#she should kick his ass frankly }

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 030. KICK-ASS murdrtober 2024 remnants. sex machines

Really, you and Kick-Ass should have a handler. Maybe that would keep the two of you from getting into irresponsible, and frankly, odd, situations. Such as this one. 1k+ words MDNI 18+

God, this is so irresponsible. The two of you are irresponsible. 

You originally offered to team up with Kick Ass to watch each other’s backs and hold each other accountable. A team, albeit a small one, nothing comparable to Justice Forever.

No other superhero is as active as the two of you, and being alone was never a good look, especially for you. So you needed someone with you, someone strong and recognizable. Someone who sent a message to anyone who even had the idea to threaten you. 

Who better than Kick Ass? Plus, you thought he was reliable. Save for the brief stretch where everyone assumed he abandoned his patrols, Kick Ass had been a steady figure in the community, always there to help whoever needed it. In the idea you conjured up of him, he would be that sort of figure in private, too. Someone who would keep you from dicking around as soon as there was a lull on the streets. 

Someone who would keep your head straight on your shoulders. 

Unfortunately, Kick Ass seemed to be as much of a dumbass as you—possibly even more. 

“I mean … when else are you gonna have the opportunity to use something like this.”

And Kick Ass does have a point. The two of you already got what you came here for—a tiny harddrive tucked in your top that you know to have intel about the latest crime boss to terrorize your neighborhood. The penthouse is empty otherwise, and the owner shouldn’t be back for a while, considering she's serving time and all. 

You and Kick Ass have the place all to yourselves, but that shouldn’t matter. You should be leaving the way you came out, but as Kick Ass claims: where’s the fun in that?

“What’s it feel like?” 

You swallow a moan before attempting to respond, and even when you do, you speak methodically, trying to ward off the way your voice threatens to wobble. 

“It feels like I’m being fucked by a machine.”

Kick Ass scoffs. You watch him put his hands on his hips, the muscles in his back flexing. Has his suit shrunk in the wash, or is he just getting buffer by the day? Knowing Kick Ass, it could truly be either. His head turns to the side as if he’s about to turn around,  but he stops at the last minute, likely remembering that the one thing you had asked of him was to not look. 

“Well that’s not very descriptive.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to—” Whatever snarky comeback you were going to throw at him embarrassingly dies before it can be completely born. You can’t help but let out this moan, and to make matters worse, it’s loud. 

Louder than the mechanical whirring of the machine working. Louder than the squelch of your cunt sucking up the silicone dildo attached at the end of the mechanism. 

You think you see Kick Ass physically shudder, but you can’t tell when you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. 

“Is it …” Kick Ass hesitates. He clears his throat and tries again. “Is it better than … you know … a guy?” 

You don’t say anything for a minute, too busy trying to balance focusing on the pleasure and attempting to figure out where to go from here. Eventually, you simply say, “Kick Ass?”

When he says, “Yeah,” his voice cracks, but neither of you acknowledge it. 

“You can turn around.”

You expected him to question your change of heart. Maybe ask if you were sure. But he doesn’t. He just turns around, the heavy thud of his Timberlands knocking against the hardwood floors one after the other. 

You watch his light eyes settle on your face at first, and then slowly crawl down until he’s watching the faux-cock slip in and out of you. His lips part, a voiceless word slipping past them and out into the air. 

You don’t have to tell him to come closer, he does that completely on his own. He kneels beside you, attentive eyes flickering back and forth between your spread legs and your eyes with a slight squint that leads you to believe he might need glasses.

Whatever barrier that existed between the two of you before has been completely broken down. You’ll never come back from this, so you might as well feed into it. 

When you tell him to kiss you, he doesn’t hesitate. His gloved hands hold your face in place as he practically assaults his mouth with his. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, and so hot. You’re feeding him moans and he quickly swallows them. You’re sliding your tongue and tongue, mimicking the action of licking ice cream. At one point, you suck Kick Ass’ tongue into your mouth, and he whimpers like a girl. You think he might wet like one, too. 

Only one way to find out. 

When you pull away, unattractively heaving in breaths of air, you ask him, “Do you wanna fuck me instead? Help me see which is better?”

The pressure is definitely on for him, but he’s so eager with the way he slips his suit and Timberland’s off that you don’t think this could go wrong. And you’re so, so right. 

Kick Ass’ eagerness is as useful as it is attractive. You expected his thrusts to be strong and jack hammering, and for a second it is, until you tell him to slow down and then he has passion behind it. Grinding his cock into you, sending all of his length deeper and deeper and gliding his girth along the ridges of your walls. It’s so much better than the unforgiving pace of the machine, and you make sure he knows, too. 

Scratching his back, threading your fingers into the curls you’d never seen before today, wrapping your ankles around his back and pulling him as deep as you can get him. You don’t know what you expected, but he certainly exceeds your expectations. 

He does wet like a girl, too.

And he’s loud. So vocal as he sings praises about how good your cunt feels (your pussy, as he calls it), how thankful he is that you’re letting him do this, how he’s thought of this ever since the two of you teamed up for the first time.

“I know, Kick-Ass,” you tell him, minutely nodding as you dig your fingernails into the cushion beneath you. “I know. Me too.”

“Dave,” he corrects.

You tell him your name, and then not even a second later you’re moaning his name. He slumps forward, nestling his head into the crook of your neck. His hand comes to the top of your head, holding you to him as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“You close?”

You nod, your nose brushing against his shoulder as your breathing increases. “I’m so close, Dave.”

“Yeah? You gonna come?” Dave asks, and you can hear the smile when he says it.

You hit him, because you just said that, but all of the strength in your body is focused on getting you there so it’s nothing more than a weak punch that actually makes him laugh.

“Prove it to me,” he taunts, the competitive side to him that you're so used to coming out. “C’mon. Show me.”

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday! Could you continue the naruto daughter of the homage series?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Naruto doesn’t feel comfortable going back to the tower until the Suna kids have collected their scroll and arrived. Gaara had killed nine people – three teams total – in that time. None of them Konoha, thankfully, but that’s mostly due to her team and Itachi engaging in some creative luring and misdirection. The Konoha Twelve can be redirected outright by one of her clones, but the other leaf genin that she doesn’t know as well have to be lured rather than instructed. Getting their own scroll is more an afterthought than anything else.

They probably should have thinned the herd a little more. Now they’re having preliminary matches, which is just another chance for Gaara to kill one of her shinobi.

Great.

“Is that Orochimaru?” Sakura hisses, looking up at the spectator box. “Isn’t he a missing nin?”

Naruto flickers her glance upward, but she’d already known he was attending. What does surprise her are the two people by his side. “Yeah, but he’s also the Otokage, and one sort of trumps the other. Dad gave up on that one a long time ago, and Sarutobi still likes him besides. That’s not the interesting part.”

Jiraiya sends intelligence back to the village frequently enough, but she’s never thought she’d seen Tsunade back in the village.

~

Orochimaru is already bored.

He barely attends chunin exams when they’re in his own village. But Kabuto had given him an interesting report, and he hasn’t seen Minato in something like fifteen years, so he figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, Anko is proctoring a portion of the exam, and she always complains that he doesn’t visit.

Jiraiya found out, somehow, which was bad enough, but then the traitor told Tsunade, and the two idiots insisted on coming with him for some reason.

Probably because they were worried Minato might try to arrest him, which is frankly insulting. He can and will kick that kid’s ass if he has to.

Hm. Maybe that’s what they’re intending to prevent, on second thought.

Minato’s daughter has her father’s coloring and her mother’s bone structure.

“I’m surprised she’s made it this far,” Jiraiya murmurs.

Kushina throws him an irritated glance, but the white knuckled grip she has on her armrests seems to imply she agrees with him. Minato doesn’t look at either of them, not that he’s looked at Kushina at all. There’s really no point in them playing the part of happy couple in front of foreign ninja if they can’t commit to the deception.

“She’s got a solid stance,” Tsunade says. “Don’t need working chakra coils for that, I suppose.”

Minato’s lips thin, but he keeps his silence.

“Gaara of Suna versus Rock Lee!” shouts Hayate, pausing to cough halfway through.

Orochimaru leans forward now that something interesting is finally happening.

It’s not as immediate of a bloodbath as he thought it’d be. Lee holds out, demonstrating a mastery of taijutsu truly can make up for an awful lot. He fiddles with the weights on his wrist, but then he glances up. It seems as if he’s looking at his sensei, who’s shouting encouragement, but standing just to the left of them is Team Seven.

Naruto’s lips tug down at the side and she shakes her head just slightly, the movements so small thar Orochimaru wouldn’t notice them if he wasn’t focusing on her.

Lee’s shoulders droop even as he backflips to avoid another deadly arm of sand. He’s not even close to exhausted, and he’s lasted longer against Gaara than anyone else has, but he raises his arm and says, “I surrender.”

Everyone is stunned, an air of disbelief surrounding them.

Gaara acts like he hasn’t heard, more sand barreling for Lee. Hayate moves to interfere, but he’s a lot slower than that sand is.

There’s a smudge of yellow across the arena, there and gone, taking Lee with it.

Orochimaru turns, expecting to see Minato’s seat empty, but he’s still there, eyebrows raised.

He frowns, looking back down, and Naruto is back out of the arena, putting Lee back on his feet. “It seems you didn’t hear him!” she shouts, grin so wide her eyes are slits.

“I didn’t know you taught her the Flash,” Jiraiya says.

Kushina stares between her husband and her daughter, eyebrows pushed together.

“Yes,” Minato says stiffly, “well.”

Interesting.

It appears Kabuto’s report was accurate.

[allthesmutl0vers]

I’ll hope on the train! Draco x Reader!

Yes!! I love some Draco smut. You didn't specifically request smut or any kind of situation, but I will do my best!🫡

A/N: PSA to everyone sending me requests, please tell me if you want Angst, Smut, or Fluff (Or a mix). Otherwise, I'm just going to assume Smut because it's like 98% of what I write. 🫠🫶

MDNI, NSFW, 18+.

Requests: OPEN

Masterlist

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

Summary: Draco has been your arch-enemy since the first year. He was always running his mouth, calling you 'mud blood' or calling your friends 'blood traitors.' But damn, if he didn't soak your fucking panties at the same time. It was your own personal Hell, and frankly, you were burning. How could he be anything besides cruel? How could you possibly want him and hate him at the same time? It should be a felony how much he can turn you on and piss you off in the same breath.

TW: Angst, Hate Sex, Taunting, Teasing, Smut (P! in V! -you're on birth control), Hair pulling, Choking, Name calling, Cursing, Ends with fluff.

Song Inspo: Click here. (Take me back To Eden: Sleep Token)

"Come on, just bloody admit it," Ginny groans across the train car. "You know he's into you, so what's the holdup?" She asks for the millionth time.

I roll my eyes, annoyed by her constant nagging of the subject, and sigh. "I told you, he's vile. I wouldn't touch him if he was one of the last men on the planet," I try not to snap back at her, but do anyway.

"But he's in our house, and he's hot. Who cares if he's a player?" She asks as she tosses more Bertie Bott's Beans into her mouth. I sigh and look out of the window. How can I possibly explain to her that I'm not interested in Cormac because all I can think of is one particularly vile Slytherin?

"I need some air," I brush off her question as I stand up from my seat. I exit the train car and head to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. The cool water does very little to douse the flames under my skin. "Get your shit together," I mutter to myself in the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white.

