#i actually have to write it first

[airenyah]

i did it guys, i turned my thai drama obsession into my bachelor thesis

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[abstractfrog]

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[flwrkid14]

Ghosts of Gotham: Tim Drake is a Halfa

Danny wasn’t exactly sure what he expected when he met Gotham’s infamous vigilantes, but “Red Hood smells like death and swamp water had a baby” definitely wasn’t on the list. The moment he stepped into the room, Danny gagged so hard he nearly fell out of the air.

“Holy Ancients,” he wheezed, covering his nose. “What in the name of all things unholy is that?”

Jason, already not thrilled about the random glowing stranger showing up, tilted his helmeted head. “What’s what?”

“That! You! You smell like—oh, man. I can’t even describe it.” Danny waved his hand in front of his face like it might help. “It’s like if ectoplasm went rancid and then you rolled in it for three days straight. Dude, do you know what’s going on with your ecto-situation?”

Jason took a threatening step forward. “You wanna say that again?”

Danny floated higher, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’ll say it again. You stink. And not just like regular stink. Like ghost stink. Like, ‘this is a health code violation, and the Ghost Zone is going to fine you’ stink. How are you even standing there right now? Anyone from Amity Park would be side-eyeing you so hard you’d feel it in your soul—what’s left of it, anyway.”

Jason stared, his body language radiating murderous intent. “You are two seconds away from eating pavement, Casper.”

Danny, unbothered, pointed at his own chest. “Excuse me, Phantom. Casper wishes he could pull this look off.”

“Phantom,” Dick interrupted, trying and failing not to laugh, “maybe we could focus on the introductions first?”

Danny gave Jason one last look of pity and floated down. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Big Red, we’re going to have to talk about that. I’ll fix it later. No need to thank me.”

Jason looked ready to commit murder, but Bruce’s glare cut him off before he could say anything.

Once the chaos settled, introductions were exchanged, and things calmed down—relatively speaking. Danny, as it turned out, was impossible to fully calm down. He buzzed around the room like he had endless energy, chatting and throwing out quips that seemed to simultaneously amuse and irritate everyone.

Then Danny’s gaze landed on Red Robin, and everything shifted.

Danny tilted his head, his glowing green eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, his usual chaos quieted, curiosity taking over. “Huh,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Tim stiffened, his body going taut as though preparing for impact.

Danny floated closer, peering at him with an unnervingly intense expression. “You’re like me.”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately stepped back, his movements sharp and jerky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Danny said, and his tone was too soft for the others to hear the shift in it. “You’re like me. You’re—”

Tim’s hand twitched at his side, as though debating whether to reach for something or retreat entirely. “Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice low.

Danny blinked, then realization dawned on his face. “Wait… they don’t know, do they?”

“What don’t we know?” Bruce cut in, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Danny ignored him, his gaze locked on Tim. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Tim’s eyes darted toward Danny, his frown deepening as uncertainty clouded his features. He shifted his weight, his fingers twitching at his sides as if fighting the urge to bolt.

He took a step back, then another, his movements slow and almost imperceptible. His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, as though the air itself had grown heavier. The space around him seemed to shimmer faintly, a distortion that matched the anxiety rippling across his face.

Danny reached out, concern etched in his expression, but Tim flinched. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, the shimmering intensified, and with each passing second, Tim grew more translucent, his form fading like a mirage under the moon.

By the time Danny blinked, Tim was gone, leaving only a faint disturbance in the air where he had been.

The bats froze, their eyes darting around the room.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason demanded, reaching for his guns. “Where’d he go?”

“Did you do something?” Damian snapped at Danny, his hand already on his katana.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Danny held up his hands, his eyes wide with excitement. “Not me! That was all him! Holy Ancients—he can turn invisible?!” A grin split his face as he practically vibrated in place. “This is awesome! Wait—does he shoot ecto-beams too? Or, oh, what if he’s got some crazy transformation I’ve never even seen before? This just keeps getting better!”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “You need to explain. Now.”

Danny sighed, his excitement fading as realization set in. “Okay, but first, I need to go find him. Because if he’s anything like me, he’s probably freaking out right now. So… bye!”

He phased through the floor before anyone could stop him.

———

Danny found Tim perched on the edge of Wayne Industries, staring out at the Gotham skyline. He floated over cautiously, his boots touching down softly on the rooftop.

“Hey,” Danny said, his voice quiet. “Mind if I sit?”

Tim didn’t respond, but he didn’t tell him to leave either, so Danny took that as permission. He sat down cross-legged, giving Tim some space.

They stayed like that for a while, the silence heavy but not unbearable.

Finally, Danny broke it. “Okay, so… not to ruin the moment, but can we talk about how you've had to endure Jason’s ecto-stench this entire time? Because seriously, that’s gotta be a health violation. I mean, I'm half-dead, and even I think it’s concerning. Someone needs to dunk him in a pool of purified ectoplasm or something. I’m gonna file a complaint with—”

Tim laughed. It was soft and brief, but it was real.

Danny grinned, leaning back on his hands. “There it is. I knew you had a laugh in there somewhere.”

Tim sighed, his shoulders loosening slightly. “You’re… a lot,” he admitted.

“I know,” Danny said proudly. “But I grow on people. Like mold. Or fungus.”

Tim huffed another laugh, shaking his head. For a moment, the tension eased, and Danny let the silence settle again before speaking more seriously.

“Look,” Danny said, his voice softer, “I’m sorry I outed you like that. I didn’t know. And if they give you crap about it, I’ll personally make their lives miserable. But… you’re not alone in this, okay? I mean, yeah, it sucks. A lot. But you’ve got me now, because there’s no way we’re not becoming best friends now, and I get it.”

Tim looked at him, his eyes glassy but steady. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Do you really get it? I mean, you know what it’s like to…” His voice trailed off, thick with hesitation.

Danny tilted his head, his tone softer now. “Yeah. I know what it’s like.”

Tim let out a breath, shaky but determined. “I died.. a few months ago.”

