#dark undertones

[aventurineswife]

‘Cause I'm a jealous, jealous, jealous boy | Part 1

Synopsis: How do they react when someone flirts with their significant other?

Tags: Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Protective, Flirting, Dark Undertones, Romantic Tension

Warnings: Mild possessiveness, subtle manipulation, slight intimidation, jealousy, dark themes, possible emotional manipulation

(Part 2)

Sunday

Sunday's golden eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the unwanted attention being directed at you. He observed for a moment, his dignified demeanor never faltering. However, the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed a deeper emotion simmering beneath the surface.

With graceful steps, he approached, his halo casting a faint glow behind his head as he effortlessly inserted himself into the conversation. His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, fingers cold yet reassuring. "I see you’ve caught the attention of someone who doesn't understand boundaries," he said, voice dripping with a twisted kindness. The flirtatious individual faltered under his gaze, the intensity of his golden eyes—sharp and knowing—dismantling any sense of power they might have held.

"Allow me to guide you somewhere... more peaceful." Sunday murmured to you, leading you away. His grip, though gentle, carried an unmistakable possessiveness. His twisted desire to shield you from discomfort played out in his actions—control, protection, and escape from the harshness of such interactions.

Yet behind the composed facade, there was a flicker of possessive jealousy—he would never admit it openly, but the notion of anyone causing you discomfort stirred a dark satisfaction in ensuring they never approached you again.

Dr. Veritas Ratio

Dr. Ratio’s gaze flickered toward the scene, noting the discomfort painted across your features as the unwanted attention continued. His lips curled into a smirk, an amused scoff escaping him as he closed the distance between you and the offender. The sheer confidence in his posture made his presence impossible to ignore.

"You seem... intellectually challenged," Ratio remarked bluntly to the flirt, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and condescension. "You see, my partner isn’t interested in primitive gestures of attraction. They prefer stimulating conversation, something you appear incapable of providing."

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close with an air of smug satisfaction. "Allow me to demonstrate what true compatibility looks like." His words, though cutting toward the flirt, were meant to reassure you. Ratio didn't bother hiding the possessive undercurrent in his tone.

In his mind, you were already his equal, intellectually and emotionally, and there was no room for such trivial distractions. His jealousy manifested not in anger, but in a pointed display of superiority, ensuring no one would dare challenge his place beside you.

Aventurine

Aventurine watches the flirtation unfold from across the room, his smile still present but with a hint of something darker behind it. His magenta and cyan eyes flicker with amusement, though his gaze lingers on your discomfort for a moment too long. Slowly, he saunters over, his every step deliberate, like a high-stakes poker player revealing a winning hand.

“My, my,” he begins, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulls you close. The flirt freezes under his penetrating stare. “It seems you’ve miscalculated,” he says, his tone smooth as velvet, yet there's a razor-sharp edge beneath the surface. “You see, this one belongs to me.”

Aventurine lets the words hang, watching the flirter with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. His fingers play absentmindedly with one of his golden rings, the subtle gesture adding to the tension. “And I don’t share my investments.”

The flirter takes a step back, realizing they’ve lost this particular gamble, and mutters an apology before disappearing. Aventurine chuckles softly, turning to you with a playful smirk.

“Honestly, darling,” he says, adjusting the collar of his overcoat, “the nerve of some people, thinking they can play a hand they’ve already lost.” His eyes gleam mischievously as he leans in closer, whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. No one dares touch what’s mine.”

There’s a flicker of possessiveness in his tone, subtle but unmistakable, as though you were a precious prize he wouldn’t let anyone else even attempt to claim. Though his demeanor is playful, you sense the jealousy simmering beneath his charm, a silent reminder that in Aventurine’s world, risks are calculated, and he never gambles on what he’s already won.

(If this gets 10 likes/hearts, I'll post a suggestive fic of Sunday and Part 2 of this 🤭)

[anneswritingnook]

Love the Way She Smiles...

Hello hello and welcome to this week’s Microfiction Monday, inspired by the prompt: to write a piece of micro fiction (300 words or less) from the POV of the stalker. This can be read alone or as a continuation of last week’s prompt. It also could be a romance, but reading between the lines, the cracks are starting to form… I wasn’t the kind of person to believe at first sight.  Infatuation,…

[mischiefmagpie]

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game for a multitude of reasons:

It doesn't allow you to butt heads with your companions over *anything*. It doesn't allow you to even converse with your companions outside of scripted scenes — you can't just approach them and open a dialogue wheel until they want to talk to Rook; you'll just get one-liners Rook can't respond to and passive NPC-exclusive interactions that Rook happens to overhear.

