#it felt very pragmatic

[figula]

btw now that im eating more again - i think my hair is growing again! thinking about how i lost 80lbs in a year through brute-force starvation bc teh alternative - thinking i looked fat in photos - was worse than that. a very evil and horrific thing. i did myself a huge physical disservice and put myself under huge strain in many different ways. but also like can i say i regret it? no... can i say it did actually ruin my hair + potentially my hip? yes... am i still somehow glad? yes. genuinely horrific brain rot. how can i be appalled at what happened from an arms-length observer's viewpoint, but completely unemotional about it from inside my own head. idk but it feels like it's over for now and maybe remission is enough for what i think MAY always be with me in some way or another

[spock-adoodledoo]

i think one of the things i'll always appreciate abt maomao is that even though she's the protag, it's not really that the world revolves around her or that things always happen to her, it's more that she gets involved in things (usually at the request of other ppl but whatever) that usually don't affect her immediately. idk but it's nice that she's kind of our dispassionate window into palace life instead of the person everything happens to

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Spoke to someone I don’t know over the phone, 11 dead, 32 injured

[sanctifiedtongues]

nine is such a magical doctor to me bc i absolutely cannot ruin his image with fanfiction due to there being a dearth of Migratory White Man Slash about him online it's just me and him and deep desires untold knocking around in my noggin. in my opinion they're better like that, with the lid put on them so they can't escape, like a pressure cooker. i like it, it's very organic, feels like i'm a housewife covertly obsessed with the man on the telly. the more vague and unsettling the fantasy, the better.

[tourmelion]

:)

Did you ever draw martins superhero(?) origin story? I'd love to see that c:

[image ID: a digital comic featuring Martin Blackwood and Peter Lukas from the Magnus archives. Comic depicts martin entering a room with a coffee in his hand, calling out "mr.lukas?". He peeks his head around the door and says "Mr. Lukas?" Again. He begins saying "I have your coffee-" but trails off as he turns to see peter. He's overlooking a control panel and a large device that looks like a lighthouse with a ring in the centre. Inside the ring, a person is screaming and dissolving into fog until they disappear. Peter turns around and says "Ah! Martin". Martin yells at him "what the hell did I just watch?! I know this place is shady but-but you just killed a man! He's dead!". Peter says "look martin, I don't expect you to understand our work here, you're only an intern after all, but-". Martin cuts him off "BUT WHAT, PETER?!"

martin pauses, looks at the coffee in his hand and goes "actually what if I just-" before pouring it over the control panel as peter yells "NO!". The ring on the device begins to break apart with white lightning coming from it as peter yells "martin you bleeding idiot!". Martin says "uhh...peter, what did I do?". We then see the two men dissolving into fog as they're hit with a white beam. There's text in between them that reads: "Martin blackwood never considered himself a significant man. A lowly intern for peter Lukas at the Lukas co. Lab who had lied on his CV to get there, martin knew what it was like to be treated with indignity. And so, when he saw the Lukas family conducting their immoral experiments to harness the power of a pocket dimension they called "Forsaken", he used that spark of spite and his long neglected desire for justice, and made one small act of rebellion, sabotaging the Lukas' experiments- but at the cost of him becoming...the Forsaken man! With his powers of telepathy, invisibility, and using the Forsaken to travel, he defends the world from those who wish fear upon it!". End ID]

Sorry this is a bit late, but this ask finally motivated me to outline Martin's origin clearly so I wanted to do the best I could with it! I straight up forgot to draw a panel here but you can still follow along lmao. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

[cedarmoonzz]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a small continuing to your Ford fic? I really enjoyed it and tugged my heart strings. I love you work so much and if your able to do that without any issue, I'd love that!😭💜

yes! i love that six fingered cartoon dilf with every fiber of my being!

once more to see you •｡ꪆৎ ˚

continuation of: between the bars followed by: slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford x reader

content: angst, stanford's poor attempt at comfort lol

summary: when your fiancé’s episodes of paranoia spiral out of control, you come to a difficult realization.

You’ve always seen yourself as someone grounded in logic. Pragmatic to the bone, you’ve relied on reason and science to navigate life, finding comfort in facts and the concrete reality they bring. But lately, that sense of security has started to unravel. 

The cabin was frigid, its icy air wrapping around you like a shroud, seeping into your very bones despite your efforts to ward off the chill. The socks you wore—a secret purchase made without Stanford’s knowledge—offered little warmth, though they  greatly softened the sound of your steps as you quietly drifted from the bedroom to the kitchen, then to the closet, nursing your third cup of coffee that night. Each breath you took was quick, shallow, as if the cold air was stealing it away. As you finally settled at the desolate kitchen table, a wry thought flickered in your mind: could the layers of plywood and fiberglass beneath you truly muffle the frantic beating of your heart, hiding it from your fiancé’s ever-watchful ear? In your own, the rhythm pounded, echoing like a circle of drums, impossibly loud in the oppressive stillness of the cabin.

Stanford’s paranoia didn’t burst into your lives all at once; it crept in quietly, almost imperceptibly, like a shadow growing longer at dusk. It all began when he developed a peculiar fascination with triangles—a simple, geometric shape that, in his hands, took on a life of its own. He transformed the cabin, once a place of warmth and refuge, into a gallery of trigonometric stained glass, each piece more elaborate, more intricate than the last. At first, you found it endearing, even charming, and you laughed it off as just another of his harmless quirks. You told yourself it was just Stanford being Stanford, his brilliant mind forever chasing new ideas.

But as the days turned into weeks, the triangles began to multiply. Their sharp, precise edges cast strange, fragmented light across your home, turning familiar spaces into something alien, almost unrecognizable. You began to notice how the once-welcoming cabin now felt distorted, its atmosphere thick with an unspoken tension. And yet, you didn’t see it for what it was—not at first. You didn’t want to see it. You told yourself it was just the glass, just the way the light hit it, just the way Stanford was channeling his creativity. You ignored the way your stomach twisted with unease, dismissed the creeping dread that settled in your bones.

You shook your head, trying to banish the haunting thoughts that swirled in your mind. There was no time to dwell on what had already happened; what mattered now was moving forward. Rising from your seat, you made your way to the bedroom you and Ford once shared, a space now overshadowed by his office chair, which had become his sanctuary. You reached into the closet, your fingers brushing against the familiar fabric of your thick army jacket. The worn texture offered a rare comfort, a tangible reminder of a time before everything had shifted. As you fumbled through the pockets, your hand closed around a pack of cigarettes—an old habit you had left behind during your second year of graduate school. A fleeting wave of nostalgia washed over you, mingled with regret for the time lost. You slipped the pack back into your pocket and donned the jacket, its sturdy fabric promising some semblance of protection against the biting night winds and the snow that still whirled outside the closed window.

Your gaze then fell upon your boots, left carelessly on the closet floor, caked in mud from past forest excursions with Stanford. You reached down, lifting them with a mixture of sentiment and practicality. With the boots in hand, you carefully descended the stairs, each step deliberate to avoid the creaking floorboards. At the kitchen door, you set the boots down and slipped them on, their familiar weight grounding you in the present. Quietly, you opened the door, the chill of the night air meeting you as you stepped into the darkness, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

You stood on the porch of your home, clad in baggy sweatpants, an oversized coat, and your old brown army boots. The cold night air wrapped around you, but the weight of the familiar clothing offered a small measure of comfort. You instinctively reached into your pocket, a gesture that felt oddly nostalgic, like reconnecting with a part of yourself that had been missing. Pulling out a cigarette, you brought it to your lips, and then you fumbled into your other pocket, searching for a long-abandoned lighter. Your fingers brushed against the cold metal as you hoped to find one still with fluid.

After a moment of fishing, you finally found it. With a deep breath, you shut your eyes, the cigarette resting between your fingers as you brought the lighter to your face. The small flame flickered to life, illuminating your face in the darkness as you lit your former vice. You’d given up smoking years ago, recognizing it as a bad coping mechanism, though it had always managed to calm your nerves better than any of the so-called remedies Stanford had suggested—yoga, green tea, or otherwise. Stanford had never missed an opportunity to chide you about it, yet in moments like these, when the world felt overwhelming and uncertain, the familiar warmth of the smoke provided a fleeting solace, a small rebellion against the chaos of your thoughts.

You couldn’t shake the image of your fiancé from your mind. The one person you had always relied on as your rock, your steadfast partner in all things logical and real, now seemed a stranger. He had become obsessed, shining a flashlight into your eyes, searching for something hidden in the depths of your pupils. Each time that harsh beam flickers across your eyes, it chips away at your sense of reality, leaving you to wonder if his strange behavior is a sign of something far darker lurking beneath the surface. The familiar comfort of the cigarette seemed almost to mock the confusion and dread that now defined your days, as if trying to find stability in a world that had become increasingly alien.

“[Y/n].” Ford’s voice sliced through your reverie, its suddenness filling you with an indescribable anxiety. The feeling was sharp and unsettling, a gnawing presence that you couldn't quite classify as rational or otherwise. It wrapped around you like a cold fog, clouding your thoughts and intensifying the sense of disorientation that had already taken root.

He stood behind you in the doorway, the light from behind casting a soft, almost ethereal glow around him. From this angle, you might have thought he looked perfect, a vision of calm and composure that seemed untouched by the chaos of your shared reality. The gentle halo of light made him appear almost otherworldly, a serene figure caught in a moment of stillness.

Yet, his appearance betrayed a different story. His hair was frantic and messy, a wild tangle of curls that seemed to reflect his inner turmoil. The bags under his eyes had deepened, etched by sleepless nights and relentless stress. Despite the disarray, there was a softness in his gaze, a look of tenderness you had missed with all your heart. It was a fleeting reminder of the warmth and affection that once defined your relationship, now overshadowed by the encroaching distance and disquiet that had come to dominate your lives.

You had tried so damn hard to stay quiet, to remain out of his way. You'd let him overwork himself to the bone if that’s what he wanted, even though it felt like a slow erosion of everything you once knew. You’d had the argument too many times to care by now, the words always seeming to fall on deaf ears. All you wanted was to avoid the inevitable confrontation, to give him space, even as his obsessive behavior grew ever more unsettling. 

"Stanford," was all you said in response, your voice barely more than a whisper. You lifted the cigarette from your lips, the smoke pooling around you like a hazy veil. As you exhaled, you cast a glance up the staircase, the familiar sight offering no answers, only a silent reminder of the space between you both.

“You’ve started smoking again,” he observed, his tone carrying a note of quiet surprise. The statement lingered in the air, the drifting smoke accentuating the distance between you. It was as if the sight of the cigarette in your hand was a reflection of the changes he could no longer ignore.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.”

The cigarette met your lips once more. You took a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs as your eyes remained locked with his. In that moment, it felt as if time itself had frozen, leaving you both suspended in the delicate space between old familiarity and the evolving distance that now defined your relationship.

“Of course I would,” he said, his voice carrying a soft tinge of regret.

You dropped the cigarette into the snow, watching as it hissed and sizzled against the cold ground. With a decisive step, you crushed it underfoot, pressing it into the snow for good measure. The smoldering embers were quickly extinguished, leaving only a faint trace of smoke lingering in the frosty air.

“Sorry,” was all you could manage to utter, the word feeling woefully inadequate in the weight of the moment. It hung between you, a simple apology for the complexities that neither of you could fully address.

“It’s cold. You’ll catch your death out here,” he muttered, his voice laced with a blend of concern and weariness. He stepped aside from the doorway, making way for you with a gentle gesture. The warmth from inside seemed to beckon, a stark contrast to the frigid night air.

You looked into his eyes, and he stared back, the moment stretching between you as if everything else had come to a halt. The world outside faded into a blur as snapshots of your relationship flickered through your mind—moments of laughter, shared dreams, and fleeting happiness. With each memory, you found yourself questioning what had gone wrong, what could have been different, and what measures you might have taken to alter the course of events.

In the midst of that frozen silence, a question slipped from your lips before you could even stop yourself: “Ford, are you still in love with me?” The words hung in the air, unexpected and raw, their weight adding a new layer of complexity to the already tense moment.

His head snapped towards you, eyes widening with a shock that seemed to crystallize in the cold night air. His gaze pierced into yours with a fierce intensity, as if your question had struck a chord deep within him. His eyebrows knit together in a furrow of confusion and apprehension, while his mouth tightened into a thin, resolute line. The change in his demeanor was palpable; his posture straightened as though he were bracing himself for a storm.

With a determined stride, he marched to stand beside you in the snow, the door to the house slamming shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed through the night. The two of you stood together, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow upon the snow, which reflected a bluish light that danced across the scene. The snow-covered ground sparkled faintly, but the surrounding darkness clung to you both like a shroud.

He stared down at you as you stared at your feet, standing only an arm's length away, the proximity intimate and charged. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the soft shushing of dormant branches swaying in the wind, their gentle rustling mingling with the quiet stillness of the night. The cold air wrapped around you both, creating a palpable silence that stretched between you, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind through the snow-laden trees.

