#Maybe this is just my traumatized ass

[weareweirdpeople]

little warning, I don't explicitly mention anything but there's like implications of past sexual abuse and sexual trauma so be aware please.

For the love of fuck please do not tell children they arent allowed to say no. That is a shit lesson that doesn't do anything but put them in serious fucking danger. "You don't get to say no to the adults in charge" what if the adults in charge are telling them to do shit they shouldn't be telling a child to do. Please for the love of fuck don't teach your children they can't say no. Guess what? Saying they can say no during certain situations isn't fucking fixing it. My autistic child self didn't know what situations it was ok. If you get told not to say no to your teachers; and get in trouble with them for saying no when your genuinely trying to defend yourself, then how the fuck are you supposed to know that some situations are different. In my experience, it is very fucking hard to understand when in certain situations saying means your being a disrespectful child who needs to be punished and never had the right to tell that adult no, and when you are allowed to say no because something very bad is about happen and you might not be able to even stop it because your an autistic 5 year old being gas lit and orstosized by the adults around you already.

How did this low key turn into a vent god damm.

Yeah but seriously don't fucking pull that "you can say no if its too keep yourself safe shit" children should be allowed to say no regardless.

[artkaninchenbau]

People keep on asking for more Baby Robin and Papadile so here is more Baby Robin and Papadile. Now never ask anything from me ever again

[karamazovanon]

every scene where mitya is questioned:

[sunsetzer]

On one hand, I want a final fantasy 6 remake, because the game is criminally underrated and the amount of fan content (which is all absolutely fantastic btw) is Not Enough for my neurodivergent, hyperfixating brain.

On the other hand, that would inevitably encourage more people to join the fandom, which would be great, except it seems these days the bigger a fandom gets the more toxic it becomes, and I really like what we have going on over here in our little corner. We all just love the game and its characters and nobody fights about who should and shouldn't date who or who you shouldn't like because they're ~problematique~. Nobody's trying to make one ship morally better than another, nobody's calling anyone names or threatening to doxx people who don't agree with their opinions. It's so peaceful and I love that for us. We're just vibing. Moisturized. Unbothered. In our lane. Flourishing.

[mid-nightowl]

untitled lil fic #1 (jason todd and gotham war)

here's some gotham war rewrites i needed to get out of my head, the brainrot was killing me omg

warnings for violence, cursing, whatever the hell Bruce is doing (just Bruce as a full warning tag, the man is more unhinged than Joker in this)

---

“Oh Jason. How I’ve missed you, my sweet boy.”

The words are sickeningly sweet, poison-saturated words falling from bloody red lips. Delivered with a crooked smile, Joker looks up at him, uncaring at his position. His fingers curl in the clown’s suit collar, lips curling with a snarl.

Jason punches him again, the clown’s jaw cracking and his body straining against the ferry railing. Joker merely giggles, head lolling around through the air before his mismatched eyes meet his mask. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He snaps, unholstering his gun and digging the muzzle into Joker’s cheek.

His murderer raises his hands, waggling his fingers in surrender, grinning and smirking and smiling. 

He hates it, he hates it, he hates it. 

“I want you to think about this real carefully,” He digs his gun into his skin. “This could be the last joke you ever make, you understand? That’s what you want to go with?”

“You know,” His nightmare giggles, chuckles like a wind-up toy before he wipes the amusement off his face. The clown looks up at him, head tilted, pleased and patient and thoughtful. There’s not a single sliver of hate and destructive menace, or anger or disappointment or suspicion. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, he thinks. There’s something wrong here. There’s something wrong with Joker—and not in the usual way. 

“The best jokes deliver a difficult truth, but hide it with a fun fiction,” Joker explains, smushed but coherent words strung together despite the gun halfway in his mouth. “Without humor all we have left is being mean and lying.”

“What?” He can’t stop the words before they stumble out of his mouth. He doesn’t let the gun go lax in his hand despite the way the clown’s words throw him off guard. 

Off-kilter is a genuine feeling that digs into him, shocking him to the core. The clown does this, he knows it. He knows this is how he does things, how he worms his way out of every situation and every attempted manslaughter, he knows how the clown operates, intimately. 

Jason knows him. 

Joker, historically, has been so many things. But he’s always been a psychotic, impulsive mass-murderer. Someone without restraint, without limitation. 

It’s why he’s always been Batman’s true nemesis. Bruce, he needs a fine-tuned control of everything and everyone. He is someone who has limits and restraint. 

Controlled, focused, and without limitations—Jason is almost the happy medium to both of them. 

Almost.

The three of them are similar, different, opposites and identical. It’s like walking in one of those mirror mazes where you can’t tell who the real you is. 

Who is the real Bruce Wayne? The man who cherishes his children or the one who maims them?

Who is the real Joker? The cold, purposeful mass murderer or the dumped-in-acid man who can’t tell the difference?

Who is the real Jason Todd? The bloody crime lord or the declawed crowbar wielding vigilante?

Joker simply smiles and pats his arm, as if Jason’s not trying to kill him.

He slams the clown against the railing again, snarling. 

“Enough games!” He growls and flips the safety off. The noise doesn’t even phase Joker, if anything he grins harder. His mismatched eyes—one red-brown, one green—flick above them before returning to his. 

“Are you really going to use that big bad gun of yours with Daddy watching? He’ll be so mad at you.” His murderer grins, letting his head hang limply in his grasp.

“What? Batman-!” He jerks back, head snapping up to the ferry roof cover. 

Empty. No looming monster demanding a painful compromise is here.

Joker’s hands push him back, and he grunts, stumbling into the ferry wall. The clown tumbles over the railing, disappearing from view. His laughter haunting the air. 

“No!” He shouts, dashing to the railing. 

The clown is gone under the waves and ice, sinking into the dark of Gotham Harbor. 

He’s not dead. He can’t be dead, Jason thinks, gripping the ice-cold railing, I haven’t killed him yet.

He’s not dead.

But that was mean. 

--

The last words Jason hears remind him of his grave. 

No, not the one he was buried in. Six feet of dirt above him and smothered in satin, watched over by that stupid weeping angel.

There’s a memorial in the cave with his name. ‘Good soldier’ and nothing else but his name. Both of them: Jason Todd and Robin. 

A monument to Bruce’s failure, his greatest mistake, a grave to his complicated teenage years, his love. 

“You’ve always been a good soldier. Rest now.” Bruce told him, jabbing him in the neck with the needle. 

A grave, a memorial, a monument. It makes him sick. The reminder that he will always be the dead Robin, the sad Robin, the angry Robin. 

Dead, dead, dead.

The violence done to him, inflicted and imprinted into his skin and bones was more important. The guilt and the lesson were more important than his cries for justice, for his life’s blood.

The monument and altar, raised after his murder, were never for him, but for Bruce.

He was dead, why would he care?

The story Bruce will tell would never be the truth, just excuses and wrong-doings. He would take accountability after the fact, but not before. 

Bruce would let his murderer walk and let him rot. 

Maybe that was why he buried Jason six feet under, so he wouldn’t have to face the decay and decomposition. That he could keep this golden, blurry image of him as Robin, as the straight A student, the good son. And not a weightless body splinted a thousand different ways to look human. 

But now that he’s resurrected—not in Bruce’s image, but as something broken and jagged, something lost and filled with dirt and green-green-green—Bruce refuses to acknowledge him. Refuses to believe this is who he is. 

Refuses to believe that he remade (destroyed) himself from the ruins, from the broken bones and empty veins and black thread that mended his corpse back into the image of Jason Todd. Refuse to think that if a girl can come back as a soothsayer, that a boy can come back as a gun. 

“Hnnng…Bruce,” Jason groans softly, heaving himself off the couch. 

Batman turns to him, looming with his face mask in his hands. The fluorescent lights, a nauseous lime-yellow, cut over his figure, his face, his mask. Almost a green-green-green, almost a pool of rage, almost a pit of madness.

His mask crackles alive in Bruce’s hands, Selina’s voice wavering between annoyance and worry. 

“Red Hood? Hood, please check in and let me kno-” Batman clicks his comm off. 

The resounding silence smothers him. 

His exhale comes out shaky, his heart beating too fast behind his bruised ribs, a chill crawling over his exposed skin. 

Something’s wrong. Something is very wrong. 

“...Batman? You…” He swallows roughly, mouth filled with dirt and blood and thread. “Wha…What did you do?”

“Nothing I’m proud of, Jason.” 

His heart sinks and skips a beat at the same time, stomach twisting with anxiety and fingers trembling against the ugly brown couch cushions.

Inhale. 

He pushed too much.

Taking Selina’s side?

He went too far.

Hood didn’t kill anyone?

Exhale. 

“Hh! Ho…” Jason croaks, getting his boots on the ground. “Y-you…you..”

“Take deep breaths, Jason.” Batman turns back to the computer hub glowing behind him, ignoring his attempts to speak, to demand answers. 

His arms shake as he holds himself upright, but when he tries to stand instead he chokes, falling to his knees in front of the couch. Gasping for air, he lays his palms flat against the cool tiles. His legs are quivering, heavy and unable to hold his weight. 

His whole body trembles with it, this feeling unfolding through his blood and bones, engulfing his head and voice. 

Fear, fear, fear.

“Years ago I created my backup personality, Zur, using techniques I learned from an old mentor and this machine that I built,” Batman starts, monitoring the screens in front of him with one hand on the keyboard and the other on his belt.

Bruce doesn’t turn to look at him, to face him, someone he calls son, someone he considers family, and explain what he’s done to Jason.

He never has. 

“I can’t change your personality with it, Jason…” Batman sighs, low and quiet. “But I can add to it. A small thing: your failsafe.” 

Failsafe. He slams the heel of his palm on the floor, cheeks tingling with his telltale sign of tears. A failsafe?!

Because Red Hood needs a failsafe instead of justice.

“What?!” He tries to snarl, to hiss and yell and scream his rage. But his voice fails him, anxiety chewing at his throat and tongue, voice tilting too high, too unsteady, too weak. 

“Now when you have heightened adrenaline, when you’re about to do something dangerous, your fear kicks in,” Batman continues explaining. “It…I’m sorry Jason. But it’s the only way.” He clenches his eyes shut—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—and tries to ignore his rabbit heart battering against its cage, pounding to the frantic rhythm of fear, fear, fear.

“I love you.” 

The words feel like gunshots, the knuckle prints on his skin after the two of them fought over Penguin, the smack of Selina’s whip against his fingers, the crowbar on his skull, his legs, his ribs, over and over and over. 

“I love you, but you are a murderer,” Bruce condemns him, over and over again. “You’re a bull in a china shop and I go round after round with you, trying to figure out how to help make you a better man, to heal you.” 

“H-heal me?” He whispers, rage cut off at the roots. “This isn’t…this isn’t you, Bruce.”

Batman, finally, turns to Jason. He looms, tall and foreboding, darkness dripping around him, drenching him in fear, fear, fear. 

Batman takes a step forward and he crashes back against the couch, spine digging into the wooden frame painfully. 

He can’t breathe. Batman moves and he knows it in his bones, knows it down to the scars Gotham and its guardian have left on him, that he’s not here to save him, to help him. 

“I got you a new identity. A place in Metropolis.” Batman keeps walking forward, despite Jason’s growing hyperventilation, despite the way his blunted nails scratch at the floor. Despite the way he shakes, black stitches snapping apart, the pieces of him falling to the floor of this slaughterhouse, at the feet of his butcher. 

“B-bat…Batman,” He whimpers, hand twisting into the fabric of his suit. 

“You can live a normal life. Fall in love, do meaningful work. This isn’t punishment, Jason,” Batman kneels in front of him and removes the cowl. “I love you.” Jason shrinks back, shoulders back and legs curled to his chest. Bruce’s face is sharp and pale, with bags under his eyes and days old stubble on his jaw. 

His eyes are dark with absolute rage. 

Batman is going to hurt him. Batman is going to hurt him.

Bruce is going to hurt him again. 

“This is a gift. Any way you look at it, you should be in prison for all the people you’ve killed,” He chokes at Bruce’s words, barely smothering the terrified cry in his throat. “This is me saving you from that. Save you from yourself.”

Jason can only stare at the man before him—the man who took him in, who raised and trained him, who loved him—does his best to bury him.

fear, fear, fear. 

--

“Please..don’t…please,” Jason pleads, covering the girl with his frame, caging her in with his bruised and burnt arms.

“Let’s begin.” Scarecrow’s voice reverberates, it shakes through air to match his erratic breathing.

“P-please, I’ll do anything you want, anything,” He begs, fear, fear, fear burning in his veins. “Please. Just stay…stay away.” 

Scarecrow closes the gap between them, rocking back and forth on his crooked, long legs. His mask distorts and mutates, a familiar green-green-green splashing over the darkened void of his gas mask.

“You’re going to die tonight. I know you know this,” Crane looms over him, green-green-green trickling out his eyes, gushing out like an open wound. “But we can still have fun, can’t we.” 

The girl trembles underneath his chest and Jason tries to smother the whimper begging to pour out his lips. It’s gnawing at him—rabbit heart frantic in his chest, hands trembling from the burning pain and anxiety, smoke and ash gathering in his lungs—fear, fear, fear.

He can’t think of anything else. 

“Those fools were right. Your terror…it’s real and it isn’t mine,” Scarecrow sneers, kneeling in front of him. “There is no thrill in driving terror into the heart of a baby bird.” 

Scarecrow takes his jaw in his hand, needles tickling at his exposed skin, forcing Jason to look at him. He can’t help but jerk his head at Crane’s touch, needles pricking into his cheek when Crane holds him tighter, another inescapable cage around him. 

His chest heaves with every shaky inhale-exhale, his anxious fear fanning over the rogue’s mask. Scarecrow leans in closer, the glass over his eyes gleaming, reflecting the fire roaring around them. Jason can hear the screams in them, watching the shadows morph around them and the straw on Crane’s shoulders wiggle. 

“This is my moment of triumph, and it is snatched away from me by..by him?!” Scarecrow shakes Jason’s head in his hand, needles scratching into his skin but still not drawing blood.

Scarecrow lets his head drop, needles disappearing from his sight before they’re clawing at his throat, wet and cold against his clammy skin. Jason whimpers and clenches his eyes shut, unable to do anything but beg. 

He knows praying for someone to help him is futile. 

No one is coming to save him. 

“Never let it be said Scarecrow has no pity,” Crane says, voice cutting in and out his head like radio static. “I will quickly finish what your daddy started.” 

“Doesn’t mommy get a say?”

A voice slices through the flames licking at his skin and the fear smothering him. And when Jason’s gaze finds him, he can’t help the tears. 

“Step away from the vigilante, pervert.” Joker grins, dark red lips stretched too wide, too thin. Ash rains down on his green-green-green umbrella, rolling down the crooked dark patches and shamrock-colored nylon. 

“You’ve already killed him once. It’s time you learned to share, Clown.” Scarecrows speaks with thin, razor-sharp disdain, glaring over his shoulder at the newcomer. 

“You should know this by now, Doc. I don’t play well with others.” The clown throws aside the umbrella, knife materializing from thin air as he descends upon Scarecrow.

“You’re not even really him, are you? Do you think I don’t know about you? Delusions and megalomania with-” Scarecrow baits and taunts the clown, before the two of them are ducking and weaving and slicing at each other with barely concealed rage and annoyance. 

“Blah, blah, blah. Do you know why you’re always going to be a C-List villain, Johnny?” Joker jokes and Jason can imagine the sharp grin on his face. “Because doctors aren’t scary. They’re annoying.”

He ducks his head down and curls tighter around the girl. She cries underneath him, hiccups soft under the roar of flames closing in on them, the screech of metal on metal and creaking of deteriorating wood. 

He can’t move. He can’t do anything but try to breathe. But all he tastes is smoke, choking him, billowing down his throat and in his lungs. His heartbeat is so loud, jumping under its bone-cage, a heady, heavy thing—badump-badump-badump-badump. It’s too fast, erratic, out of control.

“You’re a bull in a china shop and I go round after round with you, trying to figure out how to help make you a better man, to heal you-”

Always out of control. Jason whines, hands scrambling against the wood below him. It burns, seering through his fingertips. It hurts-it hurts-it hurts, he can’t do this. He can’t.

He can’t breathe.

“Ahhhh! Ack! Achhhhh!” Scarecrow screams, guttural and wobbly and when he looks up, Jason can only watch as Crane crashes through the fifth story window. 

Tears continue to stream down his face, his heart trembling in his chest and the realization strikes him then, cracking down on his skull like a crowbar, over and over and over. 

Joker saved him. Joker saved him. Joker saved him. 

His murderer saved him.

 “A-are you real?!” Jason cries out, fingers curling into the withering floorboards. “Is this real?!” 

“Oh, don’t worry about him. I didn’t even give him a real dose of Joker Gas. I ran out. Heh!” Joker laughs, rubbing at his jaw. Blood and green-green-green stain the edges of his mouth, smeared down his chin and throat before disappearing under the orange sweatshirt he’s wearing. 

“But now, it’s just you and me. And…your daughter? Did you have a daughter and not tell me?” The clown tilts his head in question, tucking away the green-green-green gun in his hand. He steps closer, uncaring of the flames licking over his pale skin.  

Jason can’t tell if it's real or an illusion, can’t tell if his murderer is here and saving? rescuing? tricking? him. He can’t tell if this is just another nightmare he’s trapped himself in, or if this is the real punishment Bruce promised him. 

“She’s just a kid. Please…don’t,” He pleads, the tears searing down his ash-stained cheeks. 

Joker leans down, bringing his face close to Jason’s. His mismatched eyes—one green, one red-brown—bore into his and the clown smiles, too wide, too cracked and broken, too bloody and green-green-green. 

He sobs, cracking under everything. He can’t do this, he can’t. 

“My, my. Even like this you still think you’re the hero. Batman would be proud if he didn’t hate you,” His murderer says, before his bony hand is cupping Jason’s face, calloused fingers dancing over his skin. 

Jason clenches his jaw when it threatens to wobble and tremble, but knows the fear is shining in his eyes. Knows the clown can see it, knows he recognizes it in his baby-blues. He’s been here before.

They’ve been here before, together. 

“But don’t worry my sweet boy, I’ll find a way to fix you. Nobody is going to hurt you. I won’t let them. Because I need you.” His voice is honeyed and threatening, curling and clawing and cloying into his head like a sickness. Joker pets his hair, gentle and caring, and Jason knows he means it. 

He’s going to fix him. He’s going to heal him. 

He’s going to save Jason.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy. We’ll see each other soon,” Joker pats his cheek with a crooked green-green-green smile. “I promise.” 

His heart beats frantic to the words—fear, fear, fear—eyes unable to look away from Joker.

Jason believes him.

[monards]

can a girl ramble aboutthe way you can interpret so many parts of the propaganda and characterization of rhine by other the people/general populace of teyvat as people largely antagonizing neurodivergent traits without being chased with pitchforks and torches.

[twinknote]

why did it make me nearly cry when fukuzawa calls kyouka into his office in that episode of wan just to ask if everything is okay since she joined the agency and tell her to let him know if she ever needs anything and to offer her one of the rice buns he had gotten… and then the written thing popping up on the screen calling them grandfather and granddaughter….. like don’t mind me over here thinking abt the life of horror and suffering kyouka has lived up until this point and having had her powers taken advantage of, and now she’s found a place she truly belongs within a found family of ppl who truly appreciate and care about her……….

[deliriuxe]

get me a man who will lay my ass down on the couch, place a pair of wii-remote looking things in each of my palms and then asmr-style ask me a series of "let's notice that feeling" type questions while the wii remotes interchangeably buzz between each of my hands at varying intervals sending full tingles throughout my whole body or maybe that's just the asmr who knows

[runawayfuture]

concept art for my AU where the church lets House Gautier hold on to the dragon sign in case they didn't have a kid with a Crest and so Miklan doesn't get kicked out and he loves his little brother and everything is Fine Actually

[arolesbianism]

Some au antag doodles

[theflannelwizard]

Oops, I lied about sending all my questions in one, I thought of an actually specific question and not just a super general one five seconds after sending the ask:

Do you have any neurodivergent hcs for Buster and Gob(or other characters if you hc anyone else as neurodivergent)?

This is such a good question!! Okay!! It got long so I'm putting it under the cut, but TLDR: undiagnosed comorbid autistm and ADHD for both of them plus ADHD Tony Wonder :) I forced myself not to get into it with the rest of the Bluths cause this post would be a mile long but i did put cursory thoughts about them in the tags. All of this is spitballing and I'm definitely open to hearing other opinions!

Whatever is going on with Buster’s brain is the same thing that’s going on with my brain, so most likely ADHD and/or autism but DEFINITELY undiagnosed. None of the Bluths have the diagnoses they need and if someone (Tobias) tries to so much as allude to them being neurodivergent in front of George Sr. and/or Lucille it gets shut down immediately.

Anyway Buster reads more autistic than ADHD to me but it could be either or both. He has trouble reading other people’s emotions and regulating his own, he’s “strange” and “childish” in ways that are direct responses to how he was raised but also just read as neurodivergent, he’s got safe foods and takes things literally and has no clue how to read social cues and stims and gestures vaguely at all of him is just so very ND. Also the thing with ADHD-havers being randomly struck with bouts of guilt or self loathing? I think that’s him. ADHD was recently reclassified as an anxiety disorder, too, which we know full well is Buster, and it would not surprise me if his panic and anxiety attacks were brought on by sensory overload and RSD and other ADHD things at least some of the time.

As for GOB, I think he’s got the same deal but he reads more ADHD than autistic. I think they both have both but it presents differently in each of them. I’m fully on board with both magic and bees being special interests for that man, and he also just moves and talks and interacts with people in a very neurodivergent way. The stuttering when he’s overwhelmed is, to me, adjacent to (if not straight up being) him going nonverbal. He definitely has RSD too, look at how devastated he is when anyone rejects him ever. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was bipolar, getting manic when he’s really into a project and then falling into depression for weeks or months at a time.

And, just as a bonus, I think Tony Wonder has ADHD. He recognizes it in GOB and helps him with learn to function in a healthier happier way and his siblings are so confused cause GOB just magically started getting more normal?? Except it’s not magic (and it’s not an illusion lmao) it’s just coping mechanisms. Tony’s been collecting them from various therapists for like 30 years. He has no clue how anyone in this family thinks they’re neurotypical.

[gardenianoire]

I'm just spending this fine Thursday evening thinking about how I always see childfree memes about how nice it is to have extra money to yourself to travel and pursue hobbies and have nice things and how I live paycheck to paycheck often not having enough to cover my bills on time but at least I'm not paying for child related expenses on my paycheck which led to me thinking about how my sister told me my mom and dad got married because my mom wanted kids despite the fact they didn't love each other and apparently planned to have kids on purpose despite the fact they were poor and had only recently gotten sober (they met in aa lmao) and you know those families that can't provide financially for their children but love them to death and are emotionally there we weren't one of them so they just emotionally and physically abused me and my sister to the point we haven't talked in 3 months and I've only seen them 3 times in 9 years and what was the reason you wanted kids and couldn't provide anything for them I remember watching a tyler perry movie with my mom once and a character was talking about how how she was molested by her mom's boyfriend and my mom turned to us and said see some mom's are a lot worse like not allowing your children to be raped is not a flex I know it sounds like I'm coming down hard on my mom but long term followers also know I have smoke for my father this just isn't a post about him for once

[xxjeffthekillerxx]

can we please discourage kids from being the heros in internet drama..??? idk pitting kids against each other to try and fix situations involving incredibly serious topics when they themselves cant even fully grasp such concepts just doesnt sound very healthy. i dont think that type of peer pressure, stress, or responsibility is good for a kids development

[cqcandchill]

skipping the first day of lecture is my adhd life hack

50 mins of sitting to review the syllabus, a document that is so self evident i still feel disbelief university students need to be hand held through it beyond first year, makes me want to kill myself. reading comprehension really truly is dead

[darkvveb]

hot take apparently but theres literally nothing wrong with adults watching kids shows. idc if its because theyre disabled or rewatching shows they liked as a kid or if theyre just watching it bc they think its a good show. who the fuck are they hurting. literally who cares. "youre embarrassing" who gives a shit. dont even derail this post by talking about weirdos who sexualize kids characters bc thats literally not what this is about. this is about adults just watching a show that happens to be made for children. yall are telling US to "grow up" but you cant even get over the schoolyard bully mindset of making fun of people for liking something that you think is odd. PLEASE get a life and leave strangers online alone. how are you a grown adult but cant cope with people having different interests.

genuinely if you align yourself with this type of thinking PLEASE block me. im serious. if you think that making fun of people who watch cartoons makes you better than people who watch cartoons then please fuck off and dont speak to me ever again.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

I feel like my third eye just opened up, because I think I might have had why some people in the comments of my fic are shipping Yorick with Rhaenyra dawn on me.

I need to ramble, so there's a read more if anyone wants to see that

I feel in my heart & soul that this is a phenomenon that only exists because of how Yorick is having to survive living in King’s Landing with his Targaryen family. And for all I know it may even continue to be a ship even after his actual betrothal gets announced in chapter 9 (in the vein of he replaces Daemon as her second husband or he replaces Harwin as her baby daddy type wishful thinking); & if it does it will die the fuck out as soon as Yorick becomes Lord of Runestone. He may even get turned on at that point, idk.

But what the point is, is that Yorick generally being the introverted, anxious, emotional protector of the sibling group is kind of compounding with how he (as a child & before having the freedom to fully snap) deals with his cousin's very conditional friendship in the face of Viserys's projecting. In order to not be totally isolated/still have friends he has to, metaphorically, roll over and submit to Rhaenyra's belief that she's the only one who gets wronged by Viserys with his Entire Delusions or lie to her about/covering up his abuse by Daemon. And yes, it's not just about survival/wanting friends, because he does truly love Rhaenyra (platonically) & like being as close to her as he is, but there is a lot of her being in charge of the terms of the friendship/Yorick just kind of going along with whatever is going on with her. And if you're coming to my fic, seeing the tags where I am openly critical of 2 major Team Black characters, & then saying you want Yornyra to be the end game, you probably like it because Yorick is, for now, just the smart & politically astute accessory who is submissive to his cousin. He does not stay that way though. He never gets tired of being nice, but he does snap & go apeshit.

Either way, it'll be interesting to see the reactions of those particular readers when Yorick takes his turns away from his Targaryen family/stops letting Rhaenyra walk all over him.