithstraykids

Masterlist

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Jisung sat hunched over his table, pen rapidly moving across his notebook, gaze snapping between his professor and the notes he was currently jotting down. His black sweater having kept him warm in the usually cold classroom; however, today he felt a itching sensation on his neck. His skin felt smoldering and the cold metal of his watch did nothing as it became even more intense. 

His pen stopped and he glanced to his left, freezing once he saw what resided next to him. Your eyes dark and hooded gazed at him, head resting on your hand, arm propped up on your side of the table. The skirt you wore riding high on your smooth thighs, legs crossed and your shoe grazing the seat of his chair and leg. 

Jisung could feel the flush rise up his face immediately, leaving him gulping and coughing on his spit. His arm raised in front of his face to cover his mouth, causing the smallest bit of hot air to fog his glasses. He felt the air in his lungs leave as you reached over, pulling his glasses from his face, reaching into your own purse to pull out your glasses case. 

Jisung’s eyes bugged out at the sight of the large frames, glossing over the fact that you were currently cleaning his glasses for him, until they were once again sitting on his face. Your fingers ghosting over his nose leaving his eyes to flutter shut at the smallest touch, before your case was snapped shut and gone from sight. 

Your foot now rested on the back of his leg completely, gliding up and down slowly, bottom lip tugged in between your teeth as you continued to stare at him in the dimmed auditorium. Jisung took a second to glance around if anyone else could see or even noticed the seductress in the room, but to his sick pleasure no one even looked in their direction. He returned his stare back to you, finding you even closer, the sweater you wore, hanging dangerously low on your chest. 

He started when you suddenly stood to your feet, skirt swinging as you stepped behind his chair, your nails sliding across his neck. Jisung felt like he was suffocating, your touch electrified him and the smell of you surrounded him, clogging into his pores. He sat straight, listening as the door to the auditorium opened and shut quietly with you gone. He looked back at your area and almost breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of your belongings still. You’re coming back. 

You always carried his attention if he were honest with himself, but he never thought of actually talking with you. You carried an air of indifference and almost standoffish. He admired the way you were in the few courses you’ve shared, both having minors in philosophy. You always spoke your opinion clearly and concisely. Jisung remembers during one spirited class debate that your speech left him sweating and sporting a half hard-on. Which he was currently having to cover in this moment, his leg still tingling from where you had slid yours. His toes curling in his shoes and the beads of sweat that made themselves known on his temple, he knew he was fucked. 

He watched his professor continue to speak, but found himself unable to listen as his ears remained glued to the door behind him, waiting to here the click of the handle to signify your return. 

What did this mean? Did you….

Did you like him?

Fuck, Jisung shoved his arm down his lap, crossing one leg over the other as the thought alone brought him standing at full attention. His hand provided little relief, pressing firmly down through his sweater. He stiffened once he heard the door click open and once again the flutter of fingers gliding across his neck. 

You sat once more in your spot, your chair practically on top of Jisung’s. You crossed your legs once again, chin perched on your left hand, your right currently creeping inside of Jisung’s front pant pocket. Jisung’s chest began to heave up and down, glasses sliding further on his nose, his own hand fisted against his mouth. He felt the pressure of your fingers pushing something further into his pocket before slowly retreating. Your nails racked at his jeans and pulled away just as the professor wrapped his lecture, discussing the paper we had due at the end of the month. 

Jisung could barely make out the words leaving the teacher’s mouth, the blood rushing in his ears. You stood from your chair and Jisung’s head whipped around to stare as you placed your tote over your shoulder, gaze settling back on him. Eyes still dark, bending forward, cleavage showing, as you lifted a finger to push Jisung’s glasses back up his nose. 

“You have my number right?” 

Jisung sucked in a breath, nodding his head slowly as you continued to stare, your smirk deepening even more. 

“You’re gonna text me, right?” 

Jisung continued to nod, gulping as your finger slid down his cheek, rubbing at the chubbiness of it. Your hand slid down the expanse of his chest, pressing into where his hand still covered the tent in his pants. You leaned in closer, lips brushing against Jisung’s ear as you whispered. 

“You’re such a good boy, Jisung, I can’t wait.”

And you were gone, the door of the auditorium slamming shut, leaving Jisung in the cloud of your perfume and lotion. His hand inched into his pocket, eyes going wide at the silky texture, pulling out the fabric and gasping at thong that were now housed in his jeans. His fingers rubbed at the fabric, the wet patch glistening, glancing around and bringing his fingers to his nose and inhaling deeply. He let out a small whimper, tongue poking through his lips for the faintest taste. He knew he would become addicted to the scent, the taste, to you.

He scrambled to stuff them back in his pocket, hand remaining tightly grasping at them, as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Free hand quickly pulling up your contact from the class group-chat that they all had. He clicked on your name, switching to a private message quickly. 

Where are you?

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Let me know if you want a part 2 👀

Totally voluntary, but if you enjoy my writing and want to support me further, please consider here, I'd greatly appreciate it and thank you so much <3

I want to make it clear that I do not condone plagiarism in any form. All of the work I create is original. Please do not copy or reproduce my work without proper permission or attribution.

[tootoomanycats]

Just Deserts

(Post Rumbling Levi x Reader slow burn)

Chapter One- It's Snowing

Pairing:

Levi x Reader Slow Burn (eventual smut)

Word Count: 2,119

If you prefer to read on AO3 its HERE Summary: Two years after the rumbling has ended, the citizens of Paradis Island are beginning to enter a new era of peace. With trade routes open around the world now, more and more foreigners are arriving on the island. In a small town built on the island's docks, Levi has opened a tea shop. Humanity's strongest hero, now turned shop owner, has become a stickler for his daily routines. He wakes up, serves tea to the townsfolk, tends to his small garden, and then walks back upstairs to sleep, only to do it all over again the next day. It's a simple life—one he's never had before. After landing on the island's shores, following a hasty exit from home, you find yourself starting from square one. Over the next few months, you make friends with the locals and begin to build a new life for yourself. One day leads to the next, and somehow, you find yourself holding the deed to an empty storefront. Its windows face directly across from the local tea shop and its brooding owner. From your first meeting, neither of you could stand the other. In the months that follow the opening of your shop, a mutual frustration develops regarding your feelings for each other. What began as annoyance slowly transforms into a friendship, and both of you become nervous that it could be something more. Can Levi overcome his past and allow someone in again? Can you heal from heartbreak to have a chance at something real and honest? Or will you both settle for the courtesies of friendship, forever denying the desire for something deeper?