Danny blinked but didn’t say anything, giving Tim space to continue.

“Harley—she caught me. Took me, actually. I was gone for weeks. They—she—handed me over to Joker. It was like a… gift. She thought it’d fix their relationship or something, I don’t know.” Tim’s voice faltered, his gaze flickering to the floor as if the memories were too much to hold. “I held out as long as I could. I kept fighting, kept trying to survive, but…”

He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Weeks of it. Beatings. Electrocutions. I don’t even remember the exact moment my heart stopped. I just… wasn’t there anymore.”

Danny stayed quiet, his face a mix of empathy and understanding.

“Harley panicked,” Tim continued, his words tumbling out like a confession. “She thought she’d gone too far, that Joker would kill her next. So she tried shocking me back. Guess she half-suceeded? I only came back halfway.” He gestured at himself vaguely, his hands trembling. “I’m not the same. I’m not… whole.”

Danny nodded slowly. "You’re stuck between," he said, offering the words with quiet reassurance.

Tim nodded, biting his lip. “Yeah. Between.” He paused, looking up at Danny. “I haven’t told anyone because… how do you tell them something like that? How do you tell your family you’re not really alive? That their search was all in vain? That I still died, even though they looked so hard for me? I can’t make them think they failed.” His voice wavered. “They were so scared when they found me…”

Danny stayed with him in the silence, his presence a steady comfort.

Tim exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “I thought I was weak. I thought if I told them what really happened, they’d think I was broken. And I didn’t want to be a burden.” He looked up at Danny. “I’m still not used to this. Not used to being… like this. I don’t even know how to control it—sometimes I phase through walls, other times I get stuck halfway. And the invisibility thing… I can’t even make it work without disappearing when I get too emotional.”

Danny’s gaze softened with understanding as he leaned in slightly, his voice steady but gentle. He hummed thoughtfully, “It’s a lot to handle all at once.”

Tim's shoulders slumped as he leaned closer to Danny, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to control it, but every time I get close, something goes wrong. And I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak or… freakish, so I kept pretending everything was fine. It was easier that way. Easier than explaining… all this.” He exhaled slowly, the exhaustion in his voice evident. “At least it was… until you showed up.”

Danny reached out, resting a hand on Tim’s arm in a quiet gesture of comfort. “I don’t think you’re a freak. You’re just different, like me. But that doesn’t make you broken. You’re still you.” He paused, meeting Tim’s gaze. “I know what it’s like.. to feel different, freakish, the whole nine yards. For what it’s worth? You're handling it a lot better than I did.”

Tim gave him a tight smile, the first real one in a while. “Thanks. It helps. More than you know.”

———

When they returned to the Batcave, Tim sat down with the others, Danny sticking close by his side. Tim took a deep breath and told them everything—about being captured by Harley, the weeks of torture at the Joker’s hands, the electrocutions that had stopped his heart. About how Harley had panicked and shocked him back to life, halfway. How he wasn’t entirely human anymore.

The family listened, their expressions ranging from horror to guilt to anger. Jason looked ready to kill someone, and Bruce’s usually stoic face betrayed a crack of regret. Tim hesitated as he explained why he hadn’t told them sooner, his voice faltering but honest.

Tim’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, “I didn’t want you to think you failed… that you searched for me for nothing,"

Danny stayed quiet but stayed close, resting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “For the record,” he said, glaring at the others, “if any of you give him crap about this, you’re gonna have to deal with me. And trust me, I will make your lives miserable.”

Tim gave him a small, grateful smile. For the first time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

[tackykachowch]

Silco SO should've haunted the narrative in s2 I can't stress this enough. Like, we knew Vander, Mylo and Claggor only for 3 episodes, but their presence was felt aaaall throughout s1. And now you're telling me that a PRIMARY ANTAGONIST of s1, a leader of Zaun, Jinx's dad and The person who started the negotiations with Piltover for Zaun's independence only got a couple of mentions?? Which aren't even relevant to the plot or character motivations??? Are you LEGIT FOR REAL kidding me???? I still can't believe this happened chat.

He's literally a part of the main cast. He literally was present in every single episode of s1. And again, given just How Much was tied directly to him his death should've had just. Massive consequences. For almost every single character. And yet.

My honest reaction to this information:

[blueskittlesart]

Now that you're gone

[tititilani]

I can't stop thinking about if Simon had taken Edwin's offer

Like Charles finds Edwin in the hallway as ever but this time there's another boy there too, cowering against the wall next to him. Maybe the dollhead spider doesn't care about Simon, too busy focusing on its favorite target, so Charles is left standing in the hallway with Simon when Edwin is taken.

They get out of hell, but Edwin doesn't confess due to Simon hovering behind his elbow. He doesn't want to confess his emotions in front of his killer, who he probably hasn't even properly figured out how he's feeling towards yet.

The Night Nurse is pissed they came out with an extra soul but Niko's same loophole still applies and Simon stays.

"This is Simon," Edwin says when it's all said and done, finally introducing the boy that's been hiding behind him since the door closed. "He was a...classmate of mine."

"He saved me," Simon says, looking up at Edwin moony-eyed and Charles knows that look and something settles heavy in his stomach.

"Glad to have ya, mate," he tells him even though the words taste sour. This other boy knew Edwin when he was alive, the thought is slightly terrifying to him.

Simon settles in fine with the agency even if the agency feels a little crowded now with five people in it but he continues to moon over Edwin and Edwin just...never tells anyone how they actually knew each other. He reasons it just doesn't matter, that he can't find the right time, whatever.

Charles never really warms up to him, though he tries to hide it, but he sees the looks Simon gives Edwin, a soppy smitten look that is somehow worse than anything Monty or the Cat King ever tried with Edwin because of all of them, Simon arguably knows the most about like Edwardian courting. That, like Edwin, Simon has also survived hell. Charles hates the idea that someone could potentially understand Edwin more than he does.

He hates it so much that nothing further happens between him and Crystal because the idea of Edwin being left alone with Simon bothers him so much. He sees Simon adjusting Edwin's collar one (1) time and it makes him feel sick.

