#pls i want ANGST

[saikoavd]

Reunion

[hinamie]

close again and closer still

[selarina]

AU where Gojo Satoru and you have been co-parenting Megumi and Tsumiki for 2 years now.

Warnings: fluff, reader wears a dress, questionable parenting, protective Megumi Fushiguro, pre-canon

It's a normal evening, Satoru is up, he walks into the living room and his gaze is drawn to the little brat whose gaze is fixed on the television screen — face blank. He knew getting cable was a wrong idea, but he relented once you insisted.

It's a normal evening but suddenly you walk in with your fingers rummaging through your purse's depths, donning a deep blue dress, a stark contrast to your usual muted clothing choices.

Satoru remained uncharacteristically silent, not knowing which question he could start with.

"Why are you dressed up?" A voice pierced the air, and he supposes the little brat who's walking up to you, posed a better question than anything that would have come out of his own mouth.

"I... " You faltered momentarily in your purse-rifling, and a few seconds pass before your attention finally shifts to the boy when you finally seemed to locate your phone.

"I have a date," your lips revealed, a smile tugging at the corners, like you were half-shy about it, half-eager too but Satoru would rather not delve into that.

"He should be here soon. How do I look?" You direct your question into the room when no one says anything.

Gojo has a barrage of jokes and insults dancing at the tip of his tongue, something that he knows you will think about on your ride to the restaurant or whoever this date of yours will be taking you, but alas, he is a simple man sometimes. "You look good," he responds.

Your gaze veered from the little one, traversing to lock onto Satoru. Your head tilted slightly, a bit amused, but mostly confused as though you didn't hear him clearly.

Satoru swallows, "Like a smurf," he adds.

At that, your eyes narrow as you stare at him as you most often do - studying him like he's a bizarre scrunkly-looking creature you'd relish dissecting.

He dons a cocksure smile after that, striding animatedly towards the couch as he casually chimed, "Good luck on your date."

You turn your attention to the little boy who will at least be earnest in his thoughts, "What do you think, Megumi?"

His response is swift. "You look pretty," he says, plainly, like it's a matter of fact.

A genuine smile stretches across your lips, and you have to suppress the impulse to pinch his cheeks – a gesture you've come to learn he's not particularly fond of. Instead, you strode forward as your fingers grazed against his raven locks in a silent acknowledgment of his words.

The doorbell tolled, its chime resonating and cutting through the moment as you found your footsteps receding from the living room and towards the door.

In your absence, Satoru could hear the shuffling and the muted exchanges, before they became clearer as the two of you seemed to walk into the living room.

"I'll just get my scarf. You can wait in the living room," you say as he watches you rush to your room.

Satoru's head inclined subtly, affording him a glimpse of the man who just walked in. His gaze remains on the man for a second before they shift back to the screen ahead of him.

A woman gets shot, and another man gets stabbed seemingly to death. Wow, that was 7 proper stabs. What has Megumi, the 9-year-old, been watching?

Megumi remained where he stood since you left to greet your date, he has been silently appraising the man ever since he walked into the living room.

"Hi," the man greets him, a smile that seemed to stretch up to the bottom of his eyes.

"What are your intentions?" Megumi's inquiry came out like a dagger.

"Uhm, I... " The man faltered, and Megumi decided that the hesitation got him some negative points.

"Well, um, good intentions. I promise," the man attempts under the little boy's growing hardening gaze.

But the moment washes over the man quickly when he watches you walk out of your room, pulling a cream-colored scarf snug from around your shoulders.

An apologetic smile graced your lips, "Sorry about that."

"No," the man clears his throat, his eyes still not leaving Megumi's gaze. Honestly, he was too scared to. "No worries," he managed.

You take in the scene, before you try carefully, "Okay, we'll get going."

Swift as a shadow, Megumi is quickly at your side, his small hand reaching up to tug at the fabric of your dress.

This was something he did quite often, upon your own request. Something about how some words are meant only for each other, and when that's the case you promised to lean down and hear him out.

Honestly, Megumi figures it has something to do with that one time he said something maybe a bit rude to a lady that was looking at you dirty for some reason. He could still feel the weight of the other people's stares as you had to talk down the lady – malevolent arrows flung from a stranger's bow, aimed squarely at you.

He couldn't understand it entirely but he didn't like how you looked after that incident and he has been following this ritual ever since. Tugging at your pants, and your skirts alike.

You seated yourself, careful so you don't flash your date too early into the night.

You meet his eyes, as he speaks, "Don't go."

The query hung in the air. And surprise danced upon the strings of your expression. That's odd, you can't help but think. Megumi's always been independent, letting you live your separate life as your own, but this is certainly new.

"I don't like him," he adds his confession.

"I could like him," is all you could say.

"You could?" He turns, doing one over on the guy who at this point is on his phone scrolling through something. Could be a settings app for all you know, but you appreciate the privacy he created.

"Maybe, I just want to know him."

"What if he attacks you or something?"

"Do you not think I'm strong?"

"You're the strongest person I know," his response comes out immediately to affirm you.

You stare at him, a bit surprised but a smile graces your lips. You'll take it.

"After him," he nudges his arm, gesturing to the man sitting on the couch, and you frown. You'll take it regardless.

"Alright, then do you not think I'll be fine?"

Megumi's frown deepens. "Fine," he concedes

"Okay, I'll bring you some dessert." You gently ruffle his hair, before you stand up.

You're long gone, saying your goodbyes one last time to Satoru’s rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, as Megumi watches the TV play.

Satoru plops himself next to Megumi, making him bounce on the couch just a little before he nudges him as he holds out a packet of cookies.

“You’re not supposed to give me that,” Megumi answers, choosing to side-eye the packet, his eyes keenly trying to focus on the scene in front of him.

“Says who?” He barely hears Satoru’s munched-up words.

Megumi doesn’t answer, still staring at the TV. He does want a cookie, if he’s being honest and he figures if someone’s getting in trouble with you later — it’s going to be the man next to him.

So, he reaches out, stretching out his hand to grab a cookie. He takes a small bite, chewing as he turns his head. He sees the man next to him plop two cookies into his mouth with ease. It annoys him how two whole cookies go into his mouth — all in one go, while the span of one cookie is just so larger than his whole hand.

Megumi swallows before he speaks up, "I spoke to him.” Satoru merely hums in response so he continues, “I scared the shit out of him. He’ll be good."