Warnings:

Minor mentions of blood.

Descriptions of chronic pain.

Mentions of a cheating partner.

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone! Holy shit, two chapters in one week? Nobody tell my cardiologist how much caffeine I’ve had this week- I don’t want to get in trouble. This is a story I’ve been sitting on my hands for almost a year now. I had made the original idea for this fic HERE. I ended up outlining some of it, and then, due to stress, moving, and tons of health issues, I forgot about it until two a.m. last night- when my sleeping meds were fighting with the caffeine I did not drink.

(it might have been three yerba cans, might not; you don't have proof!)

This one’s gonna be a slow burn, and it's gonna be funny. I want to put a lot of humor into this one.

As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks. Have you watered your smut provider today?

Two Years After The Rumbling

Glancing to the worn side table where a small square-faced alarm clock sat, a groan wracked his chest.

Two needle-like arms sat at 4:45 AM.

An hour before it was set to go off.

The smaller needle twitched back once before going forward two extra ticks; still need to fix that.

Four hours of fitful rest before being dragged back to the waking world. Last night's storm seemed hellbent on bringing powerful snow squalls. Accompanied by an atmospheric presser change that had his body vehemently protesting the whole night.

Freezing days like this had every past wound, affliction, and defacement his body had sustained roaring, unable to be ignored, and only allowing short and broken stints of rest.

If you could even call it that.

A slow blink brought focus to the ceiling. The aged variegation and cracks had been memorized in the last hour. Levi was lying awake in bed, his mind trying to pull what little motivation it could to sit up.

A groan filled his chest before he even started to move. Turning slowly to the right side, his right leg bent against the mattress. He then pushed his left hand down into the firm padding, using the leverage to sit up in bed.

Every movement was carefully debated, anything to avoid more discomfort than was already felt. Just sitting upright used more energy than he wanted to acknowledge.

Pulsing heat wound like barbed wire in his left shin, wrapping up the limb and pushing its pinpricked needles under the nerves of the patella. The joint inflammation, no doubt, had also caused swelling.

Shuddering a breath, Levi brought his right hand into view. There were rounded nodes where the index and middle fingers should be, both tingling and numb from the bout-filled night.

Minutes passed before trying to stand, only to feel a sharp sensation shoot up his left leg. With a grunt, he stumbled back onto the bed and begrudgingly glared at the walking cane leaning against the wall.

Another sigh.

The storm had passed over at some point, leaving a gray-skied morning in its wake. Snow blanketed everywhere that could be seen out of the window. It was going to be interesting going down the stairs of his apartment today. The steps already were becoming slick from moss, and now this added to the issue.

A shower, a very hot shower, would hopefully help this pain in the ass morning get off to a better start.

With a cane hooked over his forearm, Levi locked his apartment door before turning to face the narrow flight of stairs that stood between him and his goal.

With a grimace and half-shuffled step from the platform, his knee ached in protest as it bent to then hop down to the first step of many, only for his foot to slip on ice that had been hidden under snow.

The grip on the banister's railing was the only thing that kept him from sliding down the rest of the way. His thumb reached around to touch his ring and pinkie finger with its hold.

The opposite hand pressed down on the metal head of his cane, putting leverage onto the next step below before fixing his stance and trying to do better with the next hop. The same problem repeated, and his rear end landed harshly onto the freezing wood.

He refused to move out of pure spite at first. But with his body heat melting the snow and turning it into a puddle, the wet spot growing on his backside was not something he wanted to explain.

Glaringly, his eye scanned the street below, even glancing into his neighbors’ windows to make sure no one would see as he began scooting down each step, one at a time.

Seventeen steps later, and one very soaked bottom, saw Levi standing with a grumbling huff before turning the corner to the front of his tea shop.

“What a shit morning.” _______________________________________

“It’s snowing…”

How…

How did you get here?

Standing on a busy dock.

In a tattered wedding dress.

On an island, you had never set foot on before.

The sensation of something in your right hand made you look down at what it held. An obscenely large wad of money was neatly wrapped, held in place by a rubber band.

Oh, that’s right.

You were supposed to be getting married, right now.

Great Aunt Gertrude gave you the funds when you were zipped into the white gown this morning.

She had said something about, ugh, what was it she said?

“Just in case you change your mind.”

She had always been one to be blunt and to the point, which especially rang true for how useless she found your fiancé to be. To be fair, she wasn't wrong.

When she handed you the money, your best friend entered the dressing room to announce that your fiancée was missing. Everyone at the wedding party had been looking for him for over an hour.

It was understandable how worried you had been—what if he had been kidnapped or worse?

But nothing could have prepared you when you did find him, nothing.

It was by pure chance that you had heard the odd noises coming from the cleaning closet. When you opened the door, there was your fiancé; pants dropped down to his ankles as he pathetically thrust into another woman.

That moment felt as if it had lasted forever and simultaneously ended in a second. No one said anything, and all three of you were frozen in shock—them at being caught and you processing what you just saw.

The door had closed slowly with an ear-scratching creak. You may not remember much from that moment on, but you remember locking the door on them. No doubt forcing another person in the wedding party to find them together much later.

But you were already long gone by then.

And now you were here, where ever here was.

You watched as people walked by you, giving strange looks as you stood in the middle of the docks. It can't be blamed for the townsfolk gawking and looking away awkwardly at the sight of you. It was clear that whatever you had just been through was messy and held heft in its experience.

“Miss?”

Your body flinched at someone touching your arm gently. Turning, you look down to see a woman with a concerned expression. She stood barely at your chest, curly graying hair held back with a hand-knitted headband.

She spoke again. “Are you alright, love?”

You couldn't respond, mouth and throat refusing to make a noise as you stared at her blankly. The woman was of short and round stature, with small freckles covering her face.

And those green eyes, filled with concern. She took a moment to give you a once over before gently reaching, placing a hand at the small of your back, the other barely putting pressure on your upper arm as she started to walk and guide you.