It doesn't allow you to ask about/discuss the world, culture, organizations, or its history (i.e. any previous installments, or your character's selected backstory). It never references any game outside of Inquisition, and barely references Inquisition despite being a direct sequel to it. None of your previous games decisions are imported or considered. There isn't even a proper "canon" they present, the past is just a void.

There's no small side stories, barely any ambient/passing npc talk, nor many side quests, (let alone complex or fulfilling ones just filler for large scale plot), there are companion Loyalty Quests that all converge to the main story that ends in a Suicide Mission.

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game, because it plays like a Mass Effect game.

[holylulusworld]

That man makes me feral. Curtis can grope me and more any time of the day.

Curtis with a plus sized reader will never not vibe in my head

[arealtrashact]

Boadicea

[linddzz]

Jayce is literally a guard dog from the moment he met Viktor and I just know that he can be wayyy worse in fics if people weren’t playing it safe

So small disclaimer that I can't say much about how he's portrayed in fics or if I have any thoughts there. Tbh when I'm first getting into writing my own stuff for a ship I don't read or seek out a lot of other fics for a mix of weird brain reasons. A mix of a lot of doubts from comparing myself, but also I like getting a solid feel of my characterization without too much general fandom influence getting in there or end up accidentally stealing a concept/dialogue that just sticks in my brain.

(exceptions tend to be made for mutuals who I know are excellent writers already in which case I will psych myself up to not fall into the self comparison issue dkdjdkdk)

ANYWAY!!! Tbh I'm not surprised that there's not a lot that goes super dark on the possessive Jayce OR possessive Viktor just because they are such a weird little mix of legit fun and goofy and dreamy eyed for each other, AND canon pretty much laid out the dark side of their relationship I think. Jayce had already been confronted with Viktor's impending death, they already had their conversation where he had to promise to destroy the hexcore, which was them both in a way accepting Viktor's death. And he immediately broke that the second he was actually confronted with that death.

It's not dark to me as in "grr no one can touch you but me I'm going to lock you up in the lab to make sure you can never leave me and nothing can ever hurt you" which is how most dark possessive fics/romance lit tend to go. And I guess it can be hard to tap into what IS very dark and fucked up about Jayce and Viktor's codependence in a way that doesn't erase how wholesome they can and do come across in canon.

The dark is in the devotional romance of it, the almost instant codependence, it's in how beautiful it all is (like how Viktor's evolved forms are both beautiful and deeply unsettling for all their elegance). It's in thinking for just a liiiittle bit and realizing that Mage Viktor is knowingly dooming timelines by sparking Jayce's fascination with magic (and by making himself the thing that starts Jayce's obsession).

The dark possessiveness for Jayce is best captured when the partner he broke his biggest promise to, whose heart he replaced with the hexcore, stumbled out as something metal and inhuman. The dark side of Jayvik is; when Viktor's voice came out warped and mechanical as he stared at his own hand with confusion and fear, asking "What am I?"

Jayce smiled, laughed with that bright loverboy earnestness, and said "You're alive!"

[tppart]

Some things I did 🤭

[sukibenders]

Racism and misogynoir are so apparent in fandom, especially when it comes to shipping because why is it when a white male, sometimes female but I see it more with the former, character is on screen with a love interest, particularly woc, especially if they're black, and even with all the emotional scenes or just moments where they look at one another in ways different from the rest, it's met with "No, they aren't dating/the show is not going to put them together" but let the other love interest be white as well and suddenly it all makes sense? Heck, the examples I mentioned above don't even have to exist between the latter for some to STILL go and believe this rhetoric (eg. some Jace and Helaena shippers because, even if these two only interacted with a dance but yet we see Baela console Jace, after he seeks her out, apparently it's to far fetched to believe that Jacela could be a thing?!)

Sometimes it could be a headcanon that, largely, would make sense (and oftentimes was birth due to lack of respect that the poc characters could have been given by the writers *cough* TVD *cough*), and yet you'd still have people dismissing it left and right and spewing hate. At a HEADCANON! And I'm not saying that just because the other person in the ship is poc that you have to ship them, I'm not, but it's very apparent to many poc fans in fandom that unless the characters are swapping spit and doing the nasty, the possibility of them being viewed in any romantic lens feels too much of stretch even though their white counterparts don't have to jump through the same loops.

[limeartichoke]

RAHHH I LOVE THEM

[brutermonger]

Guys you don't understand. I Need this shirt on a Spiritual Level🙏✨

WIP from kaotickoi over on twitter

[lilacxquartz]

Don't Make Me Feel Alive I Chapter 3

kenjaku x f!reader

plot: diagnosed at an early age with an illness that slowly deteriorated your body; you went from being a promising sorcerer to a retired husk of your once former self until he found you, offering you an opportunity to live instead—not that you had a choice to refuse.

chapter summary: you are taken out on a little field trip that could have ended better, despite not knowing exactly what you did wrong.

a/n: reminder, this is currently pre-shibuya arc, so some characters will still be present in his alliance. also more dubious sorcery up ahead.

