#Im not sure if I'll think of anything else!

[yvilonion]

WELL GO ON THEN how did they meet!!

(this is referring to snowcrow vamp au)

i was gonna draw the scene but then ughhh omg i cant..drawing is hard so i'll just write whatevers in my head. i *will* say again that im not a writer, just a big daydreamer. and that ive never written anything about vampires before. and i have a weird taste in storytelling so if it doesnt seem vampire core to you, its prolly cuz it sucks but dw i know im aware.

again very rough idea idk how to expand the story or build an interesting plot i just know aesthetic wise, its during the 80s - 90s so it has that retro summer vibe. ironic right? i want it to be during the times colors seem so vibrant so it can contrast with vampire sylus whos dull and pale. it can work modern time as well, as long as the place is colorful.

so they met at a summer fair. it was hot and zayne had a bloody nose. with him were mc and caleb, tryna help him clean up. and right across them just a few feet away, far enough to go unnoticed but close enough to be spotted, is sylus in shades and a sun hat bigger than his head, standing and staring at the red stream of blood dripping from zayne's nose.

they were about 11 at the time. sy's mom told him to never go out during the day. but he went anyway. since vampires are nocturnal, daytime is their nighttime, so this is like a kid sneaking out of the house when their parents are asleep to go meet up with friends or sm. but he didnt have friends. not yet at least. young sy just wanted to see what the humans were up to. thats all. til he saw zayne.

zayne didnt look like the other kids. caleb wore a bright orange shirt paired with baby blue denim shorts, his sneakers had smiley faces on them, hes got a bunch of bracelets on both his wrists. mc had a blouse with baby duck motives, a turquoise skirt with ruffles on the ends, her shoes had tom and jerry's faces, her hair full of different colored clips. very childlike, very immature. but zayne wore what a professor would wear to a university lecture. a vest and collared button shirt with slack pants.... in summer? at a fair? very dull, very boring.

if that wasn't enough, he didnt act like a kid too. it was like he was an old man trapped in a prepubescent boy's body. other kids were running around screaming while he stood beside, observing. not even talking much. the only act he did fitting for his age was eating a shit ton of candy. and when he ran out, he'll continue to stand quietly.

so devoid of color. maybe he's a vampire too. sy thought. his pale skin sure does make him look like one. it would explain his mannerism as well. but then his nose started bleeding, the heat getting to him. a gush of vibrant red, the most beautiful red color sy has ever seen. oh, this boy is human alright. and the more he stared to admire the color, the more his throat started feeling parched.

(yes zayne saw him staring yes they made direct eye contact for like 5 seconds and he turned away thinking sy's just one of those weird kids who doesnt know that staring is rude.)

they never meet again after that (not like they actually met but yk) and a few years passed yada yada idk what happened. the world started becoming more grey as he grew up. both literally and metaphorically. him being a vampire means he hides in the shadows, blending in with the shady people in the shady parts of town, which meant the humans there tasted gross. or bland. its like eating stale chips or an apple gone soft. and for years sy kept reminiscing the same shade of red, wondering if that boy whom he assumed was the same age as him, was doing well. was he still wearing vests like an old man now that he *is* an old man? was he still into candy the same way he was at the fair? and most importantly, was his blood the same color or has it lost its saturation like everything else?

and a sudden impulse grew in him. to find him. somehow. he's gotta be somewhere. unless hes dead. who knows, that boy couldve died right after the fair 20 years ago, a heart attack from all the sugar. still, its worth the shot. without any planning, he packed a small bag, wallet and keys and left, heading to the small town from his childhood which was about 4 hours from where he lives now.

he arrives and as luck may have it, they were having a fair. the same fair they held back then. many kids came back now as adults, for nostalgia sake. zayne was no different.

thats all i got 💔 idk how sy's gonna persuade him like hi i think ur hot let me suck u idk ok so u can take this and do whatver u want with it

[sketchy-tour]

OH! As we were on topic of commissions, I have a lil question to ask!

How would you feel if anyone commissioned someone else to draw your Welcome Home oc with theirs? Are there any rules you’d like to imply? Do they have to show you what was commissioned? Should they show you any and every message that was used during commission process?

Gah! I have so many more questions but these are the main ones! My friend (you might know them 🤭) wants to commission someone and they wanted to use your oc but they though it would be better to ask before proceeding if you’d like for them to not use your oc!

