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throneofsapphics · 2 months ago

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infinitesimal

batboys x reader

summary: upset at your partners forgetting an important date, you run to one of your old haunts.

warnings: angst, injuries, off-page violence

word count: 2596

a/n: based on this request!

You closed the door behind you, head tilted up to the stars to keep the tears from falling. A full arrangement coated the night sky, constellations and galaxies beyond anything you could feasibly imagine. It made you feel small, infinitesimally small and unimportant in the scheme of everything, but nothing, nothing had ever made you feel as small as the conversation you’d just had.

Perhaps you hadn’t been together quite that long, just a few decades, perhaps they’d had a lot on their mind, but if it was important to you shouldn’t it be important to them? Maybe it wasn’t fair of you to put your problems on them like this, but with all of the emotions running through and heating your blood, fair was the last thing on your mind.

They couldn’t figure out why you’d shown up in tears, had acted as if your emotions were a burden.

Tears glistened at the corners of your eyes as you pushed the door open to the study, where the three of them sat looking various degrees of stressed and tense. Perhaps trouble somewhere in Illyria, that’s what it usually was these days.

“What is it?” Rhys asked as you studied the table in front of them, snicking the door shut behind you. It wouldn’t stay closed long.

Your mouth parted, but no words came out. You couldn't. Just the near-unbearable pressure on your chest, threatening to cave you in and suffocate you, bury you alive.

“Why are you crying?” Cassian, you know he didn’t mean to, probably, sounded irritated. You hadn’t known you were crying.

Azriel’s head snapped up, so did Rhys’s. A quick scan of their faces showed none of the understanding you’d hoped for, instead showed varying levels of irritation, so you did what was easiest - you left, not bothering to let the door shut gently. Soft voices, but no footsteps, followed you.

You stormed out through the front gate. You knew how to release some energy, and how to do it in a way they would despise. A way they’d convinced you to quit because it was ‘legally dubiousl’ and ‘dangerous.’ You didn’t care right now. Later, you might look back and think you were an idiot but in this moment it seemed like nothing mattered.

If your feelings didn’t matter to them, theirs certainly shouldn’t matter to you, but in the back of your mind ... the very back where you shoved them away, they still did. Still haunted you, mocked you, whispered make-believe insults and disparaging comments. Your mind could be a prison, and you were well aware of that. So were they. Were you just some kind of pet for them to fix up and ready to enter society? If that was the case, you'd make sure it was one of the damn hardest jobs they’d ever receive.

Well aware you were spiraling, you did nothing to stop it and instead let that anger build and ready itself for the next few hours. The timing and date was impeccable, as if this was meant to be. Perhaps it was, and perhaps you shouldn’t have had to give up something you love for them, no matter how bad it was for you.

“Giving her time to cool off feels wrong,” Cassian said. There wasn't any other way he could describe it other than it didn’t seem right and usually his gut instinct was correct.

“I can practically still feel her anger,” Rhys reminded him.

‘All the more reason to go after her,’ he thought, but didn’t voice aloud. Maybe he should’ve

Azriel was pensive in a corner, looking like he’d forgotten something important, or like he was brooding. Perhaps a mixture of both. Asking him what was wrong had only gotten him a non-answer. He didn’t ask again. When Azriel wanted to tell him something, he would. You were the only one who could get away with pushing.

“So how long do we wait?” He asked Rhys instead, who pinched the bridge of his nose. They were all on edge. Unrest in Illyria always put them in a rather sour mood.

“A few hours or the night,” Rhys’s answer made Cassian scowl, and he saw Az’s shadows flicker from the corner of his eye, “but she may very well come back before then.”

“She’s not a child throwing a tantrum,” Azriel said quietly. “There’s something we’re missing.”

Yes, and it was quite obviously driving him up the wall. Cassian racked his brain for anything there could be, but only drew up blanks.

He didn’t want to, but he’d listen to Rhys this time because when it came to you, the male was usually right, and knew the correct thing to do. He only hoped that still applied today. Otherwise ... he didn’t want to think about what could go wrong. Right now, all he needed to think about was the fucking papers in front of him.

He’d read the reports, he always did, but he was really a male made for battlefields. You weren’t a battlefield. Lovely and soft and everything kind and good in this world, he’d move mountains to preserve the sweet spot you brought to his life, and would do near anything in return to sweeten yours.

Before you he would, internally, mocked the doe-eyed males willing to do anything for their partners before but now ... he loved to say he understood it.

Drifting, his thoughts were drifting.

Cassian tapped the pen on the paper in front of him, a habit he knew irritated his brothers but he didn’t care. If it helped him focus now, he'd take their scorn. It kept him from launching into the night sky after you. Surprisingly, they didn’t say a word.

“I don’t have a good feeling about her leaving like that,” Azriel broke the silence of the last few hours.

Cassian’s head snapped up. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” He nearly snarled. Rhys fixed him with a look he pointedly ignored.

Azriel’s mouth pressed into a tight line and Cassian read the apology in his eyes, one he wouldn’t voice. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t the one owed an apology.

The next words set his heart into an irregular beat, his throat tightening, his palms sweating, and every nerve standing at ready. Adrenaline. He knew it all too well.

“My shadows can’t find her.”

His heart jumped to his throat.

You knew it was stupid to come here, but you came anyway. Still, as you stalked through the smoky space, you thought it was stupid because it would disappoint them, not necessarily because you were putting yourself in danger.

Right now, your own life meant little to nothing to you, and no amount of positive self talk seemed capable of changing that. You’d set yourself on the small course in front of you, and you’d see it to the end.

You didn’t take into account that others might have a bone to pick with your partners.

With just enough energy left to leave with your dignity, you emerged from the ring bloodied and bruised but somehow a victor. With the state you were in, it didn’t quite feel like a victory. It took everything for you to keep moving. At least there was enough honor amongst this crowd you were safe enough to leave with a pocket full of jingling gold.

You’d walked here to clear your mind, but would you have enough energy to winnow home? Fat chance you’d reach out to Rhys to get help. It was winnow or walk.

The choice was made for you as you exited, spotting someone you weren’t particularly thrilled to see, especially not in your current state. Licking your dry lips, you tried to come up with something anything to say as piercing hazel eyes ripped right through you.

“Hello,” you said, quite lamely.

He didn’t reply. Fair enough.

You shook your head, you didn’t owe him anything. If anything ... well, you wouldn’t go there now.

“I’m going home,” you said, and stepped into the light, wincing as you realized the shadows covering your face were gone now, and he could see your injuries and embarrassment. The worst part was, this time it didn’t look worse than it was. In fact, it was probably worse than it looked.

“I'll take you home,” he grunted, concern and anger warring for space in his features. Well, fighting to break through that neutral mask of his. Maybe you were projecting and he actually didn’t give a damn. That was more likely, you told yourself. Life taught you that if you assumed someone would hurt you it lessened the sting when they eventually did.

“To my apartment,” you insisted, but this time you weren’t feeling too proud to turn down a hand.

His hand landed on your shoulder, grip just tight enough, like you were some disgusting piece of trash he could hardly stand to touch. Maybe you were nothing more than that to him. The thought tore you into a thousand tiny pieces, the one movement more degrading than them forgetting the entire meaning of this day.

You never thought one tiny gesture could break you like that, you’d never thought you’d be so weak as to let it, but you let that pain inside, let it swirl inside of you and envelop every bit, let it sting more than the physical pain you were in, more than any physical pain possibly could as shadows swirled around you, whirling you deep into his night and to where or whomever their master desired, you doubted he would actually obey your wishes.

Azriel touched you so delicately because he couldn’t bear to see you in any more pain than you already were, even if it was pain of your own making. He knew the fights were ‘legal,’ although barely sanctioned and hardly tolerated, but he still wanted to find whoever your opponent was that night and rip them limb from limb. Male or female, he didn’t give a fuck. A dark beauty of his job was he treated each gender equally, in his eyes an enemy was an enemy, gender aside.

He winnowed you directly to your shared home, having already sent word to Rhys the moment you showed yourself. He knew where you’d be, mainly because the fighting rings had clever wards to keep shadow singers out. One of a few places in Velaris that did, and they only popped up when Rhys was gone. His High Lord hadn’t bothered with them yet, but maybe it was time to ask him to do a bit of tampering. For public safety, of course.

You shoved away from him the moment you landed. His amusement was easily hid at the effect - you stumbling back, him staying perfectly in place. He could’ve teased you, asked where your fighting skills were now, but he knew from reputation and watching that you had a mean right hook and after the words left his lips he’d probably feel inclined to let you punch him. Your next words sobered and cured any amusement lingering in his system.

“Do you have such little respect for me?” You were genuinely affronted. His mouth pressed into a tight line, any answer he could give felt like a trap. With a scoff, you stalked - no, limped - away and Azriel was left with the sinking realization that he should’ve said something. You were still in earshot however, hadn’t quite reached the corner.

“I respect you.” Were three measly words really all he could manage? Speeches and platitudes were more Rhys’s forte.

“Obviously you don’t,” you swirled around on your heel, swaying. He was there in an instant, eyes scanning you head to toe, searching for more signs of anything amiss. He’d only spotted surface injuries earlier, but it's entirely possible he missed something. Even he could admit that.

“What’s wrong?” You tried to push him away again, but this time he held on. He wouldn’t let you go - not like this.

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth, and shoved again. He took a few steps back.

He wanted to bite back at you, to say ‘obviously not,’ but didn’t bother. A shadow curled around his ear, whispering your lies. Lies you knew.

“No you’re not. Do you want me to get Madja or Rhys?”

Something ached inside of him when you hesitated. Yesterday, he could’ve sworn you would say Rhys without hesitation.

Turns out, they didn’t need to make the decision as a brief whoosh announced the arrival of the male in question.

Rhys observed you, his hands flexed once before he shoved them into his pockets and closed the distance. Azriel felt himself tense, especially as you stood a little straighter, stance widening like you were prepared for a fight. Having felt Rhys’s wave of emotion when he told him where you’d gone off to, you weren’t ready for this fight. Not one bit. Especially not as he heard Cassian land on the balcony. It was easy enough to set his priorities straight.

“You need healing,” he said, well aware both of the other males could hear, and that it would bite into their anger. Worry for you would always override anger, for any of them.

“I. Said. I’m. Fine.”

‘Hurt’ a shadow danced around his ear, whispering, ‘bad.’

Bad.

His shadows never lied. Looking closer at you, he saw the pallor of your skin, the light sheet of sweat he’d originally mistaken as being from your earlier fights.

“You’re going to pass out,” he said as Cassian strode through the doorway.

Your eyelashes fluttered. Rhys disappeared, reappearing behind you within the second, arms looping under yours.

Mouth parted, words trying to form, but you couldn’t get them out. “Don’t you dare say fine,” Rhys still hissed in your ear, before hoisting you up into his arms bridal style.

Like dogs to a bone, he and Cassian followed you both back to your shared room.

Azriel scanned the room, eyes stopping on the side table. A glass of water. A necklace. A book, with a … portrait peeking out.

Carefully letting a shadow mark its place, he slipped it from the papers.

His stomach dropped.

Two males, twins, who were obviously close relations to you. Brothers.

You’d lost both of your brothers to a sickness that had swept through your small village.

“Rhys,” he murmured and he straightened from where he hovered over you. Night-sky magic monitored your pulse and breathing, and he knew Rhys would be alerted at the smallest change. It wasn't the first time they’d taken care of you like this, it had just been a few decades.

He silently handed the portrait over, Cassian crossing to take a look at it too.

“Today was ...” Cassian trailed off.

“The anniversary of their deaths,” Azriel finished for him.

And they’d let you run off instead of chasing after you. Azriel crossed the room to stand next to your side, brushing his hand over the soft skin of your cheek. You looked so peaceful, despite the lack of color in your skin. He needed you to wake up, so he could tell you he was fucking sorry and that if you wanted him to he’d chase you to the end of this world and into the next one.

Still, he couldn’t regret bringing you here instead of to your apartment. The last thing you needed right now was to be alone.

‘Who are you to know what she needs,’ a nasty voice, not unlike those of his own biological brothers, taunted.

Nobody. Right now, Azriel was a nobody.

#batboys x reader #batboys x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #cassian x y/n #cassian x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction

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wombywoo · 1 year ago

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Ok! I've finally decided to put together a (somewhat) comprehensive tutorial on my latest art~

Please enjoy this little step-by-step 💁‍♀️

First things first--references!

Now I'm not saying you have to go overboard, but I always find that this is a crucial starting point in any art piece I intend on making. Especially if you're a detail freak like me and want to make it as realistic as possible 🙃

As such, your web browser should look like this at any given point:

Since this is a historical piece, it means hours upon hours of meaningless research just to see what color the socks are, but...again. that isn't, strictly, necessary 😅

Once I've compiled all my lovely ref pics, I usually dump them into a big-ass collage ⬇️

(I will end up not using half of these, alas :'D)

Another reference search for background material, and getting to showcase our models of choice for this occasion~

When picking a reference for an actor or model, the main thing I keep in mind (besides prettiness 🤭) is lighting and orientation. Because I already kinda know what pose I'm gonna go with for this piece, I can look for specific angles that might fit the criteria. I should mention that I am a reference hound, and my current COD actor ref folder looks like this:

Also keep in mind, if you're using a ref that you need to flip, make sure you adjust accordingly. This especially applies to clothing, as certain things like pants zippers and belt buckles can be quite specific ☝️

Now that we've spent countless hours googling, it's time to start with a rough sketch:

It doesn't have to be pretty, folks, just a basic guideline of where you want the figures to be.

The next step is to define it more, and I know this looks like that 'how to draw an owl' meme, but I promise--getting from the loose sketch above to below is not that difficult.

Things to keep in mind are--don't go too in-depth with the details, because things are still subject to change at this point. In terms of making a suitable anatomically-correct sketch, I would suggest lots of studying. This doesn't even have to be things like figure drawing, I genuinely look at people around me for inspiration all the time. Familiarize yourself with the human form, and things like weight, proportions, posing will seem a little more feasible.

It's also important at this stage to consider your composition. Remember to flip the canvas frequently to make sure you're not leaning to one side too often. I'm sure something can be said for the spiral fibonacci stuff, which I don't really try to do on purpose, but I think keeping things like symmetry and balance in mind is a good start ✌️

Next step is just blocking in the figures. Standard. No fuss 👍

Now onto the background!

It's frankly hilarious how many people thought I was *hand-drawing* these maps and stuff 😂😂 I cannot even begin to comprehend how insanely difficult that would be. So yeah, we're just taking the lazy copy and paste way out 🤙

I almost always prepare my backgrounds first, and this is mostly to get a general color scheme off the bat. For collage work, it's really just a matter of trial and error, sticking this here, slapping this there, etc. I like to futz around with different overlay options until I've found a nice arrangement. Advice for this is just--go nuts 🤷‍♀️

Next, I add a few color adjustments. I tend to make at least 2 colors pop in an art piece, and low and behold, they usually tend to be red and blue ❤️💙There's something about warm/cool vibes, idk man..