His hand reached out, fingers closing gently around your chin. With a deliberate motion, he angled your gaze upward, drawing your eyes away from the snowy expanse at your feet and into his. The touch was firm yet tender, guiding your focus to the depth of his own eyes. It was just like he used to do moments before he pressed his lips against yours.

Your eyes met his, and in that brief, suspended moment, you saw the glistening, unshed tears pooling in his gaze. They shimmered in pale light of the moon, their potential to fall betraying the fragile veneer of his composure. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes was a stark contrast to his usual facade, revealing a depth of sorrow and vulnerability that seemed to unravel the very essence of his being.

“Don’t you ever ask that again,” his voice cracked, the words trembling as they escaped his lips. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours, the closeness both intimate and overwhelming. In that tender contact, you felt a deep ache, missing his touch more than you had admitted to yourself. The warmth of his skin against yours, the vulnerability that he seldom showed, was a poignant reminder of what you had longed for but also feared.

Your breath caught in your throat, the tightness nearly choking you as emotions surged within, rendering you on the brink of tears. Frustration twisted inside you, mingling with a deep-seated ache as you grappled with having surrendered so effortlessly to the solace of his presence. The warmth of Ford’s touch, so familiar and comforting, had shattered your defenses with an almost unbearable intimacy.

In that raw, exposed moment, you recognized a profound truth: you loved Ford with a depth that went beyond reason. You understood him completely, and you would remain steadfast by his side. Even if it meant losing yourself in the process, he would always draw you in. It was a certainty you could not escape.

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Big Hands (Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend, Spencer, are getting ready for a night out, when your insecurities start to get the best of you.

Word Count: 1531 -- it's just a lil guy

Warnings: Body insecurities, maybe a little bit of a big-girl-soapbox

A/N: I definitely wrote this very quickly this afternoon because I literally just felt like it. This is just a short lil one for the big gals who just want someone to notice them.

Anyway hope you enjoy! Thank you all who have commented/reblogged/liked my last fic!!

-

Your jeans hugged your curvy hips as you tugged them up to your belly button, covering the bottom, larger part of your stomach. You were tall, for a woman, but not taller than Spencer. He was, what, 6’1”? You stood around 5’9”, so he still towered over you, still had to look down at you when he spoke, still had to crane his neck to whisper in your ear. 

You were wearing a flowy, sage green blouse. Why were clothes so hard to find for a larger girl? It was all cold-shoulders and obnoxious patterns. You just wanted something that flattered your body type and made you feel sexy. Apparently that was just a ridiculous request. This blouse was cute, but modest, with a ruched, fluted bunching of the fabric in the middle. The collar was low-cut to accent your breasts, but the sleeves were long, which was annoying. You were going dancing tonight with your boyfriend and his coworkers. You didn’t want to show off all of your body, by any means, but you wanted to look hot. Who could blame you? And it was also going to get hot, temperature-wise. Long sleeves just didn’t feel like the most pragmatic choice. 

Sometimes you just gave up and went with the best option. And this blouse, that made you feel like you were going to a casual church event, not to a bar, was, unfortunately, the best option. 

You inhaled sharply and shrugged your shoulders as you looked in the full-length mirror hooked on the back of the closet door. Your hair looked really cute - the two biggest pieces on either side in the front were braided and dangled in front of you, effectively bringing your hair out of your eyes but also provided something to give your hair a little pizzazz. Your makeup looked great - a simple, subtle smokey eye and glossy lips. Your black boots looked good, peeking out from your wide-legged jeans, which hugged your hips and, honestly, made your butt look really good. 

It was just this stupid shirt. And maybe you were getting too much in your head about it. But you were transfixed on it, hating the way the sleeves bunched up a little, how the bottom half flowed beneath the ruched fabric, effectively covering your stomach, meeting your jeans and the top of your thighs. The color was too muted for a going-out top - you wished you could wear something more exciting. 

You sometimes wished you looked like Emily or JJ, or had the self-confidence to rock loud looks like Penelope did. But then you remembered that you were who you were for a reason. You looked like you simply because that was what you looked like. And there was no point in wishing you looked like someone else. 

Plus, Spencer was really into your body. He was nearly always staring at your breasts when you were in private, sometimes to the point where you had to snap your fingers in front of his eyes to garner his attention. 

It was flattering. You didn’t mind it if your boyfriend objectified you a little bit. He was respectful about it. 

“Y/N, are you about ready?” Spencer walked into your bedroom as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes met Spencer’s and you saw his neutral expression turn into a full-fledged grin, biting his tongue and all. “You look really nice,” he said, and you shook your head. 

“I look like a chaperone at a middle school dance,” you frowned, tugging at the fabric of your blouse in some illogical attempt to make it look different. 

“What?” Spencer stood behind you in the mirror. His chin basically met the top of your head, like too puzzle pieces. One hand rested on your hip, while the other slowly brushed your hair to one side so he could press a kiss to your neck. “I think you look great,” he added. 

You immediately felt tingly and your knees wobbled at the action. “But I’m not dressing for you,” you said, your voice instinctively dropping as Spencer’s lips trailed down your neck. You were having trouble concentrating on what you were trying to say. “I’m dressing for me, and I want to look cute. I can’t believe you’re even going tonight. You don’t dance, Spencer,” you pointed out, your self-control somehow beating out your desire for Spencer in the moment. You broke away from him and turned around to face him. 

“You do look cute, Y/N. I don’t understand what the issue is?” Spencer’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at you. “Also, I’m going out tonight because you want to. And I’m trying to keep an open mind. I might enjoy it.” 

You were proud of him. When you started dating about six months ago, he would have simply politely declined an invitation to a night out. And while you didn’t love going out every night, or even every weekend, for that matter, you did enjoy a night out occasionally. 

Regardless, he still didn’t quite understand what you were feeling about that damn shirt. “The issue,” you began, heaving a sigh, “is that I’m insecure about my body. Like any woman. You don’t get it, because you’re a man, and you literally have nothing to be insecure about.”

You knew the words were incorrect the moment you said them, but something kept you from backpedaling. You watched as Spencer shook his head, letting a small laugh escape him. “You could not be further from the truth,” Spencer pointed out, and you knew he was right. Men had plenty to be insecure about, and it was, in some ways, even more difficult for men to express those feelings. 

“Well, I think you’re perfect,” You let a small, playful smile creep onto your face, and Spencer rolled his eyes as you used his own tactic from earlier. He stepped towards you and his hands found your waist, contouring to match your curves. He knew them so well now, he could probably draw a map of your body with his eyes closed. 

“I appreciate that,” Spencer said, his voice a little softer as your eyes met his. His head dipped down, and you thought, certainly, that he was going to kiss you, but instead, his lips stopped just barely by your ears. You could feel his breath on your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine as he spoke. “You might be insecure, Y/N, but I am, too. You’re just human.” 

“What are you insecure about?” You found yourself asking, pulling your head back to look at him properly. Now you were curious. 

“My hands, mostly,” Spencer removed his hands from your waist, holding them palm-up, as if to present them to you for the first time. 

“What’s wrong with your hands?” You asked, placing your palms atop his. 

“They’re really big,” Spencer said timidly, and, admittedly, they were. But just by comparison. Your hands fit into his with plenty of extra space. You used your index fingers to trace his palms. 

“They’re not too big,” you told him, and Spencer just smiled down at you, shaking his head, like he was just humoring you. “I love your hands,” you continued. “I love that you can put your palm over an entire half of my face,” you said, guiding his palm to your cheek and grinning when his skin touched yours. Spencer’s thumb brushed your cheekbone. 

“And I love your body,” Spencer replied, and you just pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, Y/N, listen to me.” 

You let out a frustrated little exhale through your nose and let him continue. 

“I love the way you look. But I wouldn’t care if you were any bigger or any smaller. Because I love you. I’m attracted to you, to your mind, to your sense of compassion, and to your body. I love the way your hips fill out your jeans, how your stomach looks in your yoga pants,” he said. “I love the way you wiggle your toes when we’re watching something funny on TV, how you do a little shimmy in your seat when you’re eating something you really enjoy,” he explained, mimicking the movement. You looped your arms around his neck. “But mostly, I’m in love with your personality. How you challenge me, how you seem to bring out the best version of myself.”

You let out a wistful sigh. If this were a Jane Austen novel, you would have swooned. But instead, you used your grip around his neck to bring his face down to yours and kiss him. It was slow at first, then a little more intense, and when you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his. 

“You ready to go now?” Spencer asked, and when your eyes opened, you saw that he was smiling down at you. 

You shook your head, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “Not yet,” you said, your hands sliding down his arms until your palms met his. You tugged him in the direction of your bed. “I want to show you how much I love these big hands.” 

[petr1kov]

i swear most berserk fans are the dumbest motherfuckers alive in general but especially so when it comes to analyzing griffith's character and motivations. everything that happened in the eclipse is usually just tied into a neat uncomplicated bow of 'griffith always was a sociopath with no feelings and everyone in the band of the hawk were always seen as disposable tools to him', which is such a poor reading of literally everything that happened prior to it that it drives me insane.

the eclipse is meant to be a huge sacrifice. it is a grotesque and violent ritual that has griffith completely shedding his humanity and becoming something monstrous by cutting ties with everything and everyone that made him feel human in the worst possible way. what would be the point of it if griffith was already a fully-fledged monster from the beginning? why did griffith even need to experience visions to be convinced if he was always ready to sell his comrades for a corn chip?

even the scene where he explicitly states that 'only [guts] made me forget about my dream' often gets misconstrued as being just another expression of his narcissist ego, with claims that griffith became inconsolable and reckless after guts left him only because he got mad that lost control of his 'tool', since he felt like he needed him to achieve what he wanted. obviously, griffith's egotistical nature is central to his character and plays a part in this as well, but it's still very clear that it's not just resentment that motivates him in the aftermath of guts leaving. as he stated, guts made him forget what he wanted to achieve at all, HIS DREAM, for a while - and when he thinks of that, he remembers the good times they shared, not the bad. he simply couldn't envision a future that didn't include guts, after a point in his life, and that feeling had nothing to do with any pragmatic assessment of the pros and cons of having a powerful fighter like him on his side, and he knew that. it was the depth of his attachment to guts that terrified him.

i feel that people tend to dance around the issue of griffith's emotions in general because they feel that acknowledging that he felt anything other than possessive entitlement to the members of his crew (or even just to guts) is almost the same as excusing his actions, but it's the opposite for me. believing that griffith was simply born incapable of feeling love and affection for anyone is as good as believing that he essentially had no true free will in the events that led to the eclipse; if they were all interchangeable pawns on his hand, how would he ever hesitate to sacrifice them when the time came? how could a sacrifice like this even hold any meaning, really? believing that is fully conceding that he was always destined to become femto no matter what, which runs counter to the theme of free will in the face of causality that drives the series. where is the tragedy in that? where is the betrayal? it hurts because it could, should have been different, and griffith made a terrible choice - but only because he had a choice to make in the first place.

[bellysoupset]

Sorry for calling

I feel like this needs some more fallout and caretaking tbh

Summary: Matthew calls Isaiah when he gets sick at school shortly after the infection fiasco. Warning for emeto, mentions of scat.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said as he climbed into the car, struggling to close the door behind him.

Isaiah reached over him to pull it shut. "It's no trouble."

Matthew pouted at him, hands hugging his middle.

Isaiah sighed. After the infected wound, they have all been antsy and worried about Matthew's recovery. Matthew insisted on returning back to his classes as fast as possible though, arguing that wolves recovered faster and that the wound was healed anyway.

Isaiah suspected the wound and the infection might have healed, but Matthew's immune system got a hit, which was not something a shadow could repair. Shadows were great with immediate injuries - anything more long-term or slower acting, and they failed.

So when Matthew called him around lunch if Isaiah could pick him up, he jumped into action on high alert, figuring Matthew was struggling with his second day back at uni.

"I'm very very glad you called me," Isaiah added for good measure. Positive reinforcement, right?

"It's just a stomach ache," Matthew grumbled, giving him a sideway look. "But I figured you would be freaked out if I didn't."

That was fair. Isaiah and Seline were both over-worried since the infection, pestering Matthew with questions about his well-being, insisting he tell them every single thing. Maybe he overdid it, running Matthew out of the apartment before he was ready.

They drove a bit in silence, Isaiah taking measured turns. The road wasn't too crowded in the middle of the day, so it should be smooth sailing.

Matthew burped loudly, hand shooting to his mouth. "'scuse me."

"Did you eat something off? Or is it a bug? Do you have a fever? Tell me if-"

"Yeah, no," Matthew said. "Stop with the hundred questions. I just need to lie down."

"We'll be home in ten," Isaiah promised, gripping the wheel tighter.

He kept himself quiet after that, allowing himself occassional glances at Matthew, who resolutely scowled at the window, not meeting his gaze. His hands were still wrapped around his stomach though and he was sheet white, which Isaiah took as an answer enough.

The car stopped at the designated parking spot for their building. It was always a fight for every meter of space in Vienna, so their own parking spot was a luxury, even without the garage.