SOMEONE WANTS TO COMMISSION ANOTHER ARTIST???? TO DRAW MY OC???????? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWAAAAH

OH OH UM UH- Hmmm well! This is something a little new for me but ohhh I'm so absolutely flattered and honored and giddy and BOUNCING AND SPINNING! Some things I suppose I could think of um-

Overall I do not mind if someone wanted to commission their oc interacting with Dandy! It sounds so sweet and cute and I would LOVE to see it!!! Would love a tag or to be shown! As long as you're also okay with me grabbing said piece with my grubby lil hands and saving it and stashing it with my other Dandy arts!

I would like to say that I would prefer it not be, like, ship art unless you're someone that I know who I have an established ship with! 100% okay with silly little interactions tho!

Please don't...commission anything weird! Keep it SFW! I don't mind horror or anything but you know what I mean! 👍(This and the lil tid bit above would apply for fanart too of course of course)

If you're ever unsure on what you're wanting to commission is okay with me, always feel free to ask!

Other than that, yea! I caaant think of anything else rn! I don't really think I'd need to see, like, the messages or anything! And again I am!!!!! AA!!! Oh but hello if its someone I know I wonder why they didn't message me! I promise I'm not scary! (oh unless its a surprise! Teehee silly)

[torchstelechos]

Loop's such an unreliable narrator that I find it hard to believe that the Party didn't recognize them at least a lil bit. It was just soooo not the time to have a snack break breakdown about two (2) Siffrin's and what that means metaphysically and theoretically (and for Isabeau, relationship wise)

[skrunksthatwunk]

how do i tell my roommate that her cat repeatedly pissing on and destroying my things is something that people usually offer to clean or replace or apologize for instead of shrugging off

[moneygoblin04]

Not doing great right now tbh. Probably proven by the fact that I got cut off by the tag limit. Fun fun fun fun fun.

[orcelito]

Someone fuckin save me I am so so so so tired

[hampterguts]

do all gender care specialists fucking suck in relation to gender care or is it just mine

[thegreatyin]

Super late, but I just saw your historic moment. Congrats on Mostima! - doctor-faint

thank you!!! it may not be a historic moment in practice but it's definitely a historic moment for me 😌

[coriander-candlesticks]

Introductions ✨✨

Hey! I'm Coriander. It's not what I go by in my other blogs on here but I want to keep things a bit more separate, at least at first. This is gonna be a long one (sorry) so I'm adding a cut.

I'm exploring Hellenic polytheism, and have only recently started, but it's something I've been considering, in a way, for over a year. I don't have a big, intense story that marks the beginning for me; I didn't necessarily feel a personal, spiritual connection to any of the deities from the time I was a young child in the way others describe, and I haven't had an intense experience that marked the beginning of my path.

I've always felt drawn to Greek mythology, though. I have a distinct memory of laying on my stomach on the floor of the school library in 3rd or 4th grade, reading a picture book about Hades and Persephone. It kept my attention the way others - even Egyptian mythology, another major interest - didn't. I, of course, had the classic queer kid experience of being super into the Percy Jackson series for a while, but my interest in it predated that. The specific deities I've been drawn to have changed somewhat as I've grown up, and they definitely shaped some of my interests. But delving into them again has helped me see connections that weren't explicitly connected to Greek mythology. I felt drawn to Athena growing up, for example, and my love of owls was definitely shaped by that. Even though that has settled into the background somewhat, that connection has persisted in things like my knitting and desires to dye yarn and learn how to weave (side note: I associate crochet more with Apollo, actually, despite it also being a fiber art). I felt connected to Artemis and Persephone as a kid, but that waned as I got older, discovered I was trans, and began my transition. I've felt connected to Hestia and her quiet hearth-keeping since I learned about her: I've always strived to make myself & my space safe and welcoming for others, and being told I succeeded in that is one of the best compliments I've received. But my interests in the morbid (ex Pompeii & the Paris catacombs), psychopomps, rocks & minerals, and keys weren't explicitly related to Hades. Some of the connections didn't click until I started to look into him more seriously about a year ago. I was an artist and had interests in writing, poetry, singing, and playing instruments long before it actually clicked that all of those fell into Apollo's domain, as I associated Athena far more with visual arts as a kid. I also didn't realize that he & Artemis cover diseases (another long-running interest) until very recently. The concept of xenia, too, was something I grew up with to some extent, even though no one called it that. My father modelled it to my siblings and I; I even learned about it within the context of ancient Greece at some point growing up and it stuck with me, despite not knowing the name.

I grew up Mormon, and was incredibly devout until college, when the pandemic forcibly separated me from that environment and I not only discovered that I was queer in several ways, but realized that the Church 1) wasn't safe to stay in and 2) wasn't actually true (which came later, when I started to get over my fear of reading "anti-Mormon literature"). During that period between those two realizations I got into tarot and using plants and crystals for their correspondences (two other interests growing up), as well as using rocks to ground myself. At that time, I considered myself a "liminal Mormon", and was reaching out to Heavenly Mother specifically via tarot. But as it set in that Mormonism specifically, and Christianity generally, wasn't for me, I got more and more interested in modern witchcraft separated from the belief system I was raised in.