Now we move on to coloring the figures. This is just a basic block and fill, not really defining any of the details yet.

Next, we add some cursory values. Sloppy airbrush works fine, it'll look better soon I promise 🙏

And now--rendering!

I know a lot of beginner artists are intimidated by rendering, and I can totally understand why. It's just one of those things you have to commit to 💪

I've decided to show a brief process of rendering our dear Johnny's face here:

Starting off, I usually rely on the trusty airbrush just to get some color values going. Note--I've kept my sketch layer on top, but feel free to turn it on and off as you work, so as to not be too bound to the sketch. For now, it's just a guideline.

This next stage may look like a huge jump, but it's really just adding more to the foundation. I try to think of it like putting on make-up in a way~ Adding contours, accentuating highlights. This is also where I start adding in more saturation, especially around areas such as ears, nose and lips. Still a bit fuzzy at this point, but that's why we keep adding to it 💪

A boy has appeared! See--now I've removed most of the line layer, and it holds up on its own. I'll admit that in order to achieve this realistic style, you'll need lots and lots of practice and skill, which shouldn't be discouraging! Just motivate yourself with the prospect of getting to look at pretty men for countless hours 🙆‍♀️

I'll probably do a more in-depth explanation about rendering at some point, but let's keep this rolling~

Moving forward is just a process of adding to the figures bit by bit. I do lean towards filling in each section from top to bottom, but you can feel free to pop around to certain parts that appeal to you more. I almost always do the faces first though, because if they end up sucking, I feel less guilty about scrapping it 😂 But no--I think he's pretty enough to proceed 😚

They're coming together now 🙆‍♀️ Another helpful tip--make sure you reuse color. By that, I mean--try to incorporate various colors throughout your piece, using the eyedropper tool to keep a consistent palette. I try to put in bits of red and blue where I can

Here they are fully rendered! Notice I've made a few subtle changes from the sketch, like adjusting the belt buckles because I made a mistake 😬 Hence why you shouldn't put too much stock in your initial sketch~

The next step is more of a stylistic choice, but I usually go over everything with an outline, typically in a bright color like green. Occasionally, I can just use my initial line layer, but for this, I've made a brand new, cleaner line 👍

And the final step is adjusting the color and adding some text:

Tada!! It's done!

All in all, this took me the better part of a week, but I have a lot of free time, so yeah ✌️

I hope you appreciated that little walkthrough~ I know people have been asking me how I do my art, but the truth is--I usually have no clue how to explain myself 😅 So have this half-assed tutorial~

As a bonus, here is a cute (cursed) image of Johnny without his mustache:

A baby, a literal infant child !!! who put this wee bairn on the front lines ??! 😭

Anyway! peace out ✌️

#tutorial #my art #art tutorial #since people have been asking #I remembered to save my process from this latest work~#enjoy 🙆‍♀️

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twilightkitkat · 24 days ago

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Can we take a second to consider how Deadpool's regeneration works?? Like what the limits are? And what that means in the context of their weaknesses and scenarios for fanfiction?

Deadpool's regeneration is near infinite. He's come back from being exploded before by a single blood cell. As long as he isn't completely atomized, he can come back.

If you explain his healing as an extremely enhanced metabolism (similar to Peter Parker's healing) then this would mean all cell processes and chemical reactions in his body happen at a significantly faster pace than the average person. This would apply to digestion, healing, energy expenditure, but also death and aging.

The human body has a finite limit of cells that it will produce in its lifetime, so if it was simply enhanced metabolism he couldn't regenerate infinitely. Even "enhanced" healing would have its limits and a greater metabolism wouldn't account for regrowing limbs or parts of the body entirely.

This would imply that his ability is more than just "enhanced healing" but instead the ability to completely reconstruct his body. This insinuates that mutants would need different DNA that maps out the parts of the body and the instructions to generate it in their genetic code. This is similar to the regrowth of a lizard's tail or how the liver of a human body can regenerate.

However, healing capabilities aside, where does the matter and energy for this come from? Matter doesn't spontaneously come into existence; it can neither be created nor destroyed. He would need a source of energy and matter to rebuild his body.

Let's start with energy. Most humans utilize chemical energy from food to carry out bodily functions. However, Deadpool can regenerate from a single blood cell without eating anything. This implies that his body is either insanely energy efficient and has a different blueprint or that mutants draw their energy from another source. Can mutants tap into matter and antimatter as a source of energy where the human body hits its limit?

More than energy, let's consider the issue of matter. To regenerate, Deadpool would need to rebuild the organic matter of his body. If it were just an issue of reattaching limbs and reforging bonds between severed body parts or torn skin, it would be feasible. However, it's been shown that even when Deadpool's limbs or blood or corpse are beyond salvageable, he regrows them from scratch. An example of this was in Deadpool 1 where he cut off his hand and left it with Colossus, but it still regenerated on its own without it disappearing.

This implies that the lost matter from energies such as detached limbs, blood, and gore isn't reused in the regeneration process unless intentionally reattached. If he's capable of regenerating from scratch, he needs a way to get carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and phosphorus, which are the key elements that compose the human body. He also needs a way to condense these into macromolecules and organic compounds.

Hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon, and oxygen exist in large quantities in the atmosphere. Could he potentially be absorbing elements and reintegrating them into his body? Would this imply that his skin needs to be more porous to absorb elements through the air into his body?

For him to reintegrate these elements, is his body somehow catalyzing the synthesis of macromolecules? This was studied in the Miller-Urey experiment, which simulated the early conditions of Earth's atmosphere and the available basic compounds to see if it was possible for elements to spontaneously synthesize together to create the macromolecules needed for human life. It was found that under pressure, heat, and electricity, it was in fact potentially possible for the building blocks of human life to originate this way. Are mutant bodies capable of perfectly replicating the conditions and forces needed to cause this to happen consistently and at near-instantaneous speeds?

If this were possible, would this mean that there are conspiracy theories that "mutant" forces could be responsible for life on Earth in the Marvel universe? (If matter and anti-matter play a role in mutant abilities, could they have contributed to the existence of mutants to begin with? To life on Earth?)

Aside from these elements, phosphorus would be needed to recreate DNA and the nuclei of cells. Phosphorus doesn't have an atmospheric phase in its geologic cycle—it's only found in rocks and compounds, not the air. Wade couldn't absorb it from the ground because he doesn't always regenerate in areas where phosphorus is present. Does this imply that phosphorus is present in the air in Marvel and that in their dimension, it does cycle atmospherically for regenerative mutants to exist?

Considering that regeneration is possible given all of the elements are present, how was Wade able to regenerate his rapidly suffocating cells when he was trapped in the airtight tank by Francis? If he was able to replace the oxygen in his cells, does this apply that he had access to matter that "wasn't there"? Does this tie into anti-matter being an active force in Marvel that exists within mutants? Does energy conservation work differently, wherein antimatter potentially eats up organic matter in another part of the Earth to preserve the balance while it supplies necessary elements to mutants? Or is it another force?

Wade's regenerative capabilities can largely be attributed to his cancer. It gives him the added effect of rapid cell repopulation, while his healing staves away the deadly effects until it's neutralized.

For Wade's entire body to regenerate from a single blood cell, this would imply that his entire body is composed of stem cells that are capable of differentiating into all of the different types of cells. And that mutants have an insanely high number of stem cells compared to the average person. This could be incredibly useful in stem cell transplant surgery to help recover from issues with bone marrow, blood cells, cancers, blood disorders, and autoimmune diseases.

Do mutant stem cells play a large part in the medical field with their rapid regeneration and near-infinite cell differentiation? Are there mutants held captive and experimented on just to obtain their stem cells? Could Wade be a target of this?

Speaking of farming, could Wade theoretically infinitely sell his organs on the black market for money? Considering he can regrow organs entirely without the preexisting one intact. Would they go for extra money because of enhanced durability and "better" mutant cells?

Most regeneration couldn't be entirely infinite, though. Eventually, if the regeneration was rapid enough, cells would reach the Hayflict limit. The Hayflick limit is the number of times a normal human cell can divide before it stops dividing. At the end of human chromosomes, there are telomeres which protect the integrity of DNA during cell division. As cells continue to divide, the telomeres keep shortening until eventually they run out and the DNA itself gets damaged if further replication occurs. The cells reach a state of senescence, wherein the cell stops dividing but functions normally until it dies permanently. This makes infinite replication from the same set of cells impossible.

However, Wade is the exception. His cancer cells would keep dividing because telomerase, an enzyme, keeps lengthening the telomere to allow for rapid and infinite regeneration. Therefore, the cell would never reach the Hayflick Limit and Wade's entire body could be regenerated even from a single cell.

This would imply that his healing factor wouldn't be nearly as strong and would, in fact, have more imposing limits without his cancer. His mutation encompassed a faster healing ability, but it originally would be finite if his cells were overloaded and regenerated enough to reach the Hayflick limit.

Additionally, this implies that Wade stopped aging not because of his healing factor, but because of his cancer. Aging occurs due to chromosome shortening, wherein the telomeres of cells slowly get shorter until the cells are no longer capable of safe replication. Eventually, the speed of cells dying outpaces the speed of reproduction as the majority of cells reach senescence.

Wade's cancer stopped him from aging. It took his healing from strong to nearly invincible. The same thing that causes him pain every day is the very reason he's as strong as he is.

This also implies that if he ever did find a way to cure his cancer while keeping his ability intact, he would sacrifice his immortality. He would begin aging, even if slowly, and he would lose the ability to come back from mere scraps. His healing would be more on par with Logan (who I'll make a separate analysis of later), wherein he would still age and take damage but with rapidly accelerated healing and cell reconstruction capabilities.

Wade's healing is stronger than Logan's. Wade can recover if there is even a piece of him left, while Logan's healing has greater limits. While Wolverine has more enhanced physical capabilities, Wade wins in the regeneration department.

This implies that if the two were tortured repeatedly in a similar manner, Logan's regeneration might slow down and eventually stop if he was bombarded constantly without sustenance, while Wade's would hold on for much longer (potentially forever). Wade would be the sole survivor if they got trapped or tortured, and would have to watch Logan slowly die as his healing fails and his cells hit their limit .

This is a painful reminder that Logan will age and eventually die. With his ability, Wade will not. The very cancer that led to him losing the life he wanted and becoming the monster he sees himself as is the reason Logan will leave him behind in the end when he dies. It's a curse he'll never escape from, no matter how far he runs.

Wade can heal from almost anything physically, but could he ever really heal from outliving Logan? From losing him?

#poolverine #deadclaws #kitkat #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool movie #logan howlett #wade x logan #wade wilson #wade/logan #BROUGHT TO YOU BY A STEM MAJOR #iN COLLABORATION WITH MY AMAZING PREMED FRIEND #@sturfvi #i love you #thanks for being a bio major so you can be a doctor and i can write poolverine analysis

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heartfullofleeches · 6 months ago

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In wolf's clothing

Yan Hybrids (Rabbit, NB. Mouse, Fem. Swan, Male) + Gender Neutral Sheep (?) Hybrid Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of Murder

Four animals are brought into questioning following the gruesome murder and dismemberment of their neighbor- A rabbit, a mouse, a swan - and a sheep. A sin of this caliber has not been committed since the founding decades of their shared home. The culprit responsible for the heinous act is to be brought to justice through execution by hanging in front of the town as a cautionary example to any who desire the same level of senseless bloodshed.

Shall we begin?-

The rabbit was an upstanding figure in the community. An outsider who quickly made a place for themselves amongst their peers, garnering love and tolerance by means of pleasant conversation and baked treats. Once the rabbit was present, sadness and grief were a thing of the past for most to whom they were acquainted. Honest and true, the rabbit has never told a lie nor done anything to jeopardize their new cozy life.

“It's such a shame what happened to Mr. Possum.” Said the rabbit. “We had plans for brunch on the day he vanished. I even whipped up a batch of the scones he loved so much.”

“Did you kill Mr. Possum?”

The rabbit doesn't bat an eye as they reply. “No, I did not.”

“Where were you the morning he disappeared?”

“I was making tarts for another one of our friends. I think you may know. Sheep may not be the most talkative, but they enjoy my baking as much as any other. Where is Sheep? Are they alright? All this fuss surely must be getting to them by now…I hope they enjoyed the tarts….”

The rabbit is released from custody.

The mouse was a timid creature. On the rare occasion she wasn't holed up in the confines of her burrow, a common place to find the mouse was wandering along the borders of town where roads ended and the treelining began. Day in and day out, the little mouse would scrounge for fallen branches. The mouse found purpose for herself weaving baskets and other trinkets for herself and the neighbors who treated her in kind.

“Oh…This won't take long, will it? I'd rather not be out past nightfall…”

*Did you kill Mr. Possum?”

Pain grips the tiny mouse’s voice as she squeaks. “I could never hurt a fly! Mr. Possum was such a gentle soul too… If not a tad misguided…”

“Where were you the morning he disappeared?”

The mouse dries her tears as swiftly as they fall. “Taking a nap after being up all evening making a necklace for… Oh, stars- Sheep, they're here aren't they? Could you let them know I'll be waiting for them outside? My poor, sweet Sheep…”

The mouse is released from custody.

The swan was nothing if not a beautiful face. Tending to the upkeep of his image, the swan had no care for the outside world nor the people who dwelled within it. A shut in, abiding his precious time in the sanctity of his study. A man of few words; letters were the only feasible way of communicating with the bird, less the matter was of utmost importance and worthy of his time.

“This is pointless.”

“Did you kill Mr. Possum?”

The swan scoffs - pinching the wall of his cheek with his teeth to avoid expression. “What good would killing that old bastard do me? Now look what you've done? If I develop wrinkles from frowning there will be hell to pay, Mayor.”

“Where were you the morning he disappeared?”

The swan brushes dirt off his fine coat. “In my study as always. That morning I was preoccupied writing notes in one of my books I intended to let that sheep borrow for a time….They are in this building, are they not? I'm sure they've asked for me by now.”

The swan is released from custody.

The sheep is a shadow upon the community. Lurking just out of sight, the sheep did everything in their power to remain unseen amongst their fellow townspeople. Their aloof nature when approach proved their odd behavior was not out of malice, but few still had their suspensions. The sheep was a sweet and gentle soul nonetheless. If only they took more care of their fur…

“Do I really have to be here? I didn't know him very well to begin with.”

“Yes… I'm afraid. Did you kill Mr. Possum?”

The sheep licks at the corner of their mouth, tongue collecting every crumb of pastry glued to their fur. How they wished they could have had just one more bite before coming. They blink, beady eyes glossing over with tears.