And then there's the fortune-teller.

They only go to her sometimes for cases because she never fails to freak Charles out but her prophecies tend to be accurate like 60% of the time which is pretty good for a fortune teller. She looks at the two of them at the end, because it is just the two of them for once, and then looks just at Edwin.

"How kind you are," she says, the words a compliment but the tone snide. "To house your killer. Pray tell it doesn't come back to you."

"What." Charles says. "The fuck."

Charles is furious, of course, and it takes Edwin a long time to talk him out of smashing Simon's face in with the new cricket bat.

"He's like me," he insists in that quiet but firm voice. Charles wants to scream that Simon is nothing like Edwin - that he doesn't have a fraction of Edwin's kindness or pissiness, that his blue eyes are not nearly as beautiful as Edwin's green - but before he can even open his mouth, Edwin continues. "He...He likes boys, Charles. He likes me."

Oh. Oh.

Charles stares at Edwin who is looking back at him, trying and failing to hide the fact he's terrified, and Charles doesn't give one shit that Edwin likes boys because he's his best mate forever. He's still pissed that Simon is apparently staying but he has to hug Edwin at that. "I'm still pissed you didn't tell me about him," is all he says, swallowing back the other words he wants to say.

Charles grows even more paranoid about Simon being around, who has to get used to the fact that Charles takes to swinging his cricket bat ominously every time he comes within ten feet of Edwin. He finds out that adjusting clothing was an Edwardian courting thing and wants to break something. The very idea the very person who killed his best mate is now trying to put the moves on said best mate pisses him off.

It also makes him think of numerous times Edwin had readjusted his collar or jacket in the past and it makes his non-existent stomach flip.

Eventually, Simon decides he's ready to move on to his after-life and Charles keeps his hands from fisting when he looks at Edwin with that same soppy look. He knows Edwin has forgiven Simon by now but Charles has always been better at holding a grudge and he knows what is going to come out of Simon's mouth before he even asks. He knows that if Edwin says yes, he won't stop him.

Charles also knows that if Edwin does, there is no way he is going to find any kind of his own afterlife.

"You could come with me," Simon says hopefully and the moment after is the longest in Charles' life.

"Thank you, Simon," Edwin says kindly and Charles has to keep himself from crying. "But I have no interest in going anywhere without Charles."

He steps back - away from Simon and back towards Charles. Ears suspiciously pink, Edwin links their hands and they watch as Simon follows the Night Nurse.

[keferon]

OKAY OH MY GOD THIS FIC IS GREAT I HAVE ONLY READ THREE AND A HALF CHAPTERS AND IM ALREADY IN LOVE

I originally wanted to make both of these pieces in color but I’m gonna be honest I have no fucking idea how to draw Ricochet…he is described as black and red and…mmhhmmm does he have canonical (canonical for this fic I mean) design? Do I need to design him myself? Idk I’ll figure this out later

[sihbisu]

binge read reprogrammed n decoded by @littlecrittereli a few days ago :3

its very neat -u-

so made fanart :D

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 6 OF REPROGRAMMED

TW BLOOD, PANICKNG

(The blood part is brief with only a lil bit on the 1st page, there's nothing super graphic but just a lil heads up)

Please be safe <3

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they tried to rebrand as The Criminals but riz is literally the city council's treasurer and also turns out people in their late 20s don't really name their friend groups. so now they're The Intrepid Heroes

[libraryofgage]

so i wrote this yesterday and now it's become a whole thing

basically: Steve is actually smart but nobody realized it until he just fixes their various STEM related problems

anyway this is Eddie's very first experience with how smart Steve Harrington actually is

also please don't call me out if my physics explanations are wrong. just suspend your disbelief, i'm begging you lmao

also also, if you see any typos, no you didn't

---

"You're going to fail my class, Munson."

"Gee, no need to sugarcoat it," Eddie mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding Miss Chester's gaze. His eyes land on one of the posters behind her desk, a cat hanging off a tree branch. Maybe it would like to trade places.

Miss Chester sighs, looking pointedly at the desk closest to hers. She waits until Eddie sits on it, legs hanging over the edge. "I'm serious," she says. "You're going to fail, Eddie. I don't want you to, but there's just some...disconnect happening here."

He appreciates that she's not totally blaming him. Most of Eddie's other teachers would've been berating him for his laziness by now. This, among other things, is why Eddie likes her class even if he can't wrap his head around physics at all. "I don't know, Miss. It just doesn't make sense."

"So I'm noticing." Miss Chester leans back in her chair, her finger tapping against her desk. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the drum beat from a KISS song. "You know you'll probably be held back if you fail, right?"

"Not the first time."

Miss Chester waves off his words, looking deep in thought. "What do you think about tutoring? I think you'll do better in a one-on-one setting. If you understand the concepts better, I can start grading you based on the work you do with the tutor."

"It wouldn't be you?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly. He's not sure he wants some random geek tutoring him. Not that he has anything against geeks, of course, but he's never known one to talk in a way he can understand. They get all...technical and Eddie's eyes glaze over whenever he overhears their conversations.

"No, I don't have the time. But don't worry," Miss Chester says, smiling reassuringly before pulling her roster close and looking down the list. "The student I have in mind probably knows more than me, if I'm being honest. He should be able to answer any question you have."

"What student?"

"His name is Steve."

Of course, Eddie immediately thinks of that Steve. King Steve. Steve "The Hair" Harrington with his blinding smile that's always looked a little strained in Eddie's opinion.

He then dismisses Steve Harrington as a possibility and reviews the other kids named Steve at Hawkins High. There's Steve Paulson, Steve Meyers, and Steve Barns. Maybe it's Barns? He's the only one that Eddie could imagine being somewhat good at physics.

"Are you open to tutoring?" Miss Chester asks. "For one session, at least?"

"Yeah, sure, one session. Won't help, though."