“How about we get you out of the cold and warmed up hm?” You could not place her accent, but the tone was comforting. The kind someone uses when coaxing an injured animal.

As the woman guided across the icy cobblestoned road to a small Pub, your body was on autopilot. Once inside, the warped wooden floors creaked with each step. She pulled a chair for you to sit next to the roaring fireplace, telling you to stay there and warm up while she went and got some tea.

You didn't realize you had been cold until the warmth of the fire started to spread from your knee's up to your chest. Goosebumps cover your skin painfully, as shivers start small before growing into full body tremors, increasing to the point your teeth feel like they are going to chatter out of your jaw bones.

The heat started to bring you back to your body, painfully cold and sore, all weighing into the muscles. Exhaustion started to wallop you. Between the emotional shock, the running, and the freezing temperatures, it was no wonder you felt like you could have fallen asleep sitting up in that chair.

When your head bounced for a second time, fighting to stay awake, the woman from earlier returned to your side, holding a mug of hot tea for you.

“Poor thing, trembling like a leaf in the wind.”

When your hands first grasped the mug, you almost dropped it.

The warmth of the porcelain stinging against the sensitivity of your almost hypothermic skin. Wincing through the initial pain, you held the mug close to your chest as the woman draped the shawl she wore around your shoulders, its fibers already warmed from her body heat.

The sound of wood being scrapped against filled the empty PUB as she dragged a chair for herself, sitting in front of you. Again, you were at the mercy of your body as you could only stare at her. The fires light a stark contrast to the dark greyness that was outside. The window behind her showed snow had started falling in thick squalls.

No wonder you were freezing.

Looking from the window back to the woman, you found her pulling out a small pipe and filling it with a smoking mix from a leather pouch.

Both of you sat in silence, watching her pack and light the mixture before inhaling deeply and exhaling a stream of smoke into the air. She turned to look at you again, a sympathetic smile on the corner of her lips.

“Is there someone I can send word to for you? Family, friends?”

You looked into the mug as faces of wedding guests flashed before your mind's eye; clenching brows and lids shut, you gently shook your head and whispered, voice hoarse.

“No.”

A soft hum came from the woman’s chest as she nodded before looking back at the fire.

“If you would like, I can take you home. Where do you live?”

You fought the tremble that tried to start in your bottom lip; shaking your head again, you whispered back.

“I-I can’t go back there.”

Silence fell between the both of you again. Slowly, careful not to spill the mug’s contents as your fingers still tingled to life, you took a first sip. Your eyes closed as its warmth ran down from your throat.

Realization of how thirsty you were pushed to the front as you began taking larger swallows. Once its contents were empty, it was placed on the small table next to you. Body curling on itself as you scooted closer to the fire’s glow. Try as you might, but it was hard to think of or feel anything.

“Well, if you don’t have a place to stay, you shouldn't go out in this weather. I’ll make up one of the rooms for ya.” Before you had the chance to protest, she shook her head with a warm smile as she tapped her pipe to ash it into the fireplace. “No fuss now. I’m the owner of the INN, and my husband Frank is the owner of the PUB. We take pride in looking after folks, especially those needing it.”

When you had tried to offer money to pay for her kindness, she scoffed and began filling a large copper tub with hot water, refusing to even look at the cash in your outstretched hand.

“Now. I’ll bring you some clean clothes and some food. You get some rest; no one will bother you until it’s time for breakfast. But just in case you don’t want to be alone, I’ll be just downstairs.”

“Thank you, misses…?

“Meyer, Martha Meyer. And there’s never a need to thank me.”

A quick glance into the mirror of the bathroom had you sighing.

Eyes raccooned from tears streaking your makeup. Your hands were covered in dirt, wrists and elbows scratched up after falling in the garden when you ran out the back of the church. The lower half of your dress was dotted with small amounts of blood from your calves, lace shredded, all from the thorns of the rose bushes you sprinted through to escape faster.

When you finally managed to get into the bath, a hiss left your lips at the sting of hot water, cleaning the minor abrasions. It took what little energy you had left to wash and scrub the dirt out, dry your hair, and get into the pajamas left out for you.

The room was warming up from the small fireplace across from the twin-sized bed. After the last bite of soup, you lay down and cried yourself to sleep.

I am really going to enjoy writing about Levi's adjustments and personality around having physical impairments. The reason is that, if you don't know, my partner and I both suffer from chronic pain, and my partner has recently had to adjust to living in a wheelchair full-time. When you have these types of changes happen, suddenly, you begin to see the world is not built for folks with disabilities in mind. Levi wants to have his own tea shop and live in this particular town. As is his right, and he should be able to make that choice for himself. But the town's buildings were constructed so that apartments would be above where the business is. He had no choice but to deal with stairs every day, every season, even though it legitimately creates a safety hazard for him.

I think it's safe to say that if you really want to say that you love Levi's character—but the idea of him having disabilities, in the end, makes you uncomfortable and makes you not want to read anything that mentions them—you should really do a hard look at yourself and ask why that is. Anyway,

I love you all, and I hope you enjoy it and stay safe out there, my friends!

Tag list below ⬇️ If you would like to be added to Just Deserts tag list please comment to let me know.

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@circulinho @angelofthorr

All cat art used on this blog are by the artist Valioart found on pintrest.

[just1cefor4ll]

Wolf in sheep’s clothing

Hwang In-ho x pregnant!wife reader warning. not proof read, might be OOC

genre. fluff

You knew what In-ho’s job was. You knew what the games were about. You knew your husband was a monster—yet you stayed with him through thick and thin.

The two of you had met in the games when he was just a mere participant, fighting for survival just as you were. Against all odds, you both won and from that moment on, In-ho climbed his way up to the title of Frontman. And through it all, he kept you by his side, hidden away from the eyes of the guards. None of them knew what you looked like—only whispers of the Frontman’s “mistress” passed between them. A ghost of a woman, unseen yet ever-present.

Eight years into your relationship and four years into your marriage, you were blessed with a child. Your stomach grew with each passing day, and morning sickness became an unwanted but familiar routine—one you learned to accept. In-ho, despite the cold exterior he showed to the world, was elated at the news. He did everything in his power to provide for you, to make you as comfortable as possible. It was in those moments of tenderness that you loved him most.

But something changed.