“Did you…kill Mr. Possum?”

The sheep fiddles with the string of their new necklace tucked beneath their shirt as the mayor presses further- fighting every urge to gnaw at the bones dangling over their chest. “I… I didn't.”

“Where were you the morning he disappeared?”

The sheep recalls a distant memory- Lines written in a book they'd read not long ago. “I…was at home. I'm sure Rabbit, Mouse, and Swan can vouch for me….”

A hand squeezes the sheep’s shoulder. The mayor, a noble and charitable elk, nods in understanding at the smaller animal. He eyes the rings of red lacing their neck as they nervously pick at the skin.

“Understood. Make sure you stick to this story if anyone else questions you. Hurry on home, young one, and be quick.”

The elk leans in closer- Whispering, though the walls of his office are as thick as the saliva the sheep swallows as he utters those dreaded words.

“It's about time for you to trim your claws again.”

The sheep is free from custody.

Scurrying on home with their tail still tucked between their legs, the sheep finds three familiar faces waiting for them there.

“Sheep!” Warmth bathes the terrified animal as they're swept into the caring arms of their long-eared companion. The rabbit dabs their wet cheeks with their apron. “Are you alright, hunny-bunny? Tell us everything that happened.”

Through teary eyes, the sheep details every portion of their integration. “I think the mayor knows I didn't do it…. I hope the same goes for you guys…”

A collective wave of relief falls over the group.

“That's good news.” Mouse adds. “If anyone is incapable of hurting someone it's Sheep… Poor Mr. Possum….I feel terrible for what happened to him.”

Swan rolls his eyes. “I’d say his demise is poetic justice for accusing Sheep of being a… well you know what.”

Rabbit shoves Sheep's head into their chest. “We all agreed not to talk about that anymore! Especially if Sheep is present! We've all had a long day… Why don't we head inside and relax after all that kerfuffle with a nice, rejuvenating cup of tea? Sheep, could you be a dear and grab that kettle I bought for you?”

“O..oh… Um…Alright.”

The sheep squeezes past Swan and Mouse as they step inside their home. The remainder of the group wait for the telltale sound of them scrounging around in their room for the present before any of them speaks.

Rabbit sighs. “Okay. I know they're horrible with keeping track of everything we give them so we have a few minutes to chat about this. Mouse, did you return the ax?”

Mouse points in the general direction of another house off somewhere in the distance. “I put it back in Squrriel’s shed where I found it last night.”

“Swan, did you check every one of those cameras you have to see if anyone saw us?”

Swan rolls his eyes. “Like anything that interesting happens in this town after nightfall. We're in the clear. We’d best head instead to help them. Plus, I need to get my time with them since you'll already taken front and center with everything else.”

The death of Mr. Possum was later ruled as a robbery gone wrong committed by traveling crooks. It took many moons, but eventually peace fell upon the cozy little town and its tight knit community once more. Sheep, unable to sleep after the tragedy, sought refuge in the homes of those there for them in their time of need.

Their doors were always open for their kind, gentle sheep.

#yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere #male yandere #female yandere #yandere drabble #yandere hybrid #hybrid reader #sheep reader #wolf reader

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ghostflowerhotpotch · 6 months ago

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Spider-Woman, NOT Ghost-Spider

This is a tip for people who want to go as canon as possible WITH THE MOVIES, since I feel a lot of people do this mistake because they look into the comics and mix things up.

If you want to call Gwen, Ghost-Spider in your fanfic/fanart/etc because you think is cool, go ahead! Go nuts! I'm not the canon police.

BUT-

In the movies, Gwen still calls herself Spider-Woman.

An explanation as to why this is important in the read more.

(Spoilers about the Spider-Gwen comics, I guess because I am not spoiling anything that came after 2019.)

When I say "important," I mean it in the stick-it-to-the-details type of deal; if you care about technicalities you care about this, but I know that's not the majority.

However, I do want to bring it up because the reason why Gwen switched in the comics, or rather, why chose Ghost-Spider of all things- is really neat and interesting story line that I feel a lot of people skip over when they 'chose' to call her that without knowing why she chose that name.

If you think Gwen has it rough in the movies, don't read the comics because they put this girl through the wringer.

Let's go a little bit before she chose that name.

As you can see, Gwen feels that she has always been marked by death, some way or another.

First her mother, then Peter, and is now hitting pretty hard after losing Spider-UK (is not Hobie, or Malala, I don't think he has appeared in the movies,) Noir and Karn, though arguably Billy was the one who hit her the hardest.

She went to other dimensions to tell their love ones that Billy and Noir passed away; it is implied how this is her way to try to make amends to what happened, make peace with herself.

But is not really enough, the topic doesn't leave her mind,

Death and pain certainly follow her often; she almost lost her dad for good, and she was definitely shaken after Harry got gravely injured precisely because he was always there for her.

That last panel never stops hitting hard for me.

There is just some quietness to it, about how no matter what she does, how hard she tried, Death continues to follow, one way or another. Even when she tries to be a hero, to do the right thing, death follows her.

In the comics, Gwen switches her name because she is studying in Earth-616 rather than her own dimension, so she switches names in order to avoid stepping in any toes.

So, in the movies, is kind of hard to think the switch would happen. Sure, Gwen is interacting with Jessica and other spiders, but believe me, the multiple spider-man haven't changed their names, so having Jessica in the spider society doesn't change much.

However, I do bring all of this because I think implementing this story line in the movies not only is feasible, it would be *amazing.*

The phrase "Death loves Gwen Stacy," not only hits hard for the Spider-Gwen in the comics, but for the movie counterpart too.

Think about it for a second; in the movies, Gwen feels she can't have friends because otherwise, they may lose them like Peter, she has convinced herself it can't work. And then. she goes to the Spider-Society.

And now she feels Gwen Stacy and Death always go hand in hand.

She learns how in so many universes, Peter is the one bitten, he is the one who lives, while Gwen Stacy dies, over, and over again. It almost seems like she is the outlier out of spite, how because she gets to live, everyone else pays the price.

Because Death loves Gwen Stacy, powers or not, that's not changing.

But at the end of the day-

And that's why, no matter what, she will continue fighting to protect her people.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy #spider-gwen #ghost-spider #spider-gwen comics #itsv #into the spider-verse #random spiderverse fact #I really hope people explore more this idea in the comics #is so good

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anim-ttrpgs · 1 month ago

Note

Eureka seems like it could be a cool game to drop players into with some hooks and let them do what they want. Will there be a pre-made setting or something along those lines in Eureka when it's complete?

Sorta but it’ll work a little differently from what you might be used to if you’re used to epic fantasy campaign games like D&D5e and Pathfinder.

Eureka won’t exactly have big setting books the same way that something like D&D does, it just has the one setting as described in the rulebook itself, which is primarily 21st century but can span all the way back to the late 1800s. I can dig up a post about that to link here

As for hooks, we recommend you use adventure modules. Eureka supports a LOT of things, it’s a “toolbox game,” which means that if there’s a situation that can come up during the adventure, the rulebook probably has some advice for what to roll (That’s also why it’s such a long rulebook.) - however, all of these situational considerations are in service to the one main thing: Investigation. Eureka does mystery Investigation really well, which means it does it pretty differently compared to most other games, and the way it does it means that the GM will run into trouble if they try to make everything up on the fly based on whatever random hook the PCs decide to follow up on. They’re going to investigate and find evidence, and if the GM isn’t prepared with cohesive information to give them based on that evidence, then it won’t all come together in the end.

This is not to say that Eureka adventures need to be pre-plotted or railroaded, far from it. What it means is that that hook has to have a whole line attached to it.

A good “campaign” for Eureka will probably last 2-10 sessions at most, and have one or multiple hooks, all of which are related to the same event.

That event will be something the GM has written out in detail and set in stone, which has already happened (or in more advanced cases, is actively happening). Lady Violet killed Colonel Mustard in the study with the candle stick. With that set in stone, you can start sprinkling clues around that they can find that either point to Lady Violet, or help rule out other suspects. You gotta stick with that no matter what crackpot theories about aliens or ex wives the players or PCs might come up with, because if you change it on a whim based on what the players want to be the truth, then previous clues will quickly stop making sense.

To this end, we recommend using prewritten adventure modules, because we know from experience that it’s a lot of work for a GM to make up an event to be investigated that has enough detail for every eventuality. (That’s why they pay people to write adventure modules after all, it’s work, even if it can be fun work.)

Our team plans to support Eureka for as long as is feasibly possible with continual releases of new adventure modules, and we already have four in the works to release with the full game. The beta version of one of them (Horror Harry’s Haunted House) comes free with the name-your-price beta of Eureka on itchio, and two more (The Eye of Neptune and FORIVA: The Angel Game) are available on our patreon.

You can also listen to an Actual Play playthrough of FORIVA: The Angel Game on @tinytablerpg's podcast!

And finally, Eureka is compatible with most other already-existing adventure modules about mystery Investigation, which we have a post about right here

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suzdin · 2 months ago

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Two for One: Part Five

Neighbor!Dave York x Human!Max Phillips x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, familial drama and angst, ANGST!, mentions of drug use/abuse, alcoholism!, family death, invasions of privacy, breaking and entering, mentions of murder/violence, oral (f receiving), dom!Dave, soft!Max, threesome, anal, vaginal, breath play, alcohol and nicotine consumption, double penetration, anal creampie, dirty talk, I think that’s it

Words: 6,375 (sorry it’s short)

Notes: holy shit I don’t even know what to say other than I’m very grateful and touched by how many of you have reached out to me, and that I’m so so so sorry it took me this long to add a new chapter. Hopefully it’s worth the wait. I’m hoping to be more regular in the future! I did my best to remember who to tag, yell at me in the comments if I forgot you 🥴

—

You aren’t sure why, but with Dave gone, it feels wrong to see Max. At least, outside of your workplace...

Were it the other way around, you don’t think you would experience the same level of cloying guilt you feel with Dave, but then again, your relationship with Dave was far different than what you had with Max: while you kept Dave at arm’s length, with Max, you kept him even further than that, a begrudging admission of your lack of self control, something that you hate to admit runs in your family. You with your alcoholism and overactive sex drive; Garrett with his addiction to narcotics. Your mother’s former addictions to the same things as you and your brother, at one point or another, waxing and waning for decades as long as you can feasibly remember.

You can’t help but smirk to yourself as you imagine scientists studying your family like captive apes, which isn’t too far off. They would probably learn a thing or two about addiction. Not that your mother believes in science enough to volunteer for such things.

So, that is how things go for those few days that Dave is out of town. Max respects your need for space, surprisingly so, affording you little more than a few minutes in the bathroom each day you’re both in the coffee shop at the same time, ending in either a belly full of Max’s cum, his fingers buried deep in your pussy until you see stars, or both.

And he still insists on ending every interaction with those strangely intimate and delicate embraces, each encounter getting longer and softer with each passing day. Almost like Max wants to be close to you, but isn’t sure how else to go about it, only knowing that it’s something he needs—no, craves.

You won’t lie, you had started looking forward to those hugs too, needing them more than you’d realized. He never kisses you, though, no matter how long he holds you in his arms afterwards, something that leaves an oddly empty pit twisting inside of you that you can’t find yourself able to shake.

Your coworkers definitely know about your little bathroom receptions, thankfully looking the other way when Max comes strolling in like Don Juan in his pursuit of you. Even, much to your surprise, Audrey, whom you often found shooting dirty looks your way when she thinks you’re unawares, but has sense enough to keep her mouth shut. At least in front of you.

You played it cool around your boss, Maurizio, who seemed to be none the wiser, Max often chatting him up as a distraction when you had to straighten your clothes or smooth down your hair or make sure you didn’t have any remnants of jizz lingering on you. Sweet talking was definitely one of Max’s strong suits and Maury ate that shit right up.

Your nights after your shifts ended with you and Dave on the phone, talking — or doing other things — for hours on end, and you had to admit that his voice in your ear at the end of a long day was a welcome gift and distraction.

You asked about each other’s days; you lamenting about the stressors of your job, even divulging the part about the shipment of mocha syrup being two weeks late and how you’re down to only two bottles, and that you’re pretty sure Audrey and Vincent hate you, but leave out any bits about Max being the reason.

He tells you all about the day to day activities with his girls, everything from the inevitable meltdowns, to what they did and where they went, even letting you talk to his eldest — Molly — for a few moments when she insisted on knowing who her dad was talking to if it wasn’t Mommy, and although it felt awkward and forced it was still very sweet and amiable, leading you to wonder if this was all leading to something bigger between you and Dave… although you’d known each other only a very short time, it was suddenly feeling very real.

Did you want that?

You didn’t know, and not knowing scared you. That’s why, you realized, you hadn’t completely pushed Max away, in case things went awry. And they often did in your case, leaving behind a flaming trail of gnarled and smoldering wreckage in its wake.

And maybe you were starting to like Max, too. Just a little. As much as you tried to deny it.

At the very least, you could admit you looked forward to his daily visits more and more as the days slogged on, which was saying a lot.

As the upcoming week drew ever nearer, Dave’s communication dwindled and subsequently ran dry, which had you a bit worried. He had texted you about some vague work thing he had to do. You didn’t ask what it was, since it was none of your business.

Yet, you couldn’t keep yourself from worrying when the messages slowed and eventually stopped. Had you done or said something offputting?

You do your best not to linger in your own head for too long, keeping yourself busy with mundanities.

——

Dave was careful not to stay in touch with you unless absolutely necessary while he was actively on target. Whatever he could do to prevent you from being tied to the crime, even if only via digital footprint. Not to mention to keep himself from being tied to it, in whatever way possible.

He had left the crime scene with the intent to drive through the night without stopping until he reached Boston. His mind had not diverted from the original plan; however, with his dick painfully engorged and straining against his pants every step of the way, your face at the forefront of his mind, he found himself having to stop more than once to relieve the ache. You made him feel crazy. Crazier than he’s ever felt before. And he simultaneously loved and hated it.

With your videos playing on a loop, seat reclined back as far as it could go, he spills across his stomach again and again as he grunts your name through clenched teeth, hot spend collecting in the hollow of his navel.

Sunrise is approaching and he still has a couple of hours to go before he reaches you. He can’t wait to be with you. He can’t…

——

As you force yourself to drag ass into another long, miserable shift at work, barely conscious, your hair a rat’s nest, Dave is having to force himself not to be lead-footed all the way home. Being pulled over by a cop is the last thing he needs right now.

He texts you around 7AM, asking if you’re working and how you’re doing, although he already knows you’re not home, from the camera loop he periodically checks. He has to ask, though, to be as inconspicuous as possible.