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

3. Outing

Come the next morning, he was already long awake before you woke up. His gaze fixated on the pendant that rested around your neck, finding its low pulsating hum to be quite soothing as it echoed through the otherwise quiet room.

“I adjusted it for you overnight,” he began, patiently waiting for you to fully awake before continuing, “this time it should use less energy for the things you actively do like walking, but the energy cost will remain the same should you choose to use your technique.”

You furrowed your brows in response, seeming a little confused, “So, I can’t use my technique in the end anyway because it uses up too much energy… or?”

“That’s not what I said,” he corrected you with a slight laugh, “we can train it, the better you get at harnessing your technique, the less energy it will drain.”

“But would that really work…?” you asked.

“Think of it like working out a muscle,” he explained, trying to compare it to something you could understand, “it’ll get easier to manage over time.”

He then stared at you for a long moment as he ensured you kept up with his explanation before having a different thought enter his mind.

Thinking of something new, he broke the silence again, changing up his neutral demeanour to something much more energetic, “I want to test your ability to keep up with me.”

“But,” you halted, feeling still so cautious, “what if it’s like last time?”

“Ah, but I don’t think it’ll be,” he replied, his tone filled with optimism, “besides, what good is it if I trial things on you without you testing them?”

“…Fair,” you sighed, choosing to trust him for now as you sat up from the bed, “So… keeping up with you?”

“I have a meeting of sorts today to oversee some plans in the future, I’d like for you to attend this with me and see how the battery is spent during social settings, if at all,” he explained calmly, his tone sounding suddenly a little clinical despite his relaxed demeanour.

You found him difficult to read as his tone often overrode the look he had in his eyes as well as the smile that he constantly wore. Something about this whole thing felt unsafe, but you had no choice but to go along, so you might as well go along with what was thrown at you.

Meanwhile, his intentions weren’t as terrible as he simply just had an idea to see if the battery drain was strictly physical or if mental stress negatively impacted it as well.

You slowly nodded in understanding, “Also… what do I call you exactly?”

“Anything you’d like,” he replied bluntly. He had so many identities at this point that he didn’t care. Regardless of what name you could conjure up for him, he’s likely lived under that identity for at least a little while.

“Okay, but really, what do you prefer?” you persisted, not quite accepting his answer.

A pause followed as his smile returned, finding the insistence amusing.

“You can call me Kenjaku.”

“And that’s your real name?” you asked.

He nodded in confirmation, “But you can call me anything, however, for the meeting,” he paused for just another moment, “Maybe it’s best for you to call me Geto, instead.”

“Wait, so your allies know you as something different…?” you asked, reading maybe too much into the suggestion.

“I will go as far to admit that this isn’t my true body, so feel free to interpret that as you will,” he continued to say, “I’d prefer if this particular alliance stays in the dark about it”

“Is there a reason why you’re lying to your allies?” you asked as though to recycle your question, unsure why he was avoiding giving you a proper answer. Maybe you shouldn’t have been asking somebody you didn’t really feel too safe around so many questions, but also you wanted to understand who exactly you were working with.

Kenjaku himself didn’t actually mind your relentless curiosity, as he always found people the most interesting when they want to learn more about what’s around them, rather than just accepting things at face value. The only time he felt that people, including sorcerers, were boring, was when they were a little too content with their position in life.

“The alliance is a group of special grade cursed spirits,” he spoke up again after a hot second, studying your reaction as he next considered his tone, “but being what they are, I can’t trust them.”

“Because they’re not human?” you asked once again, trying to keep up.

“That’s not the only reason, but it’s one of them,” Kenjaku confirmed, his expression remaining unreadable.

“So you don’t trust them but you trust me?” you asked, not following along again.

“Who said I trust you?” he smiled.

“D-do you?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t truly trust anyone,” he replied in a sudden serious tone before it faded away immediately, a wide grin following after, “but that’s enough about me, you’re going to follow me along aren’t you?”

“You’re not giving me much of a choice,” you sulked. You could walk, but you didn’t feel great doing it.

“Correct, but you are free to fight back, you know,” Kenjaku teased, knowing you wouldn’t tempt it.

“Wouldn’t you just stop me?” you warily asked.

“Also correct, so why don’t you behave for now and follow me anyway, unless you’re prepared to find out what happens if you refuse to do so?” he sang almost, still wearing his smile.

Albeit reluctantly, you chose to go along with his request, pressured by what he was doing for you. His vague threat lingered in the back of your mind, reminding you that he wouldn’t let you refuse, wondering exactly what that had truly meant. While his threat remained empty, you couldn’t deny that there was danger behind his words and you weren’t in a shape to find out.