As the next games approached, he grew distant. At first, it was subtle—longer hours, quiet contemplation when he thought you weren’t watching. But then the late nights turned into entire days without a word, and the warmth he once reserved for you felt strained, overshadowed by something you couldn’t quite name. It was unusual. In all the years he had organized the games, none had ever seemed this important. And that raised a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.

The unease settled deep in your bones, an unshakable feeling that something was wrong. In-ho had always been methodical, always in control, but this time.. this time, he seemed almost troubled.

At first, you told yourself it was just the stress of preparation—after all, the games demanded perfection. A single misstep could expose everything. But as the days passed, his silence became heavier, his touch less frequent. He was still gentle, still doting in small ways—bringing you tea for your nausea, making sure you had everything you needed—but his mind was elsewhere.

One night, you finally confronted him.

“In-ho.” Your voice was firm, cutting through the quiet of your shared bedroom. “What’s going on?” He barely looked up as he pulled off his gloves, his dark eyes distant. “It’s nothing. The games are just.. complicated this year.” You studied him, searching for the truth beneath his carefully chosen words. “Complicated how?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second—just enough for you to catch it. That was all you needed to confirm what you already suspected. “You’re lying,” you murmured, your fingers curling against the fabric of your dress. “You’ve never acted like this before, no matter how difficult the games were.” His jaw tightened. For the first time in a long while, you saw something raw in his expression—something dangerously close to guilt. “In-ho.” You reached out, your hand resting against his arm. “Please. Just tell me.” He exhaled sharply, as if debating whether to tell you at all. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Jun-ho is alive.”

Your breath caught. The name alone sent a jolt through you. His brother. The man he thought he had lost once he shot him a few years ago— regret spiralling up in him. Your mind reeled, memories flashing in fragmented pieces. In-ho had mourned Jun-ho in his own way—coldly, silently, refusing to speak of him. He had convinced himself that Jun-ho was gone, that there was no other possibility.

But now…

“He’s coming for me,” In-ho said, his voice unreadable. “For the games. For everything.” He stared bluntly, walking into your bedroom to change into a black tank to and sweatpants.

Your breath hitched, but In-ho wasn’t done.

“There’s someone else,” he murmured, his gaze shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “A former winner. They’re coming, too—trying to stop the games.”

A former winner?

It was rare enough for anyone to survive the games, let alone come back willingly. You knew how broken survivors could be, how winning didn’t mean escaping unscathed. The games weren’t just a fight for survival—they were a death sentence, one way or another. And yet, someone who had already endured that hell was now trying to bring it all down?

Your stomach twisted.

“They know who you are?” you asked. In-ho shook his head. “Not yet. But he knows enough.”

You swallowed hard, your hand instinctively moving to your stomach. You had lived in the shadows of these games for years, hidden from the guards, protected by the distance In-ho put between his work and your life. But now that protection felt fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“I have to stop them.” His voice was calm, resolute. It was the voice of the man who had climbed his way up from the pit of the games, who had learned to do whatever it took to survive.

Your heart clenched. “And if you can’t?”

He turned to you then, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For the first time in weeks, he touched your face, his fingers gentle against your cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, okay? I’ll figure it out like I’ve always had.”

You exhaled shakily, searching his expression for any hint of hesitation. You found none. The games were his world. His prison. And now, it seemed, his war.

“I’ll be joining the games as a player, the first game is taking place tommorow so right now I just want to spend time with you before I leave.” He said, pulling you closer by the waist with kisses trailing down your jaw to your neck. “I’ll miss you.” He said, picking you up and walking to the couch with you, laying you in his lap.

A heavy silence settled between you, your expression unreadable but you’ve set your mind to what you were about to say, and you were going no matter what he said.

“I’ll join you.”

His fingers tensed around your waist as his brows furrowed in immediate disapproval.“No,” he said firmly. You straightened, your resolve hardening. “Yes.” His jaw clenched, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly before he pulled away. He turned his back to you, exhaling sharply as if trying to rein in his emotions. “You don’t understand—” “I understand perfectly,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake? You think I haven’t spent years by your side, watching, listening, learning?” You spat, standing up front his lap as you looked down at him with your hands on your hips. “For god’s sake In-ho I’ve played the games with you before and guess what?! Rumour has it; I survived.”

His silence was answer enough.

You took another step, your voice unwavering. “This isn’t just about you anymore, In-ho. We’re in this together. If someone’s coming to tear down everything you’ve built, that means they’re coming for me too. For our child.” Your hand rested over your stomach. “And I won’t just sit here, waiting for that to happen.” In-ho turned to face you again, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes—held something raw. Something that made your heart ache.

“I swore I’d keep you safe,” he murmured. “That’s why I kept you hidden. Why I—” He stopped himself, inhaling sharply. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger.”

You shook your head. “Keeping me hidden won’t protect me forever. If they find out about me, about the baby… I won’t be some untouchable secret anymore, In-ho. I’ll be a target no matter if I join the games with you or not.”

His hands twitched at his sides. You could see the war raging in his mind, the conflicting desires—his instinct to shield you from harm, clashing with the reality that danger was already creeping in.

“You need me,” you pressed. “I’ve been by your side for years. I know how the games work. I know how you operate.”

In-ho’s breathing was slow, measured.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

“If you do this,” he said quietly, “there’s no turning back.” You met his gaze without hesitation. “I know.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. And then, for the first time in weeks, In-ho really looked at you—not as someone fragile, not as someone to be sheltered, but as someone who had always been standing beside him.

A slow exhale. A decision made. “Alright,” he said at last. “Then we do this together.”

And just like that, you were in the games. In-ho decided to wait out red light, green light to see what who you now knew as “Gi-hun” or player 456 was going to do.

And to your surprise many people actually survived because of him which you were kind of happy about because they were still people. People who you thought deserved a chance at life but In-ho thought otherwise which is why this topic was immensely avoided.

When the votes came in, you immediately noticed how much the games had changed. Players were given the choice to stay or leave—a cruel shift that put everyone at a greater disadvantage. Now, their fates were practically sealed the moment they arrived. The glaring Xs and Os on the jackets made it even worse, marking people like targets under a streetlight. There was no hiding, no blending in. You pressed O for the first round, curiosity flickering in your mind as you wondered what the next game would be.