You feel a wave of relief when you see Dave’s name pop up on your phone. But with a storm bearing down hard on the city (what your mother affectionately and irritatingly refers to as ‘tornado weather’), business unexpectedly picks up and you’re too slammed with soaked and pissy customers to respond in a timely manner.

You’re even too busy for Max when he comes in, passing him an apologetic glance right before your hands slip and you splash blistering hot coffee down the front of your shirt. Behind the dejected, puppy dog eyes he’s giving you, you almost think you see concern flash in those dark brown irises of his.

Not like that’s possible. Right?

—

It takes Dave longer than anticipated to make it back to Boston. Between the instances he had to pull off to relieve the strain in his pants, and subsequently take a power nap, he hits the city a little past 9, and by the time he makes it through the infuriating drag of traffic and rain, he pulls into his spot close to 10.

He draws in a deep breath as he stares up at your apartment window, dark now, pulling himself out of the driver’s seat, barely having enough energy to make it through the downpour and up the stairs to his apartment.

But as soon as he deposits his bag on the living room floor, he’s inexplicably hit with a second wind, adrenaline coursing through his veins when it occurs to him how close he is to you once again.

He hastily stuffs his lock picking kit down his pants, grabbing a rain slicker from the closet, despite already being drenched to the skin.

He knows you aren’t home. He’s confirmed and re-confirmed it. But needs to be in your space. Just long enough to smell you again, be with you without being with you until you can officially be in his arms again. He wants to lie on your bed, wrapped in your scent like a cloak as he dribbles down his fist, surprising you later by picking you up from work so you don’t have to walk home in the rain.

Which reminds him — he texts you again, asking when you get off, hoping that you’re just busy and not ignoring him.

He makes it inside your apartment in record time, the old wood of the interior crackling from the pressure disturbance, almost as if beckoning him inside.

He locks the door behind him and toes off his shoes, glancing around the small, dark space, which smells of stale cigarettes and… you.

He only needs a couple of hours. That’s all. Just long enough to hold him over until he can see you, smell you for real, touch you. Fuck you until your eyes roll back into your skull and you see stars.

He strips off his dripping clothes and drapes them over the back of your kitchen chairs to dry, at least somewhat, crawling into your bed and pulling the comforter up past his shoulders.

He presses his face to mattress, inhaling deeply, immediately growing hard from your lingering scent. Your coconut shampoo, your vanilla body spray. You.

As he slips his cock free from his boxers, he can almost feel your curves against his fingertips, the softness of your lips against his.

He begins to pump himself slowly, knowing he risked it all for you. Just so that sad fuck you call an ex can’t harass you anymore, his cock tightening further as he recalls the way Jonathan looked when the life drained from behind his eyes.

He did it for you, and he would do it a million times more if he could.

—

Your work day finally begins to slow after the lunch rush, the rain slacking off to a more tolerable, humid drizzle.

You let the others know that you’re retiring to the alley for a much needed cigarette break, and to not bother you for fifteen minutes unless it’s a life and death emergency. And even then, still don’t.

You already have a cigarette perched between your lips and a lighter clutched in your fist before you even hit the alleyway, thankful for the small awning even with the calmer precipitation.

You ignite the cig, pocketing your lighter as you take a seat on the milk crate you use as a stool, drawing in a long, much needed puff of smoke and toxins into your lungs. Fuck, it’s been a day.

You fish your phone out of your pocket so you can shoot Max a quick apology for not being able to see him earlier, immediately becoming distracted by the sheer volume of text messages you’ve missed since the start of your shift, Max momentarily forgotten.

Two of the messages are from Dave, which you’re relieved to see and respond to right away. One is from an employee letting you know they’re going to be half an hour late to their shift, which you ignore for the time being, not wanting to deal with it just yet. And the other eight are from your mom.

You sigh, taking another drag from your cigarette as you begrudgingly click on her name, anticipating the usual slew of bitching and moaning, reminding you what a terrible, awful daughter you are for abandoning your family; or, on the other end of the spectrum, kissing your ass and pleading for money.

As soon as your eyes scan over the messages, your world is swiftly rocked off its axis, your fingers losing their strength as your hands begin to tremor.

Your phone and cigarette crash to the ground, the former cracking as it hits the concrete, the latter snuffing itself out in the little bit of rain that’s left.

You wedge the heel of your palms against your eyelids and begin to weep, but you can still see the words behind your eyes, already haunting you, wishing you could scratch them out of your brain, wishing you could turn back time like it never happened.

Your grandmother, the only bit of glue that ever held you to your family, is gone.

—

Sarah comes in on her day off to cover the rest of your shift so you can leave early, thanking her profusely with promises to make it up to her as soon as you can.

You let Maury know you’re going to take a few days for bereavement, and he doesn’t give you any shit about it.

You walk home in a milky daze, finding your way by muscle memory alone, because you’re pretty sure you aren’t actually perceiving anything but a whirlwind of grief; grief so intense you can feel it in your bones, your bone marrow.

Your grandma—Granny Ruth—was the kindest, most selfless woman you’d ever had the privilege of knowing. You never could figure out how your mother turned out the way she did; how they were not only different, but polar fucking opposites.

You keep reading and re-reading your mother’s texts. How, in addition to your sorrow and angst, you’re also unfathomably angry.

Mom: your grandmother Ruth passed this morning

Mom: shame you weren’t here to say goodbye since you abandoned us

Mom: don’t bother coming home, she is being cremated no service

You need a stiff drink. Several, in fact. You need drugs. Every single one.

You need to get fucked until you’re completely desiccated. You need to strangle every last shred of emotion from your body because it’s too much to carry right now.

You wish you had a kill switch for your brain.

—

By the time you’ve reached the stoop that leads up to your building, you can’t keep it in any longer.

You managed to hold the fraying threads of your sanity together when you had to call Sarah in. And when you had to let Maury know. Even on the walk home, you were a zombie. Mindless. Numb.

But now, as you draw nearer to your home—or what you call home, but doesn’t really feel that way— your legs grow weak and your head swims, forcing you to collapse on the steps that lead up to the double doors, hunched forward, sobbing into your hands.

You aren’t sure how long you stay there, or if anyone sees you, and you really don’t care.

You stay until your head is throbbing, only snapping out of your daze when a familiar voice cuts through the sorrow, hushed, concerned, your name a murmur on their lips.

“Doll… are you okay?”

When you finally lift your head, your gaze settles on Max.

—

You tell Max about your grandmother. How she had been sick for years, how you should have never left her, the guilt and regret gnawing at you. You had been selfish, stupid.

He sits beside you on the steps, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, letting you cry, letting you lament about how much you hate your mother, only speaking when he needs to.

He’s being sweet, sympathetic, patient, and completely unlike his usual self. And you’re intuitive enough to know he isn’t bullshitting or just trying to get into your pants. He’s actually being sincere.

It’s so unlike him it almost unsettles you.

You aren’t complaining, though. It’s nice in how unexpected, how off-kilter it seems, and it does make you feel better, at least for a few fleeting moments.

As the conversation carries on and your mood lifts a peg or two, Max’s gentle, sympathetic touches gradually turn more reverent, more wanton, his movements slow and unsure at first to test the waters, wanting to ensure that you want it as much as he does.

When you reciprocate, your eyes re-affirming your needs to him, he grows more insistent, more brazen, cupping your breasts through your polo, coffee stains and all, canine teeth scraping along your pulse point.

He’s being more tender and sensual than you’re used to, and while you don’t mind it, you prefer Max’s usual persona and would much rather be railed so hard you forget your own name.

He pulls away long enough for you to punch in your password on the keypad, flinging the twin doors open and making a beeline for the elevator with Max trailing at your heels like an infatuated puppy.

His touches become more persistent and demanding the closer you get to your apartment, his true colors finally bleeding through. By the time you’re fumbling your keys to unlock the door, he’s practically dry humping you, hands on your hips, half hard already.

After a brief and minor struggle with your lock, your hands tremoring again, you eventually shoulder the door open, stumbling inside with Max immediately following suit.

The cool dark of your space welcomes you as you shut the door harder than intended, Max’s hands returning to your hips.

Suddenly, the air in the room shifts, and there’s movement from your bed.

—

You scream, your hands losing their strength for the second time today, keys and purse crashing to the floor as Max positions himself between you and the intruder.

Without thinking, you instinctively reach for the switch next to your head, the resulting flood of luminescence rendering everyone temporarily blind.

When your vision eventually returns, and you see who’s standing before you, you’re almost unable to fathom what the fuck is even going on.

“Dave? How the f- what are you… what the fuck?” you manage to prattle out, in spite of your inability to otherwise form a cohesive thought.

Dave could kick himself for being so careless, so sloppy. He was more clear cut than that. He should have known better.

His eyes flick to Max, his face neutral as he assesses the situation before speaking, taking a tentative step in your direction.

He’s in nothing but black boxers, one side of his hair flattened, his eyes weary and heavy with lingering traces of sleep.

He says your name, studying your face. He can tell you’ve been crying, and he wants to break whoever did this to you, rip them apart at the seams until there’s nothing left to identify a body.

He isn’t dense and can see that Max isn’t the source of your distress, clearing his throat subtly, whispering your name again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low, his need to touch you, kiss you, bordering on physical pain. But he doesn’t want to startle or upset you, your eyes as large as dinner plates.

As Dave creeps another step forward, Max shoulders up to him, practically bristling like a dog over a prized bone.

“Maybe you should answer her question, Dave.”

“Max—“ you warn, Max pivoting to meet your gaze, taking a single step back only because of you.

Dave passes him a glance, and for a brief, but satisfying moment, he imagines himself decking Max square in the jaw. He knows he could take the pretentious prick down in a single blow, he’s certain of it. But as much as he wants to do just that, he refrains.

He’s aware that acting on his instincts would disrupt your already fragile state. And as much as he hates to admit it, he understands why Max is acting the way he is. He would behave the same, were the roles reversed.

He draws in a deep breath before responding.

“I wanted to see you. You weren’t home… your door was unlocked, so I let myself in. I wanted to surprise you. But I must have drifted off...”

He pauses, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, giving you a moment to absorb everything.

“I’m sorry. I was exhausted, not thinking straight. I… I fucked up.”

You can’t help but notice Max is uncharacteristically quiet as Dave explains himself, hands on his hips, ready to jump in at any moment if needed. But like Dave, he doesn’t want to do anything to upset you.

“Please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help, if I can. I-“ He takes another step, his hand reaching for your arm. “I missed you.”

You see a muscle in Max’s jaw jump when Dave touches you, and as much as you want to shove him away, scream at him, tell him to fuck right off for breaking into your apartment… locked or not… you can’t bring yourself to do it. You’ve been angry enough for one day and you’re too mentally drained to care right now.

More tears fall in lieu of your anger, and you almost can’t believe you still have any left to cry.

Dave closes the distance, Max immediately flinching, itching to pick a fight but holding back. Dave doesn’t seem to notice or care, his focus honed solely on you, cupping your jaw, his thumb dragging over your cheekbone, catching any stray tears.

They’re behaving surprisingly well, given the circumstances, you have to give them that.

And although Max knew about you and Dave, you’re shocked to realize Dave knows about you and Max. But it’s too much information to dwell on right now, your head a foggy mess, so you don’t.

“My grandma died,” you croak.

—

The first hour is awkward, uncomfortable, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Dave and Max are getting along but only just barely, both of them vying for your attention to the point of additional stress, wanting to do whatever they can to make you feel better.

None of it feels real. Everything feels dark and hazy, a fever dream.

You’re sandwiched between both men on your tiny couch, watching something on Discovery none of you give two shits about, passing a bottle of vodka around to add to your mixer of choice as you sit in otherwise oppressive, stifling silence.

Their hands are all over you, competing for your affections, probably wishing you would kick the other one out, and you consider more than once to kick both out to let you wallow in your sorrow in peace.

But the drunker you get, the less you care. The drunker they get, the less they care about the other touching you, as long as they do get to touch you in some way or another.

As their touches grow bolder, you sense something unspoken pass between them, their caresses gradually transitioning to fondling, their hands moving over your curves, groping your breasts, teasing your folds through your thin leggings.

Of course there are a few moments where they bristle and bicker, quarreling over who gets to touch you where, but for the most part, they cooperate, working your body in tandem.

Your head falls back, your neck folded over the back of the couch as Dave’s fingers slip under the band of your leggings, his lips finding your neck.

“So wet already,” he murmurs against your pebbled flesh, his fingers feather light touches against your skin, teasing. “You like the way we’re touching you, baby?”

Max’s lips are on the opposite side of your neck, nibbling and kissing from your jaw to your clavicle, his hand sliding under your shirt, pushing your bra aside to pluck at your puckered nipple.

You can only moan in response, so fucking horny you don’t even know what to do with yourself.

“I think she does,” Max replies with a crooked smirk, locking eyes with Dave as he slips your polo over your head, his head dipping to suckle at your exposed breast.

Dave pushes two fingers past your entrance, languidly pumping them as he anchors his thumb against your clit, causing your hips to twitch and sputter.

“So fucking pretty for us,” Dave purrs against your neck, pushing your leggings down to your knees, “Dirty fucking slut, letting two men touch you. What else would you let us do to you?”

“Anything you want,” you respond almost immediately, not having to giving it another thought.

Max’s head lifts from your chest, gently pushing you forward so he can remove your bra.

“That’s a dangerous proposition, doll. You think you can handle both of us at the same time?” Max counters, a devilish glint making his dark eyes shine as he palms himself over his pants.

You nod, unable to respond in any coherent language due to whatever magic Dave is currently performing between your thighs.

Dave tells you to lift your legs, tugging your bottoms the rest of the way down.

He had pulled his pants back on after you and Max arrived, but he shucks them off again, the outline of his dick visibly straining through the fabric.

Max had already stripped down to his undershirt and pants, wiggling out of his shirt while Dave removes his pants.

Dave spreads your thighs apart, drinking in the vision of your sopping wet pussy, the tip of his tongue flicking at his bottom lip like a hungry reptile.

He turns to Max, his eyes glistening, his brow furrowed.

“Make her cum. Get her ready,” Dave commands, Max not bothering to argue with being told what to do so authoritatively, because he wants it just as badly as you do.

“Ride his face,” he tells you, gesturing for you and Max to move over to the bed.

“Use him to get yourself off.”

Max moves into position, wriggling out of his pants in the process, leaving both men in their boxers and you completely nude.

Your walls clench around nothing as you mount Max’s face, planting your knees on either side of his head, your palms against the wall.

Max places a few delicate kisses to your inner thighs before abruptly pulling you all the way down, his tongue curling into your wet heat.

Dave growls, his eyes darkening with lust as he steps out of his boxers, large hand wrapping around the base of his thick cock, steadily stroking himself to the vision of Max eating you out with abandon.

Dave bends to kiss your velvety lips, his tongue demanding access and you let him.