I sigh and stand up to straighten my tie when the bathroom door opens. Bloody hell, Ginny. I turn to snap at her, but instead, I'm greeted by the one person I swore to myself to avoid at all possible costs. "Great," I huff and roll my eyes.

"Now, is that any way to greet your superior?" Draco quips as his eyes narrow down at me.

I can't help but laugh. "Superior? Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Now, move," I tell him firmly, clenching my jaw so I don't clench my thighs. Honestly, how could someone this hot be so damn infuriating?

Instead of stepping back, he steps forward, coming into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. "No. Don't think I will," he seethes, looking down at me.

I reach for my wand, only to realize I left it in the cabin. Great. Draco tsks and shakes his head with a smirk. "Forget something?" He quips.

I straighten my back. "No. I don't need a wand to kick your ass. Slytherin trash," I spit back at him with venom lacing my voice.

"Mm," Draco hums in response, taking another step closer. "Give it your best shot, mud blood," he says with a brow raised in curiosity.

I clench my fists, bringing one up and back and throwing it right at his face. Draco catches my fist with no effort at all, enclosing it in his ringed hand. "Nasty are we?" He taunts. "Too bad I was feeling generous today," he quips with a smirk and closes the space between us, his chest flush with mine. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears, and I pray he can't feel it through our clothes.

"What's wrong, love? Dementor got your tongue?" He teases as my mouth hangs open mike a fish. I mentally kick myself in the ass for it.

"Piss off, Malfoy," I spit back at him. I look at my hand, still encapsulated in his, as he smirks. His tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip, and I hate my traitorous pussy for getting wet as he does it.

Draco chuckles and smiles for just a moment before he presses me against the wall of the bathroom, grabbing my other wrist and pinning both above my head. "I do hate it when we fight. Why don't we call a truce?" He says, looking down at me, his free hand trailing my jaw and gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Hmm?"

"Thought you didn't fuck mud bloods?" I taunt, instantly wanting to take it back, when I realize I didn't say no. Which doesn't go unnoticed.

Draco's grip on my wrists tightens. "I think I can make an exception just once. I didn't hear you say no," he teases. My thighs clench together, and I fight the whimper that wants to break free from my throat.

"And if I do say no?" I swallow hard.

Draco's jaw ticks, and his eyes narrow down at me. "Then I'd say you're lying," he says, leaning into my ear. "Not just to me, I don't care about that. But lying to yourself, and that's just pathetic," he whispers in my ear, his warm breath a stark contrast from the coolness of his fingertips as they glide down my body to the end of my skirt. "You're a lot of things, love. But I never pegged you as pathetic."

My breath hitches in my chest as his fingers dance around the hem of my skirt, only fueling the fire inside of me. "So. you have two choices," he says firmly as he looks into my eyes. "You can walk out that door," he leans closer, our noses brushing. "Or, you can let me give you the best fucking sex of your life. And maybe we stop hating each other so much."

He releases me, taking a step back as my hands fall to my sides. "You have to the count of three. Otherwise, you surrender the choice to me. One," he starts to count.

God, what am I doing?

"Two," he says in a slightly deeper voice. I should run, I should run, and never look back. I should leave him hanging just as he's left me before.

"Last chance, love," Draco says darkly, starting to undo his tie. It's now or never. I swallow hard, and in the last instant, I decide to let him keep me. For now.

"Three," Draco counts, placing his tie on the counter and pulling out his wand. He does a hurried enchantment, soundproofing the bathroom and locking the door magically before he sets his wand down, too. "You're all mine, now."

I open my mouth to speak but am quickly silenced by Draco's mouth, landing on mine in a fevered kiss. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and I can't stop my hands from draping around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Draco groans into my mouth as I part my lips, allowing his tongue to enter for the first time. Sparks erupt under my skin as he licks the roof of my mouth. My hands run through his hair, pulling the silky stands and breaking our kiss as we gasp. "Merlin, I need you," Draco groans as he grips my thighs, lifting me off of the floor and sitting me down on the bathroom counter.

"I need you too," I moan softly. "God, I hate you so much," I pant as his lips land on my neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin behind my ear.

"Hate, love, I really don't see the difference. Nor do I care," Draco pants as he pulls back and reaches under my skirt, pulling my panties down and off. "All I care about is fucking you so hard you can't say anything besides my name," he huffs as he undoes his pants, pulling them down and pumping his cock in his hand.

"Then fucking do it," I taunt him, my wetness practically dripping down my thighs.

A low growl escapes Draco's throat as he pulls me off of the counter and spins me, pushing me so I'm bent over the bathroom counter. "As you wish, love," he teases as he thrusts into me, giving me no time to adjust to his large size.

I gasp as he thrusts into me, white-knuckling the edge of the sink. "Fuck, give me some time to adjust; why don't you?" I spit over my shoulder.

Draco wraps my hair in his hand and yanks my head back to look at me in the mirror. "You fucking love it," he spits back. His free hand lands on my hip with a bruising grip. He pulls back and thrusts into me again with a moan. "Fucking tight. Guess you're not as much of a slut as I thought," he taunts.

Draco slams into me with a bruising force, making my eyes roll back as he pulls my hair tighter. "Draco," I moan, unable to stop myself.

"That's it, love. Scream my name," he moans as his thrusts quicken. "Let me hear how much you love it."

I thrust back onto him, forcing myself to take him deeper. Draco lifts one of my thighs, putting it on the edge of the counter and hitting that sweet, spongy part inside of me. "Fuck, yes!" I moan loudly. "God, Draco, yes!"

"Mm, never heard my name next to 'God,'" he chuckles darkly as his grip on my hip tightens.

I groan and moan at his audacity. "Shut up and fuck me, you fucking snake," I spew with venom.

Draco's hand leaves my hip, reaching around me, and his fingers start to circle my clit in fast circles. "Then cum for a fucking snake," he fires back.

I feel myself clench around him as my orgasm starts to crest. "Fuck, yes! Draco!" I cry out as my eyes close.

Draco's hand leaves my hair to grip my throat. "Open your fucking eyes," he demands. I obey and meet his eyes in the mirror, mascara falling down my cheeks. "Look at how pretty you look. Watch me fucking ruin you."

I keep my eyes locked with his as he repeatedly impales me with his stupid, delicious, devil fucking cock. And my God, is he right. I look beautiful, like an angel after they fell from grace. Draco leans forward, nipping my shoulder as he pulls down the collar of my shirt. He pulls me back by my throat, sucking a hickey onto my neck, right where it's the most visible. "Fucking mine," he growls. "Mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine."

His words throw me off the edge. The possessiveness, the sucking, the stolen kisses, the brutal way he's fucking me all send me spiraling down to where? I have no idea. All I know is it isn't heaven. "Draco!" I cum with an Earth-shattering cry. Draco thrusts into me once, twice, three more times before he spills himself inside of me, filling me impossibly full as he cums with my name on his lips and his head tilted back.

After we both finally come down from our highs, we clean ourselves up and re-dress. "You're on birth control, right?" Draco asks me, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I nod. "Don't worry, you won't have any mud-blood kids coming," I bite as I move toward the bathroom door.

Draco stops me, grabbing my arm and turning me to look up at him. "I'm tired of fighting," he admits, taking me aback with his sincerity. "I don't want to fight with you anymore. I just want..." his voice falters.

I bite my lower lip. "You really mean that?" I ask cautiously. Sure, he just plowed me, but how can I know it's not just afterglow?

Draco nods and pulls me closer. "My parents be damned," he sighs. "I just want you. It's always been you."

I nod looking down, unable to believe what I'm hearing from his mouth. Did Hell freeze over when I wasn't paying attention?

Draco tips my head back up to his face with a gentle finger under my chin. "I mean it. Whatever I need to do to prove it to you, I will."

"I suppose an apology to my friends would be a good first step."

Draco nods without hesitation. "Lead the way, love," he says, grabbing his wand and undoing the magic on the door. I exit first, and he actually follows me, taking my hand in his. When we get back to the car I share with Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron, he follows me inside. "Hey, guys," I say nervously as their eyes widen in shock. "Look who came to apologize," I say with a smile as Draco steps into the car with me.

"Bloody fucking hell," Ron grumbles.

"You owe me a galleon," Harry chuckles and nudges Ron.

[sagaduwyrm]

On the Grounds Where We Feel Safe

When Tim gets a letter claiming to hold his soulmate, who he's never met, hostage, he's skeptical. It turns out pretty great though. Now if he can just make sure not to make a fool of himself.

We have your soulmate , the letter claimed. It seemed ludicrous. Tim hadn’t even met his soulmate yet, and it wasn’t like Red Robin’s mark had ever been exposed. There was no way some D-list villain could have found whoever it was. Really, he should only be going to this for the chance to catch the annoying asshole.

It just seemed like a weird lie, was the thing. If they just wanted to lure him out, there had to be more believable options. Claiming to have captured one of the other members of Young Justice or another bat would have made the most sense. His teammates went no-contact for various reasons all the time, so it’s not like he could double-check.

But no. They had his soulmate, apparently. It just seemed inane.

They were more competent than expected. Tim snuck into the facility with the ease of long practice, but they must have had magic wards because he tripped some kind of alarm barely a few minutes in. He would have noticed a technological system, but his abilities with magic were more limited, like most bats. In the immortal words of Jason Todd, ‘Just set it on fire and call Zatanna if that doesn’t work.’

Tim was eighty percent sure Jason was the only bat with any real degree of familiarity with magic, but that was neither here nor there. It just made the advice more accurate.

It was kicking his ass now though. Usually he’d be doing this with a team, hopefully with at least one person who could have noticed wards, but he had drastically underestimated the size and threat of this operation.

Generic security guards dragged him through the halls, and he did his best to memorize the layout. He’d taken out the first few thugs, but frankly, he was only human, and he needed to save his energy for something more useful. In the meantime, he pressed the only emergency beacon he had that would eventually worm through the wards to call his family and examined the halls they were dragging him through. The atrocious minimalism and poor layout design were making it irritatingly difficult to keep them straight in his head.

There were four villains in the room he was brought to, three more than he was expecting. One wore a thick cloak she’d probably bought off Etsy and a cheap Eye of Horus necklace, and Tim instantly pegged her as responsible for his magic problems.

“Woooow. You assholes know how to make a Robin feel loved. What’s the occasion? Is it Christmas? You shouldn’t have.” Tim bared his teeth in a smile that had his guards leaning away from him. If he could just get them talking, this would be a lot easier.

One, the leader, threw back her head and cackled. “What’s the occasion? What’s the occasion? Didn’t you read our note? Meeting your soulmate is the chance of a lifetime! We're doing you a favor, don’t you think?” She grinned down at him. He tilted his head, bird-like.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I could swing a better meeting than this. Get some candles, jazz up the place a little bit. Your interior decorating is kind of shit.” Tim channeled the robin spirit of his predecessors and took a shot at annoying them. Instead, the woman’s demented grin grew wider.

“But your blood will look so pretty on the floors! Do you think we’ll kill him or you first? I can’t decide!” Her teeth had red in them, Tim noticed. She turned to the guards at the door. “Bring him in!”

Fuck. So they did have a hostage. Probably some poor civilian who’d got dragged into these assholes' lark and was going to need years of therapy after this. Fuck his life.

A few tense minutes later the guards walked back in carrying a black teenager maybe a little taller than Tim between them. He was struggling, doing his level best to kick at their ankles and jab at their kidneys, but the mercs didn’t even shift. Tim was grateful the hostage was a fighter at least, that could make it easier to evacuate him.