It never quite felt right, though. The constant need for protections and doing something "the right way" lest things backfire and you invite the wrong thing into your home, or hurt yourself, or others, or or or, made my anxious & scrupulous brain go into overdrive. I wasn't even sure I believed in it spiritually, or if I was just interested in it from a mindfulness standpoint, and staring down the barrel of comically high piles of research without knowing where to start was exhausting. The concept of dual deities, the Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine, put a bad taste in my mouth (which bled over into Persephone for a while because she and Hades are often used to symbolize those archetypes- sorry Persephone). But, not wanting to listen too much to my discomfort (since part of it may have been, and probably was, prior conditioning), I pushed ahead and actually completed one ritual that had all of the steps - cleansing, representations of the four elements and directions, etc. - and was very carefully designed to leave room for growth and change. It represented the start of my path. I still have the jar I made during the ritual, though I'm still trying to figure out what to do with it.

Around that time, I was considering whether or not to work with deities- specifically Hades, as that was who I felt the most drawn to at the time. The idea interested me, but I wasn't sure if it was from an academic or spiritual angle. I'd really only seen deity work from a modern witchcraft/neo-pagan perspective which, again, didn't sit right with me. On top of that, I wasn't quite ready to let go of Christianity even though I already functionally had, and was terrified of doing something "wrong" and getting, for lack of a better term, sent to (figurative) hell. I decided to do a simple "yes/no" tarot pull and got about the clearest "no" you can get: a reversed Ace of Swords. So I decided to let it rest and that, if I ever felt drawn to it again, I could re-approach the topic.

So, for over a year, I didn't touch it. Continuing with witchcraft after the ritual didn't feel right, either, so my altar collected dust while I tried to sort out my spirituality (or lack thereof). I settled on "I don't know and that's okay" and left it at that, trusting that when the time came, and I had more energy and mental space, that I would be able to start looking into things again.

I never truly stopped thinking about the idea of deity work/worship, though. It was always in the back of my mind. I figured it was because of the way I was raised and tried to sever my idea of spirituality from how I was conditioned while I worked through my religious trauma, got on anxiety medication, and learned more about myself and how I interacted with the world (including that I have both ADHD and autism, something that surprised no one).

Recently I talked with a witchy friend about my thoughts on divinity and what is or isn't out there (neither of us were sure but we both felt like there was something), and that conversation gave me the button I needed to start looking into paganism again. I realized at work a week or two later that I could just look up the different paths of paganism (a term I'd recently heard that hadn't clicked before then) and see if there was one that did fit. The first site I found not only had a clear, concise explanation for belief systems I hadn't knowingly come across before, but it touched on Hellenic polytheism and gave a recommendation for someone to watch to learn more about it. And unlike the sharp knot in my chest that warned me away from attending BYU, and going on a mission, and delving further into modern witchcraft as I'd been introduced to it, learning about Hellenic polytheism felt right. It was heavy and grounding and like home. Many of the issues I'd had with other neo-pagan systems - the constant vigilance & protections & concerns over trickster spirits, for example - simply didn't exist there, or were approached very differently. I still had a mental block about it, though, and realized it was because of that tarot pull a year prior. So I did another one, and got a clear "Yes, jump right in. We're waiting for you". And that's where I've been since which, granted, hasn't been for very long. I've felt especially connected to Apollo and Aphrodite recently, who I believe reached out in a different tarot pull recently - using the same card, actually - which is interesting because while I've appreciated different ways Aphrodite has been depicted, I haven't felt very connected to her in a way I realized was her until recently. It makes sense, though- I got into my first relationship around the same time I did that ritual, and not only are we still together a year later, but a trinket I used to ground myself during those first few months is also pretty directly associated with her. I'm planning on adding it to her altar/shrine area as soon as I find it (it's also still amongst the moving wreckage).

But anyway, hi! If you read this far thank you for taking the time out of your day to do so. If anyone has recommendations for books or other educational resources, or discord servers/other online forum-esque communities, please feel free to share. I've been enjoying looking through the tags and getting a feel for the community here, too; hopefully I'm here to stay.

[iamthepulta]

When I actually schedule a weekend to be free, it's so jarring. I traveled 2k miles this week, ate chip in Milwaukee, slept on an airport bench, made minerals at 480 C, pulled copies of Babylonian tablets, submitted two abstracts, traveled another 4 hours to write a card, declined two overlapping events, and want to fucking die about social communication, and now you're telling me I... can sleep in?

[orcelito]

Gonna also get my license soon. This time for real.

Need to find that sheet of the driving times... hmmm

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

"clara im not your boyfriend. let me change that"

[indigo6f00ff]

funny update a couple of months later for People Who Want to Know: i dont have the car that got me into this Incredibly Minor Accident anymore. while after the accident, i did have to get the brakes serviced (wow, they were faulty, who knew!), it proceeded to have Several More Issues, such as: the transmission being fucked up and Trouble With Turns. i still drove it regardless because i needed that shit to get to college but eventually the radiator fan stopped working on it (where it would start overheating if the car wasn't moving (if the car was moving then air could still blow over the engine, cooling it down)) and My Mother deemed it too dangerous to drive. RIP to the shitty 2012 jeep liberty hand-me-down with 200k miles that led to the creation of the Kim Moment(TM).

need to share an experience i had 30 minutes ago

(edit: thanks to @walks-the-ages for providing and reminding me to put alt text, sorry it slips my mind alot lol)

[sketchtastrophee]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the employees under his supervision. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[cakeinthevoid]

Sticks and Stones - 1

Set in a fantasy world that follows a cynical sculptor who, as a result of elaborate scheming, is forced to be a resident artist for an extravagant baron. -Masterlist-

Liam

The bright sun did nothing to warm the cool winter air, let alone the cold dread in Liam’s chest. Still, he followed the man ahead of him, just barely keeping up with all his supplies.

This was a golden opportunity—to work with one of the most well known aristocrats in Estcliff. It was the dream of any artist in the country.

Or, at the very least, it was the dream artists nowadays were convinced to have. Dedicate your life to your craft! Worry not about finding your next meal when an artist-ocrat has the funds to fund your life!

He hated those ads.

Sure, Liam had heard of plenty of success stories. Everyone had. Martha Morris—a dirt poor young girl saved from the streets by the rich widow Reana Proll. Without Reana, Martha’s incredible voice would have likely died in the Jonquil Plague, alongside countless others.

Liam was no street rat, but he got around just fine. He knew the other stories. Most street kids lived in fear of being swiped up by some rich twat who thought they could find the next star in the slums. He knew that Martha’s family name was not Morris. Martha Katz would not have sold nearly as well around these parts.

And yet he knew that there were still hundreds who would kill for the opportunity that Liam was on the verge of squandering.

He straightened his back and strengthened his steps in an effort to catch up to the butler—by God, he could move.

His cart clattered on the cobblestone violently, but a glance back assured him that all his sculpting tools were still secured. He didn’t go any faster though.

He cleared his throat once he was almost beside the butler. Then he realized he didn’t know what to say.

The man had met him on the outskirts of the property. He seemed to have materialized out of nowhere—and so Liam wasn’t sure if he had seen his unfortunate tumble out of the taxi carriage. First impressions aside, he had hardly spoken a word to Liam besides confirming his name and trade. Then they had set off down the road between the pines.

Presently, the butler gave him a sidelong glance.

“I don’t believe you’ve given me the pleasure of a name,” Liam tried.

“Butler will do.”

“Surely not,” he gaped. “That…” feels demeaning, he wanted to say. Thankfully his mind worked faster than his tongue—a rare occasion. “The responsibilities of your position deserve to be associated with a name,” he said instead.

The silence had gone on just long enough for Liam to think he had committed a faux-pas, despite his genuine attempt at formality. At last the man responded:

“I suppose you may address me as Mr. Sinclair.”

“Mr. Sinclair,” he repeated. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

[kenyummy]

✰ 06. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 06. take a bite.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: hi lovelies!!! unmmmmm its been a very hot minute. sorry!!!! my job and uni prep have taken me hostage not to mention math exams woooowweee. im gonna try and be more active now and post a bit more, so hopefully look forward to that!!! also ill answer any asks asap 💞💞 ily all ok muah

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You think you mayyy have gotten ahead of yourself. A very slim maybe.

Sure, all these things probably needed to be said at some point, but jeez, you'd never met the guy before. You could've given it at least a day or two. Now, you're stuck in this situation. Cringing at yourself in the mirror, holding back from slamming your head against the mirror to rid yourself of these crippling memories.

Your eyebags—they speak for themselves—and your expression is anything but pleasant.

Last night was awkward. Awkward can't even begin to describe it, actually. It was excruciatingly awful, looking back on it. You have no idea what he is or was thinking, ir even how he acted outside of those diary entries. Maybe these assumptions were wrong. Maybe you were biting off more than you could chew.

(But it was hard to think this way when his expression; his words, they seemed to resonate with it so deeply).