“You remember your safe word, don’t you?” Dave asks as he breaks the kiss, his fingers entwined in your hair.

You nod, your lower lip dangling. “Foxglove for you, lavender for Max,” you reply.

“Good girl,” Dave praises, giving your right ass cheek a solid smack. “Now ride his face. Use him.”

You hear Max grunt something against your folds but you aren’t sure what, leaning back, your spine flexing as you brace yourself on Max’s muscular arms.

Dave watches, transfixed, his hand never leaving his cock as he tilts your head back to kiss and bite at your throat, your jaw.

“Is he doing a good job, sweetheart?” Dave asks and your head bobs eagerly in response.

“Yes he is,” you say as your hips roll forward, thrusting against Max’s tongue, his arched nose bumping your clit with every stroke.

“Max, spread her cheeks for me,” Dave says firmly and Max immediately obliges, his cock twitching in his shorts when he understands where this is going.

With his hands gripping your ass, he helps you to guide your movements, moaning against your folds.

Dave perches on the edge of the bed behind you, collecting some of your excess slick to coat his fingers, assisting Max in spreading you even wider as he teases and prods at your puckered star of muscle.

“Let me in, sweetheart, or it’s going to hurt later,” Dave commands softly, circling your entrance with his index finger. “Lean forward a little bit,” he tells you, placing his palm between your shoulders as he guides you into position.

You brace against the wall again, relaxing as much as you can, the new angle helping.

Dave manages to slip one finger inside, pistoning into your tight tunnel, making you whimper and quiver against Max.

He spits directly onto your anus to apply more lubrication, adding a second finger to the first.

“Keep riding his face just like that. Use both of us, pump yourself onto my fingers as you use his mouth,” Dave says, his voice low, his other hand reaching around to circle your throat.

“There you go,” he says as his fingers probe deeper, scissoring them apart to help stretch you further.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whimper, your movements becoming more determined, more frantic.

Max is a trooper, his fingers still digging into your ass, his grip bruising, his tongue still flicking and curling into your tunnel, not even stopping to take a breath.

“That’s it, sweetheart, such a good girl for us,” Dave murmurs, his voice low and velvet.

He attempts to insert a third finger, adding more spittle and slick, only getting it past the first knuckle, but it does seem to help in spreading you open.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum… I’m so close…” you whine as your bounce more fervently on Max’s face, making him grunt words of affirmation under you, muffled against your soft mound.

Dave’s hold on your neck tightens, his fingers flexing against your skin, his lips brushing your ear.

“Let go for us, sweetheart. Let it all out.”

Max continues to guide your movements, Dave helping now as well, bouncing you up and down, using your neck as a handle.

With a loud cry, you cum hard and fast, stars behind your eyes as both men work you through your orgasm, Dave’s hand releasing your throat to return to his cock, Max groaning into your pussy until the waves of pleasure subside.

Dave pulls his fingers free, stilling his ministrations on his own body as he gently cups your cheek.

“Still okay?” he asks, and you nod with a smile as you climb off of Max who, understandably, needs a moment to take a breath.

Max finally extricates himself from his boxers, heavy cock springing free, pumping himself slowly as his visage roves hungrily over you and Dave.

“Get on his cock and lean forward,” Dave demands in a low growl, and you shimmy down Max’s body, straddling him, Max slotting himself at your entrance and lifting his hips to meet you in the middle.

You slowly sink down to his lap, Max releasing a hiss of pleasure, placing his hands on either side of your hips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel amazing,” Max pants, already bucking his hips in anticipation.

Dave positions himself behind you, on his knees, his hands also moving to your hips, fingers brushing Max’s.

They lock eyes with each other, his brow a hard, dark line as he regards the other man.

“You are not allowed to cum in her. Understand?” he tells Max, his voice low and authoritative, his lips tight.

Max frowns, his brow wrinkling in disapproval, but he doesn’t protest, not wanting to let the opportunity to be inside you slip through his fingers.

Dave edges closer, adding more spit and slick to your anus, inserting two fingers again to ensure you’re ready.

“Just relax, baby, and use your safe words if you need them,” Dave tells you gently, placing the head of his cock against your tight ring of muscle.

“Just breathe,” he says, and begins slowly pushing himself into you.

As Dave gradually gains ground, you’ve never felt so full in your entire life, the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, even when Dave claimed your ass the first night.

There is some pain initially, but the alcohol helps to alleviate some of the discomfort, as well as slacken your muscles enough for Dave to bottom out.

His head falls back with a loud groan as his hips press firmly against your ass, stilling himself for a beat to relish the sensation of your body strangling his cock.

After a moment, both men exchange another look and they begin to move slowly in conjunction with one another, their movements choppy and stilted at first as they learn the other’s movements, able to find a mutual rhythm after a few minutes that seems to work for you.

“Oh fuck,” you keen, burying your face against Max’s shoulder while both men slide in and out of you in tandem, and you think you’ve never felt anything more glorious in your entire life.

Max wraps his arms around your back, holding you against him, whispering encouragement in your ear.

“Look at you,” Max praises, one hand moving to cup the nape of your neck. “Taking both of us so well. You like having two men inside of you, don’t you?”

You nod and whimper against his neck, your hot breath fanning his skin, on the verge of tears with how heavenly it feels, how much joy and pleasure they’re gifting to you.

Dave gives your right ass cheek another sharp smack, making you yelp in surprise at the abrupt lance of pain.

“Say it. Say out loud how much you love it,” Dave grits through his teeth, his ministrations growing more intense.

“I love having two men inside of me, fucking me, using me,” you mewl between breaths, relinquishing a loud moan when their hips snap against you simultaneously, almost as if they planned it.

Little by little, their movements increase in speed and power, seamlessly with the other, a series of curses and inhuman noises bellowing out of your ribcage.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you cry out when you feel yourself getting close for a second time, your muscles already tightening. “I’m gonna fucking… cum… again…” you groan against Max’s neck.

Dave lands another slap to your ass, their thrusts growing rougher, your bed rocking against the wall.

“Cum for us, baby. Cum all over Max’s cock while I’m railing your tight little ass,” Dave snarls, panting hard as he chases his own end as well.

You reach your second peak only moments later, your vision going pure white as you’re hurtled far over the edge, experiencing the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, gushing unapologetically all over Max’s lap and your bed.

They keep pistoning against you, riding you through the waves of your orgasm, the sounds of their grunts and growls filling the small space.

Dave can tell by the look on Max’s face that he’s close as well, his breath ragged in his chest as he warns Max a second time not to finish inside of you.

Max’s cheeks inflate, his skin a deep shade of pink, sweat prickling his brow as he does everything he can to hold back.

“Final warning,” Dave grits, reaching around you to grip Max by the throat, squeezing hard enough to get his point across.

With a deep grunt, Max pulls out of you at the last possible second, locking eyes with Dave, hand still wrapping his throat, exploding like a goddamn geyser all over your ass and Dave’s stomach.

That spurs Dave to reach his own end, stilling inside of you, hips twitching and jerking involuntarily as he unloads everything he has to give, your flexing and pulsing anus milking every last drop.

He collapses on top of you, both men breathing haggardly, your skin slicked with perspiration.

You stay like that for a while, none of you wanting to move for a long time.

Dave pushes his face against the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, his cheek resting against Max’s chest.

He eventually pulls out, rolling onto his back as you settle between them, lying in comfortable silence for what seems like an eternity.

Max pushes himself up, going over to the bathroom to grab some warm, damp rags, tossing one to you and Dave, using the third on himself.

Dave scoots to the edge of the bed, studying Max in silence as Max gathers his clothes.

You move next to Dave, also watching Max get dressed, quirking a brow in confusion and concern.

“You aren’t staying?”

—

You walk Max down, the elevator ride silent and stifling, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, having never been more quiet in his life.

You follow him to the street, staying with him until he reaches the corner.

“I have work tomorrow,” he says, a flimsy excuse at best.

You cross your arms, searching his face. “Are you okay?” you question, finding yourself genuinely worried.

“Yeah,” Max replies stiffly, confused and overwhelmed by everything that just occurred, his mind replaying the moment Dave grabbed his throat, resulting in him exploding all over both of you like a nervous teen on prom night.

“I just want to be sure…” he begins, lifting his hand to caress your cheek. “Did you want that?”

You meet his eyes with your own, not used to seeing Max this vulnerable, this unsure. You don’t like it.

“Yes. I did…” you say honestly, exhaling a slow breath.

“Did you?” you ask softly.

“Yeah. I did. I wanted it, and I enjoyed it, but… I don’t know,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m just tired.”

You search his face again, searching for the unspoken answers, but not wanting to scare him away by prying too much.

You step into him, wrapping your arms around him in a snug embrace, and he buries his face in your hair, his arms linking behind your back.

He pulls away after a beat, his hands moving to either side of your face.

“I’ll text you soon. Okay? I’m sorry again, by the way. About your grandmother.”

You inhale deeply, nodding in acknowledgment, trying not to cry again. Sensing your pain, feeling a different kind of pain twisting in his chest, Max does something he normally wouldn’t.

He pulls you closer, his lips connecting with yours in a soft, worshipping kiss, long fingers sinking into your hair, committing the way you taste to memory.

—

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @heavennumber2 @alwaysmicado @yorksgirl @cosmic-li @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @daddy-dins-girl @natdeandar @sarap-77 @guelyury @vabeachazn @gwendibleywrites @anoverwhelmingdin @oberynslady @untamedheart81 @casa-boiardi

#pedro pascal #dave york #max phillips #the dave york pit #dave york x f!reader #dave york x reader #two for one #two for one series #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x reader

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blughxreader · 2 years ago

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Platonic Yandere! Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne x gn!Reader

Oneshot

Summary: Talia al Ghul is curious about the person who makes her son so at-ease. [Established platonic yandere relationship with Batfam]

TW: None. <3 Meet-cute with Talia (ie terrifying)

WC: 1,300

---

The Wayne Manor was a beautiful prison. No one gets in or out, in theory.

You notice the breaks in the tight security as the house members come and go. Last week it took Alfred 20 minutes to repair the lock that Jason broke. And yesterday, over the phone, you heard Tim tell one of his friends to swing by to pick up their stuff.

The Manor is formidable, but not impervious.

It had been over a year since you were kidnapped. You tell yourself you're biding your time until you escape, but you've slowly stopped believing yourself.

Life is... okay. You missed your family, but all things considered, this isn't the worse situation.

You were safe, and that's all that mattered, right?

You breathed heavily beneath Damian's weight. He was snoring without shame and complete deadweight on your chest, limbs splayed across you and the couch.

It was a calm night. Not a sound in the manor, yet your body was paralyzed in terror.

A woman sat in the corner of the room, almost entirely enveloped by darkness. One leg was propped up on the other while her shiny, black shoe caught the window's light as it swung back and forth.

Her green eyes cut through the dark like arrows, the intensity burrowing deep beneath your skin.

How long has she been watching you?

You were clutching the blanket so tightly your hands shook. You prayed Damian would notice your tenseness or the woman's stare, but he kept snoring.

What the hell should you do? You've never seen this woman in your life, and there's no feasible reason why she was here. She looked like she might be another vigilante judging by her age and stealth, but Bruce refuses to let you have any contact with hero-work.

No, you can't fool yourself. The Batfam has never let you interact with a guest before, so the only explanation is that she's an intruder.

You studied her more closely, ice-cold sweat pricking the back of your neck, when you noticed the shade of her eyes. They were nearly florescent green, so sharp that she looked extraterrestrial.

You've seen the same intensity and color in Damian's eyes.

Damian shifted in his sleep, pulling the blanket closer to his body. He nuzzled his face deeper into your shoulder before his soft snores continued.

The woman's gaze drifted down to Damian, expression becoming pensive as she took him in. It made your heart clench in fear.

Was she going to kill him first? He might be a trained assassin, but he was still 13!

Your arms were resting over his back, fingers trembling. You could shake him awake, but would that do any good? You gripped Damian tighter, your throat constricting as a thousand outcomes flashed in your mind.

The woman's gaze flitted back up to your face. She squinted her eyes and tilted her head, gloved fingers thrumming her thigh.

Bruce's name was on the tip of your tongue. The woman would probably silence you before the first syllable ended, but a small, young part of you longed for someone older and stronger to help. Your eyes darted to the nearest door, wondering how far your voice would carry down the hall.

The woman uncrossed her legs and stood. There was no sound when she moved, as if she were levitating and only imitating the motions of walking. Your extremities grew colder the closer she got.

When she was several feet away, she stopped. Arms folded and adjusting her weight on one leg, she peered down at Damian with a raised eyebrow.

"Damian, son of the Demon and the Bat," she drawled, voice low. Damian stirred, face pinching. "Where is your training?"

Damian's eyes snapped open, and he shot up with unmatched speed. He was slack-jawed and bleary-eyed, gaping at the woman with unconcealed surprise.

"Mom?!" he gasped.

Talia's expression was a blend of unimpressed and amused. She didn't move as Damian flung the covers off and got to his feet, putting himself between you two.

"I..." Damian wiped the dried spit off his face, face heating up. "Forgive me. I didn't realize what day it was."

Talia frowned, looking over his shoulder at you. You wanted to die from fright. Not even the stack of blankets over you made her gaze any less searing.

"You didn't realize much of anything, did you, Dearest?" Talia scoffed. "I've never seen you sleep so soundly."

Damian grimaced. "It won't happen again."

Talia's posture loosened, her expression softening at his warm cheeks. She extended a hand and brushed his messy hair back, fingers caressing his face.

"No," she said quietly. "It was nice seeing you look your age."

Damian pursed his lips, eyes widening before he dove into his mom's arms. Talia wrapped herself around her son, bending down to rest her cheek on his head. They hugged in silence, lost in their own world.

You felt wrong for watching. The breath you were holding made your chest shutter, yet you kept on for as long as you could. Any slight attention your way might bring on their wrath, so you sat like a statue.

Soon, Talia let go and Damian stepped back.

When their eyes turned to you once more, you realized that maybe you should have taken that chance to call Bruce.

Talia placed a hand on Damian's shoulder, head tilting back as she regarded you. "Is this why?"

Damian looked up at the ceiling, too embarrassed to make eye contact with you. He mumbled a yes. "This is (Y/N). Father took them in a year ago."

"Hello..." you managed, sounding as puny as you felt.

Talia leaned down to Damian and said, "A civilian, then?"

Damian nodded sharply, emotion unreadable. They hummed in sync, examining you with the same glint in their eyes.

Watching them would be very eye-opening if you weren't so scared. All the missing pieces in Damian's character clicked into place. His actions echoed the teachings of another mentor, someone outside of the Batfamily, and Talia slid perfectly into place.

"I see," Talia sighed. "Then I'll need to call a driver."