Miss Chester smiles like she knows something Eddie doesn't. Which, to be fair, she does. She knows a lot more than Eddie in terms of physics, at least. "I'll set it up. Just come by tomorrow after school."

--------

On his first day at Hawkins High, Steve realized two things.

One, his parents weren't kidding when they'd said public school would be vastly different from the private group tutoring he'd received up to that point.

Two, if he wanted to have a good high school experience, he needed to be cool. And being cool, it seemed, meant not being smart. He didn't need to be dumb, but he couldn't breeze through his classes, either.

He's done a good job of it so far. He's bored beyond reason in most of his classes, sure, but he's also popular. Nobody bothers him or tries to copy off of him, and it's great. He can even swallow down the weird surge of frustration and annoyance and guilt whenever his classmates assume he's too dumb to be a good project partner, or when his parents ask why he isn't enrolled in AP classes, or when his teachers give him confused looks after he aces tests for a unit he seemingly didn't pay attention to.

Anyway, he almost rejected Miss Chester's request to tutor a student from a different class period. He was just about to say he didn't have the time when she leveled him with a look so profoundly hopeful that he just couldn't. So, Steve said yes and now he's hesitating outside the physics classroom.

What if the student inside uses this against him? Steve thinks he could play it off, maybe convince his friends that the kid is lying, but he's not sure. Nothing dire would happen, but Steve would have to reorient himself to a new place on the social ladder, and that sounds exhausting.

"Just get it over with," he mumbles. Then, before he can chicken out and just leave the other student hanging, he opens the door and steps into the classroom.

Miss Chester isn't there. Steve knew she wouldn't be. She'd said something about a department meeting that would take her time but leave them with the classroom to themselves.

The only other person in the room is Eddie Munson, bent over a notebook and furiously scribbling on the page. He looks up when the door opens and freezes at the sight of Steve. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Eddie breaks the silence by asking, "What, get lost on your way to the locker room, Harrington?"

Steve blinks, frowns slightly, and takes a deep breath. Okay. Fine. Eddie Munson it is. "Nope. Miss Chester asked me to tutor you," he says, because that's the only reason another student would be in this room after school has let out.

Eddie laughs. He nearly falls out of his chair with how hard he laughs. He's wheezing and clutching the edges of the desk by the time Steve moves another desk to face him and sits down across from him. "Are you done, Munson?" he asks.

"Holy shit, you're serious," Eddie says, his voice slightly strained and his face red from laughing. "No fucking way Steve Harrington is here to tutor me in physics. You probably don't even know what two plus two is!"

"It's four. Do you know what 12 times 40 is?" Steve asks, watching as Eddie blinks.

"I'm not a fucking calculator, man."

"No, you're not. It's 480, by the way."

"You could've just memorized that."

Steve sighs and reaches into his bag, digging around some before pulling a calculator out. He places it on Eddie's desk and says, "Ask me something."

Eddie looks at him like he's grown a second head but still pulls the calculator closer. "1,239 plus 378."

"1,617."

He watches Eddie use the calculator, feeling smug when his face twists into confused disbelief. He then puts the calculator down and frowns at Steve. "So you can add, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can teach me shit about physics."

"Won't know until we try," Steve says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his palm. "So, what don't you get?"

"...All of it. Just assume I don't know shit."

"You don't know Newton's laws?"

Eddie snorts, looking back down at his notebook. "There's that motion one and the reaction one," he says.

"Right. Newton's first law and his third. What about the second?"

"It's just...some equation or some shit."

Okay, Steve is starting to get an idea of where things stand. He thinks for a moment before asking, "What kind of stuff do you like?"

"What?"

"What do you like?"

Eddie looks so shocked by the question that he doesn't really think before answering, "Heavy metal. And, uh, D&D, too."

Steve knows heavy metal is music, and he could work with that but the D&D Eddie mentioned might be better. "What does it involve? The D&D?"

"It's a fantasy role playing game. Like, using your imagination to go on adventures with friends and stuff. Needs dice to work."

Oh. Perfect. "Do you have dice with you?" Steve asks. After another brief pause, Eddie nods and pulls one out of his pocket. He passes it over and watches as Steve turns it between his fingers. "Oh, an icosahedron. Cool."

"A what?"

"Icosahedron," Steve says, looking at Eddie. "It just means a twenty-sided polyhedron."

Eddie still looks confused, and Steve is about to explain it again when Eddie says, "Just call it a D20, dude."

"Oh. Sure. Anyway, let's use this," Steve says, rolling it between his fingers before letting it clatter to the desk. It bounces a few times before settling, a 17 facing up. "Do you know what made it stop moving?"

"The desk. I'm not an idiot, Harrington."

"I didn't say you were, Munson," Steve replies, leaning back slightly. "Just...yes, the desk stopped it. This is Newton's first law. If the desk wasn't there, it would have kept falling until it hit the floor. It stopped bouncing because it lost power each time it hit the desk. An object, the D20, will stay in motion, falling, unless acted upon by another force, the desk."

"That...kinda made sense," Eddie says, blinking a few times.

"Great!" Steve says, unable to help the bright smile at knowing Eddie understood him. "Okay, for the second law, the equation is mass times acceleration equals force. Basically, the movement of an object depends on how much it weighs and how much force you apply."

"Aaaand ya lost me," Eddie says.

"Okay, uh, you fight things in that game, right?"

"Yeah, kind of the whole point."

"Right, yeah, and the stuff you fight comes in different sizes, right?"

"Well, an orc isn't gonna be as big as a dragon, is it?"

Steve isn't really sure what an orc is, but he nods anyway. "Right. So if you want to move a dragon, you need to land a stronger hit than you would need for an orc."

"Duh. You're not gonna fell a dragon with a basic cantrip."

"Not sure what that is, but yeah. For this example, moving, or defeating, an object, or a dragon that weighs more than an orc, relies on how much force you apply, which is the strength you use."

"Oh. So, because an orc weighs less, I don't need as much force to defeat it," Eddie says, grinning as he fidgets with his pencil. "This doesn't really sound like math, though."