Of course, the O team won. In-ho cast the final vote, sealing the outcome.

The moment victory was confirmed, players rushed toward Gi-hun, yourself and In-ho included. It was clear what they all wanted—to get on his good side. You knew the O on your jacket wouldn’t help much in that effort, but it was worth a try.

“You’ve played before, right? That means you can tell us what the next games are,” you said, offering him a soft smile as you leaned against one of the beds for support. Several players echoed your words, pressing him for answers. With lights out only minutes away, they were desperate for any information that could give them an edge.

“The—wait, I’m not exactly sure if the games will be the same,” Gi-hun admitted, his expression uneasy. “But.. the next one should be dalgona.”

That one key word should was quickly ignored. The second it left his mouth, people erupted into cheers, already discussing which shape to pick. Triangle. That was the safest bet, according to Gi-hun.

You turned to In-ho, catching the subtle smirk forming on his face. He knew better. “I’m guessing it’s not dalgona,” you murmured, amusement lacing your voice as you followed him back to your beds. “How could you ever guess?” he teased, sitting beside you and gently guiding your head onto his shoulder. You sighed, letting yourself relax against him despite the ever-present danger lurking in every corner of this place. Sleep wasn’t an option here—not for you. “So, what are we playing?” you asked, voice low. “Six-legged pentathlon,” he answered smoothly. “Each group will have six players—” He explained the rest of the game, his voice a steady murmur against the hum of the dormitory. Time slipped by faster than you realized, and before long, the blaring morning alarm signaled the start of another day.

You sat up, adjusting your jacket as you glanced around at the other players, their faces twisted with a mix of hope and fear. None of them knew the full truth—who you were, what you had endured, or the secret you carried.

As far as they knew, you were just another competitor. And In-ho? He wasn’t the Front Man. He was just Young-il. And you? You were nothing more than a name you had made up.

A false identity for a very real nightmare.

As the alarm blared, signaling the start of the next game, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. Players groaned and stretched, some rubbing the exhaustion from their faces, while others whispered about Gi-hun’s supposed insider knowledge. You could already hear people strategizing, debating who to team up with. It was ironic, really—how quickly people latched onto an idea when they were desperate to survive.

You glanced at In-ho— Young-il, as far as anyone else knew. His face was unreadable, as always, but the faint amusement in his eyes told you he was enjoying the chaos.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s go.” His voice was rough, a mask that he put himself behind to shield himself from any kind of signs of weakness or letting people know of his true colours.

You took his hand and let him pull you to your feet, already scanning the room. Some groups had already started forming, huddled together in nervous whispers. Stronger players were being snatched up quickly, their value determined by nothing more than their size or athletic build.

“Hey! Join our team!” A man you barely recognized waved you over. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and the others beside him looked just as physically capable.

Your hand instinctively rested on your stomach for a brief second, a reminder of the life growing inside you. It wasn’t just your survival at stake anymore. With a deep breath you look over at In-ho who’s hand was on your waist, looking back at the men with a glare. “Go join Gi-hun, I’ll be okay on this team, yeah?” You gave In-ho a reassuring smile

In-ho studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t one to argue in front of others, especially not in a setting like this, but you knew him well enough to see the hesitation in his eyes. “Fine,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Don’t do anything reckless.” You rolled your eyes with a small laugh and pushed playfully towards Gi-hun’s already forming team. “Go.”

With one last glance, In-ho turned and made his way toward Gi-hun, effortlessly slipping into their group. You watched as he exchanged a few words with the others before settling in, blending in as if he had nothing to hide.

Meanwhile, your new teammates regarded you with curiosity. The broad-shouldered man who had called you over grinned. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes. Thought you’d stick with your guy.”

You shrugged, offering a nonchalant smile. “I figured it’d be better to spread our chances. Besides, I can hold my own.” The others murmured in agreement, seeming satisfied for now. But you could still feel their eyes lingering on you, gauging your worth.

The speakers crackled overhead, silencing the scattered conversations.

“All players, prepare for the second game.”

Your team was picked for the second round along with a mother and a son you saw in the dormitories a few hours ago. It went by pretty fast, you decided on playing gongi since you loved that game as a child and used to make fun of In-ho whenever he tried to best you.

You waited impatiently for their team to come, but as all teams piled up you couldn’t help but be terrified— ‘His own guards wouldn’t kill him, would they? That’s laughable..’ You think to yourself.

“[Fake Name]!”

In-ho’s voice rang out over the noise of the dorm, his smile unmistakable as he waved you over. He stood with his newly formed team—one woman and three other men, only one of whom you recognized: Gi-hun. The others remained unfamiliar. “Who’s this?” Player 390 asked, eyeing you with curiosity. Gi-hun, on the other hand, watched you like a predator sizing up a threat. You figured your last comment before the previous game must have thrown him off. Before you could answer, In-ho spoke. “This is my w—friend. She’s my friend.” His quick correction made you frown, but you nodded with a polite, albeit forced, smile. “I’m [Fake Name] [Fake Last Name]. It’s great to meet you all.”

Introductions went around, and soon you learned that another pregnant woman had joined the team. Unlike you—at six and a half months—she was far closer to giving birth, her belly much more pronounced.

Just as you began gathering blankets and pillows to arrange a small sleeping area, a tap on your shoulder made you roll your eyes. Of course. In-ho. You turned to him with a sarcastic smile. “Hey, friend! What can I help you with?” He sighed, shaking his head before gently taking your hand. Without another word, he led you away from the group, past the bathroom doors, and into an unfamiliar room. It was different from the dorms—more refined, with a plush chair in front of a screen, a miniature jazz bar, and an air of quiet luxury.

Before you could take in your surroundings, In-ho pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping securely around you. His hand found its way to your stomach, fingers tracing soft, comforting circles.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he murmured, his touch gentle as he brushed your cheek. His gaze softened, filled with something only you ever got to see. A true look of love. Your frustration lingered, but before you could say anything, he continued, voice gentle but firm. “I shouldn’t have called you my friend. You’re my wife. You always will be.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering as if trying to say what words couldn’t. “But in a place like this.. relationships are a weakness. If they knew what you meant to me, you’d be a target. I can’t let that happen.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest.