Isaiah thought he was watchful enough, but he was still surprised when Matthew opened the door, twisted to the side, leaning forward and loudly vomited right from the car.

"Oh man," Isaiah said with a grimace, reaching over to rub his back. Matthew's spine arched under his touch as he heaved, more yellow-coloured puke hitting the pavement.

Matthew burped loudly, shaking his head as if he could get the illness out of his ears, then pitched forward, catching himself barely on the car's door.

"Think you are done? Can you make it inside?" Isaiah asked, taking the car keys out and going around the car.

Matthew spat onto the ground, moaning a little. Isaiah carefully avoided the pool of sick, clasping his shoulder. He cupped the side of his neck. "Yep, feverish alright."

"Shut up," Matthew groaned, then threw his arm around Isaiah's neck for support, letting the dark-haired man to pull him out of the car. The sick wolf was swaying on his feet, hanging on to Isaiah for support. "I wanna lie down."

"Almost there," Isaiah said, readjusting his grip and throwing the car shut.

The building was mercifully empty, so they didn't have to wait very long for the elevator. Matthew had his eyes shut, weight more and more on Isaiah with each step, completely reliant on him. Isaiah didn't know if to be worried or flattered he was trusted so much. Or maybe Matthew was just fighting the nausea, cause he gagged right before the door.

"Just a second," Isaiah said, fumbling with the keys with only one hand available, before dragging Matthew inside to the bathroom on the ground floor.

Matthew was heaving before his knees hit the tiles, a string of sick landing beside the toilet before he managed to orient himself. Isaiah crouched next to him so he wouldn't sway to the side as he heaved up more chunky yellowish-brown lunch.

"Maybe you should have eaten something easier on the stomach," Isaiah mused, his grip tightening as Matthew buried his head in the bowl, back contracting with each heave. He really looked like he was going to choke on the sheer amount.

The other thing was the heat though, radiating off the red-haired man in waves. There was no preventing that with bland foods.

"Owww," Matthew whined, lifting himself up a bit. Another belch sneaked its way out, but it seemed there was finally a pause. "That hurt."

"Bet it did," Isaiah agreed. "Come on, you are going to bed."

"Still feel-urrrp- sick."

"Yeah, well, your fever is off the roof and this is not helping. I will get you a bucket, come on."

Shuffling out of the bathroom was slow and clumsy, with Matthew swaying dizzily and hanging onto Isaiah.

Situating Matthew in bed was an ordeal. Matthew was hugging the bucket like a lifeline, drooling and spitting over it. Isaiah had to fight him out of his sweaty clothes, changing them into pajamas and then collected everything from the kitchen he found helpful. A water bottle, a cup, a damp towel, paracetamol for the fever...

Matthew vomited the pills right after swallowing them, though, so there was no help the fever. He was miserable, curling up under the blankets around his stomach.

Isaiah had it not in his heart to leave him like that, changing his own bottom up and pants into sweat pants and a loose shirt he wouldn't mind getting ruined.

"Matt? Bud, would you like a hot water bottle? Or a sip of water?"

Matthew shook his head, burying his face into the mattress, curling up even more. His hands were digging into his stomach like he wanted to rip his insides open.

Isaiah felt utterly helpless. It wasn't fair he got sick right after going through days of fever and fighting off the infection. He hated it came so close after each other - that it probably caused this in the first place. No getting away from that stupid mistake.

Isaiah circled around the bed worryingly. He didn't want to force his presence just cause he was worried, and he wasn't about to leave but anywhere in the room seemed too far away...

Matthew opened one eye at him, brows knitted together in irritation or pain, Isaiah wasn't so sure. "What are you dancing there for? Hop in."

Isaiah suppressed a smile, sliding into the bed beside him.

Isaiah wasn't sure what was and wasn't allowed, but Matthew quickly solved the issue as he turned from the edge of the bed to press his forehead against Isaiah's tigh.

"How are you doing down there?" Isaiah leaned against the wall sitting upright, hand hovering over the overheated face.

"Ugh. Cramping like a bitch."

"Wanna try some water?"

"Bleh. You want to finish me off?"

Isaiah shook his head in exasperation, grabbing the discarded wet towel and planting it back over Matthew's face.

The redhead grumbled, swiping at his hand half-heartedly. "Ow. That's cold."

The next hour crawled slowly forward. Matthew would sometimes reach for the bucket, mustering enough energy to heave over it emptily, only to slump right back down against Isaiah, curling around his stomach and moaning pitifully.

Isaiah sometimes dared to put a hand on his back or check his forehead for fever, but he wasn't sure what else to do. Whatever Marthew was doing couldn't count as sleep, as he turned and tossed around, throwing his blankets off only to shiver from the cold a few minutes later.

Isaiah was at his wit's end as Matthew dry heaved over the bucket for another 10 minutes painfully. He was also afraid to move from his spot, anxiety pinning him to place beside the ailing man.

"Come on, bud, just a sip of water. You will be dehydrated like this."

"Few hours won't matter," he grumbled, face twisting.

"Please."

Matthew groaned, somehow still managing to make that sound angrily and hoisted himself up on shaky hands.

Isaiah brought the bottle to his face, helping to steady it as Matthew took a few tentative sips, before chugging down a long sip.

"Hey, easy there." Isaiah gently pulled the bottle away.

Matthew scowled at him. "At least it won't burn so much coming up."

Isaiah sighed, both of the settling back into their positions. Keeping tabs on the time, he was about to call it a success, when Matthew didn't throw up in almost 40 minutes.

The silence was interrupted by sudden gurgling from Matthew's stomach.

Matthew moaned, pulled his legs up. "You are fucking kidding me."

"Matt?"

Matthew grumbled under his breath, uncurling with obvious effort and sitting up clumsily.

"What are you doing? Stay still-"

"Help me up, damn it," Matthew bossed, swaying as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed and almost face planting onto the ground.

Isaiah got up in an instant, hurrying to his side.

Matthew reached his hands towards him, two red splotches on his cheeks shining on his pale face. "I need the blasted bathroom. Stop asking."

Isaiah obediently kept silent, though Matthew's stomach decidedly did not. As the walked, Isaiah's arm around Matthew's waist, it gurgled loudly, making Matthew cringe in response.

When they reached the bathroom, Matthew untangled himself, shooing him away. "Don't you dare come in. I'm tolerating you enough."

Isaiah almost chuckled at the response, staying by the door. So the water wasn't staying down either way. Glorious.

He waited until Matthew appeared in the door, shaky and ashen and reaching for him without meeting his eyes. But he ended up curled against his leg again when they reached the bed.

After another hour of restless turning and sweating with no end in sight, he ended up messaging Seline.

When are you coming home?

It's Tuesday. Long day, remember? I got classes till 9 pm.

Isaiah groaned quietly. It was only half four. Matthew is sick. I don't know what to do, nothing is helping. Do you have anything in the kitchen I could give him?

No answer came for about two minutes, before his phone beeped again. I'll be there in half an hour.

He felt guilty immediately. No, it's fine. Just tell me what to do. He can't hold down anything.

See you soon, she wrote, adding a heart emoji.

***

Things were still a bit weird between her and Matthew. Especially since the infection.

She felt incredibly guilty he didn't tell them. That she made him feel like he couldn't tell them.

He was stupid for it, sure, but how could he doubt she would drop everything and help him, if he was in trouble? No matter what tension or argument or unresolved issues were between them? Wasn't that obvious?

The answer was simple. The same way she could believe he would hurt her.

Was it truly so he would? Since the conversation with Hector, it kept nagging at her. "It doesn't react to what I do, but to what you feel."

That's what he said. And maybe the problem was truly her and not Matthew. If she had trusted him, she wouldn't have been afraid no matter what expression he made or what his shadow did.

Seline was still thinking that over as she stepped into the apartment. The shoes were all over the hall again. She rolled her eyes, tucking away hers, Matthew's and Isaiah's, then hanging both of their hastily discarded coats.

She tiptoed closer to the room. The door was slightly open. The nervousness was making her stomach tight. It was stupid. Matthew was sick, Isaiah was certainly freaking out about it and she had some idea what to do.

But what if Matthew didn't want her there?

That made crossing the threshold of the door downright impossible. Her hands were freezing - she felt frozen to the spot.

She wasn't that good of a caretaker anyway. She would like to be, but when it came to someone being sick, she was more of the "fetch this" or "write an email" or "give cheerful advice" kind of person. The girlish noises and the comforting words of sympathy or whatever it was didn't come naturally to her - more like they felt pathetic and out of place and with no guarantee they were helping.

If you wanted a pragmatic solution, she was down for it. Emotional comfort during physical distress? Not so much. How many times did she not know how to comfort her mother during one of her chronic migraines, simply sitting beside her? How many times did she just sit by her brother as he cried, not knowing what to say or what to do with her hands or where to look?

Seline could take the discomfort and the gross details, find a good ointment, suggest the right herbs, make the right tea. But holding someone's hand was not there. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she just rationalized the abilities out of herself.

Taking a deep breath, she stuck her head into the room.

Matthew was curled up on his side, blankets twisted around his legs in a mess. Isaiah was sitting upright next to him, hand on his shoulder as if he was trying to share some of his health with him through contact alone. Isaiah's hair stuck out in weird directions and he looked just as pale as Matthew. Add the fact he was out of his suit, which as alarming enough. Seline didn't think she ever saw him in sweat pants and an informal loose shirt before.

There it went again. Isaiah, she could read. She even dared to touch him or offer comfort or do whatever she felt like, because she felt first with him, and second-guessed herself later. Usually, after he had already responded - favorably till now - saving her from the panic she was out of place.

Isaiah looked up at her, their eyes locking. She gave him a hesitant smile. He looked back at Matthew and then to her, look pleading and hopeless.

Well, at least that was easy to solve. She went to the kitchen, gathering her idea and then returned quietly as possible, to Matthew's bedside table.

"I got these anti-emetic pills. If they work, we can get him some fever meds too and then he could just sleep it off. These things don't have a long duration anyway," she whispered.

Matthew groaned and turned to look at her, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "He is right here, you know."

She winced, then held out the package of pills to him.

They looked at each other in awkward silence, Matthew's gaze tired and confused, Seline's shy and wavering.

Isaiah was obviously too impatient for it, cause he reached over Matthew to grab the pills, grabbing a glass of water with the other hand. Before she could move, he was already offering them while Matthew lifted himself on one elbow.

There. Role done. What else was she supposed to do? The sensation of pins and needles run through her, like everytime when a room became stifling and unwelcoming, when she knew she wasn't supposed to be there anymore.

She had already left a note for her professor she wasn't coming though. Not like she could turn around and leave.

Matthew fell down back on the bed. Isaiah skillfully removed the glass out of the way so it wasn't knocked over.

Seline crossed her legs at the ankles, hugging herself close. She should change out of her outside clothes.

Isaiah raised an eyebrow at her and then started to untangle himself from the bed.

"Alright. I'll go make some tea. Peppermint is good for the stomach right?"

"I can mak-" she interrupted.

"Nope, I will. Need to stand a bit, my back hurts. Would you mind staying with him, please?"

He wasn't exactly giving her a choice with how he hurried. She snatched at his sleeve as he walked beside her.

Isaiah stopped for a second, hand over her elbow, squeezing briefly.

She frowned at him.

He smiled and walked out.

Great. Just great.

Seline sat down tentatively on the edge of the bed.

"Not gonna say hi?" Matthew grumbled.

She jumped at his raspy voice.

The redhead was on his side again, curled up around his stomach, hand tenderly laid over it. But positioned towards her now. His dark brown eyes were glassy with fever.

"Hi," she squicked.

Matthew glowered at her.

"How- ehm, how are you doing?"

"Staying down for now. Stomach cramping like hell, though."

"Ah, right...uhm, I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? Not your fault."

She nodded. Not this time, it wasn't. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nah," he sighed, then a quiet burp escaped past his lips. He turned on his back, irritated. "I got one over-motivated nursemaid right over there. He is asking if he can bring me something every two damn minutes."

Seline chuckled at that. "Sounds like him."

"Seriously. We are so filling his need to take care of someone, it's ridiculous."

There was another long pause.

"Did...did you take your temperature?" she asked, looking for something to do.

"Yeah. A little elevated." He gave her a side-look, head turned towards his pillow. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. I'm no fun right now."

She bit her lip, smoothing her wavy hair and sliding to her feet, heart hammering. "If you don't want me here, I understand..."

"Huh?" His head jerked up to her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's fine, it's fine, I'm sorry,..."

"Stop with the sorrys- now where do you think you are going?" He lifted himself up, hand towards her, before he swayed and flopped back into the bed with a whine.

"What are you doing, you moron, stay put-" she knelt on the bed next to him anxiously as he rubbed at his eyes again.

"I'm okay. Jst got a'lttle dizzy." Matthew's eyes were shut together and he was grimacing, sweat perling on his forehead and upper lip.

"Little elevated, huh?" she said skeptically, planting a hand to his forehead on impulse. "You are on fire!"

"Ow! Your hand is freaking cold!"

She drew her hand away immediately as if burned, but he caught it on the way, pulling it against his chest.

