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ragnarokhound · 6 months

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((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.

#one hundred thousand years have passed #i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing #'i lived bitch'#'have some jaytim that grew legs on me'#my writing #asked and answered #jaytim #ladytauria #hurt/comfort #this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones #the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts #i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger #i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka #the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here #and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently #but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!!#prompt fill

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not-poignant · 7 days

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Hi Pia

I have 2 separate questions that are unrelated but share a subject matter.

Would a woman omega or trans man omega who was infertile/sterile be allowed at Hillview?

And 2) Have you thought or would you ever write an mm pairing where one of them was a trans man?

I'm trans masc and I find it so hard to find good trans fics that deal with trauma recovery or aren't just pwp. And I love your writing so much that if you ever decided to write a transman fic I'd literally cry from happiness.

So, I was going to write a big long world-building response to this but instead I'm gonna take it back to something personal - you're asking me to consider worldbuilding for and writing for stuff I feel pretty dysphoric over in my personal life. I go out of my way to really, really avoid writing heterosexuality of any kind for a start, so I don't want to think about all the fringe cases where I can make heterosexuality possible at Hillview or the sister site. That's just...icky to me.

As for trans folk, being that I'm also transmasc, I'm mostly team 'if you want to see it happen you can write it happening. I have zero problems with that. But there's stuff I'm not writing about either for reasons relating to dysphoria, or for reasons relating to 'this is not actually why I enjoy writing in the first place.' This is why I don't do self-inserts, for example. I don't like seeing myself in my own stories, I prefer seeing myself represented in other stories.

So -> If other folks want to write it, they can! If they want to solve those worldbuilding issues, they absolutely can! If they want to write fic about it, I'm gonna set off a confetti cannon for them in celebration.

In terms of worldbuilding, the answer would just always be: It depends. If you want to find the fringe cases then sure, there would always be exceptions! But if there was any chance of fertility/pregnancy with their companion, then no. So it would absolutely need to be not just a hormonal transition (a lot of things can impact consistent hormonal uptake and I think omegaverse hormones in the Underline universe would actually impact them a lot too), but one that covered bottom surgery as well.

Is that like, a problem in honouring someone's gender? Absolutely!! The Underline universe isn't perfect. But preventing pregnancy is their biggest concern at Hillview and the sister site. I know in regular/standard ORFs, they only care about the fertility issue, and care about literally nothing else, and yes, that can be a huge issue re: trans folk. This world is a dystopia, it doesn't pretend to be anything else.

The fun thing about fanfiction, is that other people can erase all of that with a sweep, come up with some magical contraception, and just make it happen. :D

As a transmasc person myself, I have stuff I just don't like writing. Just like everyone else does. You are absolutely welcome and completely have my blessing to imagine whatever you like for Underline, to write it in fic, to daydream about it, to bend and change the rules that already exist or to make up new ones that don't exist yet, that work for a world you want to read about.

But for me...it just comes too close to 'if I have to change or figure out these things I also have to think about how to set up 'woman omega and man alpha' heterosexuality and I just don't want to.'

I'm so sorry anon. I'm going to circle this one under competing needs. Sometimes the thing another person needs to find gender affirmation, is the thing that will harm another person's experience of their own gender, even if that gender shares the same general name, even if that changes down the track. (This is how we get some trans people who hate genderbending in fic and say it's dysphoric, and other trans people who love it and say it's affirming. It's true for both, neither should impose their views on the other).

The TL;DR being: I write what I want to be writing. If I'm not writing it, and have never written it, it's because I don't want to write it. In the matter of heterosexuality: zero interest, I'll leave that for other folks. In the matter of being trans, dealing with my own gender stuff irl is already a nightmare that I don't want to have to write out a version of that again in fiction, because I can't live it twice, and I don't like writing fluffy stories.

#asks and answers #personal #idek if i should tag this under underline worldbuilding #this one is just super personal #about every year people ask me if i'm going to write trans stories #and multiple times if i will write heterosexuality and it's like #i think i just feel more strongly against most of it over time #i *might* write a transmasc story one day #i think about it sometimes #but it will be in a different world where there's likely zero transphobia #i'm not going to deal with it in a dystopia #it's funny how some stuff i can write out twice (like trauma recovery)#but gender stuff is too close to home #i will read it when other people write it #but yeah no #sorry anon #life hurts enough and i can't hurt myself more in fic #and i just know that's where i'd end up

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overly-verbose · 24 days

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If SIkuna will get the Heian era form later, can he change his appearance? I mean, it will be weird to see a guy with four arms hanging in public.

Assuming he were to do that,

(who knows, not me (I do lol) , if the hypothetical timeline where he and Yuji get separated is gonna be Canon to the Series *HeeHee HoHo's mysteriously*)

yup!

His alternate, 'human' form would be strongly based off of Yuji still, but with some differences.

(I've kinda drawn that as well, but I can definitely imagine it not exactly being clearly explained lol)

For one, he's significantly taller than Yuji (at least for now, the kid is most likely gonna grow to be not as much shorter lol) - although he can be shorter.