The lead villain strolled over to the civilian. Honestly, Tim wasn’t sure why the rest were here. They practically faded into the walls. She seized the boy’s chin and he tried to spit at her. She laughed. “Our little witch spent months divining for this! Ready?” She cackled and dragged his face over to meet Tim’s eyes. They both froze.

His eyes were green, Tim noticed, and lined thickly in black, like kohl. They dug into Tim's chest like his heart was moving to make room for another, two hearts beating as one. Everything felt more vibrant and alive. Tim couldn’t breathe.

The leader was still laughing, he noticed distantly. She had slumped back against the wall to keep from falling over, and her entire body shook with contortions. Her eyes were bright with bloodlust.

Tim was fucked. He was so completely fucked. Not only because this guy was stupid pretty and he could practically feel his higher brain functions turning off, leaving him a steaming pile of bisexual goo, but because his soulmate was barely five feet from a villain who practically dripped insanity, and he still had thirty seconds to go before he got his hands untied. Absolutely, completely, and totally fucked.

The other boy had stilled when their eyes met, but he tensed again as one of the other villains stalked towards him.

“I knew it,” the man snarled. “I knew it. I wonder, if I hurt you, will Red Robin bleed?”

The boy's eyes widened before hardening. Tim desperately hoped he didn’t do anything stupid. His call signal still needed more time to get through to his family. 

“Don’t damage him just yet!” the leader called out. “Start with his fingers and toes, we want this to last .” Her grin was alarmingly demented.

The other boy finally had enough. “Yeah, let’s not.” He kicked out at the ankle of the guard holding onto him, causing the man to release him. At the same time, Tim made his move. Fuck, civilians with no sense of self-preservation were the bane of any vigilante, but it being his soulmate was somehow worse. If he could just get over there in time—

A rush of sand curled up around the boy, as if from nowhere, and launched the villain near him into a wall. His eyes glowed golden, and his stance indicated some training. Not a civilian, then. 

Tim kept moving. He dumped half a dozen taser bugs on anyone in reach, leaving them keeled over on the ground, and darted forward. The guards had left the door open when they brought the other boy in. Tim grabbed him and launched out the door, practically carrying him, while the boy did something over his shoulder to hold off pursuers. The way out was blocked, but the facility was huge. They eventually managed to lose the villains, tucked up in some kind of meat locker. They curled up against the walls, catching their breath.

“You know, this was not how I expected our first meeting to go,” the other boy said.

Tim laughed, “I’ll be honest, with my luck this isn’t really a surprise.” The other boy snorted. He was beautiful when he laughed. It was an ugly sort of giggle, the kind the media would mock a person for, the kind his parents trained out of him as their heir, but it lit up his face in a way that made Tim stare. He belatedly remembered to introduce himself. “Red Robin.”

“From Gotham, right? Call me Pharaoh.”

Tim squinted at him. He was putting on a good show of confidence, but there was a tenseness to his body that couldn’t be hidden, and some of the summoned sand floating near him was curling into tight knots. “Haven’t heard that code name before. You new?”

Pharaoh waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “It’s mostly just that I stick to my hometown. We’re tiny, so we stay off the radar. And I usually manage to stay out of the news anyway.”

Tim nodded, but his eyes sharpened. Deliberately keeping out of the news wasn’t exactly a red flag, but it usually indicated something about the person in question. If you had a code name that you were clearly used to, but didn’t use for the public… There weren’t exactly any conclusions he could draw yet, but he tucked the knowledge away into the back of his brain anyway. “Do you have anyone you can call?” he asked.

The boy grimaced. “Not really. Two are out of the country, one doesn’t carry a phone, and the other is the only person back home right now and I can’t ask her to leave.”

Reasonable. The bats refuse to leave Gotham without at least one of them too. “I sent out a call, but it’s going to take a bit for it to get past the wards.”

“Can I see? I might be able to speed it up.”

Tim handed over his beacon. “You’re a magic user?” He was guessing sand-manipulating meta, but magic made sense too.

“Uh-huh. I’m not the greatest with wards, but I am a dab hand at tech,” Pharaoh said while prying open the beacon. As he held it, golden light crept from his hands into the wires, forming shapes that looked like some of the hieroglyphics his parents used to obsess over. Tim was vaguely surprised. Constantine had once mentioned that there were only a few people in the world who could do any kind of technomagic. Even the magic on his gear was secondary to the tech rather than embedded in it.

Tim got up and started looking around the room as Pharaoh worked. They couldn’t stay here for long. He moved some furniture around to block the door. It should collapse on the head of anyone who tried to get in. He shifted one of the ceiling tiles around and found there was a good amount of space between the floors. Perfect.

Pharaoh shouted in delight and Tim turned to see the connection light on the beacon turn on. Assuming there wasn’t some kind of emergency, they should have backup reasonably soon. The other boy was still grinning, “Dude, I think I’m in love with your tech. This is amazing.”

“If you like that you should see the batcomputer.”

“Can I? I do most of my stuff on a PDA I retrofitted, this is so much better it’s not even funny.”

“A PDA?” Tim blinked in confusion. How would you even—? He shook his head and gestured at the ceiling. “We need to get moving. They’ll have an easier time finding us if we stay here.”

Pharaoh nodded, still smiling from his apparent enjoyment of working with basic tech with little to no computational abilities. He clambered his way up with apparent experience. Tim wondered what kind of problems his hometown had that they needed a magic user who could do parkour.

Where Pharaoh needed a lift Tim scampered up. The sorcerer whistled quietly. “What kind of training do you even have?”

“Assasination, mostly,” Tim said as he started leading the way through the crawl space, carefully showing Pharaoh where to put his feet to make the least amount of noise.

“I thought bats didn’t kill?”

“Knowing how to kill is actually more useful in not killing people than not knowing how to kill, believe it or not.” Lady Shiva hated that.

“Huh. That sounds useful. I have to use specific spells when I want to just knock someone out, and I’m not as good at them so it’s a bit of a pain.”

“You like magic?” Data gathering, data gathering, if he was asking questions he wasn’t thinking about how nice Pharaoh’s voice was or how pretty his eyes were.

“Yeah. It’s like a puzzle, you know? There’s a lot of similarities to coding if you had to argue with the computer the whole time.”

Tim snorted.

They stilled at the sound of someone passing under them, and when they were gone Tim turned around for a second. “Hey, what do you think about picking some of these guys off?” He’d originally planned to keep them out of the fight until backup arrived, but he was getting the impression more and more that Pharaoh was competent enough to keep up for a bit.

Pharaoh grinned, and it was a sharp, unkind thing. For a moment he looked as regal as a king about to declare war, and Tim wondered if there was more to the code name than he had assumed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

+++

“Where are they?!” the leader of the villains roared. “The facility is completely locked down, they couldn’t have gotten far!”

The guards winced and opened their mouths to explain when the door slammed open and one of the other villains ran in. He was bleeding, with weeping sores up and down his arms and crush damage on his fingers. “They’re picking off the guards!”

“What? What the fuck happened to you?” The leader screamed. The witch villain, who had been melting into the wall, ran over to attempt healing magic. The others barely noticed her.

“Three-quarters of our men are unconscious, and won’t wake up. And that little ‘civilian’ soulmate tried to crush me with sand!”

The witch spoke quietly. “He must have cursed you too. This isn’t healing.” The villain looked down at his wounded arms and screamed. Golden hieroglyphs climbed their way out of the blood and up his arm, and he felt his body go numb. Within thirty seconds he had keeled over unconscious except for the occasional scream, like he was struggling with nightmares wherever his mind had gone.

“No no no no no! This was supposed to be it! Our big break! You!” The leader turned to the witch. “You said he was a civilian! This was supposed to be easy!”

Out of nowhere the ceiling above them crumbled and down came several bats and members of Young Justice. When they finally got the beacon it took them almost an hour to get to the location, leaving them tense and ready to take it out on Tim's captors.

“I hope we aren’t interrupting anything!”

The door banged open again as they finished mopping up the remaining villains and mercenaries. Red Robin and a boy in civilian clothes tumbled through the door.

“Hey! You’re late!” Tim yelled.

Robin hissed at his older brother. “You needed help to save a single civilian then?”

Tim grinned an unholy grin. “Oh, right. This is Pharaoh. He’s my soulmate.”

The room burst into yelling.

[megabuild]

im sorry scott but bdubs would NOT want to terminate that child, he WANTS the child, etho on the other hand,

do you think bdubs is prolife

so bdubs is weird because hes a feminist #women but he is also lowkey minecraft catholic and has some weird traditional views so yes i think he was prolife outside of very serious cases he just doesnt talk about it because once he made some comment about life starting at conception and cleo laughed in his face, brutally, which is the number one way to make bdubs shut up about anything, so he keeps going about his life with these views but like now sort of buried deep and weird about it but it doesn't matter because like he's gay and so it's never going to be an issue for him or so he thinks until he gets boypreggers because xisuma fucked the code because everyone on the server was being too fucking gay and careful and the matchups meant no one was getting pregnant and he NEEDS a personal anecdote to cite in his next rant video on why we should listen to people who try to firebomb fertility clinics, so anyway yeah bdubs is boypreggers and frankly he probably would want to keep this if it weren't for the fact its ethos because etho is a freak, etho is not even human, etho would be the worst absent mother and wouldnt even be absent, she has like 3 robot kids but a real sentient thing with flesh is out of the question cause then she'll start putting her cigs out on it, but bdubs cant get an abortion because thats agaijst his morals so he builds a new arena that etho can kick his ass in and hopefully itll like kill the thing in him and he can feel guilty about that and go to confessional and develop a new type of ocd over it but at least nobody has to know because he can pretend it was an accjdent, unfortunately by virtue of building an arena with etho the server gets set on fire before he can finish it and when they migrate to the next season the code resets and his womb is made barren. ethubs continue like nothing ever happened and xisuma makes a rant video on kink at pride instead

[howi99]

Forever fall accident

Nora: *looking at the sap from the tree slowly filling her jar* Soon, soon you will be mine~

Ren: *sigh* Nora, the sap is not for you. It's for the professors. Please don't drink another jar... Again.

Nora: *cheekily* I can't promise~

Pyrrha: *looking around* Did anyone see Jaune?

Nora: *looking up to Pyrrha* Maybe the call of nature got the best of him?

Ren: *sigh even louder* Nora, i don't think Jaune would just leave without saying a word just to go to the bathroom.

Pyrrha: He probably was lost in his own head. He does that a lot, we should try finding him.

______________

Jaune: *looking at team CRDL* Now that i helped you with getting more sap, do you need anything else?

Cardin: *smiling* Jauney boy, you've been such a good help today. So much so that me and my team decided to finally move on from you.

Jaune: ... What do you mean?

Cardin: *taking one of the jar* See, whatever we do to you, you seem to not mind. And frankly, it's booooriiiiing. So, instead of trying to get a reaction from you, we thought "what if we tried on someone else?"

Jaune: ...

Cardin: Now, we both know how much of a pushover you are, soooo *put the jar back in Jaune's hand* We want YOU to throw that bottle at Pyrrha.

Jaune: ... Excuse me?

Sky: *with a box in his hands* We got a rapier wasp nest, and they love sap!

Cardin: *spitting on the ground* She keeps beating us up because we are a bit rowdy with you. And we want to teach her a lesson. And you *poke Jaune chest* will help us.