"You told me to leave," she protested, tugging at her hand helplessly.

"That's just a pharse. I wanted to be polite. You are supposed to say it's no trouble and insist on staying, dummy."

"Since when do you try to be polite?"

"Since you act so jumpy about everything I do!"

"I'm not jumpy, I just don't know what to say. You gotta be angry with me-"

"For what?" He blinked at her in genuine irritated confusion, his eyes somehow bigger and rounder than usual with the fever and redness to his cheeks.

Seline was so shocked at his incomprehension she forgot what she meant to say.

Matthew coughed, leaning his head back, as all the energy from the little spurt flowed out of him. "Now my head hurts too."

"You are probably dehydrated," she said absently, wiggling her fingers.

He opened his hand slightly, releasing her from his hold, squeezing his eyes shut again.

Seline skidded down from the bed, circling around to look through Isaiah's collected supplies. She found a discarded wet towel and poured some water over it from the giant bottle - why was there a bottle and not some kind of basin? - and swiped it over Matthew's forehead. "Just breathe. Relax. It will go away soon. We can try water in a few minutes. I got a real good rehydration solution for you. You will get better quickly."

"Hmmm," Matthew's furrowed brows smoothed over at the feel of the towel. He turned towards her, head tracking her movements. His right hand opened and closed, though he didn't say anything else.

The invitation couldn't have been clearer.

Seline slid her hand inside of his, squeezing his wrist, a warm fluttery feeling washing over her.

***

They ended up all in the bed with Matthew in the middle. Isaiah from one side, upright as always. Seline from the left, legs folded underneath her.

Matthew seemed to be content, stuffed between them like that. He almost didn't toss as he napped.

Sometimes, he landed with his head pressed against Isaiah's leg, sometimes in her lap.

Isaiah gave her an amused smile from time to time, settled at last.

She wasn't sure if she did everything right. But it seemed to be enough for the moment.

@bellysoupset

[dcxdpdabbles]

ok but imagine

batman with gun tim time travels to the past but instead of trying to seduce baby tim to the dark side he,,, ignores him

after all baby tim is young and pragmatic he'll realize that company policy is ineffective and kill people gets shit done

no bwg!tim has more important things to handle

like killing the ppl who murder his boo danny

and he knows exactly who to target

bonus points if tim and danny aren't dating yet

extra bonus points if they haven't even met yet

The plan was simple really. Time travel and start the correct way to handle criminals early. Take out the people that had taken from him the only person he really loved.

His past self was still running around trying to talk the Bats down from murderous rage, and while that itched, it was a lesson he needed to learn in order to finally wake up and properly get things done.

Tim saw no reason to track him down. He's stubborn as a mule, he can admit that, and his past self heartily believes that the crazy bastards should be locked away instead of put down. It would be ages before he could get close to getting him to listen to what Tim had to say.

Time, ironically, is not something he has to waste. The machine that brought him back had preset departer times. If he missed it then Gotham in ten years would be without it's Batman.

The carefuly iron control he has over the city would be questioned, and some fools would try to make a power grab in the sudden vaccum Batman had left behind.

So while it would take years for his past self to come to his senses, it would happen on its own, and Tim was alright with waiting for it. What he wouldn't allow to repeat itself was the death of his lover.

His plan involved killing the people that killed Danny. What Tim forgot in his grief was that those very people were the ones to raise Danny.

Yes, Jack and Maddie Fenton had killed their son in an accident. The ray gun that they designed had been faulty and had exploded in wide outburst instead of shooting straight.

It was meant to paralyze the ghost for capture.

Instead, it attacked ghost cores in horrific, fast-acting disintegration. Tim remembers the blast washing over him, the green ripples doing nothing to him as a human, and for a brief second thinking it funny that their gun was just a fancy light show, only to hear Jack Fenton's cry of celebration.

Then Danny's scream of agony.

His skin had been falling off, and Tim had been rooted to the spot watching his boyfriend, his lover, his entire moral compass melt before his eyes.

He had watched Maddie's smug face break into hysterical grief when Danny's ghost form vanished, and the sluggish body that fell to the floor with a splat had been her son. The two scientists had reached Danny first, and the fools had begged him to hold on.

As if they were not the ones to have done this, indirectly or not.

Danny's last words had been "I forgive you. I love you"

and then he was gone. In seconds his Danny was lost. He had died painfully, unfairly, and all because his parents had believed in their bigotry so purely they never saw reason to change their minds, even when there were signs their son was part of the group they loath so much.

The Fentons hadn't even been charged with Danny's death. It was deemed an accident; the worst they had to do was pay a fine for their blast, knocking out the power. All because ghosts were not protected under meta laws, and Danny was no longer recognized as human.

Tim hated them more than any villain in the world, hated that they lived well, Danny did not.

His own comfort was that they couldn't live with themselves either. Jack Fenton had taken his life the night after the funeral Jassmin had planned for Danny. Maddie Fenton had lost her mind, speaking to the air as though her husband and son were still there, and was moved to an asylum by a grief-stricken daughter.

There she died of a broken heart.

Tim took care of Jazz, he felt that Danny would have wanted him to, but she was never the same again. She was one of the first to agreed with him that Batman had to stop people before they went too far.

That thinking "they'll come around" was no longer an option. She made him the bullets for the gun that killed Bruce's parents, and she was the one that watched that same gun put down the Joker.

It was the first time she smiled in years.

All that hurt because of these fools.

Tim wasn't going to let them hurt anyone anymore. He aims his gun at the shaking forms of Jack and Maddie Fenton, their pathetic attempt to fight him off, were nothing comparied to his training.

He had them on their knees, bound to hold still, and with one push of his finger, the toxic outlook on ghosts would die with them.

But foolish-loving Danny wasn't about to let him put them in the ground where they belonged. The boy had thrown himself in front of them with a cry, throwing up a shield seconds before the bullets found their mark.

The Fenton couple gasped while Danny turned to them with clear worry. "Are you alright?"

Tim felt as if though he was kicked in the chest, seeing the boy- for he was a boy. How had he forgotten that his love died so young? Now with all the years under Tim's belt, did he truly see how pre-maturely Danny had died.

He was as beautiful as the day Tim lost him, but he was far too pure and innocent now. Tim's killing was a necessary that ruined him, while Danny remained kind and forgiving till the end.

He can't stop the rush of air that threathens to burn tears into his eyes escape him. Thankfully his training kicks in and Batman is able to shut everything that was Tim in his mind.

All that remain was the mission within human shape.

Danny growls, voice as cold as his ice core "Who are you?!"

"I'm Batman"

"Liar!" The boy hisses, thin pieces of frost growing around his green shield. "Batman doesn't kill!"

Tim scoffs, "Killing is the only way to stop more death."

Danny doesn't respond. He merely shoots a blast at him, momentarily dropping his shield, and Batman rolls away. He will overwhelm the boy and get him out of the way.

Then, he will do what he came to accomplish. Danny must know that, for he sees the moment, he shuts away his own human part and melts into Phantom.

The young ghost who took on a King for his people and became the hero that supported Red Robin above all else.

Phantom leaps at him, and Batman meets him halfway, each wearing emotionless expressions that promise a fight to the bitter end.

[arguablysomaya]

Nightwing's weird fem-coding

! LONG POST !

Finally got around to jotting down my thoughts on the weird way that Dick Grayson (Nightwing) often occupies female-coded roles without being a particularly feminine guy. This is entirely due to me procrastinating on my finals. Okay!

Dick has often been cited as the hero who plays into the "female gaze", and he takes up some key roles that are typically reserved for women characters.

A large portion of Dick's fem-coding is contingent on his being with his family, and when he's not with them, this fem-coding kinda drops away, such as when he's with his various teams or acting solo.

His most prominent (and imo, complex) femme-coded role is:

-> Eldest Daughter + Widow

Eldest daughter syndrome means " frequently feeling like you’re not doing enough, like you’re struggling to maintain a veneer of control, like the entire household relies on your diligence." It's born out of the unique way that first-born girls are expected to take on adult roles around the household before they've had an opportunity to fully experience childhood (an opportunity their younger siblings will have, in part due to this sacrifice). It creates a strong sense of independence and a desire to be a good role model, but also leads to undue pressure and perfectionism.

Dick acts as a central emotional pillar for those in his family. To the point that when he fakes his death, it breaks something fundamental in the family dynamic:

Not only is it repeatedly made clear that Bruce depends on Dick to act as a lifeline for his own mental struggles, but moreover, his siblings do as well. In a very literal sense, the maintenance of the batfamily rests on Dick's shoulders. Bruce is so rarely available for emotional support that these children turn to the next best thing, which, to be fair, is better than what Dick had growing up. He has to clean up so many breakdowns, it's honestly pretty staggering.

As the OG sidekick, Dick receives quite a bit of hero worship, particularly from younger heroes/sidekicks, who look toward him for guidance. As a naturally upbeat and welcoming person, Dick ends up in the position of bringing light to everyone, not just Bruce. For example, here's Cassandra:

This balancing effect is unique to Dick's skill set. However, this can (and does) backfire very easily. The same pragmatism Bruce engages in hurts extra bad when coming from Dick: like when Dick had to take Robin away from Tim. Not to mention just how intimidating Dick's legacy is, which can create resentment when his successors aren't able to play this role so easily. For example, Jason both before and after his death expressed insecurity that he felt he was constantly being compared to Dick, and falling short.

As the original character that people think of when they think "sidekick", DG Robin (and his successors) had the advantage of not losing prominence even as his contemporaries (Kid Flash, Aqualad, Wonder Girl, etc.) were de-prioritized in favor of independent teenaged heroes (like Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven, and Starfire). But that means Robin as a concept now has to deal with questions that weren't so prominent in the earlier decades, such as: "How do we justify a grown-ass man using a child (and in fact, children) as emotional crutches?"

It's icky to think about, but there's no denying that early Batman and Robin got side eyes for homosexual subtext. I mean, they literally call each other "partners". So while that "subtext" was, and remains, just audience speculation, given Dick is literally Bruce's adopted son, there is room, I believe, to call into question how healthy it is for Bruce's oldest kid to be taking on a nearly-parental role and be a core pillar of Bruce's emotional regulation.

Hot take here, but I think Dick's relationship with Bruce was/has been pretty emotionally incestuous for a long time.

-> Emotional incest

"Emotional incest[...] is a type of emotional abuse performed by a parent. In cases of emotional incest, parents rely on their children for significant emotional support, which is a reversal of roles. Emotional incest is more than just relying on your kids on occasion—rather, it is an extreme dependence on them." (There's a pretty good argument to be made that Bruce has been emotionally incestuous with all his Robins, especially Dick and DEFINITELY Tim, but y'know. Small steps.)

Emotional incest is a semi-common consequence of eldest daughter syndrome; the natural conclusion of deputizing a child to manage the other children combining with an inability to see the child as a child, still in need of emotional guidance, but more like an adult capable of shouldering the burdens of grown-ups dumping their traumas on them.

To be clear here, while emotional incest may not be incest in the most traditional, taboo sense, it is still abuse. It's putting a burden on a child they shouldn't have to carry, even for children that aren't dealing with such extreme burdens as "grown-ass man running around in a fursuit needs me to keep him from getting himself killed". It's a perversion of a healthy parent-child relationship, where the child is treated more like a partner than a child. In Dick's case, it further exacerbates the parentification he already experiences. This is made more explicit when Bruce "dies" and Dick is cast into a sort of "Widow" role.

Dick reluctantly dons the cowl in an attempt to bring order to his family members. He's also left to parent Damian, alone. He has to make the decision to take Robin from Tim, and try to deal with the fallout from that decision. He has to put a stop to Jason's fratricidal rampage. He's made into the de-facto head of the family.

And the thing about this is: Dick's not even bad at it. In comparison to Bruce's litany of disasters-in-parenting, Dick does a pretty bang-up job of managing his siblings, heading the Justice League, and being Batman. But the crucial point is that he does this at the expense of his own mental health, which is the crux of eldest daughter syndrome. There's no denying that at the time, Dick was most certainly the best choice for New Father Figure, but it was a choice he was pushed into, and a sacrifice he had to make. When this sense of responsibility to the point of self-sacrifice is pushed to its logical conclusion, it has the effect of making Dick a Martyr-type figure.

-> Protector/Mama Bear/Avenger

Dick has shown repeatedly that his hot button is his family. From Tony Zucco to allowing Blockbuster to be killed after the villain targeted Haley's Circus, going after Nightwing's family is a pretty good way to earn yourself an asskicking. Probably the most infamous example of this is when Dick thought the Joker had killed Tim, beating the clown to death to avenge both Tim and Jason.

And while this role isn't particularly feminine, I do think it's interesting that Dick protects his family members from each other with almost the same frequency that he protects them from outside threats. He's pretty notorious for wrangling Damian and Tim, foiling Jason's murder plans, and most importantly, beating the shit out of Bruce whenever he crosses a line, such as when Bruce asks Dick to conceal being alive from their family to join Spyral or when Bruce wanted to abandon the Bruce Wayne persona after the murder of Vesper Fairchild. Or of course, more recently after Bruce's latest MK-ULTRA shenanigans.