Megumi reaches over, taking another cookie.

Honestly, Satoru wasn't overly concerned, knowing more than anyone that you could handle such situations on your own. While he could only wish that you didn't have to deal with inconveniences, he had confidence in your safety.

But as Megumi's words start to linger and stain in his head, similar to the blood splatters on the TV, he simply took another sip from his cup before an inevitable smile etches itself onto his face.

[smallidarityfan]

smallidarity highschool au

came up with this au like actually 2 years ago where it's mainly empires 2 smallidarity centric, with Jimmy as a student council member and Joel as an honours student who doesn't like the way Jimmy runs things around the school.

As payback for the regulations Jimmy put up that Joel thought was stupid, Joel does these elaborate 'The Office' style pranks on Jimmy (specifically) while Jimmy retaliates by trying his best to dig up dirt on Joel. This banter goes on for a while— however Joel ends up doing the pranks less as a statement, and instead more just to see how Jimmy would react... with his comical, cartoony villain yells, and... weirdly cute face....? (YAOI YAOI YAOI YAOI)

very very old au drawings below:

from July 2023

😭😭 joel does NOT look like a highschooler here 😭😭😭😭 (i also wanted to draw angst in the first two ig idk a year later it's pretty cringe [i am still cringe]) (also partially inspired by when I read "Go for it, Nakamura!" and the mc reminded me of joel for no actual reason. or maybe i was just thinking about that manga while drawing smallidarity. idk)

from November 2022:

I think these doodles were genuinely the first instance of me converting from being against mcyt shipping to for shipping LMAOO

[poppitron360]

Reblog with a line from your current work-in-progress fanfiction taken COMPLETELY out of context.

Mine is:

“Oh I’m swell,” Leo said, before promptly coughing up blood.

[dancingundermoonlight101]

Devil x Angel

LOOK, IM A SUCKER FOR CLICHES!!! Did this on the MegOP server while on vc with the lovely people there <3

[aestheticallyvini]

trying to find fanfics but its all smut 😞

[starblizzard247]

Going absolutely insane bc of this tweet:

and Alejandro Saab's response:

MR. SAAB WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING!?!?!?!?!?!?

[anonymouscheeses]

I'm gonna be shitting and screaming and starting fights if Sera becomes a villain. I can't take sibling angst, Sera loves Emily I swear guys believe meeee.

[lauraneedstochill]

My first choice (part 1/2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eyed prince to fall in love with. pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 5500 warnings: friends to lovers, slow burn (with very obvious mutual pining), angst, Aegon is a sad boy (but ends up being a pretty good wingman!) author’s note: this is inspired by “Little women” and Amy March in particular. I took the liberty to rewrite some plot lines because to me Aemond is nothing like Laurie (Aegon is ;) and I hate love triangles so we are not having any of that sorry. it’s a bit of a roller coaster so I divided it into 2 parts: the first one explains Aemond’s feelings, the second one is about hers. ✨ part 2

Part 1. How could you be so blind. Aegon knows he’s supposed to be relieved — he never wanted the crown and now that Rhaenyra is the Queen and a feast is arranged in her honor, he should be celebrating. And he may have been hitting the wine way too hard for the past couple of hours, but he can’t pretend to be happy, and he gave up trying to force a smile. It’s ridiculous that he is upset over this, and yet he can’t help but feel horribly useless. The prince drinks one cup after another until the room starts spinning and he can’t even sit straight — and then he suddenly finds himself propped against the wall, sliding under the table instead of sitting at it. Aegon catches a few judgemental glances but at this point, he couldn’t care less. There is only one person whose judgment he is afraid of — and it’s not long before he’s greeted with a displeased remark:

“When I asked you not to swoop too low, I couldn’t imagine you would literally lay on the floor.”

He looks up — and here you are, staring down at him, not even trying to cover up your disappointment. At any other time, Aegon would’ve at least tried to sober up, but today he’s disappointed in himself, too, so he doesn’t make an effort. Instead, he reaches out an arm to you with a lax smile.

“Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t get the invitation to this pity party so I will pass,” your tone suggests you are not in the mood for jesting. “Now that you’ve succeeded in making a fool out of yourself, would you mind getting upright?”

“I think I like it here,” he retorts, shamelessly staring at the legs of the maids passing by. 

“You like wallowing in misery for all to see?” you huff. “Aegon, get up.”

He fakes a whine. “My legs gave out, I’m afraid!” 

“You would need to drink all the wine in the castle for that to happen, and I doubt you managed to do that,” you roll your eyes, taking a step toward him — but pause upon hearing a voice behind your back:

“You underestimate my brother.”

Aemond has a habit of sneaking up on people which often startles you yet right now you are too angry at Aegon to be bothered. You throw Aemond a glare over your shoulder but your eyes soften when you see the apologetic look on his face. It’s not the first time that the two of you find yourself in this situation — throughout the years you learned to work as a team: you bring Aegon back to his senses while Aemond helps to physically bring him to the nearest flat surface. You have never asked him for help — and yet he’s always there.

Aemond is about to lean down to help his brother up — you stop the one-eyed prince with your hand, your palm inches away from his chest. Anyone else would’ve thought twice before standing in his way but you don’t hesitate.

“He is perfectly capable to get up on his own,” you reject Aemond’s attempt, your eyes fixed on Aegon. “He can hold onto the wall shall he feel unable to stay on his two feet.”

There is something in your gaze that makes Aegon uncomfortable, piercing him to the bone. You are never downright mean or rude but with just a few words you can easily unmask his feigned recklessness. The prince stands up, tottering and feeling a little light-headed.

“Are you happy, now when I’m in the standing position?”

“If you cared about anyone else's feelings but your own, you wouldn’t be in this position,” you scold him while Aemond takes his brother under the arm to guide him out. Aegon tries to grab another cup of wine but you slap his hand.

“Do you ever get ashamed of yourself?” you hiss at him.

“Let me think... No, why would I?” he sounds sarcastic.

“You should be,” you whisper scream at him. “You can find nothing to do but dawdle and make a mockery of yourself!”

Aemond feels his brother shuddering at your words, and he tightens his hold on Aegon.

“Well, what else am I to do,” his voice is bitter. “Since I am not an heir and serve no purpose to the realm nor do I have any taste for duty.”

You slow your pace, and a sigh leaves your mouth.