Steve shrugs. "We'll get to the math part later. Right now is basics. You need to understand those to do more complicated stuff. So, the third law, this is the action-reaction law. Music might be better for it. What happens when you strum a guitar?"

"It...makes a sound. Because it's an instrument."

"Well, yeah, but do you understand how the sound is being made."

"By...strumming it?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Sounds are vibrations in the air that we can understand. If you touch your throat while talking, you'll feel your voice box, your larynx, vibrate to make the sound of you talking."

He waits as Eddie does exactly that. While holding his fingers to his throat, Eddie says, "Didn't know it was called a larynx. Oh, fuck, yeah, there are vibrations."

Steve nods, waiting patiently as Eddie hums for a few minutes before looking back at him. "So, vibrations. Instruments make sound because playing them causes vibrations. When you strum a guitar, the strings rapidly move back and forth, and that movement is translated into notes."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah, I'm following you."

"So, the action of strumming a guitar creates the reaction of the strings vibrating. That action of the strings vibrating creates the reaction of air rippling, and those ripples create the reaction of audible noise. Did that make sense?"

"Yeah. It did," Eddie says, his voice soft as he stares at Steve like he's really seeing him for the first time.

Steve shifts uncomfortably, unused to this aspect of himself being known so well by someone at school. He's almost tempted to end things now and apologize to Miss Chester for walking out halfway through a tutoring session. Steve is practicing the apology in his head when Eddie says, "Hey, by the way, sorry for earlier."

"What?" Steve asks, trying to blink away his confusion and failing.

"You know, earlier, when I laughed at you? Pretty shitty of me to do. So, yeah, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Steve stares at Eddie for a few seconds before his shoulders relax. "It's fine. I'm not exactly known for being smart."

"Why not?"

"It's just...easier to let people think I'm dumb. Most of our classmates look at me and think I'm just, you know, a typical jock. They don't expect more from me than that, and I don't expect them to look any deeper."

"Does anyone else know, though?"

"My parents and the teachers. And you."

"Well, don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."

"Big boy?"

"Don't like it? Would you prefer Stevie?" Eddie asks, grinning as he leans in and exaggeratedly waggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve can't help snorting at the sight. "Whatever. Just call me what you want, Eddie," he says.

He tries to ignore the weird swooping in his stomach when Eddie's smile gets wider and he says, "You better not regret it, Stevie."

[honeyblackberries]

cw: spoilers for sylus' beyond cloudfall myth

you don't know just how cruel you are. don’t understand the gravity of the ruin you’ve inflicted upon him. because of you, love is something devastating for sylus.

maybe it was naive to once wish for you to stay by his side until the end of time… but how could he have known just what it would entail?

he saw you in his dreams down in the abyss, visions of gentle touches and a melody that would come to haunt him through lifetimes.

heartless beast, you've tormented him before he even met you. then cursed him before he left. never to die unless it be by your hand, never to be free from you.

wicked creature, hiding behind the facade of an angel. shining like an evening star in the haze of his mind when he slowly lost himself.

beloved sorceress, his undoing. the one who wanted his eye but clawed out his still beating heart instead.

it’s horrible, painfully laughable, that you can look at him without the weight of the past. without the knowledge of what you are to him. of what he is to you.

your dragon.

your sylus.

don’t you remember that you’re the one who gave him that name?

[siggiedraws]

Sonic is fundamentally unrelatable and unrealistic - and that's a good thing

I want to address a common sentiment in the fandom that I've seen countless times over the years - the idea that Sonic should be more humanlike. Specifically, the idea that Sonic should have more human traits, such as anxiety or insecurities, that make him emotionally vulnerable in some way.

I have always felt that this sentiment strips away what I love about Sonic so much—that it goes against his character as someone who is meant to be inspirational rather than relatable. From the bottom of my heart, I truly believe that making Sonic more relatable ruins his appeal and misses the entire point of what role he is meant to fulfill. Sonic being the way he is, an inhuman being that is extremely strong and unyielding mentally and emotionally, makes him an inspirational character that is appealing outside of the realm of relatability.

Please note that I am discussing Game Sonic for this essay, not any versions of Sonic from spinoff media.

(Special thanks to @blurredblu for helping me write this essay!)

Relatability =/= likeability

First, it is important to define "relatability" for the rest of the essay, as what is seen as relatable can vary across countless different cultures and lifestyles.

In this case, we are discussing facets of the human psyche. Traits such as emotional vulnerability, insecurity, or trauma are traits seen as humanlike because they imitate the depth of the human mind. They come across more realistic, and thus relatable to people in real life who have generally gone through emotional hardships.

Relatability is also considered with the implied audience in mind, according to Craft in the Real World by Matthew Salesses.

If relatability were somehow a goal of craft, then the question should be: How can a writer go about trying to make a piece of fiction relatable? If we mean “relatable” as sharing a reader’s experience, the first place to go is audience. We must always ask: Relatable to whom? Which brings us back to the elephant in the room—to call a manuscript “relatable” is really to make a claim about who the audience is or should be.

When writing relatability in fiction, what is important to recognize is who the target audience is. Sonic is a character that was initially created to appeal to a wide target audience, not only meant for young boys but for girls, women, and an older age range in general. When it comes to marketability however, Sonic is almost always advertised towards children, and this demographic is the most pertinent when we look at versions of Sonic written with relatability as a goal. With this idea of the target audience in mind, a character who is portrayed as young and having a childish temperament would be more relatable. The Paramount Sonic movies are a great example of a version of Sonic explicitly written to be relatable to the target demographic on a broad level, heavily influenced by the culture that the movies derive from: specifically a middle-class, suburban, small-town vision of American life. Sonic is portrayed as dependent, inexperienced, and abiding by a nuclear family structure who idolises many elements of American popular culture, such as Keanu Reeves or Marvel/DC superhero comics. Compare this to the games, where Sonic is shown to be self-supporting, wise, and living life as an unfettered vagabond, all without a trace of any pop culture utterances.