This basically puts Dick in the position of being the glue that holds the family together, at basically all times, but especially in times of conflict. This also means he's put in the dangerous position of bodily defending his younger siblings from Bruce's wrath or irresponsibility, a position made even more awkward given the whole emotional incest thing.

That's not to say that Dick's relationship with his family is 100% unhealthy. Dick and his family members (including Bruce!) feel legitimate affection and care for each other. There are times when the dynamics here are indeed healthy. And like most people with eldest daughter syndrome, the unhealthy nature of this dynamic is usually understated. Oldest sibling syndrome is often just an unavoidable consequence of how parenting works. So while I am of the opinion that this dynamic is often unhealthy, hot take: I'm fine with that.

Now, though I've just listed some tropes that he only falls into around family, Dick also falls into some fem-coding all the time, regardless of who he's with, and these have to do mostly with his sexuality.

-> Sexual Assault & Harassment

Yeah, so nobody is surprised that this is a factor. Look up any list of the top ten hottest/sexiest/most attractive male superheroes, I guarantee 9/10 times Nightwing is number 1. However, unlike his father, whose attractiveness is usually played as a part of the male wish-fulfillment fantasy, something people aspire to be, Dick's attractiveness more often makes him an object of desire- very similar to how most attractive female characters are perceived.

And as an object of desire, Dick Grayson is constantly having to deal with being objectified.

Now, Dick Grayson being an attractive character is not the problem. Dick Grayson being sexually assaulted isn't even the problem. the problem is that he keeps being harassed, assaulted, and raped in ways that are flagrantly nonconsensual, and yet it's not treated with the seriousness it deserves. In fact, it took a full decade for Devin Grayson to retract her previous statement and admit that yes, the rooftop scene with Catalina Flores was in fact rape, and it's never been acknowledged in-universe (though, comics have always been atrocious at calling out sexual abuse of all kinds, let alone that which targets men).

Hell, even when he in-universe calls it out, he's dismissed immediately and the story continues like nothing happened.

Like???

Dick's adult sexcapades (which were consensual and enthusiastic) have long contrasted with the numerous times he's been harassed; times in which he comes across as bored, exasperated, and even frustrated with his own attractiveness and the vulnerable position it often leaves him in.

This puts him in the rare (in comics) position of being a male character who consistently and near-exclusively has his sexual agency and boundaries violated by women - a position that authors uniformly refuse to examine despite writing him into it all the fucking time.

Other characters around him frequently make comments passing off this harassment and assault as a natural consequence of Dick's own attractiveness, making "jokes" that essentially amount to "I understand why someone would want to assault him". Which- UH?

There is also, of course, the unavoidable reality that as an acrobat and an aerialist, he receives a very specific type of sexual harassment

the nature of nightwing's fight style necessitates a type of tight-fitting suit that male heroes typically don't go for: an extremely slick suit with bare-minimum armour that again, makes him vulnerable in a way most male heroes aren't, but a style female heroes wear all the time, whether it makes sense for them or not. This of course then allows artists to draw attention to this fact by posing Nightwing in poses usually reserved for femme fatales:

And unlike the Hawkeye Initiative, these poses are (largely) unironic, and not played for jokes. Dick isn't arching his back or looking over his shoulder to poke fun at how female heroes are treated; he does so because the artist (clearly correctly) sincerely believed these poses would play into the unironic gaze of the audience, and also probably thought it was hot. It's the same line of thought artists use when posing femme fatales.

He's even been known to use his sexuality as a bargaining chip, much like more traditional Femme Fatales. In Batman and Harley Quinn (2017), he refers to sleeping with Harley Quinn after being kidnapped by her as one of "the things I do for Gotham", to which she responds "I'm taking that as a 'yes'." And that's uh- not how consent works.

And this particularly sucks because- HELLO? The opportunity to explore the very real and tragically underacknowledged phenomenon of sexual violence against men is literally invaluable, especially with such a prominent character. It's one thing to ignore that men face sexual violence, it's another, entirely more unforgivable thing to continuously and explicitly depict such scenarios and play them off as jokes or not as serious as they clearly are. But what did I expect from an industry that has never had a good track record on sexual violence anyway.

-> Queercoding?

There's also of course the fact that DC has been, as of late, dropping hints that Dick might be bisexual.

That on it's own doesn't mean anything, but when paired with the fact that DC has been angling toward giving Dick a similar playboy persona that Bruce has, just with men included, it's just very interesting.

(BTW: The likelihood DC actually commits to making Dick bi is, uh, not a lot, but if they're gonna stick with this weird closet stuff for a while, let's hope they do so in a way that doesn't make him sound like a cross between Donald Trump and Harry Styles next time? Please?)

Anyway, all of this is basically to say I am forever fascinated by the gender dynamics of Dick Grayson, likely due to the fact that I'm projecting all my eldest daughter traumas onto him, and that someone who's background is in Gender Studies needs to get on this shit if they haven't already. I just love this character sm.

[thelostconsultant]

A well kept secret

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Bonnington!reader

summary: Lewis wants to move to the next level in your relationship, but he didn't consider an issue–your father having no idea you've been dating for years.

warnings: age gap, but otherwise it's angst/fluff.

“I have an idea. A long-overdue one, actually,” Lewis began as he rolled closer to you in the engineering truck, his eyes searching the room to see if Bono was nearby.

But your father was nowhere to be seen, and to be honest, the room was surprisingly empty at this time of the day, so he didn't hesitate to reach out and take your hand in his. Normally he would stick to casually patting your shoulder or giving you a high five, maybe pulling you into a quick, friendly hug if he felt daring, but being so alone was extremely rare when you attended a race weekend.

Your sweet smile that told him to go on made his brain temporarily short-circuit, but once he pulled himself together, he cleared his throat and began to lay out the plan. “Move in with me. I know I spend a lot of time away, but I want to share my home with you.”

The two of you had been dating for over two years now, keeping your relationship under the radar to protect yourselves from your father's inevitable fury. Because Lewis was certain he would be mad at him despite their over a decade long working relationship, and it would poison their teamwork that brought them so many amazing race wins and titles.

Not like he could blame him, it was easy to tell what the two of you had could be seen as something very controversial. He had met you when you were just a kid, and now, all those years later, there he was with the taste of your lips and feeling of your skin locked in his head. He loved you, he was sure of that, but sometimes he wondered if he should have told you to forget about him and focus on guys your age.

You wouldn't even have to go that far from the paddock. Everyone at Mercedes knew Max had been trying to get your attention for months now, and his most recent attempt the day before resulted in photos of him lurking around their motorhome spread like wildfire, making people believe he was there to sign a contract with the team for 2025.

But he kept his doubts to himself. You seemed so happy when you were together that he simply didn't have the heart to have this conversation with you. Why should he make you sad? He didn't want you to be sad. If being together made you happy, he would stay as long as you were letting him.

Now a part of him expected you to bring up that telling your father about the two of you was also long-overdue, but you didn't say it in the end. It was in your eyes, he knew that's what you were thinking about, but something stopped you from saying it out loud. What you did say was a lot more pragmatic, an aspect of his plan he had failed to consider.

“You live in Monaco. What if my parents wanted to visit me? What would I say?”

Lewis drew in a deep breath, his eyes moving away from your face for a little while so he could focus on the conversation. You were right. You lived in London, your parents obviously knew that, and sometimes they jumped in to visit you. There had been that one time when he was at your place and they showed up to surprise you since they were nearby. Those were the longest three hours of his life so far, hours that he spent locked into your bedroom.

“Look, I know you hate to hear this, but we can't do this without telling them about us,” you told him eventually after you cupped his cheek with your hand.

Gulping, he covered your hand with his and thought about your words. There was no other way to do it, you had to be honest with them for the first time in years. “Let's wait until the end of this season. Your dad's not coming to Ferrari with me, so him hating me wouldn't affect our work in the future,” he suggested.

“He wouldn't hate you forever. Sure, he would be a little mad at us for not telling him sooner, but–”

He couldn't help but laugh at your adorable naivety. “Baby, it's more complicated than that. Two years. We've been together for two years. I've been lying to his face the whole time, even joking around with him when he seriously considered taking pity on Max and giving him your number so he could call you.”

You laughed at the last part, but your smile faded when he gave you a serious look.

“And here's the biggest issue. The age difference, it's… I watched you grow up. If it wasn't my life, my first thought would be that you were groomed by that guy you're dating now,” he explained calmly, but deep inside he was a nervous mess.

“Lewis, I can see that you're overthinking it. Don't. You did nothing wrong,” you assured him in a soft voice before leaning closer to place a kiss on his lips in an attempt to avert his thoughts. “We will wait as long as you want.”

He let out a sigh with a small smile on his face. “I love you, never forget that. No matter what happens when we tell him, just know that I love you,” he told you seriously before kissing you again, not giving you the chance to respond.

[lyrenminth]

Watching the sunset together

Joe Burrow x reader

I hope you enjoy this post. happy season for everyone! Wishing the best for all players and teams.

When Joe announced the vacations to Cabo, you were grateful. After a long season, you could relax and enjoy each other's company.

You stayed in a fancy hotel, eat deliciously and spend a good time walking around. At nights, you went out to eat dinner, went to bed to talk or make puzzles together or have steamy sex on every flat source you could find. It was a nice vacation overall, and you enjoyed Joe's company without the stress was nice. During the off season's beginning Joe was more relaxed, as the time went by and the season was closer he was more grumpy, and during the season you didn't have so much communication because he was so stressed and focused in keeping the team in the game. It was unreal, and at the start of your relationship was a big problem for both. You disliked his personality after a bad game, and he didn't like how incomprehensible you could be. So you talked a lot. About many things. It helped to improve your relationship and the dynamics.

So here were you, watching the sunset in the balcony. Sunsets always made you feel nostalgic for some reason. It was a beautiful sight to behold, and you didn't want to start thinking about anything at all. The balcony's door opened and Joe appeared looking for you.

"Hey" he said, freshly showered. He was a little bit red around the cheeks and forehead, and you made fun of him for it a couple times before. He sat down next to you, your arms touching. "What are we doing?" he asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Thinking about the meaning of life" you answered, seriously.

"Great, my favorite topic" he added, flat. You looked at his handsome face, smiling fondly. "You're such a beautiful shrimp" you teased him. "You won't even let me be, will you?" he answered back, the lines at the corners of his eyes appearing. "Why do you hate sunscreen so much?" you wondered.

"I applied sunscreen!" he replied, all outraged. "You need to apply it every two hours, Joe".

"I won't remember that" he decided.

You sighed, laying your head on his shoulder. The ocean was so beautiful, the red, orange and blue colors blending together, and the sun was split in half. The warm breeze caressed your face and you felt the urge to cry of happiness. It was so silly, but you felt so grateful for all things you got. Including Joe and his steady presence.

Joe always snapped you back to reality. As pragmatic as he was, he helped you to stay grounded. And as the dreamer you were, you help him to relax and enjoy. To see the other side.

Joe's hand searched for yours, his long fingers intertwined with yours. You felt your belly flutter in excitement. And you watched together the sun hide, and the moon rose and started shining. You were running your finger absentmindedly along scar of his knee while you were telling a childhood memory.

"You know what? I love this" he confessed after you finish telling the story about your first time on the beach "I like this a lot"

"What?"

"This" he waved a hand between both. "You made me feel cool"

You laughed. He wasn't romantic in his words, but you understood the meaning behind. The biggest compliment he had given to you was something about you feeling like a football match. "Thrilling, nice, intense" considering he was a football boy, you took it nicely.

"Thanks, you made me feel cool too"

"You know what I mean" he said, a bit embarrassed.

"Yes, I know love"

He kissed your forehead. "Are you hungry?"

"A little bit"

"We should order something or do you prefer to go down?" he asked. Another thing about Joe: he was very considerate about food. He always try to please you when you liked something. Once a bought ten boxes of the cookie brand you liked because you were dating Mr. Because I Can.

"I want to stay with you" you said. You didn't need to explain further.

"Okay, let's check the menu and order" you shiver from the mildly cold, and he ran a hand through your arm to warm you a little bit. "Let's go inside" he whispered in your ear. You felt something tingle between your legs.

You went inside, his phone started buzzing. It was his agent. "Can you order for me?" he apologize and left the room for privacy. You did as told. You laid on the couch, scrolling on your phone to kill time. Joe join you after a couple of minutes, he fell over you on the couch, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. His breath was heavy and warm against your skin.

"What does Matthew want?" you asked. Matt was his agent.

"He wants me to sign a new sponsor for the upcoming season" he said, kissing you neck slightly. You curled your toes, trying not to giggle.

"What type?" he raised his head at your question. His eyes were so blue under that light, and you could count every blond eyelash from there. "Jewelry. Bracelets" you ran your hands through his back, and cupping his ass. He didn't flinched, the opposite. He grinned and dive into a kiss. His tongue made its way inside your mouth, one hand running to your size, stopping at your breasts. You opened your legs to accommodate him between. You sighed feeling his erection against your inner thigh, hard and demanding.