He usually isn't much 'shorter', because it's more comfortable - any much lower and it'd feel a bit like a too-tight shirt, but for your whole body lol

('down' to 6~ft/182~cm (wherein he usually stays at 6.4-5ft/193-195~cm) is the min. of proper comfiness)

He also wears earrings (I usually imagined some simple black ones, but he could just as well wear something Hello Kitty related lol (both for the Meme and just because) or just cute, or more colourful), and his left eyebrow has two slits - to kinda connect him visually to his Big Form heh

(I'm kinda contemplating adding some other things but yeah that's the bigger things heh)

And, although usually he only has these whilst in the Bigg form, he can have four arms, stomach mouth, and such whilst 'small' as well - but yeah, that's not exactly something that'd be useful/possible to use in public 😂

As shown in Chapter 2 of Visuals (although it is a different timeline, SIkuna is SIkuna lol), he can sometimes forget to close his secondary eyes, especially at the beginning of the Separation or when kinda mentally tired - it's just much more natural for them to be open

Some random person is more likely to assume they imagined it or he just had good cosplay than actual four eyes though, so hey at least there's that saving him

Not to mention interference from the kids he's likely hanging out with lol, Nobara is a quick-thinking Queen when her older familial figure is being a dum-dum and forgoring 💀 how to Human properly and we love her for it 👏

Since I imagine her dragging SIkuna out for clothes shopping relatively often, perhaps with other kids as well - and SIkuna doesn't mind it at all, he loves actively participating in the kids' hobbies 🥺 - she probably had to cover for his spookiness and such quite often lmao, even if he tries his best 😂

He is very respectful and polite to any workers they might encounter during their shopping though (well, assuming they aren't being unreasonably rude themselves but that's rare, especially in Japan I'd imagine), so fortunately even despite his Vibes being Very Off the two (or more) usually end up being a nice surprise to them actually lmao

- the fact that SIkuna likely takes everything that isn't chosen back perfectly into place whilst waiting for Nobara/other kids to put another outfit on probably makes their spookiness easier to deal with as well 😂😂😂

(He's not 'spared' from dressing up, but he can lighten the load on the workers' shoulders a little bit while he waits his turn, you know - he might be partially old as hell and from a time where that would have been unheard of to do for the sake of 'servants', but he also is partially someone from the 2020's lmao, he gets the pain)

(Imagine crossovers with Canon whilst he's in this form though lol, I feel like one Quite painful Misunderstanding that could happen is that This Other Sukuna apparently completely took over an older Yuji or something (since he clearly isn't there but Sukuna looks. like he looks.) OOF-)

#Ask #Thinkings™#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk fix it #jjk fix it fic #SIkuna #(deliberate misspell)#syuuya #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk nobara #kugisaki nobara #nobara kugisaki #(She accidentally took over a large part of the Ask lol; gotta love her absolute Queen self 👑)#Also just in case anyone was worried over that; I have decidedly not given up on the story or anything like that #despite it all taking longer than I thought it'd be heh - unless I make it clear somewhere that the story is on Hiatus #it means I'm at least slowly working on the next Part (sometimes it's going perfectly sometimes it just doesn't you know 🤗) still #Sadly I doubt Part 9 is gonna be even close to the Behemoths that Part 7/8 ended up being but I hope it'll be a satisfying read regardless🤗#Even if it takes me years; I will definitely finish the main part of the story (and very likely not stop there lol #- post-main-plot Shenanigans; not to mention so many possible Canon/Canon-adjacent crossovers; are definitely a thing I'd wanna get into🤗)

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dandelion-wings · 2 months

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❤️ for Jean/Kaeya please!

Thank you for the ask! <3 This got unintentionally long and unintentionally angsty--I went "why not cute teenage shenanigans?" and then thought about. uh. where Kaeya was at backstory-wise as an older teen--but I did have fun writing it!

---

Kaeya's favorite part of Father's parties is probably the chance to see Jean and Diluc dance. It's not the only part he enjoys, but it's the best.

Whenever he gets tired of watching Father manipulate the politics of the Wine Guild, which in many ways are the politics of Mondstadt itself, Kaeya turns his gaze to the dance floor. Diluc and Jean are most often there, sweeping around and around, until they gather up food from the buffet and come to join him by the wall. Kaeya thinks that he *likes* dancing more than they do--but he, the adopted younger son, holds little interest to the sorts who come to these affairs, while both of them, heirs to the city's most powerful families, are much in demand. So they dance, with all the trained-in skill of nobility and all the athleticism of the Knights' best junior officers, and Kaeya watches.

They don't always dance with each other; that way lies rumors that they both find uncomfortable to have bandied about. They meet every three or four songs, though, both visibly relieved to be dancing with someone who won't invade their space or flash too much skin or stomp all over of their feet. Kaeya watches them spin each other around and basks in their relaxed smiles, admiring the confidence with which they move while partnered with someone they trust.