As you walked alongside him too, you couldn’t help but admit that there was a difference in your stride; the adjustments that he made proving seemingly beneficial.

The meet with his alliance proved however brief as he quickly determined that certain aspects of his plans shouldn’t be shared with you, wanting to keep you in the dark about the darker parts just to keep your willing participation—understanding that if you knew the true extent of it all, that you wouldn’t be so keen to help him.

Which would be a problem. For most things, he preferred a willing cooperation, which was what he was aiming to achieve by tricking his other allies too.

This was simply how Kenjaku worked though; he would be selective with his plans and how he chose to tell it and to whom. He told you that he would restore you in return for your cooperation and he told Mahito’s alliance that he’s on their side in exchange to bend them to his will.

Therefore, he decided that your role wasn’t to directly talk just yet. It was to be in the midst of a social setting, humans or cursed spirits be damned—either were draining enough, so he simply just kept you present as a shadowing ally knowing that the alliance wouldn’t care much to ask.

For now given your condition, your use was limited anyway. Even if you did return to your peak condition, he would likely just utilise you in combat regardless since that was his initial plan to exploit your technique.

As such while the discussion happened off to the side, your matters were turned elsewhere—towards a person that didn’t quite seem human but not like the cursed spirits up ahead either; seeking comfort within his company, feeling bored out of your mind.

Initially, Kenjaku paid very little attention towards your interactions with one of his creations, believing that your communication with him would be limited at best. However as you continued to speak with the death painting, he felt something stir deep within him that he didn’t quite like—let alone understand.

You continued your exchange with Choso either way, oblivious to his observations. You somehow got into the conversation about emotions with him.

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious,” the death painting mumbled, hoping to not scare you away—he liked humans and wanted to learn about them, but his opportunities were limited.

“You’re fine,” you tried to reassure, “I’m just a little lost on how to answer that question,” you added with a polite, albeit strained smile.

“Sorry,” he repeated again, his face looking at you with a sat yet fascinated gaze.

“I suppose that it feels a little chaotic, maybe?” you mused, considering his question with more thought. “I think humans tend to be emotionally driven, so maybe to be human is to be unpredictable.”

You paused, trying to determine if your words were even coherent.

“Does that make sense?”

Choso nodded as he processed your answer despite feeling still just a little confused by it—he also had emotions but he didn’t feel motivated by them but maybe he was also missing something.

“A little,” he replied.

He wanted to continue the conversation but the meeting seemed to have been concluded which meant that you were reunited soon with Kenjaku, who chose to move onto the objective of continuing the practice of your technique.

With surprising patience, he encouraged you to release small bursts of your technique as you learned to regain control of it, finding that there was progress to be seen already, causing him some relief as you continued to demonstrate what you were currently capable of, meaning come autumn, you probably could prove useful. With each controlled movement, you proved that the energy handled by the pendant was becoming more and more efficient, which is exactly what he wanted.

“I know you can do better than that” he teased you, wanting for you to increase your output.

You nodded as you then attempted to do just that, finding that you still didn’t have a proper handle of your technique as you were simply too out of practice. As a result, you ended up accidentally sending over a surge of energy far greater than anything you should have been capable of—at least currently.

Kenjaku’s eyes widened slightly in response while maintaining his relaxed posture as he watched you completely drain the pendant of energy once again but in a much greater amount, thinking that luckily you were stood over grass, since the fall wouldn’t be so bad this time.

And then, to his slight annoyance, Choso was the one who caught you mid-fall, leaving him confused as to why the death painting, usually so aloof and distant, suddenly seemed to intervene.

However, he didn’t let his annoyance show at all.

Not once.

He instead continued back with you completely alone, leaving the cursed spirit alliance to their own hideouts, wherever those currently were and even though they didn’t suspect a single thing, he still felt off about something to do with you.

Then there was you, who on the other hand, couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he acted strangely colder towards you as he guided you back, finding that despite his continued silence, there was something different about his overall demeanour.

Feeling confused and weary from what had happened overall, you reluctantly went off to sleep even though there was an unrelenting nagging confusion lurking in the back of your mind, failing to understand exactly why he treated you so well just yesterday ago and why you were now otherwise reduced to barely dirt.

Initially, you wondered if it was because the technique had failed you again.

However, you also found that after you had accomplished a full night’s sleep, that he seemed completely back to normal again.

In fact, he seemed to be over the top thrilled about something.

So what was that really?

[goodday-goodmorn]

Alright! Starting this shitshow of a blog off strong with a platonic yandere Bruce Wayne fic!