Regardless, you can't dwell on this forever. You have a mission to do. Mission being; not failing school and incurring the wrath of your father. And getting back home. But that was a given.

You barely feel like yourself. You don't even look like you. This house isn't yours, nor are these clothes. The scent you spray onto your body isn't familiar, and even the shampoo on your nightstand is tacky and strange feeling.

All this time, you had never felt this lost. You may not be alone, but in this giant mansion, away from all your friends—you may as well be.

Your siblings were strange and unlikeable to you. You had barely even seen your father since you'd gotten here. Alfred was the only person you seemed to be able to even have a semblance of a normal conversation with. The knowledge is daunting, but not painful. You don't care.

It's all temporary, anyway.

... You hope. But knowing Reed, you'll be back before you can say, Hello, New York.

In a math class you've already done a year ago, you find yourself beginning to doze off with these thoughts plaguing the forefront of your mind. Cheek squished upwards in your hands, you aren't worried.

Your spidey sense is really handy; your head will tingle with that familiar static when the teacher's suspicions grow to large and you've already done your work, anyway.

But Harry doesn't seem to be doing so hot, you note when your eyes snap open and your pen finds a home in the dips of your fingers. As the teacher walks past your seat, you glance back at Harry's spot. Away from you, and on purpose, for sure. (At least, knowing you and your Harry—the amount of mischief whispered behind your hands was impalpable and certainly not appreciated by your teacher.)

He looks distressed by the worksheet in front of him, and small bits of laughter rumble from your chest. You feel gleeful, the best you'd felt from this crummy morning.

Those blue eyes meet yours and are practically screaming for help, to which you have to hide your smile behind a hand. The girl beside you shoots you a confused look, but nevertheless focuses on the math in front of her.

He mouths, Help me. It's a bit difficult the sound the rest out, but you think it's a mix of, This is impossible and I can't do this anymore.

Without much else of a clue on what you could possibly do to help him with that dictator of a math teacher around, you shrug your shoulders.

I'll help you out at lunch, you wordlessly mouth to him back, making a small heart with your index finger and thumb to go along with a sly wink. A teasing gesture, something you'd find yourself doing with your own best friend back home. Nothing more, nothing less.

His cheeks flush with a bright red before he chuckles to himself, lowering his head as if you couldn't still see that he was grinning stupidly to himself. Hand resting at the back of his slim neck and pen limp in his hand, not even pretending like he was actually doing something.

The reality dawns on you again and you turn away.

Once again, your stomach sinks. Not at him. Not at the prospect he thought you were flirting. Just at how, even for a second, you were unable to forget that this was not your home.

Once again, you feel lost in your own skin and nothing about you seems to sit just right.

... Even through your years of crime fighting, even through the hate and backlash from the public, even when a Skrull had stolen your face and you had looked yourself dead in the eye—not once have you felt as estranged as you have now.

"I hate teen drama." MJ moans dramatically, draping her arms on your shoulders and slumping, putting all her body weight onto you and you find yourself having to cling to her shoulders to keep her upright. If you didn't have that enhanced strength, you think you'd fall right down with her.

Harry slams his locker door shut and shoots her an amused look, "What happened now? That guy you were talking to ended up having a girlfriend after all?"

"Even worse." She tilts her head up to look at him from where it still lay against your shoulder, cheek smushing against the fabric of your shirt, "His ex is cuckoo. Like seriously,"

She spin her index finger around her head and then knocks against it with a closed fist. "There's something up with her. She hasn't stopped glaring at me since third period. I think she actually wants to kill me."

"That makes two of us," you speak, pushing her up so that it doesn't look like she's trying to fuse into you Steven Universe style.

She crosses her arms and frowns, red brows narrowing down at you, "I'm serious! What are you gonna do if I die? You can't take the comedic relief out of an already-established trio."

"You think you're the comedic relief?" Harry asks, genuinely surprised. MJ doesn't seem to take this too kindly—understandably.

You'd say you're pretty funny. Or your version of yourself, that is... this you. You aren't sure about the other you. Seemed pretty glum, but you digress. You'd be mad at the world if you were born here too, as harsh as that sounds.

Students pour out around you and you hear the bell chime around you. The day is over, as fast as it began. Too bad. You almost found yourself enjoying school.

Because at least that meant you didn't have to go back home, a place where you felt the least like yourself than anywhere.

"[name]?"

A hand waving itself in front of your face makes you blink back to reality, staring up at its owner. Harry looks concerned, an expression you think you've been seeing a lot of on his face and it's ridiculously defined cheekbones lately. "Are you okay? You spaced out again."

Again? Has this been happening lately? You hadn't even realised. Even your base instincts, your enhanced senses, hadn't even snapped you out of it.