Damian perked up. "We're celebrating this year? Where are we going?"

"We?" you asked meekly, pulling the blanket further up. And celebrating what?

They ignored your apprehension. Talia took out a phone and gestured for you to rise, before turning towards the window.

Damian's excitement made him rough. He placed a knee on the couch and pulled at your arms with only enough strength to jostle you. "Get moving before the others notice."

"Damian," you whisper-shouted. "This is a bad idea. I don't want to go anywhere that could get me in trouble."

"It's just Mom's birthday dinner," he said, waving an exasperated hand. "Father will figure it out."

You looked at Talia, who pressed an 'end call' button on her phone. She stood by the window with a hand on her hip, finally letting the moonlight illuminate her body. She was wearing a green evening dress, the color so rich it looked black, that clung to an expanse of muscles. Talia was sharp in a different way than Bruce or Dick. Lithe, illusive, poisonous.

Talia let her head roll to the side when she felt your stare, locking onto your gaze. She seemed to pick you apart and weigh each piece. Your mind screamed at you to divert your gaze, but your survival instincts told you she would attack the moment you weren't looking.

Your stare held firm, making a wry smile slide across her face.

Damian wrapped his arms around you as if it were a hug, then dragged you to your feet. You bit back a yelp, fruitlessly writing in his hold until you were on your feet. Damian kept his arms around you.

Talia extended a hand and beckoned you two forward.

"Ready, Darlings?" she cooed, eyes squinting in amusement.

Damian squeezed you tighter, his jittery excitement pouring off him in waves. "Yes, Mom."

You tightened your arms around your chest and let yourself be pulled forward.

Notes: Talia is both fun and boring to write for because she takes zero shit. Like, "What's your name? Lovely. You're coming home with me *knocks you unconscious and kills all witnesses*" This was mostly an indulgent fic between Damian and Talia. I love that she's evil but also loves her vigilante batchildren <3

#yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere damian wayne #batfam x reader #yandere talia al ghul #talia al ghul x reader #damian wayne x reader

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tsukimefuku · 7 months ago

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I have a Higuruma sfw crack head canon and I’m about to turn it into everybody’s problem

This has been written by an actual criminal defense attorney specialized in continental law (which is the system in place in Japan) with free time on her hands.

So, from what we’ve learned, Higuruma has dedicated his career exclusively to being a criminal defense attorney. Given he’s 35 during the events in JJK, it’s safe to say he has been working with it for at least a decade.

So, as it is to be expected, since he has been called a genius numerous times, his knowledge of criminal law and criminal procedure law is probably off the charts. That has also been demonstrated when he’s debating the possible outcomes to put Sukuna under trial during chapter 244 (also, chef’s kiss 🤌 for mentioning the statute of limitations and code amendments that came in 2010. Whoever consulted for Gege did a WONDERFUL job).

From what Higuruma has told us previously, Judgeman uses the six Japanese codes to give the sentencing: the Constitution, the Civil Code, the Criminal Code, the Commercial Code, the Code of Criminal Procedure, and the Code of Civil Procedure. I believe this might be a mistranslation, though, because the pachinko parlor prohibition seems to come from what we would call an ordinary bill, not one of the codes, but I digress.

Also, according to him, considering Judgeman is his shikigami, what he believes is feasible under interpreting a law becomes a possible verdict.

With all that, I need to settle some things of being a specialized attorney for a long time.

What happens, more often than not, is that you become incredibly rusty (and kinda bad) at comprehending and interpreting other areas of law. That happens simply because the rationale of each area works very differently. For instance, I don’t understand or remember most of what I studied regarding labor law during law school, and I’ve been working exclusively with criminal law (as an intern and then a lawyer) ever since 2015.

So here’s my question: if judgeman, for whatever reason, had to judge civil, labor or commercial matters, considering it is bound by Higuruma’s own comprehension of the Japanese laws, would it give bizarre verdicts that wouldn’t make ANY sense in an actual Japanese Court of law?

My head canon is that YES, THAT WOULD DEFINITELY HAPPEN, AND IT WOULD BE FUNNY AS HELL.

Anyway, that’s it, thanks for reading my brainrot. 🦉

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #higuruma #Higuruma Hiromi #jjk higuruma #jjk hiromi #Hiromi jjk #jujutsu Higuruma #jujutsu Hiromi #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #higuruma headcanons

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webg1rl · 3 days ago

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"i wanna join the 4b movement but i still wanna date men"

disclaimer: my opinions, minimal research

ever since trump became president elect of the united states, the 4B movement has gained unprecedented momentum in the west — an infectious cesspool of overconsumption, under-education, anti-intellectualism, and glorified toddlers with university degrees.

the 4B radical movement was founded in south korea and centres around 4 basic Bs, or tenets: bihon (no marriage with men), bichulsan (no giving birth), biyeonae (no dating men), bisekseu (no sex with men).1

tweets about the 4B movement have gained traffic on twitter and continue to spark controversy in bootlicking, status-quo-loving, intellectually impoverished communities — one of the biggest being social media feminists. advocators of the 4B movement are flooded with comments such as:

“i want to join the 4b movement but i still wanna date men. how can i do that?”

you can’t.

“i have a husband and kids, can i join the 4b movement?”

you can’t.

“what am i supposed to do?”

easy. don’t join the movement.

contrary to popular assumptions, the 4B movement is, in fact, not for all women. as a matter of fact, it is, perhaps, not for most women. and that’s a truth we all have to sit down with. if you are going to whine about the 4B movement preventing you from finding your true love in the male species, then the movement is not for you.

let’s proceed with reason. if you are a woman who has already made a commitment to a man, then you will find yourself in conflict with the 4B movement. to ask that all women break up with their boyfriends, or divorce their husbands and leave their children behind is completely and unequivocally absurd. it’s not feasible. any reasonable feminist can and should understand that.

the undeniable truth of the matter is that our society is built upon heteronormative foundations. finding a romantic partner is one of the most basic goals in life. anyone who has lived and died without dating or engaging in romantic and/or sexual relations we find to be utterly crazy. and for straight women, the quest to fulfil that basic goal will almost always manifest in centring, even for a period in time, a man, which, at it’s very core, is antithetical to the principles outlined in the 4B movement.

feminism and the 4B movement are not synonyms. 4B is a movement within the larger political movement of feminism. not everyone can join it. you need to be in possession of incredibly strong willpower and an unquenchable drive to rebel against the institutions that have led to everything you were socialized to be. most women in our day and age, of our cozy backgrounds, don’t possess that kind of will.

at least not yet. and that is okay.

you are not less of a woman for dating a man or for being married to one. you’re not less of a woman for prioritizing your children or wanting to give birth. you can do all these things and still be a feminist. but the truth of the matter is that you will have no place in the 4B movement. and that, too, needs to be okay. disregarding these very basic fact risks discrediting and damaging a pivotal, and frankly quite necessary, radical movement without which change might remain a mythic term.

but before i sit here and coddle you (and myself), i’ll make one thing clear. change and comfort will never be parallel. as claire schwartz put it, change is a condition of both loss and growth. and growth does not come unaccompanied by growing pains. it is not comfortable to wake up at 7am to go running, but you do it anyway because this is how you get the body you want. it is not comfortable to spend the night studying, but you do it anyway because you desire a good career. it is not comfortable to make sacrifices for your children or your partner, or your family or your friends, but you do it anyway, because it is necessary to build strong relationships. the end of all this is to say, if you value something, you will make yourself uncomfortable by pursuing it.

but you’re right. it’s not just about comfort. lives may very well be at risk. and that is true but it’s not a valid excuse. yes, it will take years. yes, there will be failures dismal enough to make you give up. yes, you might lose your life. but if there is a slim chance that even in the furthest of my bloodlines, women will breathe the air of the free world then I find it a chance worth taking.

and if you cannot put your comfort, your ease, your love for the men in your life aside in exchange for liberation of women everywhere, women you don’t know, women you will never meet, women you don’t agree with then please just be honest. don’t pretend to care for women, don’t pretend to want change, and don’t you dare pretend to be a feminist. you will be discrediting the movement from the inside out.

and if enough women don’t care then the result will only and inevitably be that our suffering continues. or perhaps a generation much stronger and much braver than our one can pick up the fragments we left behind and achieve what we didn’t.

feminism isn’t about men and women being equal — that is the very law of nature, we are all born equal. feminism is about how we’re going to get there in a society functioning against that law. feminism is taking that society apart brick by brick and constructing one where freedom and equality will never be questioned.

————————--

1 Yi, Beh Lih (20 January 2020). "No sex, no babies: South Korea's emerging feminists reject marriage". Reuters. Archived from the original on 29 January 2021.

#articles #feminism #4b movement #donald trump #america #politics #misogyny

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red-jaebyrd · 7 months ago

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A New Bird in the Nest

Summary: What if Jason survived Ethiopia and Bruce adopted Tim early? Jason has many insecurities about the new addition to Wayne Manor and it doesn’t help that Bruce has been avoiding Jason since he came back from the hospital. The fear of being replaced and pushed out looms over Jason and it all starts when a kid named Tim Drake moves in. This fic was inspired by this beautiful piece of art by @ky-landfill

It had been almost three months since Ethiopia and Jason was still walking on eggshells around Bruce. Lately Bruce was all clipped tones and clenched jawed whenever Jason attempted to start a conversation with him. After a while Jason gave up trying to talk to Bruce altogether. With a heavy heart Jason came to the harsh realization that Bruce was obviously still mad at him about Ethiopia.

Bruce was always busy now that Jason was home from the hospital. And while Jason was no longer confined to a bed and could now get around with the help of crutches, Bruce was hardly home. When he was home, Bruce was either holed up in the Cave or his study at all hours. At mealtimes he was constantly hiding behind a newspaper or hyper-focused on a tablet to avoid talking to Jason. Whenever his eyes would wander and meet Jason’s, it was always met with worry lines and a furrowed brow. It got on Jason’s nerves. He didn’t want Bruce’s pity. He just wanted Bruce to talk to him without snapping.

The only time they had talked was in the car on the way to Jason’s PT or to various doctor’s appointments. The conversations always mainly focused on the progress and recovery of Jason’s leg and nothing else. Jason figured it was probably easier for Bruce to talk to him if he didn’t have to actually look at him.

Since Jason had come home from the hospital Bruce had restricted Jason’s access to the Cave. He had told Jason that he didn’t want him to be in the Cave using numerous excuses like the flooring was unstable and would interfere with his crutches. There were also no handrails or any feasible way to install them.

Bruce’s cutoff of Robin spoke volumes to Jason without Bruce ever having to say much to him.

Continue on A03

Dick was visiting at the Manor today. Jason always looked forward to Dick’s visits, but he would never admit that to his older brother. When Jason had arrived home from the hospital, Dick had temporarily moved back into the Manor to help with Jason’s care.

At first Jason resented the gesture, mostly because he thought Dick was doing it out of guilt, but after a while it didn’t matter why Dick decided to stay at the Manor, Jason liked having him around. Not to mention Dick was a great buffer between him and Bruce.

Last week Dick had moved back to his apartment in Bludhaven. It was time for Dick to go back to his city and as much as Jason didn’t want him to go, he knew Dick had responsibilities he needed to get back to. Jason missed hanging out with his older brother every day, but Dick had promised to stop by and visit at least every other weekend.

This weekend Dick came, and they were hanging out the kitchen munching on Alfred’s delicious chicken salad sandwiches when Dick surprised Jason with a question.

“Have you and Bruce talked at all about what happened in Ethiopia?” Dick broached, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“No,” Jason swallowed, putting his sandwich down and grabbing some chips. “We haven’t talked about that day. He doesn’t really talk to me anymore. Not that he ever talked a lot before, you know, but this is different. He snaps at me sometimes and stops mid-sentence. It’s like he wants to say something to me, but then he doesn’t.” Jason’s shoulders were inching toward his ears. “I think – I think he’s still mad at me.”

“He’s not mad at you,” Dick sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration and muttering a ‘Dammit Bruce’ under his breath. “Believe me. He’s – he’s just overwhelmed with what could have happened and he’s bad at communicating that fear to you.” Dick rubbed his hands together over his plate to discard the crumbs. He put his hand on Jason’s shoulder and squeezed. “You almost died, Jay and for him it wasn’t the first time he’d almost lost his kid to a rogue. He’s not upset with you. Give him time.”

Jason scowled at Dick. How much more time did Jason need to give Bruce? It had been at almost three months. Jason pushed his plate away from him and rubbed the crumbs from his hands onto his jeans. The sandwich now felt like stone in his stomach.

“He won’t let me back in the Cave. Do you think – do you think he’ll take Robin away?” Jason inquired, picking at his sandwich just to give his hands something to do.

“The truth?” Dick asked, leveling a look at Jason.

Jason nodded.

“He should. At least for –,“

“But I didn’t mean to –,“ Jason interrupted, his eyes wide at Dick’s answer.

Dick held up his hands in a placating manner “Let me finish. He should take it away at least for now. Maybe allowing a kid at 13 to fight dangerous criminals wasn’t the brightest idea on his part.”

“You did it at 9 years old,” Jason argued, clenching his fists at the table.

He couldn’t believe the hypocrite Dick was being when it came to Robin. He thought Dick would understand.

“Our situations were different,” Dick countered, raising his voice a little. “I didn’t give Bruce a choice in the matter. I was going to find my parents’ killer with or without his help. Robin was a way for me to be out there making a difference and seeking justice for my parents.”

“I don’t know why I even asked you,” Jason snapped, crossing his arms. “You never liked me being Robin in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dick retorted, his jaw clenching. Jason recoiled at the quick response. “Robin was mine. It was my mantle to hand over to a successor, not Bruce. I was replaced before I even got a say in the matter.”

Jason lips parted to say something but all he could do was glare at Dick. Dick had never let him forget that he had been replaced.

Dick got up from the table and placed his plate and glass in the sink.

Jason chanced a look at Dick who had his back turned to him with his arms braced at the sink edge. His shoulders tense. After a while Dick turned on the faucet and began to wash his dishes.

Now Dick was going to give him the silent treatment just like Bruce. Jason sighed and rubbed his forehead. He really did have a knack for messing things up and pissing people off. He couldn’t afford right now to have yet another person in his life not speaking to him; especially Dick. They just started getting to know each other again.

He never should’ve said anything to Dick about Robin.

“I never liked that he made you Robin, but…” Dick admitted, breaking the silence and turning off the water.

Here we go, Jason thought, bracing himself for Dick to lay into him.

“I quickly saw in you what Bruce did, that you were the right choice for the mantle,” Dick continued, his voice gentle and even. Jason blinked and looked up at Dick. The older man was now facing Jason drying his hands on a dishtowel. All signs of anger gone as the brightness returned to Dick’s eyes.