Heavily inspired by- @blughxreader and their batman stuff! Go check ‘em out- (specifically the one with poor reader and the rooftop escape, those are my fav’s <3)

———————————————-

Also inspired by this qoute:

'They can't do that,' she said finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside you.' (Gorge Orwells, 1984)

“You know, i’m pretty sure that you helping me right now would be going against natural selection.”

Bruce sent you a look, something dark in his eyes. You knew it was coming however and shamelessly avoided looking at him for that exact reason. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have said that, he never was one for jabs or jokes that hinted in any way about you dying.

“You’re kind of a mother hen ya know that? I mean, i knew before but this is really solidifying it ya know?”

It was a deflection and you both knew it, usally Bruce wouldn’t let you get away with those. But once again, these were not the usual circumstances. Truth be told he was probably just glad you were talking again, that you had some life back in your eyes, albeit only a small amount.

“Your soup is getting cold.”

Ah damn it. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice. A stupid hope, consdiering he notices fucking everything.

“So it is.”

…

A sigh, “Kid, you need to eat.” You knew what it meant. It was a silent question, ‘are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?’, because either way, you would be eating.

You swallowed, truth be told, you didn’t have the motivation to eat. Nor the appetite, but the alternative was him talking you through every bite and you really didn’t want that right now.

So with a sigh of your own you picked up the spoon, at least you didn’t have to cook anything, all you had to do was eat what was in front of you. You could do that. Barely any effort. It was simple.

So simple.

The spoon stays in the bowl, your hand resting on it as you stare at the soup.

It’s delicious, you know it is, Alfred's food always is, and he’d made one of your favorites too. Something nice and hearty so you would be full for a while and wouldn’t have to go through the effort of eating again too soon.

Bruce was watching you when you looked up, ever watchful, ever observant, waiting to see if he had to intervene.

You swallowed, you never liked it when he stared too hard. His gaze was always so intense. With heavy limbs, you scoop a spoonful of soup and start eating.

Bruce’s gaze softens and he lets out a soft, “Thank you.” He ruffles your hair and you don’t have the will to stop yourself from leaning into it right now.

Give and take, give and take…

You eat in silence, you’re propped up on some pillows on the bed, Bruce is sitting next to the bed on a chair.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea to ask for him, a very stupid idea but at the time you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t deal with the boy’s clinging, not like this. Not when you woke up feeling like anything but a person.

See, a few hours ago, you woke up and felt fatigued, and apathetic. Two oncoming signs of a depressive episode.

It only got worse as the day went on, you tried to be alright- you really did but, you just couldn’t do it. This whole act of playing house with the Wayne’s was already tiring enough, but for your own sanity you had to keep it up.

After all, if you fought hard against all their afflictions they would only dig their heels in and make your situation a lot worse so- you always figured from the beginning it was better to give in early.

At least, on the surface anyway. Not resist their affections, hell you hadn't even once pulled any sort of escape attempt, or tried anything. You’d barely even argued either.

Your lack of resistance was met with open arms and eagerness. Of course- they knew you were only pretending, that you didn’t view them as family, but they knew it was only a matter of time until you came around.

After all, if you act for something long enough, your brain will eventually start to believe it.

Alas, you were a stubborn little shit, and giving in voluntarily had only seemed to help you keep up this mentality longer.

Until this morning anyway.

When you woke up, feeling like shit and simply couldn’t deal with playing house with your ‘brothers’. So, in your moment of weakness, when you didn’t want to do anything or let them drag you around or cuddle or watch movies, you had done something rather unexpected.

Which of course, was to simply shut down.

They were worried as shit, but when they finally did manage to get you to talk, your shaky whisper of, “I want dad.” -Had been shocking, worrying and exciting all at once.

(It had also been a touch too real, your voice had sounded so small, so far away, and in that moment you really did just want the comforting presence of Bruce.)

So now you were here, so deep into the throws of not being a person you barely felt like moving; sitting in your bed with none other than Bruce Wayne by your bedside, stroking your hair lovingly.

You were done with the soup now, as much as you could eat anyway, before Bruce could even say anything you reasoned with him, “I’ll eat more later. Promise.”

Promises held a lot of weight here. Something practically unbreakable, Especially with Bruce. Especially with you, maybe that’s just because you liked when they had weight. It was nice; To have a concrete thing to swear on that you knew would not be broken.

Bruce probably used them to build trust in his words or something, you didn’t know, and quite frankly you didn’t care right now because well- you got to use them too so…

He thinks for a moment, and then nods, agreeing easily, “Okay.” And with that he takes the bowl from you. He’s… he’s rather agreeable right now, usually he would confirm or try and fight you more on that.

Maybe he was being more lenient because you willingly came to him? Or because you were being open right now, or maybe because he felt bad for what you were going through or-

Gods you don’t have enough energy to ponder this.

You nod and lay back down, he guides you down most of the way. Now you’re back like before, lying in bed, cheek smushed against your pillow, starting at him blankly.

You break the silence as he pulls the blanket over you.

“What type of bird do you think everyone would be?”

He looks back to you, a small upturn of his lips and eyes crinkled slightly in an amused manner. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug, “Bored.”

A partial truth. In reality you were thinking about all that poetic shit about you being like a bird in a fancy golden cage. A very very well cared for bird with access to some deep fucking pockets but you know, still in a cage. Even if the cage is real fancy and has amazing food, even better wifi, and a home movie theater.

(You think Bruce would let you install an indoor pool? Or a jacuzzi. …He probably would. You should ask sometime, ah- you’re getting off track here.)

So anyway- fancy bird poems and then you started thinking about what type of bird you would be and then it kinda spiraled from there.

“Hm. Well, that depends, who do you wanna start with?”

“Mmm… Alfred, cause i think he’s the easiest.”

A little amused quirk of his brow, “What bird is he then?”

“Penguin. Cause he’s always dressed all fancy, and penguins got that sleek fancy vibe about them. They are kinda short for Alfred though…”

Bruce nods, as if taking your words into consideration, “Emperor penguin then. They’re the biggest penguin species.”

Contuiting on just to have something to blabber about you confidently say, “Jason is an emu.”

——————

After a very engaging deep dive into what types of birds everyone was-

(Tim was a woodpecker on account of all the times you’ve seen him slam his head into his desk while working; Dick was an ostrich because if Jason was an Emu then those two had to match; Cassandra got the honor of being a crow; Damien was a kinglet, a ruby crowned kinglet, purely because they are small and for some reason you only recall pictures of seeing those bird look annoyed, Bruce was a harpy eagle because they look big and grumpy, And finally you were a pigeon.)

-You were now half asleep as Bruce read to you like you were a little kid.

It was… nice. Like all the other times you were forced to hang out with the Wayne family. (Only this time you hadn’t been forced, you had called for him.) Nice but with that ever present little weight in the back of your mind, reminding you of just how much these people had taken from you.

Right now though, that little weight was… it was a lot easier to ignore.

You let Bruce’s calming voice wash over you, you were barely listening at this point but he paid no kind to your lack of attention.

This was nice.

No one had ever taken care of you when you went into one of your episodes before. Usually you had to suck it up and work yourself up to go get some food and water before laying in bed until the feeling went away.

It was a terrible feeling, a staggering sensation just on the edge of emptiness. But not there enough for you to not feel anything, it was almost as if everything was muted. All sensations dull, your thoughts weren't but you were apathetic to them.

In short, it sucked. Majorly.

But now, here you were, tucked into bed, fed a warm hearty meal, and being read to with such tenderness and care.

You didn’t even notice that your eyes started to water. But Bruce did. He noticed everything.

Gently, so gently, he wiped away the tear about to fall from your eye. His own were soft as they stared at you. Soft and filled with a look you couldn’t decipher, a look you didn’t want to decipher because the closest thing you could even begin to compare it to was- …was love.

Love.

Fuck- love.

You knew there was something wrong with this family, of course you did- they kidnapped you for pete’s sake, but- but they also had been unconditionally kind to you didn’t they?

You… You couldn’t-

“-do this anymore.”

Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. A quiet confession.

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Bruce sighed, his voice level, but quiet, fitting of the atmosphere. “You don’t have to, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in kiddo.”

He cupped your face in his hand. His own skin was scarred, rough, callous, and yet he held you with such care. It was almost reverent. He gazed at you with an almost sad look, as if your passive struggle hurt you more than him.

(It probably did. He didn’t have anything to worry about after all, you would break eventually. You could only keep telling yourself this was pretend for so long.)

“…”

Stubborn. Always so stubborn in the most muted way; silence. You weren't one to make large outbursts, or outwardly resist, but even so, passive stubbornness. It was something Bruce was fond of; how resilient you were.

You look away from his gaze, not meeting his eyes. His eyes, always so intense, always so much behind those icy blue scaleras.

“Is it-“ You start, the chemical imbalance in your brain making you honest right now.

You realize suddenly that this is the first real conversation you’ve had in months. There was no keeping up the act here. No holding your tongue or dancing with your words, no overthinking about what response would make you the perfect sibling, the perfect child. No catering, no push and pull of deciding how much of you you want to put into your words.

This was honest. The most honest you’ve been since you were kidnapped.

Bruce tilts his head slightly, patiently waiting for you to continue. He could sense a breakthrough, and he always did know when it was better to hold his tongue.

“…Is it worth it?” You say, eyes filled with so much emotion simmering just under the surface.

Bruce has a good idea as to what you’re asking. He knows you. Knows the way you think, the way you come to conclusions, your speech patterns, he knows you well.

(And yet it’s not nearly as much as he wants to. He wants to know more, to know everything, he wants for you to share such details about yourself willingly. He wants you to come to him after a rough day and listen to you rant. He wants to hear you laugh as you discover a new interest. He wants-)

“Yes.”

He strokes your hair gently, voice impossibly soft.

“It’s worth it.”

He answers your asked, unasked questions without a moment's hesitation.

‘Is it worth it to do all this? To keep me here against my will? To have me locked away like some canary in a gilded cage?’

“If it means you are safe and happy.”

“Is this really happiness?”

“It can be if you let it.”

“…”

“Don’t you like it here? You have a loving family, a nice house, you never have to worry about food or safety ever again.”

“…”

He cups your face with both his hands now, making you meet his gaze. Always intense. Too intense. You can’t handle the weight of his love for you.

Flicking your eyes to the wall you mumble, “There’s a saying. If you love something, let it go.” It’s weak, half hearted, you aren’t even sure you really mean it. (You aren’t even sure if you want to be let go anymore… you can’t imagine returning to a life before all this.)

(And Bruce knows this.)

You look back at him, meeting his eyes because you- you just- you know it’s stupid to ask but you can’t stop yourself-

“Why?”

You don’t need to explain any further. Bruce always seems to know what you’re asking.

‘Why me? Why do any of this? Why go through all the trouble just to keep some random kid?’

“Because I love you.”

He says it so easily. So simply, so calmly, as if it is undeniable fact, so once more you ask with more feeling this time,

“Why?”

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his hold as he gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s childish, it’s stupid, it’s dumb, it’s humiliating-

He wipes away new forming tears, still cupping your face, “Because you’re precious.”

You choke out, “You don’t even know me.”

“So then, let me know you.”

Weakly, you shake your head, his hands fall from your face as you choke out, “I- I don’t- i can’t.”

“Hey, look at me sweetheart.”

You do, looking up at him and seeing only the love of a father. You don’t know how to handle such a sight. It’s foreign and it burns and yet, you are drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“We already love you kid. Nothing could change that.”

“You love the idea of me.” You counter, shuffling to prop yourself up a bit because laying down for this just seems too- too vulnerable.

He sighs, “If you think that then we seriously should have had this talk sooner.” He mentally tsk’s, he knows he’s been putting it off for so long because well- you’ve been good. And the family was happy and you were adjusting better than anyone expected you to.

It seems his negligence has resulting in this problem growing however.

He says your name, folds his hands and looks at you calmly, “-If the family wanted another child, then we would have gone to an orphanage.”

You swallow, he continues, “But, we didn’t want just any old person. We wanted you.”

You try to deny his words, no one’s ever wanted that before, and yet you can’t. Because it’s the only thing that even begins to make sense in your head. The only logical reason any of this would have happened.

You can’t deny it.

They love you.

They’re insane, they kidnapped you and yet- yet they- it doesn’t-

“-make sense.” You whisper, even though it’s the only thing that makes any semblance of sense.

“I know, you’re confused and not used to this and scared, but you’re the only thing holding yourself back. If you just let yourself believe we’re a family, you’ll feel so much better. This mindset is only hurting you sweetheart, you need to let it go.”

You look at him, eyes wet and so vulnerable as you whisper in a small voice, “I don’t know how to.”

And he pulls you close now, into a hug, it’s a bit of an awkward angle because he’s on a chair next to the bed and you’re on the bed, but you barely even notice with the way he’s pressing you to his chest. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you and gently strokes your hair, consisting, comforting.

“We’ll be there every step of the way, start small.”

You shudder. The weight in the back of your mind is back in full force. He's asking you to give up your last bit of resistance. Your last act defiance. He’s asking you to give yourself up voluntarily. To fully endorse the idea that they are your family.

The worst part is, you don’t find yourself all that horrified with the idea.

If anything, you’re more scared that you’ll mess up somehow and piss them off with the real you and end up locked in a basement or something.

You don’t- you don’t know how to have a family. How to have siblings, a father- you don’t know how to interact or what to say and what to do- what if you fuck it up? what if you aren’t acting enough like a family and-

“-breathe with me kid. Com’on, in for 5.” He’s stroking your hair still, talking with you as he counts. You find yourself unconsciously following the deep rumble of his words.

“That’s it… hold for 4. One, two-“ It’s actually really nice to listen to him. Pressed so close like this you can hear the purr and rumble of his words in his chest. You can feel his chest expand with his own steadying breaths.

“Exhale for 6. One, two, three-“ You repeat his number sequence until you find your breathing is back to normal. Not that you had noticed how frantic it got to begin with.

Bruce hums, you feel the vibrations. You can hear his heartbeat like this. It’s nice, being held in his arms. “Good job kid, better?” His voice is a smooth rumble.

You nod weakly against him.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, him holding you as you listen to each other's heartbeats. You ground yourself with his and find your eyes drooping once more with sleep.

You make a noise; a hum of sorts and he sends you his own in return, soft, questioning.

“I-“ You clamp your mouth shut, thinking about what you’re about to say, thinking about if this is what you really want.

In the end you settle on this being the best choice, “I’ll try.” You swallow, mouth suddenly feeling dry, Bruce doesn’t give you any time to regret it though. He presses his face to your hair, affectionate.

“I’ll make the transition as comfortable as possible.” He promises against your hair, not being able to hide the smile in his voice.

You swallow again, starting up with slight nerves clear in your voice, “B-but i told you i’m not exactly very likable s-so don't regret it when i start speaking my mind and-“

That gets a laugh out of him, an amused kid huff, “You can’t possibly be any worse than Jason or Damein.”

You give a weak smile, “I dunno old man, think I could give ‘em a run for their money in bluntless.”

Bruce is smiling, you see it when he pulls away and looks down at you with such adoration. “We’ll have to see then.”

He’s happy, more than happy at finally hearing you be you. As much as he wants to keep you in his arms and listen to you for the rest of eternity however, that was a rather exhausting conversation. You look more than ready for some rest.

Gently, (always so gentle with you, as if you were somthing to be treasured), he laid you back down on the bed.

You let yourself be tucked in. You let him press a kiss to the top of your head. You let him turn off the lights.

“Um hey B- D-Dad?”

Bruce notices the slip up, but he lets it go. You’ve just made a lot of progress, and you’re clearly trying.

“Yes?”

“Do you uh- can i call you something else? Dad just feels really weird and kinda artificial at times so I was thinking maybe something more natural like maybe Pops? Or something like that i don’t know i just-“

“Of course you can.” He cuts off your nervous ramble easily, “You can call me whatever feels most natural, kid.”

You suck in a breath, soothed by his clam tone.

“O-okay. Cool… cool cool cool. Uh well then, could you maybe- maybe er- read to me? If that’s- if that’s alright..?”

Bruce was so proud of you. So much progress was made not too long ago and you were already trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You were trying so hard, bless you, you precious darling child.

He turned on the bedside lamp and took his seat on the chair once more, picking up the abandoned book.

Truth be told, Bruce was a busy man and he should be leaving because he has patrol in an hour, but he’ll be damned if he can’t carve out time for you. Especially when you asked to see him today.

(Especially when you were finally willing to view him as a father.)

“Would you like me to continue this one or do you want a different book?”

You jerkily nod, “That one’s fine.”

So, he begins to read once more, his voice a calming drawl that washes over you. Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and soon you are yawning and drifting off.

Once Bruce is sure you’re asleep he closes the book. With such a soft gaze he gently brushes the hair out of your face, smiling to himself. Then he gets up and turns the light off, walking out of your room and letting the door close with a soft click.

He isn’t surprised to find all of his boys camping out at the door.

He sighs, looking over the lot of them. From the looks of it they’ve been camping out here all day, or have been continuously coming back.

The only one who even has the decency to act sheepish that he’d been caught is Dick, and even then, he barely looks sorry.

Bruce shakes his head fondly at his boys, ushering them all out of the hallway to your room to let you sleep in peace

[solargeist]

idk if u care at all about star wars but there’s an animated short episode called ‘screecher’s reach’ that based on your grian evo interpretations i think you might really like

Oh ! I don't usually care about Star Wars, but i looked this episode up to see, and i was skeptical at first, but the ending rly is like my Evo Grian !! wahhhhh

screenshot context for anyone wondering but don't/can't see the episode (s2 e2 of star wars visions)

[imageingrunge]

they will never free my girl nina from that atrocious hair

[deadbaguette]

Looking back at my first drafts of some designs for the iliad characters makes me realize that either I’ve changed them way more than I realized or they’re completely the same

[starry-eyed-steve]

Scoops Troop this ep is so tragic to me.

Erica and Dustin are crawling through the vents for hours, probably freaked out because they don't know if Steve and Robin are still alive.

Steve is getting beaten to a pulp for information. I'll never get why this scene is used for funny moments compilations. Yeah, he was joking and said funny things, but can't you hear the desperation in his voice. I literally hate watching this scene, and the one where the general grabs his hair while Steve is being unconscious.

Robin is probably interrogated as well. She appears physically fine, but I think she probably had to listen to Steve getting beaten so she would talk. And then when she saw him, for a moment she probably thought he was dead. But still, she didn't break she bravely stood up for herself and Steve. Spitting in the face of that asshole, like yeah, that's my girl.