"I'm okay. Sorry. Just uh..." You press your lips tightly together, gaze lowering. "Having some trouble at home."

You say, and you really don't want to elaborate.

"Is it with your brothers again?" MJ speaks softly, quietly, even though there's barely anybody left in the hallways after school hours. Your eyes widen a tad. You're sure you'd never told them anything, and you guessed this original you wasn't too keen on sharing their personal life either, so...

"How...?"

"They're not exactly subtle in sending you to the poor school then never bothering to pick you up in one of their fancy cars." MJ rolls her eyes. "You literally take the public bus home. Bruce Wayne's kid. It doesn't really take a genius to figure it out."

You chew down on your lip. They're right. It's not as subtle as you thought. A strong pair of arms wrap around you and your face heats up when your chin digs into Harry's woollen sweater.

"[name], we don't care. Their loss. You don't need them, you have us. Always, no matter what."

... Does he think you're upset about this? Embarrassed? Really, you aren't. But the gesture is sweet and you really do love your friends, so you don't hesitate to hug him right back.

"Thanks," you murmur, eyes not meeting his as MJ places a soft hand on your shoulder. Maybe you should be sad? It's a bit unnatural to appear so stoic when you talk about something like this, no? "But it's fine. It doesn't bother me anymore. You're right. I have you guys, and you two are more than enough."

"Since when did you get so good with words?" MJ slyly eyes you up and down, thoroughly amused. "You know, the old you would've just told us it's nothing and everything's okay. What happened?"

A smile forms across your lips. This time—a real one. "I guess I just had an epiphany. Not even my ego's more important to me than you guys."

My family.

You walk out through the gates laughing. A few other students still surround the building and even fewer walk out behind you and your friends—probably those bothered enough to take up after school tutoring programs and clubs and anything of the sort.

The ones that linger at the gate are frantically texting on their phones—probably spamming their parents to hurry and pick them up, because it was starting to get cold again. The clouds fog up the clear sky and blocks the sunlight from hitting the ground, so the world around you is dim as well. Not a good look for Gotham.

"We're so gonna get jumped." MJ blurts out, gripping the straps of her bag tightly. "Me and [name], I mean. You're totally safe, Harry. You and that driver of yours. Tell him I said hi, by the way."

"You're throwing shade now? I told you both you're welcome to drive with us if you want to."

You shake your head, no matter how much MJ's eyes brighten. "You live all the way on the other side of Gotham. We don't want to bother you. We all know how your dad gets when you slack on your homework."

Harry hums, "Yeah, but he likes you both, so it cancels out."

"Norman likes me?" MJ looks positively flabbergasted at this news, as if she hadn't even considered it before. "He always gives me the strangest smiles. I thought he secretly wanted me out of your life."

"Trust me, if he wanted you out, he wouldn't keep it a secret." Harry sighs, exasperated. "Actually, he respects you a bunch. He's seen you on TV a few times with your reporting work experience. Dad thinks you're the kind of reporter this city actually needs."

MJ places a hand over her heart, as if it were suddenly warmed by this strange act of kindness showed by The Normal Osborn.

A loud rev grabs all of your attention before you can even think of what to ask next. Whether Norman liked you, or even superheroes in general. Whether the Green Goblin was even a thing. So many questions, and such little time.

You turn to where the obnoxious bike noise came from, and your blood runs cold. All warning signals in your head go off and you can't help but instinctively ball up your fists.

Your (?) brother. Jason. He sits atop a stationary motorcycle, a strange smile atop his lips and a black helmet snug under his bicep. He's wearing a black biker outfit you'd never once ever imagine would exist in real life and MJ is literally gawking.

His eyes seem to have caught yours before you'd even noticed he were there. Now, when you're staring at him in such dumb looking shock—he gestures toward you, "C'mon. I'm takin' you home today."

"Wh... what...?" You splutter, fingers digging into the toughness of your palm. "Why? Nobody said anything about..."

Jason swings his leg over the seat of the motorcycle and adjusts his rear view mirror absent-mindedly, "Spur of the moment. I wanted to spend more time with you."

Harry and MJ, from beside you, coo quietly at you, teasingly. Despite your love for your friends, you really wished they could see the dread slowly seeping into your skin.

You feel like you're on your last leg when you conjure up the lamest excuse you could possibly come up with. "... I don't have a helmet. It's not safe."

"You're with me. You think I'll let anything happen while I'm here?" His words are sweet, like those of a regular elder brother. Normal sounding, to your friends who give you a small nudge to your side.

But you know better. You've seen him covered in sticky crimson blood and you've seen the shiny metal of the mask that covers his face.

You know that his words aren't as sweet as they are a promise. A promise you're entirely sure he is willing to uphold and keep at any means.

... But what can you say? Nothing that won't give away his identity, or even your entire family's. You're left in a corner, with nowhere to go but forward. Right into the lion's den.

Taking his hand feels more like a sort of demonic deal with the devil than it probably should've. Still, his gloved fingers wrap around your own, carefully and practised, with all the warmth of a human and all the delicacy of an older brother.

He slips his helmet on as you settle behind him on the seat, tentatively holding him so you don't go flying back. "Hold on tight. You're not gonna fall, trust me."

You know you won't, and even if you do, you'll be fine. Still, when he revvs up the engine and drives off into the cool Gotham air, you feel a strange hardness of your limbs start to build.

The wind bites at your cheeks as he revvs his bike up. Your arms are wrapped snugly around his waist, leather feeling rough under your fingertips. Despite the physical need to hang onto him so you don't go tumbling off the seat, you find yourself wanting to put as much physical distance between you and Jason as possible.

Your head is awkwardly bent back so it isn't squished against his back, and you have a feeling he's a bit miffed about this fact. That you're still so unwilling to be beside him. But that's just your guess. You'll never know what he's thinking with that helmet blocking out each expression and his head facing straight to the road.

Even with this concentration, he still decides to speak. "Didn't know you were still friends with that guy. Harvey?"

"Harry," you correct him, though you aren't sure why.

"Yeah. Harry. That rich kid who gave up the exhilarating life of Gotham Prep to go to school with you." Jason's tone is light, and he doesn't seem to be too serious with his words. He's trying to make conversation, and it's strange, because you can tell he isn't really sure on how to do it. "I always thought he was good for you. He hasn't got a stick up his ass like the rest of those snobs at Bruce's galas."

"At least you approve of him," you say quietly. Barely even hearing yourself over the sound of the wind hitting your ears.

"That's more than you can say for a lot of those other brats you used to hang out with, you know." He almost sounds amused, despite how dead your tone was. "Hated all of them. These two ain't bad."

You wonder what those so-called brats were like. Other rich children all couped up together for the sole fact they're all born from wealth? Jason not liking them didn't really discern much about them to you, because you got the impression Jason didn't like many people.

You had the impression Jason didn't like you. But looking at your situation now, you couldn't be furthur from the truth, it seemed.

Silence fills the space between you both for a bit. Driving down the busy highways into darkening skies, as the clouds start to grey and the sun waves its last goodbye. When there no longer lay any witness but the moon itself, watching over the crime-riddled streets of Gotham, where you, somehow, were taken away from without a second thought.

Red fills the sky. Red, like Jason's helmet—not currently being worn, but an image you could never really remove from your head when you'd look at him.

Red, like your suit. Red, like the blood flowing through your veins. It colours the ground above you and will eventually turn into an array of violet hues. That's how it all concludes, in the end.

Jason takes a turn off the busy street and it goes quiet. He slows down a bit to match the speed limit—which feels strangely out of character for him, but you digress. He takes this opportunity to finally have his voice be heard above the onomatopoeia of cars and angry honks of the drivers within them.

"... This is nice. Never picked you up from school like this, huh?" Despite not being able to see him from where you sit behind his back—you can practically feel his smile. "We should do this more. How do you even get home usually, anyway? Alfred never goes around these parts."

... You debate on telling him or not, but assume it doesn't matter whether you do or not in the end. If he wants he know, he'll just find out. No use in delaying the inevitable. "I take the public bus."

If he could stop in the middle of driving, he would. Even if he was driving, without a car behind him, you're sure he'd brake abruptly and send you flying off the bike. His hand twitches around the handle and panic is sent flaring through your nerves like electricity. "What? You actually go on that shit?"

You know he probably didn't mean for it to sound the way it did, but you're annoyed nonetheless. "Well, not like I had much of a choice. Would you rather me walk the way?"

His lack of a response tells you all you need to know. You aren't keen on continuing this conversation, so for now, it's just silence.

Slipping off the motorcycle, you shake the wind out of your hair and brush down your clothes. Jason barely even looks at you as he places his helmet on the table beside the front door and slips the keys into his jacket pocket.

"Thanks for driving me." Despite your... complicated feelings towards him and the rest of your family, you are a polite person. Your aunt had always raised you right like this. "But you don't have to worry about doing something like this again... I'm fine taking the bus."

You say, with all the subtlety of a man dying of thirst. Practically yelling for him to just leave you the fuck alone. At least putting it in a mildly kind way.