Jaune: ... *Sigh* Cardin, i give you 10 seconds after I finish speaking to reconsider your actions.

Cardin: *laugh* You think you can threaten me? We all saw how bad you were during practice.

The jar breaks in Jaune's hand

Jaune: *coldly staring at cardin* The only reason i don't do well in class is because if i actually tried, i might kill people. Now, i will ask you again to rethink your decision, Cardin.

Cardin: *a bit less sure* You might be good at bluffing, but i still know that you wouldn't be able to fight the 4 of us by yourself! I- *get punch in the guts. Then, while trying to catch his breath, Jaune caught him by the throat* Ack!

Dove, Sky and Russel: *ready their weapons*

Jaune: 10 seconds. *Sigh* i let you walk all over me, pushed me and sent me into dangerous situations but i didn't care because you weren't trying to hurt anyone that was important, just me. *Bringing Cardin to eye level, not even flinching when Cardin desperately tried to punch him to get released* But you had to try going for the ones that matter. Now this is your last warning Cardin; Forget your plan, and i won't break your neck like a twig. *Jaune's grip tightens even more, breaking Cardin aura*

Sky: *screaming* URSA! WE GOT URSA!

Jaune: *finally look around him, seeing the Ursa's encircling the group* Hm... *Release Cardin* Get out. All of you.

Dove: H-how!? There's no exit!

Jaune: *smiling* You make yourself a path. *Goes in front of one of the Ursa* Like this! *Use his spear to behead the ursa in one swing*

Sky and Russel: *help Cardin getting back up*

Dove: *looking at Jaune smiling after killing the grimm* You freak...

Jaune: *turning to Dove* Yes, i am.

___________

Pyrrha: Jaune! Where are you!

Nora: Fearless leader, we got sap for your dessert! We know you love making them!

Ren: ... Nora, i highly doubt he will-

Jaune: *coming out from the trees* More sap? Nice, my jars are broken!

Pyrrha: Jaune! *Goes to him* Thanks the gods you are okay and- *look at the broken lance* What happened!?

Jaune: Oh, you know, a little grimm ambush. *Smile* Nothing to worry about.

Ren: We were supposed to tell Glynda for any sighting of grimm.

Jaune: Don't worry, their's none left. *Turning to Nora* And you won't need to break Cardin's legs, i don't think he will try anything else against us.

Nora: Ohoh!~ You kicked his ass?

Jaune: *scratching the back of his head* Not necessarily. But i don't think he will want to try anything else.

________

Team RWBY is walking back to the bullhead

Yang: ... He was laughing.

Blake: ... Yeah.

Weiss: he dismembered those grimm like if they were made out of paper.

Ruby: *sigh* and the way he talked to Cardin...

Blake: Can't say he hadn't it coming.

Yang: ...

Ruby: *looking at Yang* Hey, i know what it looks like, but i'm sure we can talk with him about it, right?

Yang: *sigh* Yeah... Probably.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.2

George: We don't have to keep [an image] up, we just remain ourselves. Don't we, Ringo? Ringo: well, we do, I mean, it's the other two we're worried about. It's a joke about John and Paul being bigheads, but a crazy person – definitely not me – could also see it other ways if they wanted to.

Paul talking about their mutual friend when asked how they met and John telling him not to complicate it. They're so married it's ridiculous. 

Always looking at each other with every single joke. 

He looks like he's in a lovely enclosure at the petting zoo. I've always been so confused by this footage. Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?

I LOVE that we now know Paul was cast as Thisbe and John as Pyramus and then they switched. I'm actually dying to know how and why that happened though. My first instinct was “of course. Paul was scared he'd look too convincing as a woman, so John did it for him.” But no. Paul dressed as a woman at the cavern, wore ladies lingerie in Hamburg, and wanted to do a full drag show on TV in the early seventies. So why not Thisbe?

Why do you as a man randomly bring up the color of your friend's dick while staring lovingly into his eyes?

It must be noted. They had a wonderful time playing star-crossed lovers. 

The bickering pianos are so cute! And then John (prompting Paul): and John and I . . . Paul: oh I hate this. John: will probably carry on . . . Paul: we'll carry on songwriting . . . You just know Paul didn't hear the end of that one interview answer for a long long time. And it's because John just had to hear it over and over again.

Love the editing so that Paul smacks John's ass right as the symbols crash. 10/10 A+

This iconic moment. Poor George tally number 4.

Interviewer brings up marriage and John takes a shot like he wants to forget that the whole concept even exists. Literally poor Cynthia. And not even in an “lol her husband's gay” type of way. Just in a genuine “the way their relationship fell apart actually breaks my heart because she really did love him and in his way he loved her too but they were just so thoroughly incompatible” type of way. 

Paul: makes a stupid dad joke. John: giggles gleefully and kicks his feet

I have never seen someone so disappointed that they didn't need to lend their friend a pen. Paul had his hand in his pocket before John even asked the interviewer for a pen and when the interviewer gives him one, Paul literally hangs his head like he's just been cut from the school play. I just. The obsession is frankly cartoonish. But also, he just needs to be needed, you know? How many songs does he have which conflate being needed and being loved?

The juxtaposition of Paul and John elaborately messing with the interviewer (“yes John Lenard, that's me” and “actually it's done by mirrors.”) vs George's “I don't know” and “yeah.” it's actually kind of mean editing but whatever. It is ULM not UH. Someone should make that though.

Again, John. Calm down. He's not that funny. Just look at Jimmy. That's the normal person's reaction to that joke. John is half the reason Paul has such a big head honestly. 

Paul's answer to a question about the Beatles gaining a lot of adult fans is nice. Sometimes he shocks with a bit of wisdom. Sometimes his words don't get messed up at the point they hit his throat as he says. 

What the fuck? Okay so the interviewer asks Paul what he likes in a girl, right? I've always been too distracted by Paul saying he likes a sense of humor and John doing an obnoxious fake laugh in the background because John. It's embarrassing how obvious you are. Stop.

But I never noticed Paul actually says “people”. The interviewer asks about girls and he says he likes “people - er - girls” to have a sense of humor. Huh. Okay. 

So ULM was actually what made me a serious Beatles fan and this was the first moment where I had to pause it and verify to see if what I'd just read was actually true. It really is a doozy. 

How to flirt. A guide by Paul McCartney. Step one: get your crush’s attention. This should be extremely easy. Just gesture vaguely at something you're holding. He'll be interested. Step two: do something suggestive to a phallic object. Step three: that's it. You've got him. He'll do whatever you want.

The editing in this thing truly is brutal. Just the jump cuts from a question about Cynthia to John and Paul making each other laugh to girls screaming to John and Paul unnecessarily touching to girls passed out on the ground to John and Paul desperate for each other's attention to girls waving signs to John and Paul sharing weird eye contact to girls physically mobbing them to John and Paul beaming at each other to a question about Jane. It really does drive home the immense pressure of compulsory heterosexuality back then. 

Then a question that's obviously meant to poke a nerve and start some bad feelings. “Paul. Is John the leader of the Beatles?” Easily rebuffed with “no I'm not” and “there's no real leader”. I know I'm dramatic but really it's like every aspect of that society was against them you know? And they just kind of said "fuck you, we're crazy about each other."

Question: what do they think about when they're imprisoned in their hotel rooms? John: we don't think about one thing. *Whips head to look at Paul* well, some of us do. Oh and you know that how exactly? What, do you just have a printout of his every thought? Do you keep constant tabs on his dick?

Someone give me the heterosexual explanation of that moment when John very clearly and obviously checks out and appreciates Paul's ass as he and Ringo are pretending to be cowboys. Seriously. I'm at a loss here. 

Poor George tally number six? Seven? They're asked what they'll do if England reinstates the draft. John brings up Southern Ireland. George brings up Germany. Paul and John plan their joint escape to Southern Ireland as if George hadn't even spoken. 

The choice to play “Another Girl” over that quote of John's being like ‘Paul's actually much meaner than i am’ is great. Because that's seriously such a jerk song. I don't much like Jane, honestly, but fuck, she deserved so much better than Paul. He was such a douche.  

Literally all the song choices in this are phenomenal. “Hide Your Love Away” over the montage of 60s homophobia moments? It's so genius. Saying everything without saying anything. Letting the Beatles do the talking. 

The laugh track over the cartoon is honestly so sad. Nobody asked them if they were okay with being mocked like that and they never even made a dime off it. What would that have felt like to know that your being “too close” with your best friend was a running joke on TV?

“It's only love and that is all. Why should I feel the way I do?”

[foolsocracy]

Hi, hello, I’m new to your blog. I’ve made myself at home. Lovely carpet.

Can I please know more about your spider Robbie pie? Can’t seem to find the silverware.

but of course, kind anon

Spider Robbie is an au in which Robbie Robertson takes up the spider mantle after the death of the one before him. He is the third, following Ben Urich and, most notably, Peter Parker.

This au is very much canon divergence from Eyes Without a Face, where Peter makes it in time to save Robbie from his original fate but dies in the process. Peter is shot while rushing Robbie and the others out. In his panic and elation at finding Robbie physically unharmed, Peter outs himself as the Spider Man to his best friend. Robbie stays with him as he bleeds out and resolves to continue to hide Peter's identity.

Peter is buried and remains that way for... an undetermined amount of time.

Robbie is left with a mask, a jacket, and the question of just who was this other half of his friend. As he learns more of who this... Spider Man was, he gets more and more involved in the spider's cases and conflicts. Robbie gets more sure of his own abilities and makes a bit of a name for the Spider Man within his own community, though the people of Harlem are largely unaware that the appearances of a masked vigilante match the interests of one Robbie Robertson.

It is to be noted that none of these aforementioned abilities are spider-god-induced powers like Peter's. Robbie, especially at the beginning of his spidering career, leans more into Urich's role than Parker's. To me, Robbie has been passionate about the press and journalism in a way that Peter never was. For Pete, his job as a photographer and reporter was a job he took until he could get into college and study science. Robbie has a way with words and communication that Peter frankly lacks. Of course, that isn't to say that Robbie won't be kicking ass, because he will. It will just take him a bit of time to get some of those skills as he's, well, a normal guy. Not everyone can get their biology scrambled like Pete.

And just because Robbie hasn't been scrambled doesn't mean he's completely separate from all things supernatural either!

I think the marvel noir universe is at its best when there's a magical, supernatural undercurrent. This concept isn't super prevalent in the actual comics, but HoplesslyLost on ao3 has done some really cool world building with it.

I think in Robbie's case, where he would be the narrator, "magical realism" would be an interesting avenue to take it. I use this term in particular because I most closely relate it to Toni Morrison in my head, when I first learned about it through her work in high school. For Morrison, the concept was inseparable to blackness and I think for Robbie, where his blackness is so central to his character and his motivations, drawing on that could be more of a service to his character. It feels better to do that than ignore how incredibly racialized his society and story is. It will make his relationship with the spider god, Peter (who I will get to very very shortly), his community, and his own mythos as The Spider Man really interesting and complex.

So it's been established that Robbie doesn't have spider powers. And we all know that Peter did-- or should I say does. One of the spider god's abilities is to bring Peter back to life. She does this in the comics, but not in any of the runs from 2008-2010 (the runs that make up this au). When Peter dies on Ellis Island, he does not think he is coming back from that. Waking up again is a surprise.