Confidence comes naturally to Diluc, with his early Vision and his subsequent strength and Father's praise and encouragement. It's more difficult for Jean. Kaeya has watched her hide her struggles, well enough that he doubts many people realize she's struggling at all. He's too familiar with keeping secrets, though, for someone with so honest a heart as Jean to conceal them from his gaze. So the confidence he sees in her now, back straight, standing tall, smiling at Diluc as fellow-captain and equal and no longer the junior struggling to be his match, makes him all the gladder. Fond warmth fills him as he studies her smile.

He watches them dance until the song ends, and then turns and starts making his way to the buffet table. He isn't hungry at the moment, but he will be later, and they'll be even more so. Another hour and people will be drunk enough that all three of them can sneak away to a back room and dissect the canapes together.

Before he can start to assemble a plate, though, there's a hand on his shoulder. Turning, Kaeya sees Jean behind him, bright-eyed and flushed with exertion, a light sweat making her skin seem to glow. She smiles at him, that same proud confidence, but even more eager.

"Kaeya! I haven't seen you all evening. Can I talk you into a dance?"

"A dance?" Kaeya stares at her, taken aback. "I was going to get us a plate."

"Diluc can do that for us this time. Please, Kaeya. Honor me with a dance."

Jean holds her hand out to him, but Kaeya still hesitates. Diluc has tried before to get him more dance partners, one way or another. If this is another such attempt--showing the would-be gold-diggers that he's worth Jean's attention, maybe--then he's not sure.... But he does like to dance. And Jean's eager smile is slipping away.

"Of course," he says, bowing over her hand in a deliberately silly exaggeration of Father's smooth gesture and smiling in satisfaction at her giggle. Then, her smile restored, he lets her lead him onto the dance floor.

The song just starting up is exactly his favorite sort: quick and energetic, accompanied by a dance that requires exactly the sort of precision and speed at which he excels. He knows it better than Jean, he quickly realizes, and shifts his grip on her hand and the lean of his body to guide her slightly without dragging her around, which he knows she hates, or stepping on her feet, which anyone would. Jean follows his lead with the same dedicated focus with which she's always followed Diluc's as a knight, determined to learn the same expertise. By the third chorus she no longer needs a guide, matching him exactly, step-by-step.

"You should dance more often," Jean tells him as they move into the last verse of the song. "You're truly very good at it."

"Only when I have such an inspiring partner," Kaeya ventures to tease her, and is rewarded when she giggles, promptly missing a step.

Catching herself, Jean falls back into the rhythm. She draws herself a little closer as the music fades, the two of them swirling to a stop. On the last step, though, she somehow trips on empty air, catching herself on Kaeya before she can fall.

They're in a shadowed corner, fortunately, out of sight of all but the closest couples, none of which are paying her misstep any heed. Kaeya puts his arms around her and takes her weight for a moment while she sorts herself out, trying to ignore the warmth of her pressed against him and the softness of her breasts against his chest. She's his friend; she deserves better than to feature in his inappropriate thoughts.

Instead of pushing away from him as she regains her balance, though, Jean leans closer, their face only inches apart. "I'd be happy to be your partner. Whenever you'd like," she whispers, and leans in. Her lips brush his, soft and warm and faintly sweet-scented from the perfume she's wearing, underlaid with familiar knightly sweat. Kaeya's heart seizes in his chest.

He's an idiot. She hadn't *tripped*.

For a moment he stands there, her lips against his and his arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of her, sweet cecilia and natural sweat. It isn't an inappropriate thought if she meant him to have it, right? She's so warm against him, all soft skin and well-honed muscle, and he thinks of her smile--confident, eager, relaxed--her little giggles, how easy both of them are to bring forth. He likes doing that. He *wants* to do that, as often as he's able. He's never realized that before.

Then, over her shoulder, he catches two familiar faces halfway across the ballroom. Diluc, paused in the act of filling a plate with canapes, smiling with far too much self-satisfaction for something he's not in the least involved in as he looks directly at them; beside him Father, at once calculating and indulgently pleased, following his gaze. Kaeya's stomach drops.

Both of them will feel betrayed enough, someday, when they find out what kind of traitor he is. He can't add Jean to their number. Straightening up, Kaeya lets go of her and pushes her gently back, hands on her shoulders as if to steady her, and makes himself smile politely down at her wounded expression.

"This was more than enough dancing for me. Diluc makes by far the better partner for you, anyway."

Jean swallows hard, her lip trembling, eyes damp with what Kaeya is terribly afraid are tears. Then she blinks, once, and draws herself up, covering it not with a false smile of her own but with a Gunnhildr's knightly composure.

"I understand. I will not trouble you to dance with me again."

She turns towards the table, starting that way, though from the side Kaeya can see her deliberately evading Diluc's now-confused gaze. He watches her go a moment longer, his resolve shaky. He's hurt her, and he didn't want to do that. He doesn't want to hurt anyone he loves.

But he doesn't have any choice in that. He never has. The only options were to break her heart now or later, and now is kinder, right? For them both. Kaeya turns away, heading blindly for the back rooms of the mansion, not to meet her and Diluc for canapes and casual conversation this time but to hide away until Jean leaves. And to try and forget the feeling of her mouth on his, the warmth of her lips still lingering upon his own.