He hums, expression unreadable to you. Then, he smiles. A stark change in his features from when you'd first gotten a glimpse of that contempt face. When you'd first saw him. "Don't be so humble, okay? I'll take you home every day from now on. Even if there's crime, I'll finish it up quick and we can ride home together. Just you, and me. With your big brother. That's fine, right?"

... You didn't realise when he had started moving closer to you while speaking, but now he was standing right in front of you, a hand on your shoulder and a dangerous glint in his eye (that, yoy aren't sure even registers to him at all).

Your brain buzzes with static sirens. Warning. Yelling for you to run away, move, fight him, do anything except stand there frozen like a deer in headlights. Fingers twitching with the urge to punch, claw get away—but you don't.

You grip the sides of your shirt, knuckles feeling weak under the pressure. No longer can you force the words you want to say out of your mouth. "... You don't have to bother. I'm serious."

He smiles. "Alright. I have some errands to run. Wasn't supposed to be here today, anyway." Changing his biker helm out for his signature red one, he pats your shoulder a few times before walking past you. "Goodnight, [name]. Don't stay up too late, yeah? Study for that test you got."

You can't even begin to question how he knows you have a test coming up when you're sure you'd never told him, when the thought pops up in your head that no, he absolutely did not listen to you. And yes, he absolutely will continue to keep waiting outside your school for you to drive you home with uncomfortable conversation.

You almost fall over in the hall's entrance when Jason shuts the front door behind him. You shove your face into your hands, squeezing your eyes shut and willing the memories of that drive into the back of your mind, where you wouldn't have to think about it.

But... he is right. You do have that test, and that simple fact is the reason why you pick yourself up, just as Spidey does, and decide to go to your room. Down the first living room, into the kitchen and dining room, and past—

"W—whoa!"

You're going to cry. You genuinely might start bawling. After that godawful moment, you've now crashed straight into a fucking brick wall. A moving one, at that. ... But it can't be just brick, because you think your nose is starting to bleed from the impact (if the warmth dripping down your chin is anything to go by), and you've slammed head first into concrete before with no reaction.

Just what the hell is—

"Shit!" A guy's voice curses. Unfamiliar, different from anything you'd heard here in this house before. When you crack open your eyelids, you see... Shaggy black hair, a very strange style of clothes, and the brightest blue of eyes you'd ever seen. "Shit, I'm so sorry! I should've looked where I was going—"

"Kon? What—"

Tim's face pops up from behind him just as you stand up on your own two feet, and the look on his face is something you can't even begin to describe. As soon as he gets an eyeful of you, and sees the trail of red seeping slowly from your nose down to your chin—where it drops down to the floorboards below—his entire demeanour shifts.

Subtly, but not subtle enough. At least, not to you. You don't think this Kon notices it.

"What happened here? What did you do to my sibling?"

Kon raises his hands in defence, eyes widening, "I'm so sorry, I didn't look where I was going, and—"

"Are you serious?!" Tim's brows furrow deeply and he almost growls like a damn dog as he sneers, "You hurt my sister, and all you can say is that you didn't look where you were going? Don't be stupid, Kon!"

"Look, I'm really sorry—it was an accident. Why are you getting so worked up—"

"You made her nose fucking bleed, dumbass! You know she's not like the rest of us! I told you to be careful around her, and look what you've done!"

Before Tim can tweak out even worse, you speak up, in the most monotone voice you can manage. "I'm okay. Don't worry. I'll just go clean it up."

The two boys look to you in shock, seeing a tissue already shoved up your nose and your face clean of any bloodstains. Void of anything except the drip of red on your shirt.

"But... But—" Tim's tone wavers a little as he steps closer, "What if it's broken? I'll help you—"

You hold your hand out, stopping him in his tracks as it collides with his chest. Shaking your head, you clench your jaw to try and alleviate the throbbing pain. "It's not broken. It's just injured. I'm okay."

The boy with piercings—Kon—he presses his fingers into his palm from his face behind Tim, looking rather guilty. "Sorry, um... Kon. I didn't look where I was going, either. That's my bad."

That name sounds strange to say in your mouth, and Kon himself seems surprised to hear you say it. "No, no, it was my bad. I'm so sorry, [name]."

His expression and words were genuine, enough so that your head starts to clear from its panic and you feel a sense of calmness finally wash over you.

But, your fingers still twitch when Tim gives you a forlorn look of almost longing.

You don't say another word, rushing past them snd going to your room—where you could bury your face into your pillow and pretend like none of this existed. Where you could climb out the window, suit clinging to your frame, and become the you that you'd always loved most.

The one who was free, swinging through the skies and cutting the wind like it meant nothing to you. The you that only ever felt like the real one.

And even if just for a moment, you could believe that this was your only you.

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