Jason gave him a small smile. Dick didn’t have to say that last part to him. Jason picked up his plate and limped to a drawer next to the sink for a Ziploc bag. He placed the reminder of his sandwich in it and hobbled to put it in the fridge. Dick took his plate, turned on the water, and began to wash it. Jason headed back to his chair at the table.

“Do –,” Jason hesitated, steeling himself for his next question. He padded his finger against a scratch on the wood. “-do you think he’ll replace me too?”

It was a question he hated asking out loud, especially to Dick, he didn’t even know why he asked it. Maybe he was hoping for some support, a counter argument in his favor, a lie, or a platitude. However, Jason knew deep down Dick wouldn’t sugar coat his words.

“Not unless he decides to adopt another kid,” Dick snorted, turning off the water and drying his hands. “And I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Thanks for the reassurance, Dick,” Jason retorted, rolling his eyes.

“Jay, I’m kidding,” Dick teased, throwing a dish towel at Jason. “He’s not adopting another kid, okay?”

Jason nodded. He wanted to believe Dick, but Dick had now planted a seed of doubt. Considering Bruce’s track record there was always the possibility of Robin being replaced looming over Jason.

Two weeks later Jason was blindsided by the introduction to Tim Drake. A boy he had met briefly at a gala that Jason had attended with Bruce last year. He remembered trying to make conversation with the kid, but the interaction was awkward. The kid hadn’t been very talkative. While he had an overly friendly smile and gave Jason his full attention, the kid only nodded and gave Jason one word answers. Jason wasn’t sure if the kid was just shy or stuck up. Jason had concluded that the kid likely didn’t want to be seen talking to a street rat from Park Row and was just humoring him.

Bruce informed Alfred and Jason that Tim’s stay was a temporary emergency foster placement until a relative could be contacted.

Jason could deal with having a stranger in his house for a week or two, it didn’t mean he had to like him or spend time with him.

For the next several days, Jason avoided the new kid at all costs except at meal times, which were unavoidable. Alfred and Bruce wouldn’t allow him to take meals up to his room. Bruce even stopped hiding behind newspapers and tablets at the table futilely trying to engage the kid in conversation. The kid hardly talked but answered questions when asked. Bruce still sometimes stayed in his study, but he now started opening the door again. It was something he hadn’t done since Jason had come home from the hospital.

The changes in the house were obvious, and it stung that the kid was getting Bruce’s undivided attention.

Whatever.

The kid had exceptional table manners, which was expected considering where he came from, but it still rubbed Jason the wrong way. What was this kid trying to prove anyway, that he was better than Jason? No shit, Sherlock, that much was obvious. But it didn’t matter, the kid was soon moving out of Jason’s house and in with relatives. Jason would soon be rid of him.

It didn’t help matters that Dick and the new kid got along perfectly. Dick came over to the Manor right away to meet the new kid. The kid was completely enamored with Dick soaking up the frequent hair tousles and side hugs that Dick had always reserved for Jason.

First, the kid had stolen Bruce’s attention away from Jason, now he was stealing all of the time Jason would normally have with Dick.

About a week and half into the new kid’s stay, Bruce dropped the bomb that plans had changed, and the kid would now be staying with them at the Manor permanently. The kid was soon moved from a bedroom in the guest wing to a bedroom in the family wing next to Jason.

Jason’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Bruce had actually done the very thing Dick had teased him about almost two weeks ago, ‘not unless he adopts another kid’. It was actually happening.

Jason was being replaced! It was only a matter of time before Jason was completely out of the picture and the new kid became the new Robin.

He phoned Dick right away yelling at him that Bruce was replacing him with this new kid.

“This is all your fault,” Jason barked on the phone, slowly pacing his room.

“What’s my fault?” Dick asked.

“’Not unless he adopts another kid’ bullshit. Well it’s happening, because you’re the one who said it out loud,” Jason argued, clenching his jaw in frustration. It was a weak argument, but it was all Jason had at the moment. He had to blame someone.

“Jay, you can’t speak something into existence,” Dick snorted.

“I – I know that, dumbass,” Jason growled, irritated that Dick wasn’t taking him seriously. “I just didn’t think he’d –.”

The lump in his throat cut off his words and made his breath hitch. This was all happening too fast for Jason. Bruce wasn’t supposed to get another kid this fast or at all. The kid was supposed to move in with relatives. Jason knew he wouldn’t be Robin forever, but he thought he’d have enough time to get used to not being Robin before Bruce went and replaced him.

“Jay, are you still there? Talk to me, bud,” Dick said, breaking the silence, all teasing gone from his voice. “Bruce isn’t replacing you, Little Wing. He’s simply giving a kid something he needs right now, a home and a family. Nothing more. Besides, Tim is harmless and a great kid. I hope you’re being nice to him.”

“Why does he need my home and my family?” Jason whined, sagging onto his bed. His leg throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Jason knew he was being unreasonable. This kid had done nothing wrong except existing, yet Jason couldn’t bring himself to be nice because this kid was getting the one thing Jason had been wanting for the last two months – Bruce’s undivided attention; and now stealing the only thing he had left - his brother’s devotion.

“Because his family failed him, Jay,” Dick replied, his tone matter of fact yet gentle. “You know what that’s like. Just talk to him and try to get to know him. He’s a great kid.”

Jason couldn’t bring himself to start a conversation with the kid, not yet anyway, but he no longer glared at the kid at meals or slammed his door in the kid’s face. He’d nod whenever the kid said, ‘Good morning’ and no longer avoided the library when he saw the kid sitting in his favorite chair. He even kept his mouth shut when he saw the kid sitting in Bruce’s study just feet away from the Grandfather clock entrance to the Cave.

The more Jason paid quiet attention to the kid, the more he saw things that reminded him of his own upbringing with Willis and he didn’t like it. The kid knew how to stay out of the way. When he was not occupied elsewhere with Bruce or Alfred, the kid spent most of his time in his room. The kid never really ventured within the Manor by himself beyond the library or kitchen, even though he was given permission and encouraged to explore his surroundings.

At first, Jason actually liked it. It meant he didn’t have to run into the kid or spend any time with him. But soon Jason realized that the kid’s avoidance of everyone was a definite problem.

The kid was quiet and never brought any kind of attention to himself. He never complained about the food given to him, ever; and ate everything on his plate, even the gross under-seasoned brussel sprouts and cauliflower. Bruce didn’t even eat the brussel sprouts on his plate. Jason knew the kid hated them because he noticed the kid struggling to swallow every single one, but he never said anything to Alfred or Bruce. Bruce eventually told the kid that he didn’t have to eat anything he didn’t like, but it was like the kid didn’t hear him. The kid also never asked for seconds but would say yes when they were offered to him.

The weirdest thing of all, the kid never initiated any conversation with Bruce or Alfred unless they spoke to him first. The kid was literally the poster child for that saying, ‘children should be seen and not heard’.

He didn’t even speak up one particular evening when he started breaking out in hives at dinner.

Jason was the first one to notice something was wrong with the kid. It was only for a split second and the kid must have realized something wasn’t right either because he instantly put his head down. But it was too late, Jason had seen the red raised splotches on the kid’s neck and face. The kid was white-knuckling his cutlery, a piece of Alfred’s Pesto Penne was still dangling off his fork.

If Jason had the height and the strength, he would have kicked the kid under the table.

Say something, kid!

Jason wasn’t sure why he was getting so mad, but it was pissing him off that this kid was going through what looked like some sort of anaphylaxis episode and staying quiet. Jason still might not know how to talk to the kid, and maybe he was still a little angry at him for stealing Bruce and Dick, but he didn’t want him to die.

Could it be that the kid was genuinely afraid to disrespect adults that he’d put his health in danger and eat whatever was put in front of him?

Didn’t the kid know by now that Bruce wasn’t going to be mad at him for speaking up about an allergy? Hadn’t the kid spent enough time with Bruce to know that he’d never be shamed for something he couldn’t control.

“Bruce!” Jason yelled, finally getting the man’s attention. Bruce gave him a puzzled look. “Your new kid needs you.”

Just then the kid cleared his throat and made a weird and alarming wheezing sound. Bruce’s fork clattered on his plate the moment he laid eyes on the kid.

“Tim, are you okay?”

The kid’s eyes went wide. His eyes scanned frantically at Jason, Bruce and then Alfred, but he didn’t say a word.

“Tim, I need you to answer me, okay,” Bruce asked, keeping his voice low and calm. “Are you allergic to pine nuts?”

“No, I…I don’t know,” The kid swallowed, tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m…I’m allergic to almonds, but I’m…I’m okay.”

It was obvious to Jason and everyone else in the room that the kid was anything but okay.

“Alfred, get two epi-pens and call Leslie,” Bruce ordered, making his way to a chair closer to Tim to examine his face and neck.

“Right away, sir.”

“I’m okay,” The kid wheezed, moving his face away from Bruce. “Really, it’s f-fine.”

Jason couldn’t take it anymore. The kid was obviously not okay. Nothing about this was fine. The sooner he realized that the better.

“You’re not okay, you dummy! You don’t fuck around with food allergies!” Jason bellowed, banging his fists on the table to emphasize his point. “If you’re not feeling good because the food is making you sick, you fucking say something.”

“Jason,” Bruce warned, keeping his voice even while also leveling Jason with a glare.

He could see Bruce clenching his jaw as he went back to examining the kid. Jason ignored him. He didn’t care that he was making Bruce mad. Jason needed to finish telling the kid what he needed to hear.

“If you’re still hungry, ask for more food,” Jason continued, his voice getting louder. “If you don’t like the food, don’t eat it. Either way Bruce and Alfred won’t get mad!”

“Jason, you’re yelling,” Bruce stated, his voice low and gravely. “Lower your voice or you’ll need to leave the table.

Jason didn’t even know why he was yelling at the kid, but it felt good to get it out. A part of him was frustrated that the kid still didn’t see what he had here with Bruce – safety. Another part of him was irritated at himself for acting like a complete asshole hating this kid for no reason other than existing and taking up space. Realizing too late that this kid was just like him when he first came to live here, scared and mistrustful of adults.

Jason wasn’t done yet. There was one last thing Jason needed the kid to hear and understand about the way things worked with Bruce and Alfred. Something Dick actually told him when Jason first came to the Manor.

“No one here is going to make you do what you don’t want to do,” Jason emphasized, grabbing his crutch, and getting up from his chair. “But they won’t know what you want if you don’t fucking say something.”

He added that last bit.

“Jason, that is enough,” Bruce scolded, his voice loud enough to make the crying kid next to him jump and Jason flinch.

Before Bruce could tell him to go to his room, Jason was already making his way to out of the dining room.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” the kid sobbed, his breaths hitching, while Bruce continued to examine the hives on his face and neck. “I’m so sorry for making a scene. Please…please don’t be mad. I’ll…I’ll do better. I promise.”

The last sentence was said in a whisper, but Jason heard it loud and clear. It felt like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t get out of the dining room fast enough. If only his stupid leg would let him run. He made his way out of the dining room and into the hallway. He leaned against the wall taking deep breaths.

What kind of parents did this kid have that he was scared of adults and knew nothing about his own food allergies?

Jason saw the signs once he had started to pay more attention. The obvious signs of abuse. They were right there at every meal, every encounter, plain as day, but Jason was too preoccupied with his own paranoia of being replaced, and blinded by Tim’s rich kid status and upbringing to think that someone of his background was being mistreated by his own parents.

Jason was an asshole.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as Alfred walked briskly passed him into the dining room with the two epi-pens for Tim. Jason proceeded to head for the stairs.

Jason made it as far as the bottom of the stairs. He sat down on the steps and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the banister. The familiar throbbing of a migraine radiated from his left temple to the back of his head. After a while he heard familiar footsteps approaching him. It was Bruce.

“How’s the kid?” Jason asked, squinting at the harsh light of the chandelier above him.

“The epi-pens helped. Alfred is monitoring him in one of the downstairs bedrooms,” Bruce answered, sitting down on the step next to Jason. “Leslie is on her way to check on him.”

“Good,” Jason replied, nodding his head. “That’s…that’s good.”

They sat there on the steps in companionable silence. Jason could feel a lecture coming from Bruce. The migraine made it hard for Jason to care. Right now, all the fight in him had left.

“You can’t yell at him like that again, Jay,” Bruce warned, breaking the silence. “He didn’t deserve that from you at all.”

“I know,” Jason groaned, leaning his head against the banister again. “And I didn’t mean to yell, but the k-,“ Jason stopped himself, the kid had a name and he should probably start using it. “Tim needed to hear it. I’m not sorry for what I said.”

“You need to be nicer to your brother, Jay,” Bruce sighed, his shoulders sagging in exhaustion. “We need to make him feel welcome here.

Brother.

Jason let the word wash over him. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think of Tim in that way even though it was obvious that he’d be staying at the Manor permanently. It was all too much for Jason to think about at the moment.

“Bruce,” Jason breathed, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “I don’t want to talk about him right now. My head is killing me.”

He knew he needed to talk to Bruce about Tim, but he couldn’t do it tonight. Right now his throbbing head wouldn’t let him think straight.

“Okay get some rest,” Bruce suggested, brushing Jason’s bangs from his forehead. “We definitely need to have a conversation. We’ll do that in the morning when you’re up for it.”

The next morning Jason took his time making it to Bruce’s study.

He had most of the morning to think about what he was going to say to Tim and Bruce. Jason wasn’t sure if he’d actually have the guts to admit out loud certain thoughts that had been rummaging around in his brain the last few weeks. Especially the big one concerning Robin.

Would Bruce take Robin from him and give it to Tim?

Before Jason realized it, he was in front of Bruce’s study. The door was opened. Bruce had always told Jason to feel free to come inside if the door wasn’t closed. His door hadn’t been opened in the months before Tim came to the Manor. Jason peeked inside from the doorway.

Bruce looked deep in thought as he perused over various papers from different file folders stacked on his desk. Jason was starting to have second thoughts.

“Hey Jason, what can I do for you?” Bruce asked, not looking up from what he was reading.

It always weirded Jason out when Bruce knew it was him without even looking at him. It was likely the squeaking sound from his crutch that gave him away.

“You look busy,” Jason observed, giving Bruce an out and hoping that he’d take it. He turned to leave. “I’ll come back.”

“I’m not busy, have a seat,” Bruce acknowledged, motioning to the sofa. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He closed the file folder he was reading, stood up from his desk chair, and stretched. He soon followed Jason to the sofa. “How’s your head, kiddo?”

“Better. I think I just needed to sleep it off,” Jason answered, sitting down and leaning his crutch against the arm of the sofa. Once he got a closer look at Bruce he could see dark circles under the man’s eyes. “Have you been here all night?” Jason gestured to Bruce’s desk.

