SO excited to see how Marceline is gonna react to Simon’s decision. Like. Simon is so deep in his own shit he has NO IDEA how angry she would be if she knew his plan. And there have been a lot of nods to this. I think it’s very intentional that we the audience saw little Frozen Marcy, but Simon didn’t. He’s not thinking about her right now. Her absence in these universes feels so pointed, ya know?
I mean think about Farm World. We know that in the Farm World universe Marcy guarded Simon’s body for a THOUSAND YEARS. She never left his side, lest the crown fall into someone else’s hands. She went mad with only the memory of his voice to keep her company… but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t seem to fully understand what his transformation did to her.
It’s not super clear how much they’ve talked about it, but knowing both their characters I’m wondering how open Marceline was about her experience with the Ice King. How she could never get through to him even when she cried and pleaded. That she held onto Hambo for a thousand years. That she constantly watched him hurt the people she loved. That she was such a stranger to him that he tried to KISS HER??? Did they REALLY talk about it? Would he be throwing away his second chance if he knew how badly it would hurt her?
“All Simon ever wanted was to see Betty again”. And all Marceline ever wanted was to have Simon back. It’s what Betty wanted too.
I cannot WAIT for the reckoning.
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Prompt 199
“Where the fuck are my legs?”
Danny wasn’t happy. It wasn’t funny! Usually he just had a ghost tail when flying really fast, like super speed, not all the time! It’s not funny Clockwork, you’re used to having a tail, he isn’t!
What do you mean it’s permanent?! He needs his legs! Clockwork!! He wouldn’t have agreed to the adoption if he knew he’d lose his legs!
…Okay, that was a lie, Clockwork was a great parent who encouraged his chaos and enjoyed screwing over assholes like the Observants. But still! He looks like some sort of snake person now! No he doesn’t want a nap, he’s not a baby!
Clockwork, why are you being quiet? He’s not a baby! He’s not a baby, right? What do you mean all ghosts are babies until they’re a hundred years dead!? But he’s a halfa- what do you mean it takes longer for Ancients?!
No he doesn’t want that nap, he’s having a midlife crisis here several years too early!
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You know, i've been thinking about the way Batman keeps danger and weapons so close to his body, so tight to himself, practically tied around his neck, that joker often has no way left but to grab for him if he wants something Batman has. Batman does not want to be left out of Joker's plans, his story, he wants in on Joker's narrative by any means he can make it happen. It's such particular "you take me with you wherever you are, it's your punishment, just as it's my punishment to take you with me wherever i am" statement. Batman actively leaves no choice for Joker but to get very very close to him and claim him as part of his win or his loss. I mean,
he didn't have to. he could've put the key in one of his waist pouches, push it into the back of his left boot, he could've tied it around his bicep, i dont care— he could've done whateverthefuck with it. But he had to put it around his neck, and intentionally invite Joker to "come and get it". Something something classic cliche of the way lovers' bond is signified by a necklace-adjacent item and the way they interact with it; hold unto it, toss it, tie it around their necks, giving it back, not giving it back, necklaces as items of reverance and revenge. Something something a tie around neck being a sign of being claimed and owned,
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cw: implied sexual trauma, panic attack, intimacy struggles
You don’t notice it happening until it’s buzzing under your skin. Loud and unavoidable, the only thing you can pay attention to is the irregular flutter of your heart and the way it seems that all the air has been vacuumed from the room—
“Hey.”
You blink, and Katsuki is no longer above you. He’s not touching you at all—you turn your head to find him next to you, propped up on an elbow and only worried.
“Too much?”
The panic flares at the question, because what if this is the last time? What if he’s tired of this?
Your exhale is shaky—your laugh is forced and sounds out of place. “No, it was fine, I just—“
“Oi—“ he says, gently, “tell me the truth.”
The truth burns your eyes and keeps them on the ceiling, away from his. You nod, helpless and resigned to whatever comes next.
“What’s goin’ on in your head?”
You feel the tears spill over before you can catch them. You swipe them away with the back of your wrist. It’s still numb. “I’m just sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”
He grunts a little in acknowledgment—a displeased, ugly sound—and then there’s movement that finally draws your eyes to him. You watch him cover himself with your duvet—all the way up to his chin.
“S’it okay if I hold you?”
He reaches for you and you let him pull you in. His hands stay above your shoulders and pointedly avoid your neck—cradling your head, letting you hide in the curve of his throat. His pulse is steady and constant against your forehead—or you imagine it would be, if it wasn’t muted by the fabric.
“Nothin’ is ruined,” he murmurs against your hairline, “s’my job to keep you safe.”
Your chest shudders against the cushion of the blanket and you feel a little guilty about crying all over it but Katsuki keeps you there, tethered to him. The ringing in your ears subsides, just a little. Just enough to hear the panic in your own voice.
“I promise I want it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m sorry—“
“Hey, hey,” he shushes you, careful not to tighten his arms around your shoulders. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. S’too much today—that’s all.”
It’s quiet, then, save for your sniffling. He keeps his mouth pressed to your hair, and his arms wrapped around you. There is a noticeable absence of his fingertips tracing along your skin—you don’t feel them there at all, and it’s on purpose. He’s considerate and it makes you anxious.
“Can hear you thinkin’.”
“I just—“ you inhale, trying to be brave, “I don’t want you to leave. I know I can’t—give you this—“
“Oi,” he gruffs, a little sharply, “I don’t give a shit about that. M’not a barbarian.”
You feel the expansion of his lungs as he draws in a slow exhale, and lets it out against the crown of your head. “Don’t think so little of me,” he murmurs, tone laced with hurt.
“You’re right,” you whisper, because he is, “I love you.”
“Love you.” He kisses it into your skin, soft and barely there. “Always will.”
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