“I know it hurt,” he whispered. “But everything I do is to protect you and our baby.” His hand moved over your belly, warmth radiating through his palm. “Our little girl… she’s going to have the best life. I’ll make sure of it. No matter what it takes.”

Your fingers curled into his player uniform, the tension in your body slowly easing.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice quieter now. In-ho exhaled, his grip on you tightening slightly. “That’s why I brought you here. You’ll stay with me tonight. Away from the others. No fighting for a hiding spot, no fear of what happens when the lights go out.” He cupped your face gently, thumb stroking along your cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you. To either of you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe him. The world outside was a nightmare, but in his arms, just for tonight, you were safe.

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

taglist: @hansharfi @skibidirizzzlerrrr

[cindol]

thought about older!tashi and a fem reader and them just being two gfs with a cat, agh…. ( blurb . )

cw + — pure fluff

tashi’s not even the one who brought up the idea of a cat since you both were moving into a new house and a house always needed a animal inside to make it lively. Tashi indulged in your need for a cat around the house by gifting you with a calico cat one day.

tashi’s the one that lectures you about taking care of your pretty cat you named Laila but tashi always ends up scooping the cat litter and brushing laila even as much as you want to keep up with doing chores like she does.

when you come she has that furrowed brows and pout she always has on her face while laila purrs and sits on her lap, letting tashi brush her coat.

you have a pout on your face, hand on your hip and paper bag full of groceries in your hand from the errand you were running. “you could’ve waited tash’, i would’ve brushed her.”

tashi only smiles, still brushing the feline on her lap. “i know you, and i know how your mind can wander when you have chores to do, so it’s no big deal. Plus,” her eyes locked onto the cat she was still brushing. “this one needs to be brushed if she decides she wants to be sleeping on the couch.”

tashi takes the extra mile of buying laila a entire cat tower and bed, still using the excuse that this was so she wouldn’t shed fur on the couch but you knew that was far from the truth when she’d be in the living room on the couch watching laila play around on the cat tree.

you’d join her, chuckling and intertwining your arm with her to watch your cat with her. “you so don’t hate her, you love our cat baby don’t you?” saying it teasingly.

tashi chuckles with a slight scoff. “i could never hate animals, i just don’t have a big interest of them.”

tashi’s statement was still debatable when she would enter the master bedroom you both shared, see you sleep on your side with the cat laid with you stretched out. Smiling then making her merry way over to sleep with you both.

[wings-of-ink]

Hello my friends! It's been a sleepy week for me, but I wanted to announce that the Patreon and Ko-fi accounts will completely opened up on Feb 1st! For some of you - that's now! But for me, it's still the 31st, lol. I just wanted to ensure no one would be double charged since I did not make any content for January.

More info below!

Both Patreon and Ko-fi will have the same tiers. Later, if there is any interest, I may add a limited tier if you'd like to commission a story (nsfw included) or something of the sort. That's on the back-burner for now though.

There are 3 tiers currently, but only 2 of which have the bigger benefits. The 1st is simply an "appreciation/tip jar" if you want to pitch in a couple bucks. The next tier up will get you the early releases and a written extra each month (plus polls and some insider info and such). The final tier will get you the previous benefits plus a NSFW extra each month.

I will share the links and prices either tonight, if I am awake long enough, or when I arise from slumber. The extras will not be posted yet but will be soon. I am still debating on using passwords or keys to distribute them (both are interactive this month). And then you can vote on who you'd like to see featured in March as well so I can get that cooked up.

I am getting more accustomed to using the creator side of Ko-fi and Patreon, so bear with me as I flounder around with them. ^_^

[wired-arteries]

Stop acting like it is a moral failing to believe one concept in psychology over another concept, it is not. Endos & Anti-endos should be able to co-exist and talk to eachother calmly. You could look at research & resources and come to either conclusion, or many other very nuanced and complex opinions. Some research may contradict, or come to different conclusions about things, thats just the way psychology is. And it is ok to debate eachother, it's important to have that skill. And truly listening to both sides of an argument is what we need. But you have all started treating this like any other internet drama, started acting as if one opinion is a morally wrong, putting eachother in your respective DNI's so you dont even know the real opinion of the other side. It's silly! psychological debates should not entail fighting like children. Learn debate skills and stop being so afraid of people with contrasting opinions.

[cathrhea]

Okay this ship is a tad tough to propaganda for given that it's not completely headcanon but also not completely canon. Some of this stuff is just kinda inferred because these two don't ever really interact? Catherine just talks about Rhea a lot and Rhea doesn't really talk about or interact with Catherine much. I've shipped with less though!

Let's start with basics. They're both arguably bisexual. Rhea can enter a marriage with either gender of byleth, and Catherine has multiple romantic endings with men while simultaneously being in love with Rhea.

Multiple of Catherine's endings, even when she's married to someone else, have her leaving the church and retiring to Zanado with Rhea. She has one ending where she stays at the church, at that's with Byleth who has avatar privilege. Without Rhea, she pretty much always starts traveling the world. Rhea is the only reason she stays at the church.

In her S support with Byleth that she's a servant of Rhea, not the church. Whether Rhea is alive or not, she admits she's lost. Rhea means the world to her to say the least. This is because when Catherine was a student, her life was saved by Rhea. She was nearly killed by monsters, and Rhea took her "muddied, bloodied body into her arms (Byleth A support, 2019)…" She saved her life again after Rhea took her in once she had to flee Faerghus, thanks to a false regicide accusation. It's pretty clear why Catherine loves Rhea.

Her death quote asks Byleth to save her. She has an advice box where she mentions she's getting used to her absence, and hates it. She's assumes that Rhea doesn't feel nearly as strongly, as shown in her explore dialogue where she sadly says "Lady Rhea's not waiting for me, I know, no matter how much I might wish she were. She's waiting for you (Byleth) (Explore Chapter 21 AM, 2019)." Despite this for better or worse, she's still devoted to her. The only thing she refuses to do for her is die, which I'm not sure if she ever elaborates on. I assume it's because if she did, she couldn't serve her anymore.

Let's talk from Rhea's perspective. Rhea is said to be very lonely despite being surrounded by her followers. She also says she has no friends she can fully trust. Thanks to her past, she keeps everyone at arm's length. That doesn't mean she doesn't care about them. She also says she'd love to have lunch with the students, but is scared of being a bother. She's a lot more socially awkward than she seems.

So to have someone who has so much undying faith in her most likely means a lot. Rhea is probably aware of Catherine's crush, but she may be unaware of how deep it goes. Or she believes that if Catherine knew the truth, she'd abandon her considering that Rhea does have issues with that. It's a shame that the route that truly shows Catherine's loyalty, Crimson Flower, Rhea is beyond the point of really caring about what others think of her.

When Catherine finds out about the Immaculate one, she isn't horrified. She isn't upset. Her only concern is ending her love's suffering. Rhea needs someone who really and truly has her back, who won't judge her, and Catherine does.

Rhea's kindness and patience is something that Catherine needs in a partner. Catherine doesn't seem to think too highly of herself, she just puts her faith in Rhea. Rhea clearly trusts Catherine given that she lets her use a relic, aka one of her dead people, despite that Catherine doesn't really believe in the seiros faith. I feel Rhea does think highly of Catherine, but again she keeps everyone at arm's length. When they retreat to Zanado, Rhea can let her hair down and truly show how much she means to her.

Again much of this is headcanon, but most fe ships are. I think these two have a lot more potential than they're given credit for to have a fluffy relationship. It doesn't have to be toxic or one sided. Rhea clearly appreciates Catherine, it's just how far it goes that is up for debate. I do wish we got to hear more of how Rhea feels about Catherine, but that's what fanon is for. These two are super sweet in my opinion, and if we ever return to Fodlan I hope we can see more interactions between them. Also butch x femme dynamic slaps.

rhea x catherine

FE: Should they kiss?

Rhea x Catherine

[threadsun]

If you don't mind me asking what's pro shipping??? If possible can you give me an example?

IDK MAN?? I think originally it was like "are you okay with other people shipping incest?" and was about like... idk those adopted brother gods from Marvel or the brothers from Supernatural or something.

But then it became "do you align with my personal morals? (but I won't tell you what those morals are)" which meant anything from like... "do you ship heroes with villains?" to "do you ship this actual child with their adult parent?" to "do you ship these unrelated adults who I personally headcanon as long lost siblings?" to "do you ship abusive/toxic/unhealthy relationships?"

Which is... a broad range of meanings, and no one can agree on which one it is. But specifically the idea of being antiship (or an anti) is that you believe other people shouldn't be allowed to make fiction/fanfiction that don't align with what you believe is "morally correct." Which inherently makes you pro-censorship. Which inherently puts you too close to fascist ideas for my comfort.

[glitter-stained]

I know some people argue that robin!Jason and Dick were never close post-crisis pre n52 because they only interacted a couple of times in canon and I understand that due to Dick living away when they first met they wouldn't be as close as the relationship Dick has with some of his other siblings, but I would also wish we would take in account that for all three of Jason's years, we have like 30 issues of Jason's run. That's exceedingly small. We have batman #416, we have that one moment in teen titans (i forgot the issue) of jason working with the team, and i think the ski trip we found out later about was included in the same canon*. (also, i do feel like even if you didn't know/like eachother before going on a ski trip together by the end of the ski trip this will have changed, and the picture definitely felt like they were getting along even though Jason's face in the picture was comically weird.) I'm not sure if there were other interactions shown or mentioned, but hey, 2-3/30ish isn't a bad score at all! If we're going 3/30, that's a whole tenth of Jason's robin era.

(And I'm talking about their relationship from Dick's pov since it's the one in question here but it's clear to me in Jason's run, even post-crisis, that Dick is often on his mind and important in his life (with a certain inferiority complex the little siblings of very cool people know well) with stuff like I think Batman #410 or Jason is Legends.)

And even more importantly, 30ish is extremely short for three damn years. That's ten issues per year! Do we assume that Jason was sitting on a shelf for the whole time he's not working with batman in the comics? Do we assume batman was sitting on a shelf twiddling his thumbs all that time during those three years he appears, either? It's perfectly logical to make the assumption that Bruce and Jason were still going out as goddamn Batman and Robin even when it's not shown on screen and having a relationship and interacting together even when it's not seen. In fact it's the most reasonable and logical assumption even. It's obvious Jason and Bruce's interactions extend past what was shown on screen so why wouldn't Dick and Jason? We know from Dick's relationship to his death that Dick cared about Jason. We know how much his death impacted him. Regardless of the (now retconned) terrible mess that was their relationship after Jason came back, they had a relationship, and it was good, and how deep it went is up to interpretation but it doesn't cheapen or lessen any of Dick's relationship with his other siblings to acknowledge that (like, seriously, even though some of them might view it as such in the story, dick's love isn't a prize that can only go to the one blorbo to win the competition. Personally I don't see Robin Jason being his favourite, and that's fine. Probably since, as I only have one sibling to be weird about, this is one aspect of Dick and Jason's relationship that I don't project onto them.)

There's a difference between saying "those are the only canon interactions between Dick and Robin!Jason that we know of" and saying "those are the only interactions that happened between Jason and Dick when Jason was Robin", especially if the next sentence is going to be something like "read a comic". I want to insist that I'm not saying that they have to have been super close. All I'm saying is I don't see, with the knowledge I personally have of canon and the retcons I choose to disregard (because of terrible writing), why considering that they were close wouldn't be canon compliant.

Leeway, nuance and up to interpretation stuff are fun and should matter for evaluating the level of canon compliance of your own headcanons, and I think it's especially important when trying to police other people's interpretation of canon: are you certain their interpretation is fanon and you're correcting it with the right canon, or is it a case of two headcanons clashing in the blank space between comic pages?

I just found it strange to never see it taken in account in the sometimes pretty emphatic takes I saw on the debate around their relationship, so those are my two cents on the matter. All this to say, [theatre joke in coming], when it comes to Dick and Jaybin, we could all stand to be more chill.

* btw i'm excluding dixon's nightwing year one from this conversation because I hate how it manages to shit on every one of the characters i've seen him write in it so violently and also fuck dixon, my jason comes from post-crisis not that crappy weirdo retcon.

[thelilylav]

Once again thinking about how Ever After High's premise leans heavily into being about a predetermined versus malleable fate, and how it could've played with the question of whether we decide how to live our lives or they were already set from the moment we're born, but instead we got... the Royal and Rebel debate.

[necrotic-nephilim]

For the ask game, Jason/Tim where the Pit makes Jason possessive rather than mad and so he imprints on Tim as being his and needing to take him and make him fully his, turn Tim into Jason's own creature? I think that could be a cool idea, since the Pit has different effects on different people.

for the ask game!

oooh, i love explorations of what the Pit does to the psyche, especially if it falls outside of the typical Pit Madness schtick. here's how i would try and write that

so what i think is fun about Jason and the Pit is, he wasn't *dead* when he got dunked, he was just mentally catatonic. dunking him in the Pit was a gamble on Talia's part and Ra's even points out in Red Hood: Lost Days it may not work. so to have it work but just... wire Jason *differently* is a lot of fun to me. i like the idea of Jason being a bit aimless after the Pit. he's got his wits to him but it's still the "came back wrong" vibes. and when Talia shows him the pictures of Tim as Robin, trying to show him that Bruce replaced him, it has the opposite effect. Jason's wires are crossed in all sorts of directions and all he can think of is he won't let what happened to him happen to another kid. so he spirals, looking into Tim and getting more and more obsessed. what starts as a genuine concern for Tim's safety becomes a possessive imprinting. Tim becoming Jason's purpose.

one of the defining things about Jason's feelings on Tim, in canon, is feeling like Tim is being held back by his loyalty to Bruce. so, i don't know how literal you meant creature, but i'm taking it balls to the walls bc i like fucked up monster vibes. the *how* is the fun part of it. it's easy for Jason to corner Tim, kidnap him. but how does Jason decide to corrupt Tim? i know the Court of Owls is a New-52 thing and i'm going off of pre-Flashpointt, but, i think it'd be fun to steal it. just because well. i really fucking like Talons. and Jason making Tim a Talon would be a twofold thing- for one, it protects Tim. it's a lot harder to kill a Talon than a person. and for two, it makes Tim easier to control. i think Tim would fight it hard, but the Talon programming combined with Jason's fierce protectiveness would snap him pretty easily.

Jason would be smart about it. he'd keep Tim locked up for at least a few months. because if Robin goes missing, then the calvary is going to start looking for him. Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, Oracle, Huntress, the Titans, everyone. and Jason knows even if he puts a mask on Tim, he needs to wait. needs to let the smoke blow over. so for months, it's just Jason and Tim somewhere underground where no one can find them. that's where the bulk of their bonding comes in. because i do think Jason would want Tim to *genuinely* like him outside of just monsterous programming. Jason would work to earn that trust, even if it's through manipulation. tbh i think he'd lie to Tim, either gaslighting Tim about his loved ones not looking for him, or straight up tell Tim he's imagining having been Robin. anything that deconstructs Tim's idea of a support system outside of Jason. Jason is Tim's savior, in his eyes, and he'd want Tim to believe that too. that Jason had to protect Tim, from the Bat. very fucked up vibes.

once Jason's sure it's safe, he'd slowly start making his presence known as Red Hood, with Tim by his side. Jason would still want to do the whole Red Hood thing, but now, he has the ability to taunt Bruce about Tim. it'd be a fun mind game for Jason, telling Bruce that he lost *another* Robin. (three, if you count Steph) meanwhile, Jason gets to go home to Tim the whole time. it's a fun game to him, while also making him preen that he's protecting what he believes belongs to him.

eventually, the truth would come out. but by then, Tim's too deep in Jason's pocket to listen to anyone, even Dick. he'd lash out at anyone claiming Jason is manipulating him, and he'd be Jason's perfect little partner. very fucked up ending where Jason and Tim are "happy" together, but in the most fucked up way. i'd give Tim a new codename, something like Shrike because that sounds fun and pointy. they'd almost be a Batman and Robin parallel/foil, in a way.

also, just as a bonus alternative: another route i think you could take this idea is playing with Joker Junior. like, Jason imprinting on Tim *just* as Joker kidnaps Tim. so that's what sets Jason's plans into action, he was going to wait for the perfect moment but now, Tim is missing and Jason will be *damned* if someone gets to Tim first. and since Jason has well. firsthand experience with the Joker, he's able to find Tim first and since Tim is so mentally shattered at this point, it makes him easy to manipulate. easy to get him to traumabond onto the person who saved him and even once he's mentally recovered, he's so attached to Jason he wouldn't want to leave Jason. and maybe Jason would use Lazarus Resin or something similar to make Tim more creature-like, and even get Tim to agree to it, under the guise of it helping protect Tim. this route could be fun bc it plays more with just how "consensual" it is for Tim and how much he really has his wits about him, choosing Jason after being brainwashed.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Every time I watch the cold open of Memorial and B'Elanna tells Tom about how she ASSEMBLED a 50's television set from SCRATCH just to surprise him (there's no reason beyond that - just an incredibly sweet and thoughtful gesture) and replicated popcorn for him to eat while he watches and Tom says "They didn't have remote controls in the 50's ♥ Also where's my beer?" I contemplate murder ESPECIALLY because B'Elanna responds cheerfully to it - GIRL!!! LEAVE HIM!!!!!! IS HE SUPPOSED TO BE CHARMING IN THIS SCENE????

[crow-talks-hockey]

and IF i said sidgeno and mcdrai...

[kenmaiii]

ghost type trainersona moment 🖤 +extras and pokemon team below!

-a sweetheart!!!!! -the kind of person who'd be more likely to befriend all the really grown middle-aged people at their job and get along fairly well with the elderly -theyve always had a very generally gloomy outward disposition (unintentionally. like literal black aura hovering in the air over them) which people usually find intimidating, this further saddens them bcuz they mean well and are just quite softspoken 😭 -this also often causes bad weather to happen near them sometimes, so they tend to keep to themselves for the sake of others usually -wish they had a green thumb but its hit or miss on gardening probably. they fully believe plants may not like them but they still try! desperately so! -they take a lot of things very literally sometimes or take a moment to understand things -i pair them with Avery (and they do have kids later on) but honestly they are my doll to play house with whoever yay ^-^ -they also have a phantump they spoil and a ceruledge thats newer to the team whos still getting acquainted with the whole team dynamic -yes I do think that 99% of her pokemon give Avery a hard time since they really adore their trainer