#jean and kaeya run this city #fic bits #why not meme i guess #asked and answered #to mitigate the ending please imagine the ten-years-later scene where kaeya asks jean to dance at a party diluc is holding #and they say a bunch of stuff referencing this that settles out to--#he still wants to and she still wants to and his past isn't in the way anymore #(i'm not writing that tonight either sorry >> )#kaejean

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freaky-flawless · 2 months

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I know they were setting up "Toradeen on the rocks" during the FCBD issue, but cmon! We don't even know how they got together, and they're already breaking them up, that's bullshit!

Just... ugh, you know?

I'm like 99% sure they're gonna get back together and it's just the writers adding a bit of drama. And like, given their history, and Toralei's reputation, I don't think its' super uncalled for. In fact I think I would have been a bit put off if they didn't have some challenges in their relationship, they both have very strong personalities, and this is Clawdeen's first relationship. And they're 15 lol.

But like you said, there's no set up to their relationship, we don't even know how long they'd been dating, and next hing we know they're broken up?? It's weird as hell to have a whole pride comic, just to break them up off screen in the very next issue.

I have mixed feelings about Clawdeen's story arc seemingly revolving around relationship drama. I think there's more that could be done with her, but at the same time she's literally the only main ghoul never shown in a relationship in gen 1, so it's also kinda of a long time coming, and I'm psyched it's with Toralei instead of some random dude.

#monster high #monster high comics #clawdeen wolf #toralei stripe #toradeen #ask #im gonna withhold judgement until they actually release cuz who knows maybe the writers pull it off #i think that screenshot was a shock to the system after celebrating canon toradeen for months lol #honestly writing realistic toradeen is tough because there needs to be a LOT of build up #like for one toralei needs to be fully redeemed once and for all #personally i have a whole toradeen relationship timeline in my head that im trying to write into fics #and there's a reason they dont get together until the end of senior year #honestly i really like the idea of them getting together after high school #i guess i should also note i havent even read the pride comic yet

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someobscurereference · 3 months

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ive been rereading your ffxv fic "im trying hard to take it back" for literally four years now. please end my suffering and tell me how gladio feels. please. PLEASE. (but only if u want ofc)

(fic) Short answer: Gladio feels insane guilt and spends a lot of his life trying to make this up to Prompto. In the process, they deepen their connection as friends and do begin a relationship probably around the one-year mark of endless darkness. <3

Longer answer: (implications of abuse/violence tw but no worse than in the fic itself; just what others assume to be true even if it's not in the context of this specific fic)

Gladio is a secret romantic at heart who has always envisioned meeting his soulmate, but he's also duty-bound and duty comes first. So even though he reads romance books (amongst other types of books too) and indulges in his head a bit as many people do, he's often put his duty to the crown first and foremost in his mind. He also didn't imagine his soulmate was anyone on this trip and thought perhaps the person he may have been fated to meet died in the assault of Insomnia. Even if they were a refugee, they can't be a priority to him at this moment. His priority has to be Noctis.

Prompto has obviously grown on him over the course of their road trip, but there are aspects of them that don't 100% mesh (as is true with every realistic relationship). That said, Gladio never in a hundred years would want this moment of (understandable but out of line) frustration and anger in the wake of Luna and Altissa to be a permanent mark on Prompto's face. He's genuinely horrified and disgusted with himself for a long time after this and spends most of his life trying to make it up. He feels like a dirtbag about it.

That said, Prompto runs away from him in this moment and they need time to calm down, just as the fic shows. Noctis goes after Prompto, just like in canon. Prompto falls off the train and has his Despair Arc just like in the DLC, now with the added despair of "well, in addition to being a clone, my soulmate hates me. And in addition to the mark of inhumanity on my wrist (barcode), I have a giant hand print of him literally Shoving Me Away on my face. Forever."

Aranea: Well, do you want to die about it. Or do you want to live.

Prompto, eventually like in canon: Live, I guess. But it will be excruciating.

Aranea: That's what living is. We do it anyway. Your friends love you. Get off the floor.

He fights his way through his issues and gets rescued like in canon. Gladio probably tries to talk to him when they all catch up again, trying to apologize, and Prompto tells him to hold off on that for later.

Then, of course, Noctis is eaten by the crystal and "later" becomes much, much later as they evacuate and try to survive in eternal darkness. (Though they also can't Not think about it because it's a giant hand print. On Prompto's face. And every person they meet has Something To Say about it, for better or worse, whether they knew Prompto before or not. Prompto cannot escape it, and when Gladio is not doing Crown Duties he feels he must do in Noct's absence, he's with Prompto, so he also Cannot Escape It either. Even when the person speaking is unaware that Gladio left that mark. It's almost worse when they don't know, but when they see it's Gladio, who is such a big guy who seemingly hit Prompto and left that permanent mark there, some of them get nasty to him and some back off out of fear. Both are horrible. The guilt is eating him alive.)

Eventually, enough time passes as the dust settles that they do Talk About It. Gladio apologizes sincerely, for the 500th time. Prompto's like, "Well. It's not like you could have known that this would be The One Time it happened." And then cracks a joke about their soulmate mark being a Prompto's hand print on Gladio's ass from a butt slap in another life, which does help the tension somewhat. (The more Gladio tries to apologize, the more Prompto grows sick of hearing it, so they just have to move on and keep going, as he's learned to do.)

They grow closer over time, especially because there's not a lot of people who have survived to this point and even less later on. They do get together romantically, both because they do like the idea of soulmates (for different reasons) and also because they're living out of each others pockets for years, so there's an affection and dependency that develops there. Also, teenage Prompto always thought Gladio was really handsome and teen Gladio thought Prompto was cute and sincere for a pipsqueak.

When they are out together on dates in normal settings surrounded by strangers after the light returns, Gladio will receive dirty looks for the rest of his life from strangers who see the hand print on Prompto's face and immediately (correctly) assumes it was out of anger rather than a funny accident or something. (Edit: Some people will assume there is a funny story attached. Gladio will not know what to say to this. Prompto will play along.) He will learn to live with this. Prompto is really grateful Gladio is with him despite everything.

#FOUR YEARS that's so flattering adjklasjldkja;fsal; thank you for reading and for caring after all this time. it genuinely means a lot #if you were looking for a cuter/succinct answer i'm so sorry and can definitely give you one. this was just one of my more realistic aus #my text #asks #my fic #promptio #ffxv #for the record i don't think gladio and prompto are Rock Solid for the full 10 years in this au #i think they have periods in the darkness where they separate for a while. out of necessity. as many in the dark do.#whether due to feeling antsy or personality clashes or conflicting traumas of what they've had to deal with and Missing Noct and #Losing Faith and Regaining Faith and Obligations and The Horrors and so on #but I do think they cannot escape each other especially with gladio's hand print on prompto's face and so they can't Not think about #each other always. prompto in the mirror. gladio in his dreams.#so they are always drawn together and they do work things out and get used to each other #and end up relatively happy together in the end #they lean on each other a lot in the post-noct times #especially gladio who doesn't know what to do with himself without noctis always and ignis is equally lost #making themselves useful but running around the same ruts in the ground as always #and prompto is over here pulling himself up by his boostraps while pretending he's not crying in the caravan bathroom #like they all are #i do NOT mean for this to sound as depressing as it does. I think like years 1-2 post Hand Incident are really rough with moments of light #and then all the times after that are super solid <3 #they DO end up happy together it just takes a lot of hard work and they know each other better than anyone by the end #thank you again for sending this ask after 4 years it is so wonderful to read

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rearranging-deck-chairs · 2 months

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Hi hello I watched all of carmilla in a weekend when I was 17 because a student teacher who in retrospect I had a bit of a crush on mentioned that she knew one of the actresses. also I am pretty invested in all your recent vampire stuff because I watched iwtv in 2 days last week because your edit intrigued me

oh hiiii 🫶 thank you for indulging me. thats so cool that you watched iwtv! did it live up to the expectation?

i also watched carmilla at 17! or like, 17-19. i found it when s2 had just started and followed it to the end. did something permanent to my brain but i think it was a good thing. on rewatch now im like, i was right to like this. like it's a solid show, it's good. it has its flaws obviously but it's well written, the emotional moments still get me, i can see why i liked it and i still like it now even when it's not anymore, you know, meeting every need that baby gay me didnt even know they had

what it doesnt reaallyy do though - i dont remember if i posted abt this or if i left it in my drafts but - is explore vampirism as a concept. their subject matter is more lesbianism than vampirism. which is great! thats what they wanted to do and they did it and it's very good. but reading interview with the vampire the book rn im realising how much potential vampires have to be metaphors for like so many things and i started wondering like 'wait, did carmilla just not really engage with it or did it all go over my head'. but it just didnt really engage with it all that much. which again is fine bc that wasnt what they were doing. im glad they were more about the lesbianism than the vampirism

but there's this interesting difference in framing, because in iwtv they keep calling armand 'ancient' right? and emphasising how old he is. and he's like 500? and i was like 'wait isnt carmilla like 400?'. she isnt, shes 340, but still, thats getting there, you know? and we know quite a lot about her history, but kind of just the Big Events. when she was turned, the events of the novella, coffin of blood, silas. thats sort of what we know. but none of the long lonely slog of history day to day you know? with armand i feel like we can really feel how much time everything takes. how every one of those years is made up of single days. with carmilla i dont feel that as much. i keep kind of thinking about daniel, when louis calls him a boy in the first episode, saying "im an old man, with all the triggers that come with it"

because carmilla might look 18 (or mid twenties at this point) but she has lived all that time. shes also seen her native land be claimed by like a succession of ruling powers, right? like armand. shes been buried alive, like louis. when lestat is born, shes already 80 years old, shes lived a whole human lifetime, and the entire adult part of it shes been a vampire. shes lived through 1680-1870 being a lure. i compared her to abigail hobbs in some tags on a post, i dont know if youre familiar with hannibal the tv show, but i do also kinda keep thinking about that comparison

if youre not familiar, in the first episode of hannibal the murderer of the week is this guy garrett jacob hobbs who kills and cannibalises girls who resemble his daughter. and later on it turns out she was made to be his lure. like they'd go places and he'd sent her to the victims to make friends and maybe get them back to their home or smth. not sure if they specified all the details. but that's what carmilla did for mother. and in s2 we hear from mattie that while every couple of decades carmilla had to lure victims for the fish god, she also seemed to just enjoy humans between those times, right? like the doctor, gets lonely, gets a new companion. but we've only sort of got mattie's mocking word for it ("dont eat him, hes a poet! or her, shes got such a wonderful voice. or that one, shes just too pretty to ruin"), we don't know exactly from carmilla's point of view what she was doing or why. if mattie's talking about stuff that happened after the blood coffin, 1950-now, then i think it's a fair assumption based on what carmilla says in the s1 sock puppet show that after she'd figured out what the real situation was and what her role in it was, when she'd started trying to save girls from being sacrificed, that she mightve been doing the same trying to save people from becoming mattie's victims. it's probably more likely that she was just trying to find excuses to stop mattie from sucking someone dry rather than actually having like an aesthetic based morality. but it might be a bit of both. im still trying to figure out what her philosophy actually is, like i dont know what existentialism actually means ghkfjghkj but i will

i also found it pretty striking in the movie when shes turning back into a vampire she says like "this was supposed to be done, you know? the blood lust, the self-loathing, the sleeping tied to a chair in my own bedroom". thats what defines her vampirism, wanting blood and hating yourself for it (the third part is a joke/reference to s1 but also i think meaningful for how she sees her relationship with laura when she IS a vampire. little bit of that 'she will reject me for my monstrousness' shining through). and thats what defines vampirism for lots of vampires across the genre obviously, but i dont know, it struck me. we dont get a lot from carmilla's pov, we know a fair amount about her, but the story is always told through laura. we get laura's diaries, but just snippets here and there from carmilla, what shes thinking, how shes feeling

and i love that shes a philosopher. i love that thats how she seems to try and find something to hold onto, in a world that kind of moves around her, having been murdered, kidnapped, turned and groomed to be a lure on the cusp of adulthood, never having been properly loved (the relationship with her father wasnt good she says in s3, and her mortal mother i dont think has ever been mentioned (like laura's)). the only good relationship she seems to have had for the better part of 3 centuries seems to have been mattie, and mattie seems to love being a vampire. i can imagine carmilla just sort of going along with anything mattie wants to do just because shes so desperate for that friendship. not like, against her will necessarily really. but more like, she hasnt even had the space to develop her own will, you know? and philosophy lets you do that. philosophy gives you frameworks to understand the world and to develop your own opinions on it. and by the 21st century she seems to have developed those opinions, she has a sense of her own values, but shes also still stuck in that same situation. shes jaded and cynical in the face of laura's optimism and strong moral code a lot of the time in s1 because she feels probably pretty powerless. like she does what she can to save some girls but at the end of the day shes scared of her mother and she has nowhere else to go really, right?

i like how she grapples with that over the course of the series, in tandem with laura grappling with her black and white morality. she sort of jumps ship from her mother to laura bc theyve fallen in love, but then laura still stuck in her hero thinking refuses to see her monstrous side. not literally bc i think the biological vampirism never seemed to be a problem for laura, but morally. the having murdered. carmilla needs laura to see that and love her while seeing it bc the last girl she loved rejected her for being a vampire.

but you see her kind of swing back and forth in s2. she softens first with laura but then they break up and she leans back hard into the sarcastic cynic defense mechanisms, leans hard into "im a monster, dont expect heroism from me". but thats like, it's sort of learned helplessness i think. it's powerlessness, resignation. bc morally shes not a monster. maybe she doesnt have as strong a drive to help other people as laura does and is a little more selfishly hedonistic in that she just wants to enjoy her/their life, but she doesnt hurt people for fun, she never has. she just sort of didnt have another option for a Really long time. so she pretends she doesnt care. "im a vampire, this is what i do, this is who i am". but clearly from the way she talks about it when she turns back into one, she doesnt enjoy it

and i like how she goes even further in s3, where she starts swinging even more to the heroic side, bc she sees hope. shes like "wow if we kill my mother, i'd be free". theres hope and she becomes like a lot more active. and shes like that at the start of the movie too, a lot happier, a lot more relaxed, and then vampirism is back and bam depression gfhgkjh like shes immediately more gloomy, ashamed of her past and her self, retreats into herself

sorry i just took this as an opportunity to dump all the carmilla thoughts floating in my head on you. you didnt ask fhkghgjh consider this an open invitation to you or anyone else to come talk to me about carmilla

#just finished watching the movie and i had actually forgotten but at the end shes a vampire again!#they totally gave us a super great opening for more conflict to explore hollstein's relationship #bc carmilla sort of puts closure to her past by taking responsibility for her part in it and it makes her a vampire again #and laura is like 'dont give up on our life together' and shes like 'im not giving up on anything!'#and laura is like 'we're supposed to live and get old and have grandkids how are we gonna do that if you dont age'#so thats a great set up #im putting the fic im writing i think another 5 years in the future #bc the movie is 5 years from the end of the series and im doing another 5 years so it's 2024 #but theres so much opportunity to play there. theres conflict. tehres problems to solve. but theyre in a good place #i dont think they ever specify how vampires are made in this universe #therees some posts on carmillas blog where she responds to asks abt why she doesnt turn laura or if she would #and she just says 'you have no idea how this works'#but that was still during the series and the writers obviously wanted to keep their options open and their writing cards a bit closer to #the chest #but at this point you could make laura a vampire #you could explore that. see how they both feel abt that. would bea difficult decision #theyre also not married yet in the movie #they celebrate carmilla's 'rebirthday' where she turned human again #you could do a thing where they turn laura on that same day. sort of make that their wedding #not an easy decision i think. i think it would take a lot of discussion to get them there but not impossible #and would be fun to explore. both their feelings abt all that. and like anotehr 5 years in the future where they are in their lives #idk idk. brainstorming #thanks for giving me an opportunity to infodump a little :)#carmillaposting

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luc1ferian · 7 days

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Hi I'm thinking about writing a h2g2 and gravity falls crossover fic. I saw your post awhile ago and I was wondering if you had any idea on how the two fords would interact.

Oooh this is a really good idea!

Hm, I haven't properly watched Gravity Falls in a while (I KNOW IM SORRY), but comparing their personalities from what i know they have a couple similarities and differences.

For first interactions I'm not entirely sure how or where, neither of them are naturally social but if someone were to start a conversation it would be Prefect, and once they realize they're both named Ford P. they'd hit off perfectly.

I think they'd love to go out for a small drink and talk about their outlooks on life, about space, their own traumas and relationships, about their research and studies with their respective books (Pines to the Journals, and Prefect to the Guide), and about their plans for future. This interaction could also be a lot funnier depending on the tone you wanted to take.

Ooooh they could also rant about their annoying family members (Zaphod and Stan)

They would also engage in an epic game of Dungeons & More Dungeons no doubt

#if you ever end up writing this fic please feel free to send me it when you're ready i would love to see it :)#okay okay im not sure if you were only planning for the fords to interact but a full crossover is immediately interesting me now #hmm maybe the HoG malfuctions with the improbability drive on and it crashes into the mystery shack immediately i think that would be silly #i'm really interested in bill and arthur interactions now as well. they barely have any similarities but it sounds really funny #oh wait they could relate to their world's being destroyed...even though bill's the one who destroyed his own world #i think the pines twins would immediately lose their marbles over ford and zaphod being *real life* aliens #ford prefect would give dipper his copy of the Guide that man would give a 6 year old a laser blaster this is tame for him lol #mabel would be super insane over the fact that zaphod has 2 heads and 3 arms and was also a president and zaphod would. not care #(i head canon he dislikes children)#i think a mabel and marvin interaction would be cool too #uber depressed and uber excited #i also need zaphod and stan relations yeahhhhh 2 greedy often self-absorbed criminals probably wanted across all 4 dimensions #i want to see trillian and arthur summon bill cipher by complete accident because they were bored and they are simply just Normal Guys #neither of them would be surprised to see a floating yellow triangle with a tophat. they've seen too much at this point this would be norma #someone needs to restrain me i've made too many tags #ANYWHO happy writing!! im sorry if i sound demanding you get to choose whatever you would like for your story i just got a little silly #i hope i answered your question enough #h2g2 #the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #ford prefect #gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #ask #tumblr asks #lucifers gluttony #lucifers inferno

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kyouka-supremacy · 3 months

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I fucked up

#Is it socially acceptable to write a comment to a fic that is longer than the fic 😭😭😭#Is it socially acceptable to write a comment that is longer than the 10000 ao3 character limit 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#I'm so so embarrassed right now. This is why I've been struggling to write comments for a year now.#It's because every time I really like a fic I end up with an essay that takes hours to days to make #I'm so sorry to all the authors I've neglected commenting because of this I swear I'll try to do better in the future.#But right now I'm miserably failing. Man I put myself in a mess #Can someone please reassure me on this I'm feeling really insecure and I don't want to make the author uncomfortable.#Or genuinely tell me it's too much if it's too much #Fun fact the first comment I've ever written I was 16 and never ended up commenting because it breached the character limit too.#And 16 me was too much of an anxious mess to post it. And I probably still am #I'm so sorry ray/emma actors au fic I loved you so much.#Please don't ask what the fic is it's a relatively old one and this is already wholly embarrassing by its own for me #But to give you an idea of the proportions I'm talking about a 3k+ comment for a 2k fic ಥ_ಥ #random rambles #To all the authors my lack of self control has kept me from commenting to their fics: I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm

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sdwolfpup · 9 months

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For the Festive Fic prompts, I'd love to see what you do with 14 or 17!

14. family invites a rival/enemy/the boss to a Christmas party/vacation

"What is she doing here?" Jaime hisses to Tyrion as they stand in the receiving line at their father's annual Christmas party. It's always an overblown affair: everyone dressed up like they're about to meet the Queen, the abuse of gold-plated decorations, the persistent jazzy Christmas music soundtrack, and dear god the garlands. It's like a forest exploded all through the house.

Normally, Jaime finds the whole thing tedious and boring and he and Tyrion skip out halfway through to go get drunk on Tywin's most expensive liquor that gets trickier to find every year. The old man hasn't outwitted them on hiding places yet, but it was a near thing last year.

Jaime expects this year to be different, though, because there, large as life, is Brienne Tarth hovering at the end of the receiving line, her hulking shoulders hunched, the austere black of whatever dress she's wearing doing her no favors. She looks like she's at a funeral, not a Christmas party.

Which would suit the dour, frustratingly stubborn woman that is his primary rival in the world of high-end real estate.

"I can't see who you mean but based on the venom in your tone, I suspect you mean Ms. Tarth," Tyrion drawls. "She's here because Father invited her."

"What?" Jaime turns on his brother, completely ignoring the councilmember just holding his hand out to be shaken. "Why?"

Tyrion takes the councilman's empty hand and pumps it aggressively, wishing him a Merry Christmas before turning back to Jaime. "Because he wants to hire her," he says like Jaime's being especially obtuse.

Jaime stares at the woman creeping closer in the line. "But she works for the Starks. She hates us."

"She hates you," Tyrion says cheerfully, taking over for Jaime as he ignores two more people in line to glare at Brienne. "The rest of us she's neutral about."

Jaime scoffs. "That's only because she hasn't met you yet."

Tyrion kisses the hand of a woman and Jaime watches her laugh prettily. His brother lifts his brow smugly. "I'm very charming, Jaime. I'll bet you a case of that scotch we had last year that I can get her to be my friend before you."

The music dips for a moment and Jaime hears Brienne saying, "Merry Christmas" to one of the many Lannister Realty employees down the line from him. Her voice is soft and almost sweet--nothing like she sounds whenever he has the misfortune of talking with her.

"I'm not taking that bet. She'd befriend you just to spite me," he grouses. He shakes a few more hands without really seeing any of the people in front of him, too busy keeping an eye on Brienne's progress as she makes her way.

He can tell the moment she notices him in line, because all of the ease and shyness drains out of her and she straightens, lifting her head like a bear that's just spotted a threat.

Good, he thinks, meeting her gaze with a cool smile. Best she know what's waiting for her if she's considering this.

Jaime's flooded with anxious energy waiting for the line to hurry and deposit her before him and then it finally does. Up close, the black dress turns out to be shorter than he'd thought, and her very long legs stick out of it thick trunks. Her arms and shoulders--her best features, in his opinion--are covered, but an alarmingly broad swatch of her pale, freckled chest is bare except for a jeweled, golden sword hanging from a delicate necklace chain. It looks incongruous, the fragility of the links against the ropey tendons of her neck, like a trail of kisses against her skin.

Jaime blinks and jerks back. "Tarth," he greets her, folding his hands behind his back. "Did you get lost on the way to the Stark holiday party? Or are you hoping to actually enjoy expensive food at a work function for once?"

She grimaces, a familiar look on her wide face. "Lannister." She shoves her hand out at him as though a parent is standing behind her and forcing her to do so. He looks down at it, the wide span of her palm, the mountainous knuckles, and marvels again this woman is as successful a realtor as he is when he looks like he does and she looks like this.

Her hand hangs between them for a long moment before he finally takes it, feels the sting as she squeezes more than is polite. He hides a grunt and squeezes back, enjoys the way her eyes narrow and she puts even more strength into it, a vise slowly crushing the bones of his hand. He returns it, the two of them locked in an escalating battle of pain until Tyrion clears his throat.

"If you two are done trying to rip each others hands off, you're holding up the line." He sounds richly amused and Jaime realizes that the line has bunched up behind Brienne and there's a large space between her and the people ahead of her now.

She yanks her hand away and Jaime is oddly delighted by the stripes of red that flood over her cheeks like fingerpaint. He's less delighted by the way his hand is throbbing. He sees her flex her hand at her side and hopes he gave as good as he got, because he's convinced he'll have bruises in the morning.

"Enjoy the party, Tarth," Jaime tells her as she hurriedly shakes Tyrion's hand and mumbles Christmas wishes. "I don't expect you'll be invited back next year."

Her eyes skate back to him, blue and cold as the ice in the middle of a glacier. "That's because I'll be in the receiving line ahead of you."

Tyrion hoots with laughter because the best realtor gets the dubious honor of being here at the end of the line nearest Tywin and the leadership team.

Brienne's already hurried too far to make a comeback worth it, or even audible, and Jaime swears he won't have a single drink tonight until he's driven Brienne Tarth from the grounds, or at least from his father's perspective employment.

(Festive prompts here)

#jaime x brienne #my fic #festive prompts #asks answered #pearly--rose #this could have gone another 10k easily lol #have to stop somewhere #(spoiler alert: they end up fighting for best realtor and then fall in love and they stand there together next year bc they're engaged)#(the end)

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