“I feel sorry for you, Aegon, I do. I only wish you’d bear it better,” you reach out to stroke his arm but the prince bristles.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Your duty is to marry, and we will see how that goes,” he mutters before he can stop himself — and regrets it the very next second when you swiftly turn to him.

“At least I would be respected if I couldn’t be loved,” your tone hushed but sharp.

Aegon stops dead in his tracks, his wide eyes meeting yours. You moved away from the crowd into the hall, and it becomes silent. And then his lower lip quivers.

“But I thought that you loved me,” Aegon whimpers, his assumed nonchalance instantly gone.

“Oh, Aegon, how much did you have to drink?” you come to his side, lending him a shoulder to cry on. While he’s aggressively sniffling, you look at Aemond and quietly mouth “How many cups?”

“Way more than usual,” he gives you a wan smile, and you groan at his answer, taking Aegon by the arm.

“Alright, you can lean on me. But don’t get handsy or I will push you down the stairs,” your remark earns a weak laugh from the older prince, and the three of you head toward his chambers.

Aegon doesn’t talk much but his mood softens and you exchange a few jokes before finally reaching his room.

“I can take it from here,” Aemond suggests but his brother eagerly protests.

“No, I want to be tucked into bed! And definitely not by you,” he sticks out his tongue, and you chuckle at his whim.

“Aemond, I can handle him.” 

The one-eyed prince shoots you a knowing glance and holds the door open for you and Aegon to walk in. You slowly move to his bed, making sure he doesn’t stumble on his way — and then, with a sudden boost of energy, the prince flops down on the fluffy blankets, letting out a satisfied moan. You hold back a giggle and wait for him to crawl under the covers.

“Should I call for the maid to help you undress?”

“No, I am way too comfortable like this,” he pulls the blanket up to his chin, and you sit on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry for the way I behaved,” he reveals, frowning. “I did not mean to, truly.”

“Aegon, you know I’m not the one you should apologize to,” you take his hand in yours, and he squeezes it with childish eagerness. “You left Helaena all alone. And you promised me you would make an effort.”

“I know, I know,” he yawns. “I was doing better until today, I swear, you should ask her,” his speech becomes incoherent as he is already too drowsy to talk, his cheeks flushed from the wine and the heat of the blankets. As you stand up to leave, Aegon mumbles:

“I fetched you a book... the one you were looking for,” he sloppily points to his table by the window before dozing off.

There is only one book so it’s easy to find — and when you do, you can barely contain a sound of surprise: it’s the complete history of Westeros, heavy and hardcover, decorated with gilding. You glance at Aegon but he looks fast asleep so you cautiously get out of his chambers.

If you were to turn around, you would’ve noticed that he kept an eye on you with a grin on his face.

When you walk out, you see Aemond still standing there, his gaze landing on the book and then immediately on you. It takes you a minute to figure it out and then you smile at him:

“Even though I appreciate the gesture, it is hard to imagine Aegon in the library.”

“He asked me to help him find the book you wanted. I did,” the prince explains as if it isn’t that big of a deal. But to you, it is — although you think he only did it out of politeness.

“Thank you, Aemond,” you enthusiastically turn your attention to the book, flipping through the pages in awe. He watches you, feeling the warmth in his chest at the sight of your joy.

“You know that you bring out the best in him?” Aemond says in a low voice, and your heart skips a beat at his comment. You are thankful for the dim lighting that makes your heated cheeks less obvious.

“You overestimate my influence,” you say, then dither before admitting, “I’m afraid I was too hard on him today.”

“Someone has to do it,” Aemond objects, and there’s something in his tone — sincere and soft, that makes you look at him again. At this moment, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of everyone’s expectations, you can see the side of him that people rarely get acquainted with.

“I think you are doing a pretty good job, too,” you tell the prince, finding his presence ever so calming. You could never understand why would anyone call Aemond intimidating when he’s been nothing but kind to you ever since you two met. Whenever you have a chance to be alone with him, his company always brings you comfort, and that feeling is so rare, you want to chase it.

But then you remind yourself of the harsh reality, and your smile falters.

“I’m sorry you had to get involved,” you look down at the book. “I wouldn’t want to distract you.” 

“You need to elaborate on that,” Aemond says uncomprehendingly.

“I’ve heard that you were courting lady Baratheon,” you explain casually, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitates before answering.

“Well, I only plan to,” the prince clarifies. “If she accepts my advances.”

“It would be silly of her not to,” you blurt out and, while you can’t see it, Aemond gives you a quizzical look.

“She may have her reasons —” 

“I can’t come up with a single one,” you tell him with so much confidence, Aemond’s heart flutters at your words but you continue without a second thought. “You are intelligent, good-hearted, handsome — and a really skilled swordsman. Not to mention you have the biggest dragon in the realm, which does sound like a reasonable perk.”

The prince is glad that you’re too preoccupied with the book to see his stunned expression. It’s not just the fact that you compliment him so easily — but also the way you do it. When other people try to, they usually start with Vhagar as if the old grumpy creature is the main good thing about Aemond. But you only bring up the dragon at the very end and in passing, instead keeping the focus on the prince. He is silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his memory.

And then Aemond persuades himself that you only said it out of politeness.

You notice his lack of response — and you are about to question it when a maid comes to you in haste:

“Lady Y/N, your presence is needed. Your father is looking for you.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” the prince encourages you with a grin. “If he finds Aegon, he might hug him to death.”

You playfully elbow him and turn to follow the maid but then stop to say. “Please make sure your brother stays in bed.”

“Will do,” Aemond looks at you walking away, clutching the book to your chest as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

To this day, it is truly a mystery to him how Aegon managed to befriend someone like you. You met the Targaryen brothers when your family was invited to one of the royal feasts. You were ten-and-three, the middle one of three sisters. Your oldest — Elaesa — has been the center of attention, beautiful and graceful, but while everyone’s eyes were on her, you looked a little bit disoriented. It was the first feast that you’ve attended, and maybe you got too agitated or overwhelmed — or both — but soon you ended up lost in the castle, and somehow ripped the hem of your dress in the process.

Aemond was the one to find you. The prince has never been keen on taking part in celebrations, often sneaking away from all the noise. That’s when he saw you — fussing with the dress, your sobs echoing through the hall.

“Are you hurt?” he rushed to your side, and you looked up at him with blubbered eyes.

“Why do you have so many halls? You should hand out maps so people can find their way back,” despite being clearly upset, you sounded unusually serious, and Aemond fought back a smile.