"I'll have you for dinner" he said against your lips. Your hips started humping, looking for that delicious friction you needed. You were pulling his shirt up to undress him when you heard a ring.

And then another one.

"Fuck, who is it?" Joe said, gritted teeth.

"Dinner maybe" you whispered, frozen in place.

"Are you hungry?" your stomach took the perfect moment to answer that with a grumble. "Okay" he said laughing, sitting next to you.

"We have desert" you winked at him.

"Mmmm, I would love that" he said, standing up and reaching the door.

The dinner was delicious, and you spent a good time chatting and joking. Joe told you about his most recent reading, and you did your best to understand what he was saying. At midnight you were feeling sleepy, and so was he, both decided to skip the steamy sex session and have a good sleep.

"God, we're getting older" you mumbled, feeling him hug you from behind, and getting closer to you. He was really warm, and big and cuddly. "We choose to sleep over sex"

"It's fair" he said equally sleepy.

"Night" you whispered.

But he was fast asleep.

[secretlovezz]

1k! 1k! 1k!

Reader is from another agency or department and is helping the BAU team out on a case and they have strange thinking habits. Spencer keeps finding the reader while doing these habits.

Ex. Sitting in a dark storage closet, somehow sitting on top of the break room fridge, upside down, walking around in circles, etc

Vampire

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: I'm pretty sure there's nothing but fluff here

Wordcount: 692

A/N: love this request cause I sit in weird positions when I'm thinking lololol hope I did your idea justice 🫶🩷

"Wha- uh wh-what are you doing?"

Spencer knew that people had their own ways of getting themselves to focus on a certain task, I mean he certainly did. He'd done plenty of research on it at some point in his early college life. Sometimes he'd pace around the room he was in fingers tapping against each other in deep thought about whatever the current case was about until Hotch or Derek snapped him out of what seemed to be a trance. Once in a while, he'd simply take a deep breath in and out to rid his mind of other troublesome thoughts to focus on work but this- your thinking habits- though he logically understood we're so very odd to him.

For example, he's just walked in on you sitting with your legs crisscrossed on a chair while your eyes are closed and brows furrowed... in the dark... in silence.

"M' tryin' to see if I can figure out how the dump sights link together- 'cause I mean I know they do, there's like no way they don't- he even..." Spencer swears that he's listening he always does when it comes to you but as he stares at you, your eyes are still closed despite him turning on the light when he first walks in, his own brows start to crease in confusion. His lips part dryly wanting to speak up about his thoughts on your oddities but decided against it as you were still speaking.

You smile, “So what do you think?” Spencer frowns and tries to recall the words that had so smoothly left your lips.

“Um… I- about what?” His voice is soft with shame at his lack of concentration on a conversation seemingly involving information of the current case and when your shoulders slump, eyes creasing at him his shame only intensifies and aches deep in his gut. “Sorry- It’s just- well I… sorry.” His head hangs while his fingers tap against the file in his hands.

Focus.

Your silence is just as unusual as his own, it almost scares him, he thinks the air has just condensed around his form; it suffocates him forcing the release of a vomit of words he had just been repressing. “You were in the dark and while pragmatically I know it’s probably your way of getting yourself focused and your mind running so you can efficiently do your job- I mean i’ve read plenty about the many practises one does to anchor themselves- I just thought it was a little weird the way you went about it- not that you're weird! ‘Cause you're not! I would never say anything like that about you because you're great and you do your job amazingly. I just- I just um… was curious I guess.”

No matter his IQ Spencer was sure he had never felt so dumb, hating the unavoidable fact that only you could make him stumble this way. He sighs before letting his teeth find his pink bottom lip to chew on. His fingers tap faster against his file creating a light thump sound to echo around the otherwise stomach churning-ly silent filing room.

The heating flush he feels when the corners of your mouth start to tip upwards in amusement colors his cheeks with a rosy hue that has him further trying to hide his face by staring at the floor.

Your smile widens at his shyness, “it's okay I can admit it is a little weird,” the small chuckle that enveloped your words made his heart flutter aggressively in his chest, “my friends even compare me to a vampire since the sun is clearly my weakness.” Your fingers and brows wiggle in a way that makes Spencer laugh abruptly that gorgeous smile of his over taking his blushed face.

“Clearly.”

You pat the seat next to you with a welcoming and teasing smirk.

“Come sit down so I can tell you what I was talking about since someone renowned ‘Boy Wonder’ had his head up in the clouds.”

The grin never leaves the young doctor's face as he makes his way to you.

“I promise to pay attention this time.”

[lxmelle]

Pure Love.

Geto loved Satoru more than he loved himself. “Don’t follow me to hell; Don’t let yourself be used.”

Gojo loved Suguru more than he loved himself. “I came all the way to mourn Suguru; Who cares what happens to my corpse.”

I’m even more convinced their love for each other was perfect.

Although Geto thought Gojo’s regard would change after what he did (cuz he projected his own self-loathing/inability to forgive himself onto Gojo), he was able to feel his unchanging love at the end. It touched him.

Geto was the kind who could tell Yuta he was a “womaniser” for healing Maki and then vowing himself to Rika. Can we imagine his unwavering feelings for Gojo whose name was tied to what he wore daily for 10 years?

Gojo was the kind who respected Geto’s wishes, even if he didn’t agree with it. Gojo’s unwavering & unchanging love can be seen as something that took Geto by surprise.

Geto thought after they fought that Gojo’s love would’ve changed. I think it in fact it had intensified due to regret & grief. Gojo realised what he felt was love.

Geto was someone who had become very disillusioned by the harsh world, especially as a sorcerer with good intentions & his innate desire to heal.

His “heart window” was very big but his “scope of influence” wasn’t that big. So his efforts could be like a drop in the ocean. He had to try very hard to make big ripples. Someone very pure & caring came to feel that the world was unreliable and couldn’t protect him or others.

Therefore he took it in his own hands.

Gojo, who had power in his hands also took it in his own hands but his view of the world was not as tainted, as his “heart window” (he was by nature selective) wasn’t as large, so his scope was smaller but his “scope of influence” was huge-

His one drop could make a huge ripples or even a tsunami, so his approach had to be very different by being withheld all the time.

It’s just an analogy to describe how we have to recognise they are very different people.

In terms of love, Geto was so disillusioned that white could be black & black could be white - as miminana said in 0.

I think deep inside he wanted to believe in the goodness of the world - that white could be white, & black, black. But it wasn’t the world he was shown.

He tried to create it in a twisted way.

Gojo had always seemed to be a rather honest person. Before Geto defected, he seemed rather cold because he hadn’t yet learned how to connect to others. There were no facades with him until later on… where when it came to protecting his students - he put on a front - but with his peers, he said things as they are. I describe him as very pure and clear. Pragmatic and stoic.

Geto perceived the world in a more complex way that Gojo did. They balanced each other out until Riko died and they both “died/lost” to Toji resulting in Gojo becoming the strongest.

It became convoluted with his disillusionment, grief, and then there was no turning back. I think it was hell for 10 years to be on his own doing expeditions and swallowing multiple curses a day to amass the numbers that he did in 0. It’d make anyone crazy?

In the end… The only person in a dark and dim world who showed Geto that purity / straightforwardness was Satoru Gojo. The man who didn’t begrudge people who do evil. He would ask a villain for their last words. Even wish to save / reach out to someone like Sukuna. He was the symbol of white is white & black is black.

So I think his love purified Geto in many ways.

That’s why I think Gojo saw him off (as he wished) and then Geto picked him up at the airport (because Gojo wanted him there) - they completed each other... they were perfect for each other.

Geto showed Gojo compassion & love and his soul was salvaged.

Gojo showed him purity and his soul was salvaged.

They saved each other...

They understood each other’s Pure Love in the end right!??? It was so preciously preserved for each other only.

[death---dealer]

Cross Roads. ( Noa x Human!Reader ) Part Seven.

Ha ha ha

Title: Cross Roads. Fandom: (Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( We got some violence, some injury, mentions of mating. ) Pairing: Implied ! Noa x Human!Reader. Words: 7.1K ( uuuuuuuuu every word is pained. ) Summary: Everything seemed to bubble to the surface. Expect what was actually needed to be said. READ THE SERIES HERE.

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“I asked Echo… to stay.” Noa was hesitant with the words he chose to tell his friends. His green eyes flickered to theirs for the reactions, which admittedly, in the moment, didn't seem too bad. Well, until the words finally sunk in and Soona’s eyes met Noa’s with a bit of a widened stance and flurried worry, Anaya put it together and sputtered, grasping the side of his head with both hands before gesturing broadly at the hut where the Echo was before gesturing back at Noa.

The Leader only nodded in confirmation to Anaya’s silent inquiry. “Cannot tell anyone! Secret… Very…” He paused and pressed his lips together firmly into a coiled line of nerves, “Very… important to me.”

“Eagle Clan is more important than Noa’s wants!” Anaya yapped, Noa groaned deeply in his chest as a Bonobo came rolling by with their Eagle holding some fish, spotting the trio a rather curious look at Anaya’s statement. Reaching forward, he grabbed Soona by the elbow, Anaya by the upper arm and drifted to stand more exclusively behind the hut that was used to dry fish.

“How important?” Soona asked and Noa, feeling relief, slumbered at the familiarity that she would spare her criticisms until Noa gave more information.

Noa swallowed softly, his agape mouth telling both Soona and Anaya all that they needed to know. Noa hadn’t thought this through.

“This… Noa…” Soona’s voice came out quietly as to not alert anyone who might be passing by as they chittered together about the secret that Noa just spilled.

The three of them viciously scoured around with their matching sets of eyes, and there was no one else around but if an Elder happened to catch wind of what Noa’s intentions were, there was going to be some deeply introspective council meetings in his future about the audacity he had to proceed with such a dangerous endeavor without consulting them first. Noa knew that. That he had made a rash decision but he felt like he could not stop himself from taking advantageous leaps as far and as long as it was going to take him.

The result of the hushed nature of the conversation really depended on how long it was going to remain a secret, and that itself ultimately came down to two possibilities. One was if the Echo even came to agree with the terms that Noa had offered. The second was more blatant; if Anaya had the capability to keep his mouth shut and not chatter to someone who’s business this was not.

“This will not work. Too different… Echo will… will not stay. Leave us! Betray.” Soona’s voice strung around Noa’s mind like a cutting spear and despite thinking the same things, even so much so that the Echo herself said something about it, he still felt the sting and abandonment of support from one of his closest friends.

Pragmatism did not sit well with her as she looked at Anaya who pushed himself forward to speak but only nodded in agreement to his friend's statement. She hoped he would say something to take away the lingering pressure in her chest that rested at denying an idea from Noa, but Anaya just looked at Noa with defeated shoulders, knowing fully well what the Eagle Clan’s leader looked like when he was determined to make something go his way. No matter what either one of them said, Noa had made his bed and already asked the Echo if they wanted to stay, much to the dismay of Soona. Anaya was on the fence, it was evident in how he was teetering between Noa’s points and Soona’s rebuttals.

Noa figured that this was going to be the case - the allure to keep an Echo around was not well established amongst the Clan. Apes liked to talk, and there was no telling if the news would spread to surrounding Clans about the Echo presence and come to hunt them down. That was a true possibility, one that hadn’t really been mentioned to Noa until this moment when it finally sprung forward in his mind. He sat on it for a moment and looked at his friends in contemplation. What was he supposed to do?

Go back to the Echo and revoke his offer? Tell her that he was sorry, but he couldn’t be allowed to let her stay despite having the power to actually acutely disarray anyone else's opinions on the matter? Noa’s jaw clenched, the sun beaming off the movement and telling Soona that she needed to be more gentle with her words of disapproval. She needed to delve further, make it more personal and up the ante. Maybe then… Noa would come to his senses, at least she hoped.

“We have built… so much…” Moving to gesture towards the village, Noa’s eyes followed suit and flickered amongst the small huts that lined around the larger embankments of the tree-houses they had built as homes. Along the small fires that lit in each of them, dotting up the twirling nature of the posts. So finely detailed and sculpted together, baby vines tangled their way up the legs and slants of woods in a happy dance to get more sunlight.

They had been planted there shortly after they returned from the events of Proximus Caesar, and Noa felt a swell of pride hit his chest that they were indeed prospering. It was evident where there had been fire - the pieces of wood and sap used to build were fresher than the old, appearing brighter in color and in shape.

So close to the top of the main tree-bungalow, where small flitters of memories hit Noa when he recalled spending time there as a child with his Father, tending to the birds. Or being chased by them, he was almost positive it was the latter as Eagle Sun was adamant to follow and peck at Noa’s head, even as a child.

All of these things, not worn to pieces in his memory, but losing traction and fading with time. His eyes rested on the hut that encased the Echo in question for a second too long as Soona sighed heavily in front of Noa, her smaller shoulder hitting against Anaya’s with the dramatization of the action. “Does Noa… not realize Echo could tear it back down again? Leave us… in fire…?”