In other words, Sonic was created to be the height of unrelatability to his target audience.

It is not lost on me that the prevalent desire for Sonic to behave realistically ties into the idea that the goal of crafting a good character is to emulate realistic human characteristics. A character's relatability is what allows audiences to connect with the character, which is considered unequivocally a good thing.

What is forgotten in this rudimentary line of thinking is that characters in media need to fulfill a role. Characters are not people like you or me, but fictional creations made to serve a particular purpose. There needs to be thought put into what narrative role the character fulfills and why they are portrayed a certain way to the audience. Hence, there must be a reason for the relatability, instead of employing it haphazardly.

To quote Craft in the Real World once more:

"readers’ expectations for fiction are created by their previous experiences with fiction—in other words, by culture."

The desire for Sonic to be relatable can be attributed to people recognizing pervasive tropes present in their previous experiences with fiction, internalizing these commonalities as the correct way to write good stories, and assigning these to Sonic as a result. While I can understand the logic behind this thinking, it is crucial we don't limit our appraisal of media by saying a protagonist ought to abide by a certain limitation, when it's the breaking of rules, however rigid they are, that allow for different methods of storytelling. Sonic breaks the so-called rule that a protagonist must be relatable, and it's this unrelatability that enhances and strengthens the narrative in many Sonic games. In other words, writing Sonic in a relatable way can be a way to write him; that does not mean it is the only or correct way to do so.

We should bear in mind that there are usually financial incentives to cast characters as mentally or emotionally relatable to audiences. To create a protagonist that appeals to all audiences to maximize revenue, the solution is typically to make them broadly relatable. While this can be a successful formula, it is important to not apply it to media indiscriminately. If a myriad of works all prioritise having characters be relatable over what makes them unique, you may end up sacrificing creative integrity for the sake of following a trend. In Sonic's case, you would lose the inimitable appeal that makes him stand out. While relatability can be valuable in certain contexts, it should not dominate all other considerations of writing a character, especially when it is done for the purposes of profitability as opposed to earnestly conveying a character to, ultimately, tell a story.

What makes Sonic stand out

What, then, makes Sonic stand out as a character? His inhuman mental fortitude. In a wide and varied cast of characters such as the Sonic cast, each with their own unique emotional struggles, Sonic stands out as the sole character with no struggle. He has no weak point, no Achilles' heel. Though he is weak to water, that is only a physical weakness. Mentally, he is too strong for anything to affect him long-term.

As stated before, characters are designed to serve specific creative purposes. In Sonic's case, his striking mental resilience is to highlight other messages and characters in the story. This is because Sonic usually plays the guiding or support role in his stories. He is not the sole focus. There is always at least a second character that the story focuses on to highlight that character's problems and struggles, and how that character ends up overcoming that conflict, often with Sonic's help.

With all this in mind, would Sonic stories be improved if Sonic was, instead, a human-like character with human flaws and insecurities? Or would this muddy his core concept and require all Sonic stories to be changed unrecognizably to fit this new, different character?

Sonic has no backstory - and that's a good thing

Understand that this section is not an attack on backstories in general. For the most part, backstories provide insight into a character's motivations and personality. They are effective in accomplishing what they were meant to do - creating characters that are meant to be realistic.

Sonic is not meant to be realistic.

Yuji Naka once stated the reason behind Sonic's lack of a backstory in an interview: if you uncover all the mysteries, then the character will become uninteresting.

Very little information of Sonic's backstory has been revealed. We know that he is from Christmas Island (same interview link as above) and it is implied in the Sonic 1 manual that he and Eggman already know each other and have been regularly tussling before the events of the first game. These are vague and unspecific details that are not brought up in Sonic games at all, and for good reason.

Distance is required to portray a character who you are meant to be separate from rather than analogous to. Maintaining a certain level of mystery around Sonic creates intrigue, as a question is begged but never answered or even brought up in Sonic stories. This is because Sonic's backstory has no relevance on the narrative and delving into it is not necessary.

Sonic's motivations are simple and straightforward. He likes to run and go on adventures because it's fun. He likes to help people not out of some heroic obligation but because he wants to do what he feels is right. There is no need for a backstory to explain Sonic's motivations when they are plainly presented to you in such an uncomplicated manner, and what's on the face of it is just wholly what it is.

Sonic is also a character that remains static rather than having a major character arc. While he can grow when it comes to things that don't affect his overall character, such as Sonic learning and overcoming Shadow's Chaos Control technique in Sonic Adventure 2, he has no emotional conflict to overcome. He has been a fully realized character since the beginning of the franchise.

Compare this to a character like Tails, whose character arc is about him being bullied for his two tails in the past and being inspired by Sonic to be more confident in himself, as communicated in the Sonic 2 manual and his Sonic Adventure campaign. Divulging Tails' backstory is necessary for the improvement of Tails' circumstances and confidence levels to be effectively communicated in the story.

Fictional characters are narrative devices created to tell a story. They are not real. Again, there must be narrative reasons for them to be the way they are.

Providing Sonic's backstory would serve no narrative purpose—none that would serve the themes his stories and character are meant to serve, at any rate.

Sonic has no trauma - and that's a good thing

Upon analyzing Sonic's character in the games for so long, it has become astoundingly clear to me that Sonic does not have an ounce of mental trauma from everything he has been through. This should not be seen as a bad thing, but rather a well-thought-out and deliberate decision that serves to reinforce the role his character serves.

In the face of situations that would be considered stressful or traumatic to the average person, Sonic remains unfazed and even excited. There are countless examples of this: Sonic jumping from a plane with nothing but shrapnel to use as a surfboard in Sonic Adventure 2; Sonic expressing excitement that he's near an active volcano spewing lava in '06; Sonic exuberantly grinding over pits of lava in Black Knight; Sonic burning up with excitement at the prospect of dangerous stakes in Team Sonic Racing while everyone else seems to be concerned.

For Sonic, danger and near-death experiences are not a source of emotional struggle, but rather a source of fulfilment and joy. He lives life on the edge; the excitement of diving off of a plane or nearly falling into lava only fuels his love for life.