“Pretty much. Though I did spend some of the night looking in on Tim,” Bruce sighed, sitting down on the sofa with Jason and rubbing his tired eyes.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s much better, just tired. He’s back in his room if you wanted to go see him later and talk.”

Jason nodded. It was Bruce’s way of telling Jason that he needed to apologize to Tim. He had planned on visiting Tim after this, though he’d understand if Tim wasn’t up for it considering the way Jason yelled at him last night.

“Anyway, I’m just trying to see if I had missed something in any of Tim’s records,” Bruce continued, leaning back on the sofa. “They’re all pretty vague and don’t go back that far. There aren’t any details about any known allergies or yearly well checks, no documentation about any allergy testing except the most recent one that revealed an allergy to almonds. His immunization record stops at 5 years old.”

“But his parents have money, right? If they live in this neighborhood,” Jason snapped, folding his arms. “How could they just not take him to the doctor?”

“You’d be surprised by the priorities some people have in this town,” Bruce criticized. “Sadly, their children are not on the top of that list.”

Jason shook his head. It didn’t make any sense to him. Tim’s parents had money. Maybe not as much money as Bruce, but they could afford to take Tim to the best doctors for yearly check-ups and specialists to help him with his allergies. Instead, they chose to prioritize their jobs and lifestyle instead of their kid.

“Is that the reason he’s living here with us now? Because his parents didn’t take good care of him?”

“Among other things, yes,” Bruce answered. “Tim’s home life wasn’t great. From what little he told me his parents left him home alone for extended amounts of time at a fairly young age. For his safety and wellbeing, it was necessary for him to be removed from his parents. He needed a home with stability and most of all a family. I felt that we could be all of that for him.”

Jason’s shoulders dropped hearing all of this from Bruce. Tim was a lonely and abused kid, just like Jason had been. Bruce opened his heart and his home again to a boy in need. It now all made sense why Bruce had been spending so much time with Tim. He wasn’t trying to replace Jason. He was trying to make Tim feel at home; just as Jason should have been doing instead of slamming doors in the poor kid’s face.

“I realize now that the timing of his arrival was awful, and I’m sorry,” Bruce continued, interrupting Jason’s thoughts. He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I know this type of major change was the last thing you needed while you are still recovering.”

Jason nodded. He leaned his head back on the pillows to process everything Bruce had just said. Bruce wasn’t wrong, the timing of Tim’s arrival did suck as it played on Jason’s already frayed emotions. But after last night it made it easier to understand Tim’s sudden placement with Bruce.

Bruce saw a kid in trouble and did what came naturally to him. He did the same for Jason four years ago, of course he would do the same thing for Tim. Jason rubbed his face harshly. He felt like an idiot for not making this connection much sooner. Bruce had reached out to be Tim’s family, just like he had done for Jason, because Tim needed a family. Bruce didn’t need another kid. It was all about helping a kid in need.

So, he’s not here to replace me.

“What? No, Jason, I would never do that– what made you think I would –,” Bruce stammered, his wide eyes searching Jason.

Oh shit.

Jason didn’t mean to say that out loud.

But before he could think of something else to say, all the thoughts that had been festering in his brain since Tim had arrived came pouring out of his mouth.

“– because you weren’t talking to me. I thought you were still pissed at me for running away. And when Tim came you were spending all your time with him that you used to spend with me,” Jason blurted out in quick succession. His vision started to blur with tears. He really didn’t want to cry, but the tears were already flowing down his cheeks. “and – and maybe I thought that you liked him better because – because he’s a good kid with perfect manners who never talked back or complained, and he’s not – not a mouthy screw up like me who messed everything up.”

Jason’s eyes widened as his brain caught up to the words that had just come out of his mouth. Every thought and fear that he had been dwelling on these past several weeks came out faster than he could contain them. There was no taking it back now.

“Jason, you’re not a screw up and you didn’t mess up anything.” Bruce affirmed, gently pulling Jason into a hug. Jason held on to Bruce like a lifeline, his tears continuing to fall. “Son, you didn’t mess up anything.”

Jason shook his head, but who was he kidding. He made a pretty big fucking mistake that almost got him and Bruce killed. How is Bruce not furious with him?

“It’s true that choices were made by both of us, good and bad and things took a serious turn, and – and for a second I thought I’d lost you,” Bruce sniffed, breaking the embrace to look at Jason. “But I didn’t. You survived and I’m so grateful every single day that you are here with me.

Bruce moved his hands to cup Jason’s face. He gently wiped away the tears from Jason’s cheeks with his thumbs. Jason kept trying to calm his breaths but they were still hitching with every sob. Why couldn’t Bruce have said all this to him sooner?

“I’m so thankful I get to watch you grow and see the person you will become,” Bruce continued, embracing Jason again and rubbing soothing circles on Jason’s back. “I’m so proud that you’re my son, and I love you just the way you are so please, don’t think for one second that I would ever want to replace you with someone else.”

There was still something that Jason needed to know from Bruce. A question he needed answered because he was tired of the subject being avoided and ignored. He was ready to take responsibly for his actions. He just needed Bruce to be straight-forward with him.

“Are you still mad at me?” Jason stammered, his bottom lip trembling. “About Ethiopia? It’s my fault –,”

“Oh, Jay, lad, no,” Bruce interrupted, his shoulders sinking. He hugged Jason tighter resting his cheek on the top of Jason’s curls. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I made you think that I was ever mad at you.”

Jason straightened in surprise at the words ‘I’m sorry’ coming from Bruce. Not that Bruce wasn’t capable of apologizing, but did Jason deserve it? It felt misplaced. He was the one that ran away and got himself in trouble. He was the one that nearly got himself killed and needed rescuing.

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” Bruce continued, interrupting Jason’s thoughts. “I blame the people who hurt and betrayed you. I’m mad at myself for not giving you the answers you needed at the time that you were seeking them. I feel responsible for making you think that you had to go halfway across the world in search of those answers. I’m angry that the one person who should have cherished you for the gift that you are betrayed you to a madman.

“I allowed my anger toward them to fester and instead of talking about what had happened in Ethiopia with you, I internalized it. I’m sorry, Jason,” Bruce apologized. “I am so sorry for pushing you away at a crucial time when you needed me; that will never happen again. Understood.”

“Understood.”

Jason blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He wasn’t expecting Bruce to say all of that to him, but it was a relief to hear that Bruce’s anger wasn’t because of him. It felt like an invisible weight had been lifted from Jason’s shoulders. Bruce wasn’t mad at him, and he didn’t blame Jason for what had happened in Ethiopia.

“I’m so grateful that you’re alive and here with me,” Bruce repeated, pulling Jason in for another hug.

They still hadn’t discussed Robin, but right now Jason felt that Robin could wait.

“I love you so much, Jason.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Later that afternoon Jason headed to Tim’s room. Jason still wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Tim. The kid was likely scared of him now from all the yelling that had happened last night. He couldn’t blame the kid if he now hated him. Jason kind of deserved whatever attitude the kid gave him.

Jason took a deep breath before knocking on Tim’s door.

“Who is it,” a faint voice answered from inside the room.

“It’s Jason. Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Tim answered almost immediately.

Jason wondered if Tim had ever said no to anyone. He felt it was best to give this kid a way out just in case he’d rather be alone.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel up for visitors,” Jason added, still not opening the door. “I can come back whenever you’re up for it.”

“I’m okay, you can come in.”

Jason opened the door and hoped the smile on his face looked genuine and didn’t scare Tim. It appeared that just him being in the room was enough to have the kid sitting up, hiding behind his knees and blankets.

“You’re not going to yell at me again, are you?” Tim asked, hugging his knees.

“No, Tim,” Jason laughed, making his way closer to Tim’s bed. “Not unless you give me a reason too.”

Tim’s eyes went wide.

“That was a joke,” Jason interjected quickly, before Tim burst into tears. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s try this again, how are you feeling?”

“Better, just tired. I’m not itching anymore, so that’s a relief. This one hit me harder than the almond reaction.”

Bruce had told Jason that it was only a few weeks ago that Tim had experienced anaphylaxis while home alone. This incident had prompted Tim’s removal from his parents and placed with Bruce.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Jason said, shifting his weight off his bad leg. It started throbbing in its standing prone position. “Allergic reactions suck.”

Just then the pain in his leg radiated from his hip to his knee. Jason couldn’t hide the hiss of pain that escaped between his clenched teeth. He looked up to see Tim looking at the long scar on his face and then his leg. Jason hated it when people stared.

“I think you need to sit down. You look like you’re in pain,” Tim suggested, gesturing to the armchair next to his bed. “This chair is really comfortable. I like sitting in it while I’m reading.”

“Thanks,” Jason breathed, trying to ignore the throbbing in his leg while making his way over to the chair. He noticed a familiar copy of ‘The Lightning Thief’ on Tim’s nightstand and picked it up.

“Bruce bought me the entire series. I just started it when I came here,” Tim explained. “I really like the story. I wasn’t allowed to read it before – before I came here.”

“Let me guess, your parents think gods and goddesses are evil?” Jason smirked.

“No, mother said ‘fantasy books are frivolous nonsense and not becoming of a future businessman.’”

Jason scowled. He was deeply insulted that the adults in Tim’s life had disparaged Jason’s first favorite genre of books. How dare they. It appeared that Jason had some work to do.

“I can recommend other fantasy books if you like the genre,” Jason offered, setting the book back on the nightstand. “When you’re feeling better we can go to the library. I’ll show you the fantasy section. It’s huge.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that,” Tim shrugged. “I know you don’t like me.”

Hearing Tim say it like that, so matter of fact and accepting, wiped the smile off Jason’s face. It sucked to know that he had left such a horrible impression on Tim and that Tim was giving him a way out. It was a pre-emptive strike to avoid the disappointment of rejection.

Jason was all too familiar with this tactic – he used to do it all the time to Bruce and Dick when he first came to live at the Manor.

He wondered how many times Tim had been hurt by the people closest to him to easily brush off simple offers and attention from others. It didn’t help that Jason’s actions over the past few weeks solidified Tim’s assumption that Jason really didn’t want to spend time with him.

Jason needed to fix this fast.

“I know I don’t have to show you the library, but I want to,” Jason cleared his throat, stretching his sore leg. “We can make up for lost time, okay?”

Tim nodded.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?” Jason offered, sitting back in the chair. Tim wasn’t lying, this chair was comfortable.

Jason’s brain was screaming at him for daring to open himself up like this to Tim, a kid he hardly even knew. But deep down in his heart, Jason knew this was the right thing to do. It was a fair exchange. He couldn’t expect Tim to open up to him, if he didn’t budge himself.

“Um,” Tim hesitated, wringing his hands and looking anywhere but at Jason. He took a deep breath and returned his gaze to Jason. “What happened to your leg and –,“ Tim gestured to the left side of his own face which was the same place as Jason’s noticeably long scar.

Jason took a deep breath to steel himself. He knew this was going to be a question Tim would ask. He was hoping he wouldn’t ask this question right out of the gate, but he did open himself up to be asked any question. Jason wasn’t stupid enough to give Tim details but since this kid was his new ‘little brother’ Jason should probably be somewhat honest with him.

“It’s a long story, but the short version is I went and did something I shouldn’t have, and this happened,” Jason explained, gesturing to his face and his leg. “Can I ask you a question?”

Jason wasn’t sure the kid was going to answer his question once he heard it, but he had to give it a shot.

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know why you didn’t say anything to anyone at dinner when you were having a serious allergic reaction?” Jason asked, maintaining eye contact and using his best Robin voice.

Tim stayed quiet and Jason realized that maybe he had pushed too far with his first question. Part of him definitely wanted to give Tim an out, but the other part of him felt it was important for Tim to answer the question. Jason strongly believed that Tim needed to know from him that Tim would never be shamed or scolded by Bruce for speaking up when something was wrong.

“Mother says,” Tim swallowed, fisting his blankets and then hugging his knees again. “That making a scene at the dinner table in front of guests is rude; under no circumstances should I bring any kind of attention to myself.”

Jason had to take a few deep breaths to calm his rage and quiet a few choice words he wanted to voice out loud about these absurd rules and Tim’s parents.

“Tim, you were going into anaphylactic shock,” Jason explained, keeping his voice level like he does when talking to victims as Robin. “Saying something is always okay. Especially if you are in danger, or you just don’t feel good. You wouldn’t have been making a scene. Bruce doesn’t care about decorum all that much just as long as you don’t say ‘fuck’.”

The last sentence made Tim giggle. It was nice to know he could make the kid laugh.

“You’re safe here, Tim. I know firsthand that concept will take some getting used to but believe me. This place is safe. Bruce and Alfred like having you here and so do I,” Jason confessed. “It’s true. I know I didn’t show it in the beginning, and I’m very sorry about that. So, if you want, we can start over.”

Jason held his breath, pleading internally that Tim would forgive him for how Jason had treated him. He truly wanted to start over with Tim. Jason was looking forward to having a little brother.

“I’d like that”, Tim smiled. It was a smile that reached his eyes and brought out the dimples in his cheeks. “I just have one more question.” Tim hesitated, biting his lip. “It’s sort of a favor. It’s no big deal. You can say no if –,“

“Tim, I’m not going to say no unless you want me to move furniture,” Jason joked, trying to make Tim laugh. “What do you need?”

Tim looked longingly at the book sitting on his nightstand and then back at Jason.

“Can you read a bit of the book to me?” Tim begged. “I’m still dizzy from last night and every time I try to read, I get a headache.”

Jason blew out a breath and smiled. This request he had no problem saying yes to. He was just glad Tim didn’t ask him to leave.

“Of course,” Jason accepted, taking the book and thumbing to the page that had the bookmark. “How are you liking this book so far?

“I like it. I already liked Greek mythology, but this makes me like it even more. I don’t trust Luke,” Tim voiced off handedly. He looked at Jason nervously like he was waiting to be shut down for his opinion. “I know I probably should, but I don’t. I don’t care how much he’s helping Percy. There’s something not right about him.”

“I’m liking you more and more, Timmy,” Jason praised, giving him an easy smile. Tim definitely had a future in this family with those deduction skills. “Maintain that energy and sit tight. We’re gonna be here a while.”

Jason and Tim hung out more and more dividing their time together in the library, playing video games in the den, or hanging out in the kitchen baking cookies with Alfred. Jason helped Tim slowly come out of his shell around Bruce and Alfred. A red-faced Tim eventually confessed to Alfred that he hated fish, couldn’t tolerate the texture of carrots or brussel sprouts but loved broccoli, chicken, steak and pasta.

Having Tim around became the very thing Jason had needed all along. Hanging out with Tim kept him more active, which in turn helped the mobility in Jason’s leg. Even his physical therapist was impressed with the progress Jason had made over the past couple of weeks.

Jason liked being a little brother, but he liked being a big brother even more.

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