Following suit, Anaya nodded and finally verbalized, moving his hands in the motions of his words, “Agreed! Anaya… not scared to go back to that time but…” He said self-confidently which made Soona roll her eyes and shove her shoulder more aggressively into his. He yipped and looked at her with a sunken gaze. This was about Noa’s predicament.

“Noa,” Anaya shifted forward and placed a hand onto Noa’s forehead, flat-palmed and opened. “Need to think about the future. About the Eagle,” Anaya brought his hand back a few inches, “Clan.” And proceeded to smack Noa right on his brows. Noa squeezed his eyes shut at the feeling, raising an arm and batting Anaya away.

No matter what they told him, no matter how much he refracted and tried to justify his case, there was not going to be mutual understanding on the issue. At least this evening. Noa drew a deep breath in and encased it longer in his lungs before exhaling. He left it with one more stroke to an already burnt out fire.

“Am thinking of future…” He looked at Soona first, meeting eyes and reaching to embrace her shoulders in his grasp. “Echo could help us… Learn their ways,” He moved to Anaya and placed his hand in a parallel fashion as Anaya had previously done to him, “Gain,” The hand moved out a few inches, “Knowledge.” And proceeded to fall right back down between Anaya’s eyes.

And with that, Noa slumped onto all fours, almost like he was hunching in on himself. Drifting between Soona and Anaya and towards the Bird enclosure, his gait was subdued, knuckles pressing further into the ground as he moved, there was no eagerness to really get anywhere and he felt a tingle of guilt hit his chest at leaving his friends so abruptly but they just… Refused to see his side of things. Actually, so much so that in talking to them, he didn't get much time to really explain in his own words what his reasoning was behind taking the action with the Echo.

He tilted his head at that. He had a concise reasoning, that being Raka’s wise words that perhaps, they could live together peacefully, each dominant in their own right but then the words of the Elders and his Father came crumbling down. They brought danger wherever they went. Echo were inherently selfish.

They would tear down the Apes just to build themselves up, even the ones without the ability to communicate and who were lesser in intelligence. It was a deeply ingrained experience and instinct for them, as far as Noa was aware and based on his experiences. Apes had been told their entire lives that Echo were always a threat, especially if they got too close to a Clan foraging or camping, or Eagles forbid, an actual Ape.

That was unheard of, Ape and Echo ever being friendly to one another, let alone agreements being made in mutual understanding like Noa was alluding to. Always, Echo were too stupid to understand, always they were too selfish to understand any other viewpoints other than survival.

Tickling the back of his brain was the incessant idea that she would only accept Noa’s terms out of selfishness, even though he was adamant that they were not going to kill her if she was released, refusing to help. She had nothing really to gain by accepting, and she had nothing to lose by refusing if that’s the choice that’s been made. He’d let her go then, if that’s what she wanted, but he’d always have one eye on the back of his head, always looking over his shoulder, in case she returned with more Echo to destroy the village. Like she had alluded to Noa.

How did Noa know she wasn’t going to? Blind faith was not something Ape’s lept into. Their laws, their systems, were based upon the generations who built them up, from the experiences garnered over and over again as new Apes came to power. It was Noa’s turn now, but he was terrified. There was no easy choice, he felt like he was being pulled into two splitting directions. He wanted to know more, he yearned for it in fact, and this Echo could help him. He wanted to keep his Clan safe after what happened, and this Echo could take it all away again.

One was prey, one was the hunter. A fish to an Eagle. To most Clans of the valley, and especially to those in the valley beyond it was a strict law. The prospect didn't necessarily sit right with Noa when he thought about it, leaving a rather metallic taste on his tongue if he pressed on it too long. If he lingered in pondering about… being actual friends with her, this Echo he had offered freedom to in exchange for teaching Noa, showing Noa face to face if their interests really aligned and if there was any true basis to Raka’s… No, no. To Caesar's teachings and laws.

He could hear Anaya calling for him, telling him that the evening meal was just a few minutes away and that he was going to miss it if he took off now, but Noa slid the words right off his ears and continued on, trailing up the twirling steps towards the solace he found after his Father passed. Noa’s shoulders lifted and then fell with a heavy sigh. He needed to think. Needed to contemplate in the only way that he knew how. With his Father. With his Birds. With himself.

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Anguish wrapped you into her arms, grasping at your head with one hand while the other laid against your mouth, permitting anything from coming to fruition from your vocal cords, staving off any chance in the immediate moment to give Noa an actual answer to his last question. Even swallowing was difficult as the hold your emotions had on you were refusing to let you drain your throat of the thick coating of mucus that built up there from the tears, you felt like you were legitimately drowning as a small gasp managed its way out, tumbling into the otherwise dead air, accompanied in flurries by the crackling of your small fire.

It appeared as if he was unable… to look at you anymore. The tension in his shoulders brought you in but then wiped you right back out when you heeded contemplation to touch him, just to get him to look over at you.

“Noa---” Surprised at the fact that you finally managed to peep something out of your body, you tried to ignore the smothering sensation that flooded right along your diaphragm, curling and encasing every one of your ribs with fiery intent when you looked at the side of his face, his expression drawn in on itself.

Brows furrowed together, wrinkles appearing between them, his actual face fell downwards into a slope, his mouth agape, canines catching your eyes when they enticed the light of the fire just right. He could rip you apart, he could… Swallowing hard, all the build up from your throat and nose slid down grotesquely. Even at the sound of his name, he didn't shift to look at you like he always did.

“Noa, I-I can’t answer that question… Not in the way you want me to.”

You’d have been lying if you admitted to him that you hadn’t thought about it once or twice. Not that you were unhappy with the Clan, unhappy with your life, and the budding perspectives you had now thanks to Noa and the Clan’s ever endearing accommodations, the friendships of Anaya and Soona and… Your eyes rested on Noa once again. Whatever was happening here, whatever force of nature was keeping you tethered to the Clan’s leader.

There was always going to be a part of you that was inherently Human, no matter how accommodating they had all been, no matter how much you learned of their culture, their ways of living, and no matter how much you wanted to be something different, something that Noa would accept…

The times you had talked of other Humans, the redolent nature of your voice, the passing fleeting memories you had of them… The answer itself was remarkably twisted and hit your mind going too fast for you to comprehend. You missed them, but you did not yearn for them in the same way that your hands were out-stretched for Noa to take, if that’s what he wanted. You missed them, but you didn't want to leave.

I don’t want to leave, you told yourself. I don’t want to leave, but I… miss them.

All you wanted was for Noa to pull you up against him, to tell you that it was okay to think about it, but to have the knowledge that no, you didn't want to leave. There would be no argument at that point, you imagined. Knowing the male Chimp well enough, you figured he would hear only the first part of your reasoning and assume that you’d want to leave.

You could hear it in your mind, see the distaste hit his expression as he tells you that you were free to go, you always were, there was nothing keeping you here, and there was nothing keeping him to you. Heart sinking in your chest to the point where it felt like a black hole had been carved out there, you looked down at your hands once again and traced the delicate detailing of the shapes on your palms. A good distraction for you when you didn't want to cry, but still, it only did so much.

Tears were burning at the backs of your irises, your feeble attempts to keep them in their ducts beyond futile as a few of them escaped and trickled down your rounded cheeks, kissing themselves into one singular drop before falling off your chin into your lap. Whereas they had been thin and fast tears previously, these were thickened and fat with ripped emotions you didn't even know how to begin expressing, let alone to an Ape who may or may not have had the right vocabulary to understand the complexity.

You hit yourself on the inside at that thought; Noa was not stupid, it was foolish of you to fall back to the primitive thinking you had when you first met. Noa knew what you felt, whether you were willing to admit that to yourself or not. Noa felt what you felt, unbeknownst to even himself, and surely not to you.

The slow draw of his shoulders raised attention to the standing of his fur along the collarbones, upwards across the sweep of his shoulder blades, and then repeating their pattern on the other side. Twisting his neck at the vibration of your words against his eardrums, he was put into a contemplative state. His body was reaching for an involuntary reaction of mild irritation to the answer you had given him in the form of him shifting from one side to another, the rise and fall of shoulders increasing and the bickering sound of his breathing, straight through his nose.

Noa twisted his head and for a split second of relief, you thought he was going to entwine your eyes with his like he had done so many times before and tell you something you wanted to hear. Vacant and feeling a wash of abandonment, he pushed right past you and rested his glance on the fire. Crackling intently, it seemed the only thing that was able to grip passed the heavy strain that drifted from both of your bodies.

“Tell me the answer… you think… I want to hear.” Like thunder rolling down a mountain, his words sunk into you aggressively, pensively and wantingly. It was deft in its grip around your mind, it was thoughtful in how it showcased that Noa was bargaining in a sense, and it was yearning for some sort of clarity.

Whatever the answer was, Noa knew, was going to cause turmoil. He just wanted to satisfy that itch inside of his brain that still persisted. He wanted to know what you thought. About things in general, did you think that the sky was the same color that he saw? Did you see the beauty in the flowers like his eyes were able to admire? What… Did you think about him?

His jaw clamped firmly shut again as he finally drew his fiery grassy gaze towards you, crushed at the state of your body upon first glance. It reminded him so reductively of when you first arrived, your eyes refusing to meet him, your mind racing at the prospect that he was going… going to kill you… Tightening his hands, he relished the feeling of the wood now digging into his knuckles as he was still seated on all fours

“I don’t think about them.” You harshly whispered and looked over at the fire, eager to see exactly what had previously kept his attention there but there was nothing. Just a regular fire, burning to its heart's desire, much like the sensation that rolled along your chest now. Heated, unbridled anger. He was playing games, getting you to answer something that wasn’t true to help himself feel better. You couldn’t knock it though, in your bids of survival, you had to resort to similar measures. Drawing a deep breath into your lungs, you tried desperately to keep yourself grounded since Noa was unable to do it for you any longer, either by choice, or by neglect and you weighed which one was worse.

They both were, in their own ways.

“I never have thought about them since I got here. I don’t think about leaving, I think about-- about---” You hiccuped and squeezed your eyes shut, unable to bring yourself to come to a complete sentence. It was on the tip of your tongue, the rest of your words that you wanted to say but they were lost to you when it finally came time to admit.

“You think about them… often?” Noa deduced that from what you had just told him.

“No,” That was based in truth and you pleaded that he was able to tell when you looked at him with tearful eyes. “O-Only sometimes.”

“You… think about leaving?” He was even more quiet in asking that, hushed to the point where it was hard to pick his voice apart from the fire.

“Yes.” Another fact based in truth. “Y-yes… N… N…” Your voice cracked and failed before you managed to get the ‘not often’ added to the ending.

Noa nodded at that and looked away from you again. “We… should not be here then…”

Shattering at his words, you finally brought yourself to uncoil from your tightened ball. Dropping onto your hands and knees, you scooted towards him in a quick shuffle, which in any other circumstance, would have made the Ape laugh to see you struggling on all fours when it came so naturally to him. Your scent wafted against him in waves, Noa shutting his eyes to shut down that side of his mind to focus on the now.

Not the possibility of the future, or the past. Now, and here. In your hut, with you, alone… How he wanted things to go differently. If he had command over the entire situation, you’d be nothing but a tangled mess under him as he placed his canines against the delectations of your jugular, dragging them down in a bid to get you to say his name one more time, and then again as he brought you closer to him, and then again and again until the night was over and he drenched himself over your sweaty body, wanting nothing more than to encase you with his fur, to fill you to his hearts pleasure knowing that there was ultimately going to be nothing to bear fruit.

He had no idea where those notions came from, his lack of understanding Echo mating was evident when he thought too hard about it. Animalistically, all he wanted to do was push you down and prove in any way that he could that he was a provider, and he was able to keep you satisfied, by any means.

Bringing his mouth against your neck. Mine. Letting his thickened fingers trail along the tender skin of your body. Mine. The way you would say his name when he left marks along where he was going. Mine.

Instead, in his endless list of fumbles, he had asked one bad question after another, justifiably getting you upset in the process. Noa hated that he was uncouth like that, that his brain didn't pick apart the smaller aspects of how you might react to his questions. You, as an Echo, not you as all Echo’s.

That… Had been his mistake in all of this. Seeing your opinions, hearing your voice and your words as all encompassing to the Echo ways when it simply wasn’t going to be that. They were all yours, never anyone else's, and never Noa’s to dive into. Guilt ravaged his senses and tore down the most basic walls he had built for himself to stop this moment from even coming to fruition. But, here you sat, Ape to Echo. There was no way… that Raka’s words were right. There was no way to come to an agreement, no matter how much he pushed for one, no matter how much you pulled into it.

Noa finally responded to your shift when you finally managed to sneak your way into his vision and he was unable to see anything else. Torn out of a mild sense of abhorrence towards himself, he watched as you moved in front of him to sit on your knees, so close that he was able to feel the heat radiating off of you in waves, nothing coming from the fire any longer. His green and golden speckled eyes held nothing but animosity at you, glass hitting the back of your throat with a small cry, “Why?”

Turning his head away from you at the sight of your tears, trying to ignore the lingering saltiness that now ran between the two of you as a few of them hit Noa’s knees from your sudden proximity, he… Wasn’t sure of the answer. “Wasn’t fair to offer you to st--- stay.” He uttered and finally stood to be bi-pedal. Even though he wasn’t particularly tall, Noa towered over your frame as you were left to rest on your knees in front of him. “Elders always say… Echo’s bring trouble. Should have never offered it to you, I should have…” Growling under his breath, Noa refused to look at you and offered his gaze to rest on the wall to the left, “Never let you.”

“I wanted to stay!” You cried at him, lifting a hand to wipe your forearm under your nose to get rid of the snot that was falling into your mouth caused by the pure vengeful tower that the tears took on the way down. “I want to stay! I can’t go back out there, I-I would die, they would hunt me down! I n-need to stay!”

Noa’s eyes narrowed at you. So, that was it? You agreed to stay to save yourself? He felt foolish and suddenly, all the moments, all the grazing of his eyes against your skin, your glances at him during dinner, your laugh, the way you would hold onto him when you needed leverage, the soft silence that was always around the two of you when not in the throes of conversation… All these things to Noa… That meant something… Selfish, his mind taunted, Echo is selfish. Elders told you, should have listened, Noa.

“I need to think about the Eagle Clan future!” He shouted back at you, regretting it instantly when he saw how you cowered under him, the shadows of his body echoing along your features which were alight at times from the firelight behind you, your shoulders drawing in on themselves, your eyes now widened with understandable fear as you took a tumble backwards, innately out of intensified fear. His voice had come out like a whip, animalistic and growling at you as you had been warned about when you were a child. A tiny whimper left your mouth at that, as he peered down at you. “Cannot… think… Of the future when Echo…” Noa looked into your eyes, still rounded and afraid, “When… you do nothing but cause trouble and distractions.”

He could have sworn he heard a small ‘I’m sorry’, but that could have very well been wishful thinking as Noa’s shoulders dropped the tension, his fur still prickling on the edges. What he said… was right. It was said by Anaya and Soona months ago but… Now Noa knew. They were right, and he was wrong. Feelings never mattered in all of this, if you were so easy to dismiss the kindness that he offered you in favor of leaving, despite your pleas to stay. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought about his Father. Echo brings nothing but trouble, rattled inside of his mind over and over again, one of the last things, the last pieces of advice he ever got from the Master of the Birds.

“You… you need to leave.”

“Noa!”

“Raka… was wrong.”

“Noa…”

“Apes and Humans…” You blinked at that, never having actually heard him call them that before. It was always exclusive to ‘Echo. “never see eye to eye… Cannot… Live side by side.”

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He had given you time, Noa. Time to contemplate your next move, time to think about the idea and get settled into the prospects that you would… be living with them, and by proxy and association, you would become a part of the Clan itself in a strangely twisted way. He had just taken you around the village to start your integration. At first, the premise left you feeling a bit uneasy at the looks of Apes towards you were less than understanding. There was the underlying idea that Noa was taking you to be killed, maybe in a ritual of sorts, but you pushed that back as you feet pattered lightly against the dirt path.

Noa was in front of you, only two feet or so, with you trailing closely behind. His gait… You hadn’t noticed when you were in the small hut, there was not much room for him to properly stand on his feet, but it was intense and strong, like he had been imbued with much purpose. From small conversations here and there, you got the feeling that your intuition might be correct.

The mantle he had taken from his Father, the Crown itself, must be terribly heavy on his head. Powerful, his broad shoulders captivated your eyes as you tried to focus and find the muscles underneath his dense fur. Fingers twitching, you wanted nothing more than to grab at him just to scratch your internal thoughts, and to say that you were allowed to, and to genuinely test the waters as far as your bargained life went. If you went for him, to touch, to graze, would he see it as a threat and kill you? Would he be perplexed? You were unsure but tucked the notion for later in the back of your mind. Surely with time as you two embarked in this mutual arrangement, you might lean in to learn about the comforts an Ape felt about being touched.

The long sweep of the tree-house structures were a marvel in and of itself, leaving you breathless as you trailed upwards, refusing to look down and satisfy your morbid curiosity to see how far the ground really was, Noa gesturing vaguely towards family nests, explaining in rather simple terms that communal sleep was normal, especially amongst family and close friends.

Often, that broke apart, he told you, when Apes began courting and mating each other, delving into the realm of building their own nest together for the future family they were almost sworn to have, sworn to bear after being ceremoniously tied together. You thought that a wonderful aspect as Noa talked about it, not going straight for the details as to not confuse or intimidate you, but enough to give you a glimpse. You tired it straight to the prospect of marriage amongst Humans. Seemed similar enough, and it seemed like a great start for the agreement you two were flirting around with.

“Do you think… Echo and Ape can.. Live together, side by side?” You perked up at the first question of this agreement that you had chosen to dive into as he drew you back downwards, now shuffling towards the river that was sitting to the east of the village. Privacy, you thanked whatever was up above that Noa had a concept of privacy and intuition enough to see that maybe the topics of contentious conversations were best left between the two of you. Or, he was taking you over there to drown you and then proceed to gut you like a fish, easy access to water for him to discard of the tasty guts, keeping the good ones and to also keep his hands free from your blood. You had no idea, and despite that thought ringing in your ears, you proceeded to follow him.

For the first question, it left you rather… stumped. There were a lot of ways to answer it. You could answer it out of fear, contemptment, agitation…. Fear. You lingered on that and watched with a caught breath as Noa crouched his body down, your mind reeling at how truly dexterous he was as he used both hands equally, both feet equally, never seeming to favor one side over the other.

Mentally, you found yourself then taking notes on his demeanor, knowing you had never seen an Ape, in this particular case, a Chimpanzee so close, so concise with movement and intent. As much as your jaded mind hated to admit, and despite the disparaging size between the two of you, you would venture to say that Noa was more graceful at moving than you were, as you often caught yourself tripping over your own feet or external forces.

Physically, you were hesitant to bring your body downwards as you sat on top of a rather comfortable looking rock and racked through your mind for a rational answer to his question. Noa watched intently, noting how you looked at him before choosing to sit like you were asking permission, which you really didn't need to. It’s not like you were a prisoner. More or less… He tilted his head in thought as he saw a few Apes meters away, staring right at you and then proceeding to chitter to themselves as they walked away. Tolerated guest. For the time being. Until you could be trusted further.

You supposed that’s all this was about, Noa wanting to get to the bottom lip of that very question and it made sense that the first topic he chose to delve into was that. No point in dallying or small talk. The Ways of Caesar, he had briefly mentioned, were heavily based in the ideology that Humanity was not that bad, Apes were not that bad, and in hypothetical situations, they should be able to co-exist. Obviously not, you thought to yourself sarcastically, otherwise you’d have not been hunted to the very brink of death.

“I think that… If it was possible once, it’s got to be possible for it to happen again.” That was a rather optimistic answer and you patted yourself on the back for not giving it too much complexity.

Noa on the other hand, began playing with a smoothened pebble between his calloused fingers as he listened with acute focus to what your thoughts were. And… to his surprise, they were remarkably underwhelming. He figured you’d go off on a tangent about how Echo ways were better, more efficient, more clever and smart. Turning his eyes towards you, he looked at how you were holding yourself. Arms wrapped in front of your body, your eyes turned towards the river as you watched it cut its way across the landscape.

He hummed quietly, tossing the pebble into the water and drifted towards you on all fours until he was sitting only a foot or so in front of you, facing your direction so he was able to see your expressions which he found more than amusing. He found himself detailing them in his mind how they differed from the expressions he was used to seeing with his fellow Apes. “No… way to know for sure.” He commented softly.

Noa looked at you, on equal ground as you were seated and he was crouched in front of you. Even and equal, eye to eye. Instead of breaking the connection as you so often did, finding the intensity of his eyes sitting under an already intimidating brow incredibly difficult to maintain eye contact with, you lingered and peered deeply into them.

Noa’s eyes twitched a bit at that out of skepticism, like you were analyzing him to his very depths. Maybe you were, maybe you were just staring at him with the realization that this was really the first time that you had seen him in such great lighting, having only deduced minor details about him from the dim fire of the hut you were kept in when you first arrived, and teased in the times when he took you to relieve yourself. Admittedly, that’s what he was doing. Looking, watching, noting and remembering.

Working your eyes towards the water, you nodded in minor agreement, not sure what was alright to say and what would be overstepping the line. “There’s never going to be a real way to know unless it happens.” Was your response as you looked down and caught his gaze once again.

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“No-Noa, you need to let me finish---”

“No." He was stern in his actions, almost disgustingly so as his shoulders glowered intimidatingly at you. He’d never hurt you, you said again and again inside of your mind but the chance in his stance, the irritation falling off of him like a song, was smothering all your basic senses and you found yourself crawling backwards a bit at the mere sight of him.

“I was… stupid to think that this would work. I knew---” Noa grunted out of lack of vocabulary to properly express what he was feeling. “I knew this was going to be a problem,” He gestured at you, the movement itself causing a few more tears to ricochet down your face and fall silent on the ground. “I--- I pushed past it, I…” Words stopped and he brought a hand up to sign instead, ‘Never should have trusted an Echo.’

He lingered on the last word he presented to you, the power in his stance dissipating into the air around the two of you and left to encase your body. “You don’t understand.”

“Why… always that?” Noa swallowed hard, “Why will I not… understand? Am I just… stupid Ape to you? Aren’t we all just---”

Finally finding it in yourself to stand up, you stumbled a bit once your feet were planted and tried to shake the feeling of your left leg prickling from sitting on it too long. It was even a tighter fit in your small abode with the two of you standing, Noa’s head nearly hit the roof, yours was a few inches below his, “You need to shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

It was Noa’s turn to widen his eyes at your words, astonishment clear in his expression. He’d never heard you yell like that, much less with the tear of agony that wiped along your cheeks, fiery still in your eyes as you took a step towards him, almost chest to chest at this point as you poked his right pectoral where his scar was. Noa didn't flinch - it wasn’t painful at all, your touch would never cause him pain and deep down he knew that but nothing was stopping the unresolved from bubbling to the surface as he grasped your wrist tightly with his hand, circling his fingers around the delicate bones without a care. You groaned at that, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to rip yourself from him.

“Let me go!”

“You need to stop being selfish!” He retorted, “Never have seen Ape as full of themselves…” He growled at you, lifting your hand up above your head in a straight pinned line. Quite literally, Noa had you dangling in the air as he lifted your arm upwards, your feet leaving the ground as he brought you to be eye to eye with him. In them, the familiar glow of greens and golds were replaced by crazed dilation, the color was eclipsed beyond any sense of knowing who the Ape holding you really was.

“But Echo’s are so…” Catapulting your gaze, it fell on his canines which were on amused display for you, “Should have never let you stay.”

He kept saying that like he was trying to convince himself. “Noa---” You reached up with your free hand and grasped at his hand, trying desperately to get him to let you go even if that meant you were falling to the ground with a hard thud. He’d never hurt me, you thought again and squeezed your eyes shut. But he was.

The grasp on your wrist began to feel red with ache, pulled beyond its limits by the fact that he was holding you mid-air by the appendage. “Let me go, you’re-” Clawing at his hand, you pleaded with crazed fluttering eyes.

“You’re going to break my wrist, let me go!” Bringing a leg up, you pressed it against his stomach, right below his diaphragm. Without warning, Noa released you, taking no pleasure in seeing you fall backwards with a hardened sound against the dirt ground below. A tuft of pillowed dust surrounded you as you looked down at your now bruised wrist, trying to ignore the pure burn that hit the side of your body that you ultimately landed on with your entire brute weight. If your wrist wasn’t broken, it was severely strained by the looks of it.

“You’re just an animal.” The anger didn't stop there as you scrabbled to your feet, holding your wrist tenderly. “I knew it from the moment I met you! Just a damn, dirty Ape!”

The words felt like they weren’t yours, but they were what came out much to your displeasure. It tasted like you had just swallowed the most sour berry, having to come to terms with it and swallowing much to distaste. Looking at him didn't help, in fact, it only caused more rage to hit you and swell you into the waves. “I should have never trusted you! What reason does a Human have to trust an Ape like you!?”

“Me?” He retorted and threw you the most tantalizing of daggers, his arm expanding so he was pointing in your direction, “Look at… yourself! I don’t… know why you didn't just leave when I’ve made myself more than… clear… now that…” Noa came to a slow pause, looking down at how you were holding yourself, your wrist. He had felt it crunch below his touch, the self-reflection finally hit his senses at what he had done. What he had said.

“You…need to leave.” Was what he chose to mutter, looking at your wrist for a few seconds before directing his attention towards the exit. Remaining silent on the spot you had on the ground, the side of your body impaled with dirt and sediment from when Noa had inadvertently dropped you, you let him pace without another word, without another objection.

“Morning time, you can… Take my horse, but you don’t… belong here anymore. I need…” Huffing, you watched his shoulders fall in defeat, “I need to think of my Clan’s future, was not when I asked… you to stay… When I w… wanted you to stay…”

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