Additionally, Sonic also enjoys the simpler pleasures of life. Exploring the world. Reading books. Going on relaxing vacations. Racing through open fields. Life is one big adventure and Sonic is having a blast living it.

The idea of Sonic having some kind of secret, hidden trauma that he hides under the guise of a fake smile can be a fun fanon trope, but, for the purposes of canon and official Sonic stories, there are clear reasons why they should stay as fanon. If Sonic had trauma, it would undermine his unrelatability and make no sense given his role in his stories. Tropes such as Hurt/Comfort and Angst are ubiquitous when it comes to fandom culture, and this could be a case of those tropes appearing in the Sonic fandom simply due to the nature of fandom itself. Enjoying fanon in and of itself is all well and good, but advocating for it in canon will homogenize it by stripping away what is unique about the media we love.

In the end, there is no reason to believe that Sonic pretends or does not behave genuinely when it comes to expressing his true emotions. Sonic simply has nothing dark inside of his heart to hide. This is confirmed in Unleashed, where Sonic's heart is strong enough to resist the negative emotional forces of Dark Gaia without him even realizing. The subconscious nature of the action combined with his humility even leads him to initially think it to be Chip's doing. His heart is so strong and so pure that it is incorruptible by negative forces. This shows how Sonic's resolve is effortless and practically baked into who he is.

Sonic's internal strength is completely unconscious on Sonic's part. He doesn't actively try to be the way he is. He just is.

Sonic doesn't cry - you get the idea

It has become a hot topic in the fanbase in recent years that Sega once provided a revision note for Sonic to not express excessive emotion such as outwardly crying or sobbing.

This idea has generally been met with hostility and aversion from fans. However, this negative reaction has always confused me, and I hope to offer a different perspective to the issue.

Why does Sonic need to cry?

Let's expand on this argument for fairness' sake. A common rebuttal grants that Sonic doesn't usually cry. But in extremely emotionally difficult situations, such as loss or mourning, Sonic should cry because it is only natural to cry in such a situation.

Again, I want to challenge this notion. We could approach it from the angle of human psychology and behaviour—it is far from the case that everyone cries in response to severe adversity, belatedly or otherwise—but instead I want to explore this with respect to the narrative angle we have covered so far. Specifically, with respect to the idea that characters, unlike you or me, are designed and portrayed with certain purposes in mind.

Why would it be natural for Sonic to cry?

To help understand Sonic's handling of loss, let's analyze four examples from the series of Sonic losing someone.

In Sonic Adventure 2, Sonic stays strong and composed right after Shadow's presumed death, paying respect to his fallen ally.

In Sonic Unleashed, after Chip leaves him, Sonic takes a deep breath before moving forward with a smile on his face.

In Sonic Battle, Sonic is desperate for Emerl to live and expresses this openly.

In Sonic '06, Sonic expresses a great amount of despair when Elise dies in an explosion aboard the Egg Carrier.

It is clear from the outset that Sonic is not an uncaring individual - he wouldn't do all the selfless things he does if not because he didn't care about people. He also still feels strong emotion at losing those close to him, but he handles those emotions with a great deal of fortitude. In Adventure 2 and Unleashed, his reaction is more subdued, while in Battle and '06, it's clear that Sonic is upset and isn't afraid to show it. The difference could be due to that in the prior examples, Sonic watched them die in front of his eyes, while in the latter examples, they were already gone by the time we see Sonic's reaction.

Nevertheless, Sonic feels emotion. It is only because he does not express himself in an adequately typical way that this idea is met with so much outrage and pushback. Because Sonic does not cry, and because an expected response in certain scenarios would be to cry, it is perceived as a writing mistake that must be fixed. Sonic is perceived as a bad character because he does not fit into a rigid box of socially acceptable expressiveness.

But why is Sonic acting outside the norm necessarily a bad thing? The fact that Sonic can go through such hard situations and remain positive is a testament to his strength. The fact he doesn't cry makes him come across as superhuman when it comes to mental fortitude. That is not a mistake of his character that needs "fixing." That is the entire point.

The animosity towards the idea of Sonic not crying, that he must express himself a specific way, a distinctly normal and humanlike way, is stirred from the irrational, yet sadly common, leap in logic that Sonic must behave and experience life like you or me.

There is an irony, too, to how localised this demand of realism is of Sonic. I've seen no outrage demanding that he spill blood or break bones like us. But, apparently, he must shed tears to be a good character. Sonic is superhumanly resilient while running, or fighting, or taking on the miraculous powers of the Chaos Emeralds. Chaos is power and power is enriched by the heart. Sonic's is shown to be one of the strongest and purest out there, one that moves ever on from and through the pain of loss, grief, and tragedy. Isn't it bizarre, then, that this is considered a defect to him?

The messaging of Sonic

Sonic's core concept as an inspirational character must be maintained because it is key to the emotional messaging of nearly every single Sonic game.

Right from the very first game, you play as a plucky little hedgehog, fighting against the tyranny of Eggman's industrialization threatening to destroy all life on the planet.

Sonic is small and unassuming. But he fights anyways, determined to stop Eggman. And he does.

This concept remains throughout the franchise. Sonic always remains steadfast in the face of great adversity. From Sonic CD's "You Can Do Anything" vocal theme telling the player to believe in themselves to simple yet motivational phrases—ones that Sonic himself has given to the likes of more normal characters such as Elise: "If you have time to worry, then run!"

There is even a quote on the Japanese box art of Sonic & Knuckles comparing Sonic to the Sun, the far and unreachable star in space that our entire galaxy revolves around.

We look up at the Sun like how we look up to Sonic.

As brought up earlier, Sonic is the antithesis of relatability to his target audience, children.

This is because he is meant to inspire children.