Here's where I think the au really takes a left turn. Do I think the Spider God is purely evil and spiteful and has it out for Pete? No, not really. Will I be ramping said traits up to 11 for the au? Yeah, I guess I might. This is because I love a little bit of horror and the came back wrong trope. I will hopefully be fleshing the spider god out in the near future, but I really haven't given her the many hours of thought I have the other characters. For that I'm sorry spider god </3

Peter digs himself out of his grave, more spider than he ever has been. For much of his new, waking life he is more animalistic than not. There is clearly something wrong with him; his joints are too flexible and loose, he's got some eye-shine going on, his skin is pale and his veins are starkly dark beneath it. He's possessed. Someone is puppeteering him, someone who knows a lot-- almost everything about him, but it's clear that the someone isn't him.

And Peter--- the body, it can't be Peter. At least, that's what Robbie thinks when the figure catches his eye the first time. Because Peter is dead and buried, and he has been dead and buried for weeks.

[shadowuponstorm]

You're F*cking Joking

Like everyone in the X-Mansion, Reader is a mutant with the ability to manipulate minds telepathically and have regenerative healing. She and a certain Wolverine have been butting heads since Reader joined the mansion, and everyone has had enough, so what will happen when Charles Xavier pairs the two up for a mission?

"No," Logan said from beside me as Charles voiced that Logan didn't know what he was going to say, "I already know because you have her in here."

"Geez, thanks asshole," I telepathically put in his head, making him jerk his head in my direction with his famous scowl.

"Hey, no telepathic manipulation," Charles said as I turned to him and told him, "I was simply telling this broody bear of a man what he already knows."

"Why I outta-" Logan responded as Charles cut him off, "This. This is what I wanted to talk to the two of you about."

"What do you mean?" I asked as Logan and I looked at Charles in confusion.

"You two have been going after each other's necks since Miss L/N's arrival at the mansion and frankly, everyone's had enough of it," Charles tells us as I felt my blood freeze.

I didn't know it had gotten this bad between us, but it isn't my fault Logan's been an ass to me since the very first day.

"Charles, I-" I started to say before he raised a hand up, "I just wanted to apologize for my behavior."

"Apology accepted, but that's not going to be enough for everyone else," Charles responds as Logan quirks an eyebrow and asks what would be enough, "You and Y/N are going on a mission together. Not an official one, but it should be long enough for the two of you to hash out your differences."

Before I could respond, Logan grunted out, "You're fucking joking, bub."

"I am indeed not joking. You both are going somewhere and will not return until this issue is resolved. Do you understand?" Charles said as I confirmed my understanding while Logan gave a small nod.

After the both of us exited Charles' office, and before we headed to our rooms to pack for this "mission," we both gave each other a look that said, "This is a stupid idea."

Where the "mission" takes place...is in the fucking woods. Great idea, Charles, stick two of your dangerous mutants together among the trees for a bonding exercise. After we arrived, Logan was already ahead of me gathering wood for the fire we'll need to light later tonight while I set up the tents, except there's only one tent in the duffle with a note from Storm saying, "Good luck."

"Damn it Ororo," I muttered to myself before I heard Logan drop the wood into the pit before he asked why I was cursing Storm, "She packed only one tent, we have to share."

"Of course we do," Logan mumbled as I glared at him and said, "Well, if you have a problem with that, you're free to sleep outside in the wilderness."

"Just put the tent up," Logan grunted as he stomped away to grab more firewood, leaving me alone yet again.

"Ugh! Why must he be so infuriating?!" I shouted in my head as I kicked the ground in frustration.

Once I calmed down, I started building the tent, which, thankfully, wasn't that small so Logan and I wouldn't be squished against one another. The sun began to set, and after Logan lit the fire pit, I started cooking dinner. A few minutes of silence passed, and Logan was smoking a cigar before I said, "Why do you hate me?"

"What do you mean?" Logan asked, but it was muffled by the cigar in his mouth.

"Take the damn cigar out of your mouth if you're going to talk. I can hardly understand you," I snapped back as Logan rolled his eyes and took the cigar before asking me what I meant by my question, "I mean, why do you hate me so much to the point where you want to bicker with me every day."

"I don't hate you," Logan said as I scoffed and told him it was funny that he said that, but his words and actions indeed said differently.

Logan sighed before explaining, "I don't want you to get close to me." Before I could ask why, he continued, "Whenever I get close to someone, they either get hurt or die, and I refuse to let that happen to you."

"Like Scott and Jean?" I asked as Logan nodded his head and mentioned how his first night in the mansion ended up with him stabbing Rogue with his claws from a nightmare, "So you don't want me close to you like a friend, gotcha."

"I didn't say like a friend," Logan said as I looked at him, confused, before he expanded, "Ever since you came to the mansion, I've felt some way about you. I don't know what it could be, but if something happened to you, I couldn't live knowing you're not here anymore."

"Logan," I started to say as I saw the stew was ready and decided to quickly fix the bowls before it gets too hot for the both of us.

"You don't have to get theatrical and tell me I'm not right for you, I get it," Logan responded as I rolled my eyes and telepathically told him to shut the hell up.

"You want to know what I thought about you the first time I saw you?" I asked as Logan gave me a slight nod before taking a bite of the stew, "Guarded, not wanting to give too much about yourself away, and putting the tough guy act on."

"But I also saw someone who cares a lot about everyone around him, even when he thinks no one notices that part of him, but I do. I admire that so much, and yes, while it is infuriating that we keep bickering back and forth, I'm hoping that will change someday," I telepathically told him as I feel his eyes back on me and see him put his bowl down.

Logan gets up from his seat and leans over me, his dog tag hanging between us, our lips inches apart, before he whispers, "Can I kiss you?" I nodded before I felt his hands go into my hair to move my head back so he could turn his head to the side, and we kissed.

"God, her lips are so soft, I could kiss them all day," I hear his thoughts come through, making me pull away with a smile to whisper to him, "You can kiss me anytime you want."

"Good," Logan whispered back with a smile and moved back onto my lips, swiping his tongue on my bottom lip, and I allowed him in.

After what felt like hours kissing, we pulled apart to get air back into our lungs, and I start laughing.

"What's funny?" Logan asked with an amused look on his face.

"Do you think Charles saw this as an outcome?" I asked as Logan shrugged and told me maybe he did, or he just saw our true feelings toward one another through all the fighting and bickering.

-Back at the X-Mansion-

It's been two days since Logan's and mine's mission, and it feels good not bickering or fighting like we used to. Now, it's just playful and joking between us, and of course, Logan has to keep his stone-cold demeanor up around the students so they don't call him a softie. I come down the stairs and go towards the kitchen to see Logan sitting at the table with Rouge and Bobby.

"Morning, guys," I said as I grabbed my mug and poured myself a cup of coffee before I heard Logan's voice, or his thought, come through, "I'm damn lucky she's mine, and her ass looks great in those jeans."

"Down boy, not in front of the kids," I telepathically shot back at him before I turn around to see him with a smirk on his face, "Smug bastard."

"What were you guys talking about?" Rouge asked as she and Bobby looked between us before I shook my head with a laugh and said, "Nothing you need to know."

[rebel-walnut]

Let's Do The Time Warp Again

steddie time travel s3 ficlet, Part 1

Ao3, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4

"Harrington! Customers!"

Pins and needles flood Steve's limbs as Robin's voice slowly comes into focus, his eyes still scrunched closed with sleep. The tiredness is heavy in his bones, like he's been asleep for years in the oddly cold back room of Family Video.

"Dingus!"

Steve doesn't even remember falling asleep on his break. Actually, he doesn't remember taking his break at all. Or even coming into Family Video. In fact, the last thing he remembers was covered in black and red slime-

"DINGUS! YOUR BREAK IS SO OVER!"

Steve forces his eyes open to witness the too-white walls of a break room that burned down a year ago. Frantic hands run over the garish blue and red of the tacky sailor uniform he hated, the same uniform he lit on fire in his backyard with Robin before the start of her senior year. Somehow, it's back. All of it. It's all come back to haunt him.

Robin from a year ago seems to also be back to haunt him -or maybe she's here as his savior- either way, she's just as loud as ever as she kicks the swinging door to the cramped back room in. It hits the wall with a crack, causing a jolt of both familiarity and dread to shoot up Steve's spine.

He waits for the tell-tale chime of a clock that was still ringing in his ears before he woke up in the summer of '85 or Robin's face to start warping into the melted mass of tentacles hiding in the Creel attic that will certainly become a common occurrence in his nightmares, but the only thing in front of him is Robin's all too common apathetic yet disappointed stare.

"I gave you an extra 7 minutes to sleep, but that little sampling-brat and her terror-troop are back for more and I swear to God, Harrington, I cannot deal with her again today, I just can't-"

Steve cuts off her ramble by scrambling out of his seat with more effort than either of them had ever put into this job, squeezing past her and out of the small doorway.

"Steve, where are you- hey!" Robin says as she latches into Steve's shoulder before he can finish his beeline out the door.

"I'll explain later if you still exist," Steve responds as he turns out of her grasp, shoving past the group of teens making their way into the store. He can hear Robin's small shouts after him, but her exasperation with him is nothing new and frankly the least of his worries.

Starcourt, somehow, is still standing. Clamping down on his rising heart rate, Steve glances around for any sign of the current date, or even year. Everything is exactly the same as it was a year ago, but Steve knows nothing he sees can be trusted. Not with the visions Max described, that's for goddamn certain. While he doesn't know enough science fiction shit like Dustin to know if he jumped universes or is in a different reality or whatever the fuck, he can at least place a little bit of faith in his ability to distinguish dreams and visions from reality.

His frantic pace along with the extremely out of place sailor costume draws in a few curious stares, but again, least of his worries. No one's faces warp into slimy horrors and none of the walls start crawling with vines, no flickering lights, no distorted voices in his head, no signs of the upside down at all. As comforting as that should be in theory, that means it's something else entirely and definitely something Steve can't figure out on his own.

He finds himself leaving a trail of pinches down his arm as he reaches the far side of the mall, posters for the theater coming into view. A particular poster catches his eye, BACK TO THE FUTURE highlighted in yellow and orange in all its sci-fi font glory.

Fuck. 1985. Again.

He presses his fingertips into the glass covering the poster as his breaths come out raggedy and sharp. C'mon, wake up man. It's all some weird ass fever dream, you probably just hit your head again.

He waits a few seconds and prays to wake up. Nothing. Obviously, he thinks. He's stuck, somehow, a year ago, with no clue how it happened or how to fix it or if anything here is even real in the first place.

Steve isn't the guy who comes up with plans, okay? That's more of a Nance thing, and Steve is totally fine with his role as the muscle. Unfortunately, right now there seems to be absolutely no Nancy Wheeler, and Steve has no fucking clue what the fuck is going on.

He steps back from the entrance to the theater and spins around probably faster than he should for someone who maybe just got shot through time, and comes face to face with a small music store labeled Hot Wax Records in some sort of groovy 70's style font. That's not what gets him though.

Steve stops dead in his tracks as he makes eye contact with the guy at the front desk. His hair's a little shorter than he last remembers it, hitting just above his shoulders instead of just below them. The man is wearing a familiar denim vest with slightly fewer patches and less grime than was on it when it was adorning Steve's shoulders, but familiar all the same. What gets Steve though is that the man at the counter is white-knuckling the edge with one hand while the other braces and claws itself around his neck, a look of equal parts horror and recognition strewn across his features. He looks on the verge of screaming, yet his eyes are forcefully locked into Steve's with a determination Steve had only seen from him once before.

They both falter a half step forward as Steve struggles to find his tongue.

"Eddie?"

[whomstress]

Boxer Au Bunnydoll fic

Part 1/Part 2

Once again this au belongs to @burrotello

and nothing in this is canon unless stated otherwise by her!

Edit: Able belongs to @sm-baby

In a Weeks Time

It’d been a week since Jax and Ragatha’s spar. Jax chuckled to himself, finally figuring out what he wanted but making her go through a couple days of agonizing wait for the 'horrible punishment' he had set up for her. He'd been dragging it out on purpose, just to watch her squirm. Y'know for funnizes. She should have known that promising 'anything' was a mistake. However, to be fair, he was pretty sure she was actually going slightly insane from his constant harassment that week. 

He was strangely obsessed with the way she’d literally shift in her spot when he’d move closer to her, eyes unmoving from hers, giving her a vexing grin. She was so stubborn and annoyed so easily, ready at any moment for a comeback to his jabs. Whether they were good or not was another thing. At least most of the time she wanted to, she had a habit of angrily ignoring his comments and puffing her cheeks until they were flush, trying not to look at him. There was something to how someone always so sickeningly sweet and kind, looking at him like she wanted to bash his teeth in, ignited a fire in him he had for no one else.

However, ignoring him was a new tactic that got old fast. If there was one thing Jax hated, it was being ignored. This little tatic had slowly started about 2 weeks ago. She wasn't always consistent, with him getting just enough under her skin to have her yelling his name by the end, like always. But then she really ampped it up. He’s not sure if she'd been doing that tai-chi and meditating mini-game she’s always suggesting for people to calm down, but for almost a week straight, the most she’d send was a second-long glare or a scoff without even looking at him.

Rude for one, but frankly unacceptable. No one ignored Jack Rabbit. Especially someone who was way below his league. She should be lucky he gives her attention at all! He’s not sure why this pissed him off so much, but watching her laugh and spar with everyone else—not that he wanted to spar with her anyway, while she’d barely give him the time of day—made his blood boil. She’s always going on about how the humans were a “team” and they only had each other to lean on, and he could come to her for anything. In fact, wasn't she the one to promise him with that damn "sweet as sugar' smile when he first realized he was stuck here, and she now ignores him? Call him a hypocrite, but he hated a liar. 

Well, he wasn’t going to let that slide. So he made her life hell until she literally ran away, and when he cornered her where she always went to hide, he finally got her to fight like he knew she could. And he was ready to fight until someone bled. He just didn’t think it would be him.

Lil Lady, his ass. Ladies did not talk or kick like they were trying to break a godamn tree in half. She was stronger than she let on, if the bruise the size of a baseball on the back of his head said anything. So though Jax enjoyed watching her jump in his presence, he wondered why, if she was so worried about what was coming, did she seem to be following him like a damn shadow? 

It wasn’t until today, when he was the last to join the characters in the gym, did it ever really matter to him. Ragatha was already there, probably the first one there, the goody-two-shoes. Started eyeing him like a damn hawk the second he started stretching before a training session. It was odd as hell, to say the least, but it’s not like he minded. He was used to being stared at. Just not by her. The strangest part is that it made him hyper-aware. Ai’s would swoon over him all the time from him just flexing, but this was Rags. What would a girl like her even be impressed with?

He had to backtrack in his own mind for that thought. ‘Oh God, not this shit again. What does that matter!? He did not now or ever care about what beat-em-up Barbie thought’ He decided to literally shake the thought off, yanking his head back and forth. But he bent his neck a little too far, pulling straight across the sore bruise and stitches, and let out a loud curse of pain when he felt a scab on the end pop open. It was that instant that everything clicked. She ran to him like he just got shot in the gut, nearly tripping on her way to get to him. She grabs his face carefully, but firm in her hands. “Jax! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Please tell me your alright.” She looks like she’s going to cry again, but her eyes are so genuine as she looks back at him after thoroughly assessing for any damage. So delcate with a warm touch, like he was made of porclien or some shit. 

He was frozen solid with his face in her hands as she looked for any signs of hurt. His brain has officially shortcircuited at this point. He really should knock her off or headbutt her like he said he would if she touched him again, but his brain is actually static at the moment. He's completely zoned out and locked in at the same time. She gives a light squeeze on one cheek; he knows she does this in a simple comforting gesture. She’d do it for anyone, but it still makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Maybe you should rest today, yeah?”

In the simple sentence, everything comes back in an instant, and his features turn harsh enough for her to know she said something wrong. Well, at least in his eyes. So she let go of his face and stepped back. He stood up once again, towering over her, but she didn’t squirm this time, maybe because he actually looked angry that she had her guard up, ready to fight if she needed to. In a flash of thought, it made him realize that when she squirmed under him, it wasn’t because she was threatened by him. If he wasn't so pissed, he’d probably have an aneurysm trying to decode that thought. 

Why did she have to do stuff like this? He gets it; she feels it's her fault and all, but c'mon, no one was ever this nice to him. No way was she this damn caring. No one was. Everyone had a trick up their sleeve. He didn't need her babying him like his damn mom. Hell, his own mom didn’t care this much! Neither of his parents did, and it was for good reason, he told himself. He’s been fighting as long as he can remember. It’d been drilled into his brain that nothing was worth losing, especially to those below you. He always needed to win by any means necessary. His father made him finish his competition with a broken ankle when he was 10, and his ankle still can’t bend a certain way without spazzing. And you know what? He won his weight-class nationals the next year! Only idiots and weaklings didn’t believe the same. Which is why Ragatha had always angered him so much.

If you weren’t fighting to win, why fight at all? He did everything to keep his place, and he was proud, like he should be. Ragatha, on the other hand, purposely lost to keep her place. If she started trying right now, she could easily be top 20, and if she started from when she first got here, he wouldn’t doubt she’d be around top 10. She'd still have no shot against him, of course. Even when she worked out, it was on her legs. Something she wasn’t allowed to use outside of sparring or minigames. What was the point? She drove him insane just by being little miss empath. Her ‘I care more about others than myself’ act was nauseating, and worse of all, she had the gull to think he needed any of it.

“You think I’m that weak enough that a little cut will stop me from a fight? If you wanna be helpful, why don't you stand over there with your twin, punching bag?” Ragatha's face turned sour; she hated that nickname most of all, and he knew it from the way he saved it when he wanted to be really nasty. She thought she could make him look weak enough in a gym full of enemies. Yes, everyone who wanted his belt was his enemy. “I could rip out these stitches right now and still win the match.”

A gloved hand reached back, and her instincts flinched her body forward to stop him, worry in her eyes. But her glare returns harder at the sight of a scoff and a quick "pathetic." She should've known he wasn't really going to do it. He’d already been suspended from fights until now, and you can’t go into the ring with an open wound. He was just messing with her again, but over his own health was a new one. By now, everyone in the gym had stopped and looked at them. Pomni was looking worried and ready to jump in. Gangle and Zooble were on the edge of their seats, waiting for Ragatha to hit Jax again. When they found out she cracked his head open even by accident, they seemed genuinely upset not to see it happen live. 

Which was concerning on Ragatha’s side of things, but she wasn't giving a show today. She wasn’t playing anyone's game, especially Jax. “Listen, Dollface, if you wanna play nurse so badly, I know there’s a pretty little outfit for that in the prop closet.” Ragatha scoffed. Ah, yes, the casual sexism a classic for her from Jax. He never cared about anyone’s personal details, but when he wanted to piss someone off, she swore he had a list of insults ready to go from every conversion he'd had. He moved in again, obviously trying to taunt her into hitting him. “I know hard work is foreign to your little rookie brain, but you think I really got where I am by dumb luck?”

He was so ready to watch her lose it again, break down, and maybe even shed some tears. She was trying to keep an even face, but he could see the slight flush of embarrassment the more he talked. Red was a good color on her, and he’d have to find a snappy way of saying that if this last comment didn’t work. Jax watched her gitty; he was completely focused on her, ready for a swing or kick. He’d been itching for round two, and the last one was way too short.

Ragatha was furious. He’d been worrying/messing with her all week while she patiently waited for this stupid prize he ‘won.’ Now he was trying to embarrass her in front of everyone? No way. For once, this was ending the way she wanted! Ragatha had always wanted to say something to knock him down to size; she’d tried before but always fumbled her words or they were alone, which only ended in another snide remark. But the way he ended things left a perfect opening—a set-up she’d dream about.

Here goes nothing. Her face turns into her best condicending smile, and she watches him raise a puzzled eyebrow before she starts to laugh in his face and says, “Well duh, Jack Rabbit” she emphasizes his name with a pinch and shake of his cheek, “Everyone knows that! Dumb luck and cheating it’s practically in your playbook! How about you do us a favor and tell us something we don’t know?”

Did he hear right? There is no way that just came from Ragatha; can Zooble posses people now? Her laugh was one thing, but when it’s followed by Gangle and a booming Zooble, he is suddenly very aware of what she just did. He backs up and looks around the gym. Pomni is trying to hide her giggles, and even Kinger is present enough for once to have an amused smile. Jax suddenly feels hot and sweaty and catches his face in the gym mirror, flushed and embarrassed like a damn school girl. He tries to tell everyone to shut up, but when Zooble points out his blush, laughs start all over again.

He hasn’t laughed this badly in years, and he swore it’d never happen again. So why, of all people, was the fight club's biggest sweetheart making him look like a damn clown? He tried to quickly make up a comeback, but his words fell flat on his tongue. His eyes were scattered around the room. Who would he even say it to? Jeez, is this what he does to people? Is that why they're all laughing like they've been holding it for years? All of it just made him more angry, and he felt his thoughts slowly centering on the one person who started it, who was even able to do it when everyone else had at least tried and failed before.

Ragatha was completely unaware of Jax’s building focus; she was still giggling a little but started to feel bad at how everyone kind of ganged up on him. Yeah, he deserved it, but she didn’t think it’d go on this long, and Jax seemed like he was in real distress. She thought of calling out to them or him when he turned around to face her head. His eyes were so intense on her, and he was obviously trying to intimidate her, but his face betrayed his thoughts. She hadn’t gotten a really good look at him before this, and wow, it was something.

The flush covered most of his ears, his whole face, and a little down his neck. He was sweating big droplets, even though he didn’t work out, and though she could tell he was furious, his expression couldn’t hide his nervousness. He looks so self-conscious right now; it’s an expression she's never seen on him. She didn’t even think he could make it. Almost vulnerable. Despite a rabbit body being so human, He looked normal. For once, not pretending to be better than anyone but just as flawed as the rest of them. Able to get embarrassed and tongue-tied. For once, she felt a real connection to him as another person, even though she didn't want to. She had to admit that with his rabbit ears to the side and the blush covering his face, he actually looked kind of “cute.”

Even Ragatha knew her mistake the moment it came out of her mouth. It was less than a whisper, but she guessed those rabbit ears weren't just for show because his ears shot up, his eyes wide, and his whole body went rigid. He was suddenly standing way too close for her comfort, and she took a step back, squirming under his stare once again. His face turned into an unreadable expression, and she felt like she needed to apologize despite how uncomfortable she was, so she forced herself to take a breath and look into his eyes but couldn’t get any other words out than a soft “Jax-.” 

“THAT’S IT!” He yelled, throwing up his arms in outrage, making her jump at least half a foot in the air. He turned back around to the other characters. “F*#& ALL OF YOU! I’M OUT!” He said loud enough that it sounded like a mic was going off, “AND YOU!” Jax turns to point a finger in Ragatha’s face and says, "You're coming with me!”

Before Ragatha can even have the chance to refuse, he has her live up to her name by tossing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll, holding her legs from letting her escape as he quickly strides away. She starts screaming to put her down and beats her fist at his long back. Letting out an embarrassing yelp when this only makes him quickly drop her lower down his back before adjusting his grip on her legs again as she now has to grip on to his waist not to fall. The other characters are silent now, and they watch them get further away until they turn the corner. Pomni feels an ache in her dropped jaw and is about to ask if they should go after them before Zooble calls out, “50 bucks; he’s dead by the morning.” 

Gangle pitches in, “Pssh, please. You see that look on his face? 70 bucks they f#&(. ”

“Jesus, Gangle. That’s nasty. Unlike you, Ragatha is in class.” Zooble cringes. “You’re on.”

Suddenly Able pops out of thin air, like the sound of money summoning him from deep in the code of the fight club. He manifested directly in front of Pomni, making her trip back straight on her butt, and she's beginning to think that she is warming up to Caine the longer she's even around other Ai's. “Do I hear a bet? I know my player more than anyone else, and I can guarantee that he is upset enough to use this little deal of theirs to make all his problems hers and all of yours."

"Wait, hold on, how do you know that?" Pomni interrupts.

Able turns his card head around without his body and, in a more robotic voice than usual, says, "Oh dear, I know lots of things." An errie glare without a source light flashes across his card, "Lots of things..."

He quickly turns back to Zooble and Gangle and says, "ANYWAY, I don’t know much about human feelings. However, I do know Jax is horrible at them! Word of the wise, starlights, go for broke!”

Pomni stands there stunned, watching Zooble consider the point and Gangle curse out a censor for not thinking the same. Was this really happening? Where are they seriously gambling on their friends like this? “Guys betting on each other's everyday lives doesn’t seem ethical.”

The other characters look at each other and echo, “Welcome to the fight club.”

[andy-wm]

3D by JK (feat. JH) - my take.

Ok, unpopular opinion maybe, and I might get my ass beaten for this (not in a good way 🤣)

Feel free to disagree RESPECTFULLY.

Disclaimer: If anyone comes at me with that cancel bullshit I will block you, because we all get to have an opinion.

If my post enrages you, scroll past until you can be civil, then come back and talk. Or block me. I dont mind.

And don't tell me that because I don't love this song I have to hand in my ARMY card... I'm not going to.

🙂💜🙂

I'll start by saying I love JK so, so much. Adore him. Will always support him.

But for me, 3D is a misstep.

My feeling is Hybe should have reconsidered releasing it as it is.

JK's lyrics are fun and sexy. The innuendo is on point. The melody is great and the chorus has excellent sing-along value. Even though I'm not a huge pop music fan, I like the vibe.

The MV dancers are awesome, and I got a kick out of the fire hydrant metaphor.

And in that jacket with nothing under it, JK looks hot enough to melt asphalt.

However....

Including Jack Harlow's rap IMO is a mistake. It sucks, frankly. Not in a good way.

It not only misses the mark on the tone of the rest of the song but his lyrics are really just offensive. Misogynistic. And racial refrences are just... not cricket. It's 2023 not 1995, regardless of what his hairstyle tells you.

His lyrics sound like an incel bragging about their sex life when all they've ever done is watch porn. From his words, I doubt he knows how to please any person but himself.

His message is gross, but its still just... generic. Like he went to urban dictionary for spicy language and then googled how to treat women like shit. There's nothing original about what he's saying. He's not even being gross in an intersting way. It's gross AND boring.

(Jack, if you're reading this, sorry my guy you gotta do better.)

I've been army since 2018 and this is the first BTS song I have tried to find merit in and given up.

I honestly tried to be into it and i just... can't. It doesn't sit well with me.

This is a new experience for me because even when BTS release something i don't immediately love, i still stream and watch and let it sink in, or I work on figuring out what I am missing and why it's ACTUALLY good even if i can't grasp it.

This... it's just... not good, in my opinion.

I have to clarify here...

It isn't about explicit content, i am totally down for that. If anyone read my post on Seven, they will know my response to that song. In a nutshell, I believe all adults who want to, should happily and shamelessly be doing ALL the horizontal tango. Every type, every day, in every way. With anyone and everyone they fancy as long as all parties are informed and consenting adults who are equally enjoying the experience.

Yes. I am all about getting down.

That doesn't mean treating your partners like a body count or using and abusing them with no consideration. That's not cool.

**PSA: please be safe and use protection. Get tested regularly if you have multiple partners. Don't do anything you don't feel good about and dont stay with partners who harm or manipulate you 💜**

Now, back to the smut.

Some criticisms i saw of Seven were about how dirty it was. A few people were upset because JK said fuck, and because he sang about how and when he liked to fuck. But more criticism was levelled at Letto. Why?

It seemed like it was because she's a woman, singing about sex.

Letto totally owns her sexuality and she knows what she wants. I snorted with delight at how deliciously filthy her lyrics were. Some very clever wordplay made her verse so visceral, and pretty shocking to the pearl-clutchers, without her ever saying anything directly. I really enjoyed it.

She was telling us straight up how good she is in bed. Good for her. She totally rocks. And she wasn't disrespecting anyone. She didn't need to do that to make herself cool AF.

The difference between Letto's rap and jack harlow's is that jack sounds like he's just looking at the women he's singing about as a hole to stick his dick in. Women have fought for long enough for equality and respect. They don't need this bullshit. You can sing about getting down, and you can be absolutely filthy and nasty and wild, and you can do it without degrading your partners.

I did read a theory about this song being social commentary on toxic masculinity. You can find it here and you can read it below:

Its not bad as a theory. At least it wouldn't be if Namjoon or Yoongi or Hobi - or Jungkook himself - had written the song. If that were the situation we'd see some inkling of self awareness in the rap, and maybe a hint of character development. But there's none.

Sorry ARMY, this is not the class of lyricism we have come to expect.

If jack is trying to make a social statement^*, or play a character, he is not succeeding in showing any growth or humanity at all. He's really just that stereotype.

In the last few lines, after he offers to fly his victim from Korea to Kentucky, he says "and you ain’t gotta guarantee me nothing I just wanna see if I get lucky."

How considerate...

All I see is zero care factor about the actual person he's trying to get with. Which is quite different from JK's lyrics, which show awareness that he's interacting with a conscious, living human being, not a piece of furniture.

jack follows with "I just wanna meet you in the physical and see if you would touch me"

Ugh. Not with a ten foot pole, douchebag.

And how about, in his first verse "All my ABGs get cute for me"

Good god, really? Is he seriously saying this?

So its a no for me.

The ONLY saving grace is that there's an alternative version which is pretty fun. It's almost as if Hybe knew we would hate the version with jack harlow. Wow, such insight!

Now, i know that's not the only reason they made an alternative. They needed a clean version for US radio play (let's be real, what possible other purpose can this song serve? *°)

But they could have censored jack's... actually they couldn't. The rap verses can't be salvaged. They genuinely have no merit, the only hope for the song is totally removing them.

What does that tell you?

ARMY will no doubt still chart the main track but personally, I would feel morally compromised if i supported that version. So I'll stick to the alternative and hope for better things to come.

------------

^* Stylecaster doesnt think so either. I visited their website to check thr lyrics. They said, of D3, "Meanwhile, Jack Harlow brings the cool with his two verses as he raps about all the women he could pull"

Uh, really? I hope that's intended to be ironic.

*° The MV had only 4.5million views after 12 hours. And we know what brilliant strategists Hybe employs. I am travelling in Korea right now. There was no promo visible here. And it was no accident that it was released at lunchtime on Chuseok - the biggest famiily holiday of the year - when relatively few people in Korea would be available to engage with it. THEY KNEW IT WAS A STINKER.

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don��t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

[mehoymalloy]

What attracts you to Imotohan? Idk if I get it yet….

One day I should make, like, a ship manifesto...

Today is not that day; instead, you get a collection of references to other posts that I found when I couldn't sleep last night.

Reason Number 1: I really like enemies to lovers as a trope.

I always have, ever since I started reading fanfic way back in the day with Kim/Shego lol. But I especially love when two characters allow me to totally buck the more traditional power dynamics of one party having all the power while the other has none, which I find boring and not at all fun to explore.

At first glance, Otohan does have the upper hand a lot of the time in their dynamic (I mean, hell, they start out by slaughtering half of Imogen's friends and the love of her life). But it’s pretty easy (and very fun) to give Imogen opportunities to be on equal footing with Otohan or even surpass them entirely. And the Tension that comes with exploring two characters who hate each other but can’t help but be attracted to each other is just what I find the most interesting and fun to explore in my own writing in particular.

Sources (lol):

Cool Art that really HITS with the Enemies aspect.

Would also be remiss if I didn't plug Shamie’s art, who has created So Much art because I throw money at her every chance I get. Just scroll her whole otohan thull tag, you won't regret it.

Good Thoughts with my own tiny addition about shipping culture in general.

A nice little ask about characterization and violence.

Reason Number 2: They’re obsessed with each other.

To the point that the cast themself see it and take advantage of it in-game (see here, when Sam pulled 'the one you're so keen to meet with' out of his ass, assumedly failed a deception check, and yet Otohan still either humored them or just zeroed in on 'Imogen? Where's Imogen? Tell me where Imogen is' anyway like a fucking simp.)

Otohan in particular also displays a frankly terrifying amount of ‘care’ and effort in getting Imogen to exalt in the battle at Bassuras, which I talk more about here. It’s what kicked off my intrigue with this ship and got me to try my hand and writing them (and then never stopped, as you can see).

Imogen, for her part, is just understandably terrified of but also constantly infuriated with Otohan (shitpost that shows that well). She says Otohan’s name with such vitriol and I adore her for it. Very ‘I’m gonna punch you in the mouth with my own mouth’ energy.

Here’s some video clips that show off their actual in-game dynamic really well, this one brilliantly set to My Kink is Karma (thank you @corkulous) and another to Death of Me (a million thanks to @lavendertheys).

Reason Number 3: They push each other’s buttons really damn well.

Arguably the most important thing in a ship for me after Tension.

We saw Otohan lose their patience exactly once, in my opinion, during the final battle when they called Imogen a ‘bitch,’ and as I said in this post, I think Imogen deserved so many more opportunities to rile Otohan up like that, especially in actual conversation as opposed to combat. She’s just so good at it, by golly, and if I can't see it in canon I can at least write about it.

And I mean, Otohan got Imogen to exalt (the only time she has done so, to my knowledge) and blow up a whole city block; I think it's safe to say they can get under her skin if they work at it, and I wish they had even more horrible opportunities to do so in canon before they kicked the bucket.

Anyways, that's the gist of what attracts me to Imotohan. If you don't get it, then the ship might just not be for you, which is totally fine—to each their own! Thanks for giving me an excuse to yap about themb~

[lakesbian]

OH have you finished all of animorphs then? Any general wrap-up thought on the characters n their arcs if so?

oh boy okay that's a big ask because the lack of specificity means i'm inclined to be comprehensive. i'm gonna force myself to be brief

jakey: very coherent arc from "i'm not the leader why are you guys saying i'm the leader stop saying i'm the leader" to "Subhuman. Flush 'em." it's good. i also like the chain where he's like. initially invested for saving his brother > tells marco he can't make calls about his mother because he's too close to the situation and is frankly an ass about it while hypocritically insisting he can handle the yeerk controlling his brother trying to murder his father, relieved when the animorphs take the difficulty of having to make the choice away from him but still views it as an indictment of his leadership capabilities > during the evacuation of the families he almost like...overcompensates w/ under-prioritizing himself and his loved ones, irrationally prioritizes everyone else's families being moved out first despite the fact that it would have made more tactical sense to do his first > he loses his family over this and it breaks him

rachel: problem w/ rachel is that, unbeknownst to me when i started reading, multiple of the books for her just had no idea what the hell or fuck they were doing, and were wildly out of character. ignoring the books that were fake and didn't happen, her arc is good. the thing is that "we might have to do something terrible, too. get rachel" is the crux of her Issues and the ghostwriters didn't need to do any of that other shit. the fake and true rachel books would've been served better by exploring the fundamental divide btwn her and cassie as people i'm sure you know what i mean

marco: probably the most consistent/strong arc? it's good. reading the end part was like

marco: i haven't seen jake in a few months. i still worry about him of course, just...from my hot tub me: that seems not true marco: okay so he hasn't seen ME in a few months but i have been continuously accidentally-on-purpose spying on him, and also sometimes i turn into a lobster in my fountain to cope me: okay yeah that's true

i like his fundamental internal conflict of. Being a person who is very capable of seeing, as per his iconic monologue, the bright line from a to z, and also continuously kicking the part of him that's horrified & upset by how that line impacts himself/the things personal to him under a rug. and despising when people pity him or acknowledge that he's upset/hurt because it reminds him he's got all that shit under the rug and distracts him from the bright clear line. really really good character writing how he's completely okay with constantly yelling and crying about how he's the most scared and afraid boy ever because fear over physical things is pragmatic, but he can't tolerate having it acknowledged when he's upset by something he knows to be necessary, because that's Not pragmatic. it adds flavor

cassie: i think it's funny how some of the other roles on the team are "the leader" "the lieutenant" "the axe-man" (<- not to be confused with the ax-man) etc and she's The One With A Continuously Functioning Moral Compass, Nerd #2, and The Emergency Lisa*. i've been told that the cassie books are either some of the strongest in the series or absolutely nothing but the thing is that i like the absolute nothing ones because i think the shenanigans are fun. so overall she's got great books. the struggle of a character who finds the moral compromises she's forced to make while participating in a war genuinely psychologically intolerable but still keeps being sucked in further is good & a nice sort of foil 2 some of the other morphs. i do have. And this has to be said despite being somewhat tangential. i do have the firm opinion that. rachel and cassie v much come off like they should be the classic "people who were bffs as kids and start becoming distant/incompatible as teens but are ignoring it and will be insisting on hanging out/calling each other bffs for several more years until something causes a bigger schism" dynamic & it would add a lot more if the text was aware of this fact and did something about it. but that's a longer post for a later time

tobias: his stomach flipping over while he tries to deny that the hawk-boy form of himself ellimist is showing him is him is perhaps one of the most stark scenes in the entire series and i think we should all be drawing it more. it's nice they put an abused autistic kid who doesn't feel like a human person in animorphs so that various children reading could have their brains rewired. i like how he's got a very heavy internal life. he's always Pondering. the torture plotline is a bit weakly written i think, his strongest moments are when he's doing an identity crisis thing. his dynamic with rachel is really good and the end of his arc does feel fitting. i think with how aximili is always going on abt how tobias is his shorm aka soulmate it would've been good if we saw more of the convos they were having or they had a more clearly Besties bond going on. although i DO like that aximili almost never shouts, someone (jake?) explicitly notes that when ax Does yell it means you'd better fucking listen, and to my memory the only call-caps moment aximili has is yelling "TOBIAS!" when he thinks tobias is critically wounded. more of that shit please. i would've also liked more tobias books in general bc he has one of the strongest narrative voices out of the gang

aximili: I was so mad about his very last book in the series being a shit ghostwriting moment. So mad you do not even want to know. entire plot of, like, book 8 all over again, except this time he's casually considering endorsing genocide for some reason. anyway i think there's a lot of interesting things going on in his head but his arc doesn't really wrap up well & there are a few ghostwritten books where he feels poorly done w/o having a rachel-type Really Iconic book that makes up for it. he works better early and mid series. he's also just a fundamentally hilarious character concept which is great. i'm sad that people lied to me about him being autistic compared to other andalites (he's not) but i like when he has axtism moments anyway. i would like to see 100 drawings of axmini get cinnamon roll now please

[byhimawari]

“One Scoop for Two”

(a RivaMika drabble)

“Eren. You should try, too.”

Excited and curious for him to try the unfamiliar but delectable treat, Mikasa hands Eren an —what the Marleyans call — ice cream cone. After witnessing Connie’s and Sasha’s reaction, she  was quick to buy one for Eren and her to share, deep down hoping they’d also forget the task at hand for just a second out of their blood driven lives and actually bond. 

Eren takes and observes it, also curious, albeit not in the same way Mikasa and the others were, because unlike them, and Mikasa knew, his mind is at an unreachable place where sharing ice cream with her is, quite frankly, of no importance.  

“Ice cream?”

Mikasa blinks in surprise, caught off guard that he knew what it was called before she had the chance to tell him. “You knew?” 

Eren’s features grow somber, an immediate indication that her hope for bonding has now become a cold case. She can almost hear the needle drop at the bottom of her glass heart. 

“From the old man’s memory, that is.” 

Mikasa doesn’t pry about his visions, knowing if she even asked, Eren would be too vague or reluctant to share. Instead she just nods, as she always does, her shadow standing besides his but never quite touching a constant remnant of what she will always be.

—

Levi, after great effort, finally manages to yank Hange away from their foolery of chasing cars and yelling at inanimate objects. How troublesome it was for the ship to dock at the busiest port in Marley. It’s enough to keep eye on the brats, what more having to babysit the Commander? 

Speaking of brats, from a distance he sees the gloomy one standing with the reckless one, seemingly offering him ice cream with a faint glimmer of excitement in her eyes. Levi, against himself, because he’d rather blow their cover than admit that Ackerman looks rather appealing in her outfit, observes and sees the dejected slump of her shoulders as Eren just stares at now melting dessert in his hand. 

He sees them chat for a moment. Eren’s facial features appear deep in thought. So deep in thought, in fact, he hands Mikasa back the ice cream cone mindlessly and excuses himself, walking away completely unaware to the confused and surprised gaze that follows him.  

Normally he’d pay them no mind. He’s used to seeing Mikasa waste her valuable time and efforts on that kid. But there was something in the way her eyes glowered to the ground, a melancholic aura surrounding her like a dark cloud, that got under his skin, where his foot literally ached to kick something, someone, preferably the Titan boy himself, in order to ease the itch. And it’s when Levi sees Mikasa throw away the ice cream cone before walking away herself that he decides that he’ll definitely kick Eren’s ass. It only makes sense. 

What doesn’t make sense, however, is Levi suddenly finding himself ordering one of those damn cold, much-too-sweet contraptions for himself and then walking hastily through an alien town in search for the woman worth a hundred soldiers turn damsel in distress. Yet, there he is, playing knight in shining armor for reasons he will never admit aloud. 

Though his approach is everything but courteous and noble. 

“Oi, gloomy brat.”

He finally finds her, sitting lonesome on a bench, staring blankly at nothing as she so often does when in her sunken moods. Mikasa doesn’t move an inch. He expected as much. 

“Go away. I’m not in the mood.”

He expected that much, too. Even from behind, he knows exactly what sour face she’s making. But of course he doesn’t falter. He walks over to the bench and sits beside her. Levi notices her tense and he prepares himself. 

She swiftly turns her head, “I said I’m not in the—!” 

Levi shuts her up, softly pushing the tip of the ice cream against her mouth. Her eyes widen in shock, then it evolves into her piercing glare.  

“C-Captain! What was that for?” she wipes her mouth and nose with the back of her hand.

“You wanted ice cream, didn’t you?” Levi asked plainly, pulling the cone back slightly, “I saw you dispose the one you bought earlier without even tasting it. What a waste.”

There’s a pregnant pause between the two. Mikasa then just sighs and turns away to look back at nothingness.

“I got it for Eren,” she says quietly, as though embarrassed to even hear herself say it aloud.

Ah, just as he thought. Seems Levi has a knack for accurate observation.

“I take it the brat didn’t want any?” Levi scoffs irately as he leans back against the bench, “Tch. Even common courtesy the boy lacks.” 

“He’s just going through a lot,” she’s quick to defend.

Levi’s quicker to rebuttal, “And you’re not?” 

His words came out much sharper than he intended, like a paper cut to the tongue, and he realizes from the slight fall of her face that she felt the sting too. He sighs. Sometimes even he forgets that underneath her steel armor is still a delicate heart.

“Look, I understand he’s on edge, as we all are by just simply being here, but…” Levi starts but then his eyes drift to the tip of the ice cream, noticing it’s starting to melt. He twitches slightly, not wanting it to get on his skin or clothes. But still, he continues before his train of thought goes away, “That doesn’t justify him taking you for granted. He was wrong for that, just as he was all the other times.”

She turns back to look at him with eyes he has seen so many times before; defeated but stubborn. It’s the same eyes she always has when she’s with Yaeger. Levi sees right through her, not because she makes it obvious, but because he’s the exact same, loving from afar but standing so close. He understands.

“It’s just ice cream, Captain,” she attempts to dispute.

And because be understands, he’s determined to make sure she does too.

“Is it really, Mikasa?”

She doesn’t respond, her vanquish clear. Mikasa knows that it isn’t just ice cream. He knows that she knows. It’s supposed to be something that binds them, to create a fond memory, to close the gap.

Just like the one melting in his hand.

They were never just ice cream cones to begin with.

After some silence, Mikasa nods, acknowledging his point as the storm in her eyes slowly comes to a calm.

“Just don’t stop yourself from enjoying something just because someone else doesn’t want to enjoy it with you, you gloomy brat,” Levi quickly reiterates as to not make the silence between them awkward.

But then his attention shifts and his brow furrows uncomfortably when be sees the trail of ice cream start flowing slowly down, his skin surely to meet its sticky demise.

Without any notice, Mikasa leans towards the ice cream he holds and uses her lips to take a generous bite at the top, stopping it from melting onto his hand. She shivers at its coldness, having swallowed too fast. Something fluttered within Levi’s chest at the sight, like that of a butterfly floating to the rhythm of his rapid heart, and he doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

Levi clears his throat, trying to ground himself away from the corners of his mind.

“Next time, just enjoy it yourself or find someone else who does,” he says, “Like right now. You’re not bad company.”

Levi tenses, realizing the weight of the last bit he said, subtly confessing that he enjoys her company, thus implying that he could be that person she can always eat ice cream with, should she ever wish…should that chance ever come again.

“Thank you, Captain,” she says warmly, a rare soft smiles on her lips that he never thought he’d have honor of witnessing himself, “For…the ice cream.”

It’s chaste when he smiles back, but ever the skilled one, and really, he should’ve known better, Mikasa catches it before he has the chance to make away with it. There’s a gleam in her eyes that, wishful thinking as it may be, tells Levi that the chance, someday, will indeed come again.

“You must’ve been watching me closely for you to notice all these things, Captain.”

To that, he only chuckles, taking the risk of not denying it. Levi tilts the ice cream cone towards her mouth, keeping his hand there for her convenience.

“Shut up and eat your ice cream, brat. It’s melting.”

fin