“I can help you find your parents without a map,” he suggested, and for a second it seemed to lighten your mood but then your pout worsened.

“I cannot go back,” you gestured at the dress. “I am in such trouble!” you whined, the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. 

Truth be told, Aemond didn’t have much experience with ladies back then nor did he know a thing about dresses but your distress seemed so genuine he couldn’t leave you be.

“It is not that bad,” he pointed at the ripped material. “I can ask our seamstress to take a look.”

You studied his face for a second, then glanced back at the dress — surprisingly, that was all it took for you to stop crying, and no other coaxing was needed. You wiped your nose and fixed your hairdo, smoothing the damaged hem the best you could.

“I’d appreciate it if you help me find my way back,” you said, your face seemingly more relaxed.

Getting you to talk was pretty easy, and Aemond shortly discovered how open-minded and outspoken you were, using your quick thinking to compensate for your timid personality. When you returned to the hall of the Iron Throne, he was reluctant to let you go but promised to come back with the seamstress. The task only took him about ten minutes, but when he did reappear, you were not alone — Aegon was standing next to you, making you laugh so hard, it looked like you forgot about the dress already. Aemond didn’t mean to interrupt as he suddenly felt very out of place, uninvited in his own home, so he abandoned the idea of helping you and just left.

At first, he thought you fell for Aegon’s flirtatious charms but soon learned that, as much as you did like his brother’s humor, his charms had no effect on you. On the contrary, you often chided him for hitting on young girls and openly condemned his affection for wine. Your honesty set you apart from all the ladies Aegon was surrounded with — and that was the reason he came to enjoy your company as much as he did. Despite the three years age gap, you were the one who told him the truth, no matter how ugly it might’ve been, but you did so without prejudice or any ill intentions. You would usually follow your critique with advice or a solution of some sort to keep the prince away from unnecessary trouble. That is why you were on friendly terms with Helaena, too, and your influence was also welcomed by Alicent, the then Queen. She liked that you were straightforward with your remarks and often said that you were wise beyond your years. Although, as much as Aemond agreed with it, he suspected there was a reason you had to grow up early.

It happened the same year you met — your older sister, with all her grace and beauty, ran away from home to elope with some unworthy beggar. Your mother was inconsolable for at least a week, saying that Elaesa brought shame upon her family. Your father, the kind man that he is, forgave his daughter fairly quickly and tried his best to restore peace. And yet, you came to realize that Elaesa’s vagary did cast a shadow over your House. Your youngest sister, Alyna, was a fragile little thing, frequently sick and tacit — which left you to be the one representing your family in the eyes of society.

Within a few years, there wasn’t a thing you weren’t good at: lords lined up to have a dance with you, ladies admired how well-spoken you were and shared a laugh at your florid sarcasm, and you learned to embroider, to ride a horse, to walk exquisitely dressed and with impeccable posture. But while for everyone else it was a reason to compliment you, Aemond saw the underlying cause of your diligence — the corrosive desire to prove one’s worth which was something he learned to live with as well. And which led him to think he understood you better than anyone.

More often than not he found himself watching you as if he had the need to make sure you weren’t in harm’s way. Helping you with Aegon was a part of that routine but it also gave him a chance to be alone with you. You talked about everything and nothing in particular, and he would catch glimpses of you — the real you, shy and emotional at times, but still understanding and perceptive. He cherished every opportunity to steal you away from the never-ending chattering, from lords ogling at you, from Jason Lannister whose interest in your company should’ve been concerning. Aemond has gotten so used to observing you, so enthralled with your covert conversations, he didn’t realize that a particular feeling was creeping up on him. But there was one person who turned out to be more observant than Aemond has been. Aegon was the mere reason why his brother ended up at your door a few days later. Aemond’s been to your place a couple of times and he promptly memorized the way to the farthest room of the house — the one you used to paint in. It was the only thing you truly allowed yourself to enjoy, an unexpected talent of yours which you soon perfected, too, except it wasn’t meant for the others to marvel at but plainly for you to keep your head occupied, to have some quiet time.

He walks in when you are already painting the finishing touches. When you turn to greet him, you stop mid-sentence, seeing that it’s Aemond instead of his brother who you were waiting for.

“He overslept,” the younger prince shrugs. “It isn’t a bothersome task to come pick up the portrait of my nephews.”

You point in the direction of the painting with the brush in your hand. Aemond admires your work — as he always does — while you try to shake off your confusion. There is another reason you did not expect to see Aemond today. You tarry with voicing your concern but eventually glance at him with empathy.

“I was sorry to hear about lady Baratheon’s decision.”

“I was not,” he’s quick to retort.

“I cannot imagine agreeing to marry a Stark,” you say, dipping a brush in a jar of water.

“Is it the cold weather?” Aemond grins knowingly.

“Yes! Gods, just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy. All the layers you have to wear to keep yourself warm, barely being able to move, getting no sunlight...,” you ramble, making sure to wet all the brushes before lining them up on the table.

“Some say they’ve got quite a beautiful scenery,” Aemond tries to object although he knows his argument doesn’t stand a chance.

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy that,” you huff. “How am I to capture the beauty if my paint freezes?”

He only hums in agreement, watching you busy yourself with your supplies. You go through the brushes, delicately cleaning the bristles with a cloth. Your fingers carefully take one brush after the other, and Aemond silently admires your love for neatness and order.

“You are staring,” you say without turning to him.

“Where do you want me to look at?”

“Aemond, you are in a room full of art!” you chuckle lightly. “Surely, enough options to land your eye on.”

The prince lets his gaze go around the place, and it takes him about a minute to quickly examine all the paintings. And then he inevitably looks at you again. Aemond thinks he likes this view the most.

“When do you begin your next great work of art?” he asks, hoping to distract you. 

You halt movement, then force out glumly:

“Never.”

“What do you mean?” he’s taken by surprise.

“I’ve come to realize that I’d never be a genius,” you reluctantly explain. “So I’m giving up all my foolish artistic hopes.”

“You cannot be serious. You have so much talent and —”

“Talent isn’t genius!” you throw up your hands in defeat, and he can sense your frustration from a distance. “I may be talented in other things, but when it comes to painting, I want to be great or nothing. And I am only of middling talent,” you scoop up the brushes, give them a quick look and place in another jar to dry.

Aemond wants to argue, he really does — but he also knows better than to try and persuade you when you are like this: firmly standing your ground, exuding nothing but stubbornness. In any other situation, he would’ve found it endearing but it’s upsetting to see you downplaying your brilliance.

“Hm, may I at least ask your last portrait to be of me?”

You instantly turn to him, taken aback. Throughout the years you’ve known him, he clearly expressed that he did not like being painted, and you only could make a quick sketch or two, at best, when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Alright,” the long-awaited opportunity makes you smile. “Next time I come for breakfast, I will drag you into the garden to pose for me,” you give him a pointed look, and Aemond humbly nods.

Your smile grows wider but you try to tone it down, afraid to spook him, and focus on wiping the nearest table.

“What are you going to do with your life in the meantime?” he changes the subject.

“Polish up my other skills and become an ornament to society,” you sigh, putting the cloth away.

There’s a brief pause before he says, his voice a bit strained:

“Here is where Jason Lannister comes in, I suppose?”

You say yes but the answer comes a little bit too fast, and Aemond notices that the topic makes you uncomfortable.

“But you are yet to be betrothed to him,” he clarifies, gaze fixed on you.

“I will be if he proposes,” your eyes meet his, and you are sure that there’s a shadow of disapproval on his face that only spurs your stubbornness. You fully turn to the prince to say: “I always knew I had to marry well, I do not feel ashamed of that.”

But Aemond isn’t looking for a fight — he swiftly corrects himself:

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. As long as...” — he can barely bring himself to say it — “As long as you love him.”

For the reason unknown to Aemond, his statement brings a bleak smile to your face.

“I believe we can have some power over who we love,” you object, lowering your gaze for a second as you start absentmindedly twisting the ring on your finger.

“I think the poets would disagree,” he chuckles, trying to defuse the unexpected tension. 

But when you look up at him, your glare is as obdurate as ever.

“Well, I am not a poet, I am just a woman,” you rebut crisply. “And as a woman, I have no illusions about my prospects which do not include me earning a living to support my family. And my parent’s fortune has its limits as I’ve come to learn. Hence why, if I want to have children — I do — and be able to provide them with everything they wish for, I must rely on my husband,” that last word is pronounced with disappointment. “So don’t stand here and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me.”

Had he not known you, Aemond would’ve been very impressed — with how blunt and witty you are, you are very good at delivering speeches. But as he’s standing in front of you, watching your face, he senses that your determination is akin to despair. Aemond thinks he might take a chance at arguing with you, after all — but you’re both startled by a knock on the door:

“Lady Y/N, Ser Lannister just arrived.”

You look baffled for a second, your confidence crumbling.

“Why would he — I, I didn’t expect him today,” you mumble, almost ashamed of his arrival.

Yet you pull yourself together faster than Aemond can come up with a reason for you to stay. You remove your apron and quickly examine your dress, then move to put on a cape.

“Did I miss any paint stains?” you ask Aemond in a haste.

“No,” he looks over the flowing material of your neat dress, your hair knotted up high — and then, “...Wait!”

You stop abruptly while he grabs a clean cloth.

“There is something on your cheek,” he says as you both step toward each other — and in the next second you are suddenly standing too close. 

You turn to him and shyly shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. Aemond is frozen for a moment but then carefully wipes away a slight smudge of green from under your cheekbone. His hand unwillingly lingers as he examines the delicate features of your face. You open your eyes, looking at the prince questingly. His facial expression is unreadable but it makes you wish you didn’t have to go.

You brush away that silly thought and stand back, fixing your cape.

“How do I look? Do I look alright?”

“You look beautiful,” Aemond says with no hesitation, taking you in — with your cheeks a bit flushed, lip parted and eyes shining. “You are beautiful.”

You seem a bit bewildered at his words but then a smile grows on your face — and in a blink of an eye, you’re gone. The prince is left standing there, staring at the spot where you were just now. The room suddenly feels so empty without you — and so does his heart.

The realization strikes Aemond like lightning: he wants to be the one you come to, at all times. The one holding your hand, watching you paint, or read, or dance — watching you do whatever your heart desires. Because his only desire is to be with you. That thought puts down roots deep into his chest, and he doesn’t know how to pluck it out.

Nor does he want to. It’s all he can think about for the duration of the week, until you come to the castle — with canvas and supplies, not hiding your excitement. He almost forgot about his promise but follows you into the garden without objection. You sense a slight change in Aemond’s behavior, him being more quiet than usual, but decide not to push the prince so he won’t reconsider.

“I will start with a sketch and then we will go from there. Alright?” 

He just hums in response while looking at you but you are unaware of the meaning behind his gaze.

“Take any pose you like, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” you suggest with a half-smile, knowing full well he will probably remain standing.

And he does, arms clasped behind his back, his eye never leaving your face. You immerse in the process too quickly to be bothered, the piece of charcoal in your hand sliding over the paper, leaving lines and shadows. Drawing Aemond is an effortless task, and you can only enjoy how easy it is to sketch the sharp contours of his face and his lean body. The simplicity can also be explained by the fact that you've already memorized all the details by heart: the curves of his cheekbones and his lips, the flow of his silver hair, the shape and cut of his eye.

When you are finally satisfied, you can’t tell if it’s been an hour or three, and the prince, as it seems, hasn’t moved a muscle. At this point, Aemond’s demeanor does worry you yet you blame it on his nervousness.

“Want to take a look?” you hand him a few sketches. “Mind you, I’m not finished so please don’t judge too harshly —”

“I could never,” his hand brushes yours when he takes the drawings.

Aemond has seen your works before but it’s a whole new experience when he’s the one being portrayed. He almost doesn’t recognize himself — you didn’t miss a single feature of his yet somehow this version of him looks too beautiful to be real. He is at a loss for words until he spots that there's another drawing hidden underneath. It’s a sketch of him sitting, both arms on the table, his face looks like he’s deep in his thoughts.

“When did you do this one?”

“After the coronation,” the memory makes you smile. “Made my poor father lug around with charcoal in his pockets while he was trying to keep up the conversation with Ser Lannister.”

It was the day you got introduced to Jason. You were supposed to be by his side, with your charming smile and polite talks, yet you spend your time drawing Aemond. He can imagine your gaze focused on the piece of paper, the way you must’ve been looking at him to capture every detail and movement — all of that without him asking to, without him even noticing. There is so much care in that act, he is unexpectedly moved by it.

The words leave his mouth before he can think them over:

“Don’t marry him.”

His request makes your hands tremble, and you drop the piece of charcoal, slowly looking up at Aemond, the smile disappearing from your face. He did not mean that, you must’ve misunderstood.

“...What?”

Aemond turns to you, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Don’t marry him,” he repeats, helplessly and desperately.

“Why?” you ask in disbelief, suddenly having trouble breathing. The only reason you can think of sounds delusional, close to impossible. You wait for him to come up with some clever explanation — instead, he comes closer to you, his gaze so warm it makes your cheeks burn.

“You know why,” Aemond says and his hand gently lands on yours. You look down at it, perplexed, your mouth opening and closing, heart rate speeding up.

He keeps his eye on your face as he waits for your reply. You are not repulsed nor angry — which is supposed to be a good sign — but the reaction he gets is actually worse than that. Because when you finally glance at him, you look hurt.

“No,” you yank away your hand as if his touch stung. “No, Aemond, you are being mean, stop it,” you take a step back, your eyes glossy and lips tight. The look you give causes him physical pain — while you are trying your best to fight back the tears.

His intelligence clearly fails him because Aemond has no clue what’s going on. He feels like there is a deeper meaning to your words but he does not get it.

“Why am I being mean?” he asks incredulously as you slowly continue putting more distance between you two.

You don’t even realize you are doing it — it’s almost an urge to not be in his presence, for the first time ever. The weight of his words feels suffocating and merciless. How easy it is for him to toy with your emotions, you think, and that cruelty of his — as you see it — wounds you so deeply, he might as well put a torch to your heart.

“I have felt like everyone’s second choice my entire life,” you bemoan, not being able to keep your agony bottled up any longer. “In everything, no matter how hard I’ve worked to be better. I thought you out of all people would understand that,” you sound raspy, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I will not be the person you settle for just because your first marriage proposal was turned down,” only when your voice shudders, Aemond finally understands how wrongfully you interpreted his intentions.

But you are out of his reach already — at least ten feet away from him, and the distance separates you like a giant chasm.

“No, I won’t. I can’t,” you are hurting so much, your feelings spill out like blood from a wound. “I can’t do it. Not when I have spent years loving you.”

His breathing hitches as your confession pierces through his chest — and he is left speechless, deafened by it. The moment slips through his fingers with unforgiving pace: you were standing so close only a minute ago — and now you are turning your back to him, rushing away. The last thing he sees is how broken you look, your shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears. 

Aemond stands, shocked and paralyzed until it’s too late — the garden is silent with your absence and the only evidence of you being there is your supplies scattered on the ground. Your words are ringing in his head, his heart heavy with a dreadful feeling.

He was afraid he would never have you — but he actually could have.

If only he wasn’t so blind.

➡ Part 2

yes, this is me blabbing again: I’ve watched this movie an embarrassing amount of times, and I’ve wanted to write a fic based on it for a few months. I did rephrase a couple of quotes but still tried my best to do the story justice. my apologies for the angst — just so you know, it was painful to write. also, will I ever stop using friends to lovers trope? only time will tell! (I probably won’t, though) I know there is a very heartwarming fic by aemonds-war-crime that was also based on “Little women” and it’s only fair that I link it as well!

tagging @greenowlfactif because you asked 💙 comments and opinions are VERY welcomed! 🥺 🎨 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[mosaickiwi]

(Sorry if i sound rude since english is not my first language 👉👈) 

I love your writing so much btw thank you for providing us with top tier quality writing, the way you write rendacted is just 🤌😍

I dont know if its allowed since its kind of specific, but can i please request a fluff/comfort for an insecure chubby angel that's not confident with their body and strech mark so they kinda doubt that rendacted really love them and thought they only playing with them and only dating for fun or smth 👉👈 😳 

Thank you soo much in advance (for the ping too) (≧∇≦)/

Thank you and you're welcome!! I love to cook this silly man 🥰 Appreciate da request <3

self loathing angst but it's just angel getting too deep in their own head

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Shorts

After a few weeks of dating, somehow [REDACTED] still smiled at you the same way. Still had that look of wonder and joy whenever you spoke. Still let their hand linger in yours for a second too long each time you parted ways.

As happy as he made you, you couldn't trust them just yet. 

Part of you was waiting—you'd been waiting the whole time—for everything to come crashing down. That’s how it always ended. You were surprised things even lasted this long.

He was sitting out in your shoddy living room while you changed for a date at the pier. As you looked in the mirror, your decision to wear shorts seemed like a mistake now. The horrid, uneven lines that patterned the skin of your thighs only made the choice worse. 

Of all the places to choose to live, it just had to be near the beach. You barely got by with loose shirts and pants for a while, but each day was more hot and humid than the last this summer. You couldn't go out like this. Let alone have him see all those flaws that glared back at you from your reflection.

Your heart thudded in your ears as you contemplated changing into something else. But you could feel it. The moment you'd been dreading was going to happen no matter what. Sooner or later they'd break up with you. What was the point of waiting for it? You could get it over with now, while you were in the comfort of your own home.

A few minutes of familiar, agonizing, embarrassment, then straight to bed for a pity party and a movie once your soon-to-be-ex left. Nothing new.

There was nothing else to do but face it. You breathed in and out at a steady pace to calm your nerves, then crept into the hallway. Despite the care you took, a floorboard creaked before you rounded the corner into the living room.

“Ready to go?” In an instant [REDACTED] was calling your name, draining away the confidence you held. You couldn’t bear to look up as he approached—to see that soft smile you loved fall into a frown. His footsteps were quiet, and you soon felt the warmth of his presence in front of you. “What’s wrong?”

Their voice never wavered in disappointment like you expected. It made your heart skip a beat like always, calm and gentle as he was with you. He was even concerned, reaching for your hand at your side but stopping short when you managed a few words.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled. 

“Doesn't seem like nothin’, Angel. We don't need—” Whatever they were trying to say slipped right past you as fear set in.

Why was he treating you so nicely? Was the room too dim for them to see? Did he not see everything wrong about you on display? It didn’t even sound like they noticed the stretch marks. You weren’t sure what to do. Nothing was going the way it had with previous partners.

Arms cautiously wrapped around your now trembling form as he pulled you close. The sudden hug shocked you long enough to realize your cheeks were wet. And that he was rambling.

“—Upset you. If y’don't feel like goin’ anymore that's fine. We can stay here ‘til y’feel better. Or would you rather I leave? Get you somethin’? That store you like should still be open—” He took a step back.

You weren’t calm enough to speak, but desperately hugged your partner back when he tried to move away. They stopped immediately. A soft breath tickled your forehead, and the smallest sigh left him in relief.

“... Fuck. Had me worried there,” he whispered and tenderly kissed the crown of your head. “Should I stay then?” You nodded. Minutes passed in silence as he stroked scarred fingers through your hair to soothe you, occasionally murmuring quiet reassurance.

You couldn't see why he wasn't disappointed. His attempts to calm you weren't in vain, though.

Finally, you felt as if you could manage. “I thought that…” It was hard to say out loud when you clung so tightly that your face was pressed fully against his chest. You pulled back and sniffled. A small, damp spot on his black shirt got left behind as evidence of your tears. “Oops.”

The dark haired man let off a smile at your reaction and gently pried, “Thought what?” 

You bit your lip. Lying wouldn't do you any good. “I’m not that nice to look at,” you eventually admitted.

He frowned to himself, then gently cupped your tear-stained cheek. “You’re absolutely beautiful, you know?”

“Oh… um.” 

“Really. I promise I don't want anyone else." His blue eyes were dripping with clear adoration. "I’d stare at you all day if y’let me, love.”

The pet name had you at a loss, completely flustered. He never called you that before. “Can you really be sure?” Your voice got quieter and quieter as you tried to explain your worries further. “I just feel like…” With each word, your gaze drifted to the side in fear of his reaction. “You should've, uh… broken up with me by now?”

“Angel, I'd never even consider—” He cut himself off. "... ‘Been doin' a shit job of expressing m’self, if that’s what you’re thinking.” [REDACTED] hardly gave you a chance to react before he was leading you to the couch. He sat down, lacing his fingers through yours as he pulled you to sit in his lap. It felt more intimate than usual with his other hand resting on your bare leg. “I’ll get whatever you want at the pier tomorrow. Right now I need to make sure y’know how important you'll always be t’me.”

[barbiiecams]

arguments with toxic!rafe when you’re just as toxic as him.. he’s humbling you rq 😭.

all day he was experiencing the silent treatment. as much as it was your fault, you were still pissed. he failed to pick you up from a party last night and completely left you stranded until you ultimately decided to just get an uber. when you were blowing up his phone, he ignored you each and every time. shit, he probably even blocked you at one point.

now, he’s sitting here all in your face telling you how childish and self centered you are. as if that’s not one of the reasons he’s so obsessed with you.

“rafe get out of my face.” you warned, pushing his head with your hand.

“no. you always wanna start this shit for no reason then act innocent.” he responded as he followed you up to the bedroom.

ignoring his words again, you attempted to make it into the room by yourself and lock him out. but to your inconvenience, he was right up your ass.

you didn’t even have the chance to reach for the door behind you because he pushed you inside the room, walked in, then locked both of you inside.

“who the fuck you think you are pushing me?” you turned around real quick to push him right back.

it’s no use, you could try it all you wanted but he was too sturdy and too big to even nudge a little.

he lets out some air from his nose, and brushes his hand over his face. “we’re gonna talk this out. you understand?”

he points a finger in your face while he talks. usually this would piss you off, but right now you could see he was desperately trying with you.

“fine.” you agreed then went to sit on the bed. he sat down next to you and wasted no time talking.

“the attitude changes and accusations have to stop. you know why i didn’t come to pick you up last night.” he starts.

“actually i don’t-”

“im not done speaking.” he cuts you off. you gave him a look that said ‘boy watch yourself’ but he very much ignored it and continued.

“you know how much i love you? how much i worry about your safety? i didn’t even want you to go last night. matter of fact i told you not to.”

it seemed like you heard the same stuff each argument, but he knew none of it ever stuck. he was determined to get you to listen tonight.

“what did i say before you left?”

“to be ready by 10.” you said in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice because you knew you were the one wrong this time. would you admit that? hell no.

“exactly. but you wanted to have your little outbursts and argue with me and tell me i was being too controlling. and obviously you need that structure. right?”

you nod but you still weren’t about to give up that easily.

“okay but-”

“but nothing. i told you i’d be doing business with barry after the fact.”

“any other boyfriend would’ve stopped and came!” you tried with him.

all he did was scoff, “so that i don’t have any money, and then you would cry everyday since you don’t have the newest bag in stores? real funny. i’ll save myself the headache.”

you couldn’t argue with him because he was most definitely right. being you, it was still gonna take you another hour or so to apologize. or, he could force it out.

“whatever.” you said while getting up to go start your nightly routine. you didn’t make it very far because rafe was quick to grab your arm.

“not so fast. what do you say?” you stood there for a second just looking at him.

“hello? i know you’re not mute all of a sudden.” he smirks at you being straight hardheaded. it would piss another man off, but he found it amusing with you. and he wouldn’t trade it either.

“i’m not apologizing.” you finally said. you were hoping for the right response to this, and he didn’t disappoint.

“no? well i guess that means you’re gonna have to get it fucked out of you.” he shrugs, then quickly lifting you up and onto the bed. before you knew it, your panties were off and he was already starting with the hickeys on your neck.

smiling at how fast things were going, you still wondered when he would realize why you loved to pick arguments so much.

[zorlovinghue]

I'm thinking.... I'm thinking of a Choi Han who starved, who forced himself to eat raw things in the Forest of Darkness, whose nights were engulfed in cold and darkness because he was too scared to start a fire.

Choi Han who is unable to eat 'normal' food since he long adjusted to such things. Choi Han who is so happy to find another human for the first time that he pretends to heartily eat the food they gave him, even though it 'tastes' awful. Choi Han who genuinely couldn’t withstand being in the presence of fire for so long.

Choi Han whose entire view is a disjointed mess of blur whenever he sees and eats Vicross' food because it was cooked with fire, with heat, with 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 in the background. Choi Han who'd rather devoured raw things, just like he did in the Forest of Darkness.

Choi Han whose complexion is pale, ashen, gaunt, and sickly even with the strength and vitality he possesses. Choi Han who experienced meltdowns when he first witnessed Cale's fire of destruction. Choi Han who cried and wailed miserably whenever he failed to be okay. Choi Han who despaired for his misfit existence, for the world's a bright place but him.

Choi Han who is simply not okay, Choi Han with a thousand yards stare at the end of the day.

Because Cale is the hope for him to survive, not to live.

[scandalcus]

𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 [𝐇𝐂'𝐒]

content warnings: pure smut, just straight up filth, dom!ellie, sub!reader, overstimulation, rough sex, strap-on sex, fingering, oral sex, degradation, humiliation, smacking, choking, etc.

a/n: something i just threw together bc i was horny hope u enjoy. please assume there is an established safe word between ellie and reader, so everything happening is consensual ellie's playlist - masterlist

you both would wrestle for dominance, but it wouldn't take long for ellie to overpower you, ending with you beneath her and your arms pinned above your head, completely helpless.

ellie would take her sweet time teasing you, enjoying the sight of you slowly falling apart because of her. she maintains a smug look across her face the entire time, content with her own power.

she would absolutely make you beg for everything. she refused to touch you until you were practically crying for her to touch you, leaving you feeling humiliated and ashamed.

when she finally decides to touch you, she shows no mercy. she immediately goes in with three fingers, smirking at how easily they slide in. "pathetic." "i hate you," "i find that hard to believe considering how fucking wet you are."

she would muffle your cries and moans with her hand while demanding you to "shut the fuck up and take it like the slut you are"

she'd leave bites and hickeys everywhere and anywhere. "you look pretty with my marks all over you."

you would be too embarrassed to look her in the face. she doesn't put up with it. "look at me while i fuck you." she demands, manhandling your jaw and forcing you to face her. her eyes were dark, a mixture of both lust and rage behind them. you couldn't help but feel intimidated by them, but she wouldn't let you look away and would lightly pinch you every time your gaze would avert.

anytime you'd make some bratty remark she'd immediately come to a halt and smack you, refusing to continue until you're begging her to fuck you again.

"watch your fucking mouth"

she'd completely destroy you with her strap-on. "you're all mine." she says, with her silicone cock pumping in and out of you. "you wish." she doesn't take too kindly to your rejection. the pace in her thrusts increase, pulling out entirely just to slam her cock back into you. her palms are pressed against your throat, using your neck to support herself up. her demeanor going from irate to satisfied when she noticed the way your jaw slacked open and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, tears falling from the corner of your eyes as you laid beneath her completely powerless.

you'd attempt to spit insults at her, but they'd just come out as slurred, incoherent whimpers.

"what was that? i can't understand you when you're crying."

ellie notices how close you are to cumming, and stops, teasing at your entrance just enough to earn a sob from you. "you wanna cum? you gotta earn it." "please don't do this ellie." "beg me." "ellie, please." "you call that begging?" she scoffs, grazing your clit with her tip, earning a jolt from you. "please let me cum, i'm begging you," "huh?" "fuck, ellie- please let me cum, i'm begging you just please fuck me." you can't help but sob. "atta girl."

she turns you over and continues to fuck you from the back, pulling a fistful of your hair and jerking your head back, refusing to release the grip she has on you while she pounds into you.

it doesn't take long for you to reach your climax, releasing your liquids all over her. it doesn't stop her though, she continues to assault your pussy, her pace stays the same. "ellie, i came already," you say breathlessly, barely able to hold yourself up anymore. "i don't care."

she makes you cum again, and again, and again, your legs are trembling, your face is buried in the sheets. you physically cannot hold yourself up anymore. "ellie... please," you cry, a stream of tears falling from your eyes.

she finally pulls out and stops. a sigh of relief escapes your lips. she flips you over, a smug look on her face. "did you really think i was done?"

she makes her way in-between your legs, her tongue immediately finds your clit. your hips buckle at the slightest touch. you desperately try to pull away from her, but she wraps her arms around your thighs and continues to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

"if you only you were as sweet as you taste."

you were too fatigued and dizzy to fight back, you grabbed a fistful of the sheets and practically screamed as she continued to force orgasms out of you.

"e-ellie i can't" you whine. "one more," she pleads before pressing small shapes into your clit with her tongue.

she earns one more orgasm from you, feeling accomplished but also remorseful seeing how fucked out and exhausted you are after making you suffer through so many of them, showing her compassion in aftercare.

she meets her face with yours and softly but passionately places her lips on yours, encouraging you taste all the leftover juices you left on her mouth before dissapearing to grab you a towel and help clean up your mess.

she would spoon you from behind and leave gentle kisses on your neck while you recover. her spiteful behavior from before, completely withdrawn.

you were confused by the amount of affection she was giving you, but you were too tired to resist. in fact, you found yourself melting into her touch, and ultimately falling asleep in her arms.

enemies to lovers type beat

[ti-girl1226]

I have Tim angst revolving Joker Junior. I think joker would only have referred to Jason not as a Robin or anything like that but as brother to JJ aka Tim. Why? To torment Bruce, having the Robin he killed (Jason) and the Robin who replaced him and Joker took control over, forcing Tim to basically call him his brother. Thats fucked, really fucked. And depending on what I’ve seen portrayed of JJ there’s one of two ways you could do this.

fist more DID like where JJ is an alter in a way- you could easily have it be a fic where JJ fronts because of some trigger, (I’d say definitely not fear toxin though because Tim’s exposed to it all the time but maybe a mix of like scarecrow and riddler in his retro suit (green and purple) or something like that) and he will either only really trust Jason because of jokers manipulation and call Jason bubu. (Idk why I chose Bubu, but it seems right)

Second option - this time JJ isn’t an alter like DID instead just like the comics (or was it only animated?) where it was a thing that happens and isn’t like a recurring personality. In this you get injured or sleepy or both basically something that weakens Timmy boy to make him give up information easily, and at one point Jason is there idk where or when but bubu slips out when Tim talks to him.

But yeah that’s all I have to say idk if this is common in fanfics I haven’t read many with Joker junior but yeah. Also if I fucked up terms for DID I’m sorry honestly I googled phrases and also hav seen TikTok’s about it so it could be wrong if it is again sorry let me know or you could correct me vea the comments. Because I will probably forget i posted and forget to correct my language

[halfhissandwich]

I was thinking about this: Logan implies that only feeling-based sides are able to duck out when he explains to Thomas that he, as logic, can’t duck out like Virgil did. And in the EXACT SAME EPISODE, Patton is described as the “core of a lot of Thomas’ feelings.” I THINK that Patton is the only other side that can duck out, and if he did, c!Thomas would experience what is essentially depression (apathy, a loss of interest in previous interests, etc)

(Bonus headcanon: If the orange side does turn out to be Rage, he will also be capable of ducking out.)