The fact that Sonic remains so popular and successful to this day is undeniable proof that relatability is far from a necessary ingredient for likeable characters. Given the fact that Sonic is such a strong-willed character, that he fights endlessly against adversity with a smile on his face, that he always gives positive words of encouragement, is it any wonder why he is so popular with children? Sonic is a wonderful role model that promotes living life to the fullest. Sonic is deceptively wise, seeming to know simple yet effective solutions to every problem. Sonic encourages you to chase your dreams, to stay strong through hard times, to enjoy life.

Sonic is a friend who is always there for you.

Not only does Sonic provide guidance to characters, he provides guidance in the real world as we navigate our lives and the trials and tribulations that come with them. Each character that presents a problem is the character we are meant to connect with, and Sonic is who we strive to be.

CONCLUSION

I do not hold any grudge against relatable characters. I love them, just as I love all kinds of different characters in all kinds of media.

I believe that coexistence is possible. I believe that you can praise a character for their relatability and realism, just as you can praise a character for being the antithesis of both of those things, and these do not have to be contradicting principles for one to have. It all depends on a character's narrative function and how their character traits – both relatable and unrelatable – serve the story that is being told.

Sonic the Hedgehog is a character whose role in the narrative is to inspire and guide other characters. From a Doylist perspective, he represents the prominent, all-embracing messaging about staying strong and positive despite all odds, inspiring and guiding his target audience.

Every decision put into Sonic's character traits serve his role perfectly. Of course this extraordinary character does not behave like you or I do. Why would he? That's simply not his nature; a gust of wind in the breeze, moving endlessly all throughout the world. A pure and positive heart who has achieved the innate desire of all humankind in a way that we will never truly understand, free from the burdens of human nature. Freedom.

Sonic is unrelatable and unrealistic. And he is an amazing character.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Afterlife, But It's A Bar

[discontinued, feel free to add on]

It was weird. Not wrong, alarming or dangerous type of weird. Not good or comforting either.

Just plain weird.

It all started a few days ago, on Wednesday, to be exact. On a rare occasion, Jason was patrolling outside of his territory ("cover for me, I have a date" my ass, Replacement), and he spotted something out of place. A neon green, almost toxic colored sign that read "Afterlife".

Honestly, who names a place like that? But judging by the placement and design, it was a bar, and Jason could almost appreciate the irony. Maybe it had a slogan along the lines of "our drinks will send you beyond the lines of life and death" or something. But at the same time, it could be interpreted as "alcohol can and will be the death of you," which, technically, is not the best PR campaign for a bar.

Jason decided to visit the place anyway. He was curious about the implied death joke, sue him.

Of course, he didn't visit immediately. He was still on patrol, and he just heard the sound of gunshots to the west. Not to say that the place was quiet.

(Oddly quiet for a bar in Gotham, now that he thinks about it)

Anyway, the next day, he went there not as Red Hood but as Jason Todd, an ordinary civilian who decided to grab a beer in the evening. Only to not find the place.

He couldn't have just miss it - he remembered the street, he knew the building, he was absolutely fucking sure where the "Afterlife" should have been. He searched the whole block nonetheless, and then proceeded to check the whole area, but to no avail.

Damn, it seems like he can't get to the afterlife both literally and- the other literally. Yeah, he might be having too much fun with the oddly chosen name for the nonexistent bar.

It didn't exist on the maps and internet either. At this point, Jason was contemplating the idea of it being a hallucination or a dream. He even checked the recording on his helmet from Wednesday night, but the whole time he was in the area, the video was filled with interference and static.

Weird. Slightly suspicious, but Red Robin, who's been patrolling the same area for weeks before him, never reported any interferences, so it probably had something to do with his helmet and not the area in general.

On Thursday night, he purposefully went there right after patrol. And the nonexistent bar suddenly existed again! The same neon green sign, the same quiet street around it.

Seriously, what is this mysterious fuckery?

Now, if he was a Bat, he would have reported this to others and investigated, lurked around in shadows, and approached with caution. If he was a Robin, he would have still reported and then straight up marched in there and saw how it goes.

Alas, he was Red Hood, so he decided to watch for the bar guests and see just who the hell goes in and out of the place.

And there was the next weird thing.

No one was going in or out. Jason sat there for a whole hour, and not even one person entered or left the building. Despite the muffled sounds of music, voices and laughter coming from the place.

The final kicker was the fact that after some careful questioning and dropping hints, Jason found out that no one except him ever saw the "Afterlife"'s sign. No one's even heard of it, both the Batclan and the Gothamites.

The fuck?

So he did the next logical thing. He brought the smartest member of the Bats with him. Tim owed him anyway. Might as well use it now instead of later.

Friday night proved two things: one, Tim was still his favorite to work with out of all the bats and birds, not questioning anything as to why Jason is asking him to check out a bar, and two, Jason just might be going insane.

Tim couldn't see the "Afterlife" even when Jason pointed at the sign from not further than ten feet. The irony of the stipid name was not even amusing anymore.

Tim didn't ask any questions after this experiment, and Jason didn't want to admit that he is losing the grip of reality, so they ended up simply parting their ways after. Can the Pits cause brain damage? More damage than there was in the first place, that is.

Now that he thinks about it, the color of the sign is really similar to the Lazarus waters. He should have noticed it sooner, but in his defense, who would look at the bubbling pool of toxic waters and think, "Oh, that would make a dope neon sign"? Apparently, the owner of the "Afterlife".

The color might be just a coincidence.

...no, in the world he lives in, coincidences like this just don't happen. Besides, Jason doesn't believe in shit like fate or destiny.

So, here he is, on Saturday night, standing in front of the door to the Afterlife. It would have been funny if it wasn't so weird. What's even more weird is that the closer he gets to the door, the less nervous he feels, like the place is radiating some calming aura. Wait, no, scratch that, Jason is so not calling it a calming aura for God's sake. That sounds just like those homemade witches with their crystals, tarot readings, and whatnot.

He's going to call it... tranquilizer vibes. Yeah, that's better.

He takes a deep breath, getting ready to see whatever it is on the other side, pushes the door open, and walks into the bar.

...

Whatever he's been expecting to see, it's not this.

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah