#like that’s a child who doesn’t have the ability to manage their emotions as well as you do.. so they’re not a crybaby maybe ur just a dick

[kyorru-remade]

insane how some adults forget that kids are actual human beings with emotions and feelings

[brucewaynehater101]

I need you to stop me from making another Tim Drake centric fic

I got this random idea that won’t leave me alone

like what if the emotional scars and trauma people have show up physically too most commonly as little cracks on the skin and all of the bats have them

they hide them tho with make up and stuff so people don’t question it except Tim hides them from everyone maybe bc that’s what his parents taught him to do maybe bc he just doesn’t want to burden any of the bats

the bats think that Tim is fine so to them he’s invincible which leads them to treat him as such subconsciously or otherwise especially Bruce

it takes a lot for something to be bad enough that they physically manifest and Tim has A LOT bc everyone thinks he’s invincible

:) it won’t leave me alone help me I beg of you

Hmm.... Let's add on, shall we? This is a very rad idea. You should definitely write a fic about it, but no pressure.

Mind if I explore it? Also, feel free to disregard any part below you don't want/disagree with. This is just brainstorming ^^

Alright. Emotional scars are a physical mark on someone's skin.

Similar to regular scars, they can fade as a person heals.

Some may never disappear, and some only appear for a short time.

What would their color be?

Would they look like actual cracks in a person (so black-ish in color)? Would they be gold or multi-colored (different colors represent different kinds of emotional traumas)?

The level of hurt inflicted is directly proportional to the size (length and width) of the scar.

Perhaps more could be deduced from the general shape (is it jagged? A single line? Branching?)

Not all people have these marks

Most of the population manifests them. There's some prejudice against folk who don't [something something they are heartless, incapable of feelings, not able to be emotionally hurt, cold, detached, etc.], but hiding scars is also common. Therefore, it's harder to discern whether someone is hiding their marks or markless. It's a very fine line, so most people allow a smaller mark to show every once in a while. There's even a few trends to proudly display all marks.

Marks appear at the time of the emotional harm

It may not be apparent at the time due to the location, but the individual being hurt will manifest the mark at the very moment of emotional harm.

Anyways, that's the background stuff. Fun, but let's get into Tim specifically ^^

Tim's parents are part of the few who believe that showing off your scars to anyone, even your loved ones, is both a weakness and a way to guilt-trip people. Therefore, through their archeology studies, they managed to obtain magical objects to prevent the showing of emotional marks. It's similar to glamor.

Tim's object can change forms to suit his needs (so a ring at one moment and an earring the next). This ability prevents the Bats from discovering it.

Janet fakes a very small mark on her hand when she wants to discourage any rumors that's she's incapable of manifesting marks. For Tim, though, his parents wanted him to have rumors of being incapable of forming marks. It served their purpose better for him being the cunning Drake heir.

The deception started from birth, so no one but the Drakes know of Tim's ability to form marks [and the Drake parents never see the marks they leave behind on their child].

The Waynes, long before Tim entered their life, were aware of these rumors. Thus, when Tim demands to become Robin, he doesn't correct their assumptions.

Bruce is a callous fucker to Tim at the start. If Tim can't be hurt emotionally, then Bruce's ill-treatment of him is fine (which is flawed logic. The markless can be emotionally hurt, and they still deserve kindness, dignity, and respect even if they couldn't. Bruce was mentally fucked up, but it doesn't excuse his treatment).

Eventually, Bruce comes to the second realization that Tim should still be treated well even if it doesn't hurt him regardless. The man's behavior is better, but he still has the notion in mind that Tim can't be emotionally hurt. He uses this for missions and to downplay the way his other kids treat Tim (specifically Jason and Damian when they first meet Tim).

Tim gets used to a rotation of insult-names: Robot Robin, heartless, markless (said insultingly), cold-blooded, unfeeling bastard, etc.

He's also subject to a TON of misunderstandings. People are more reluctant to love him due to the belief that he can't love them back. He gets yelled at and told off for "masking/faking his emotions" when he's actually being genuine.

Which adds to his hurt :)

He also has to pretend not to grieve his parents when they die :(

Due to how rare markless are, the Bats don't meet "another" one until after the BruceQuest. When they chat with this person, they realize how many misconceptions they have about them (such as the markless being incapable of feelings. In fact, they accidentally offend that person when they tell the other they don't need to fake their emotions in front of the Bats. Safe to say, the markless individual becomes incensed when they realize how they've been treating their own markless family member).

This would be at least four (probably closer to five) years after Tim first became Robin. The entire family has a meltdown.

Tim, on the other hand, is used to the treatment the Bats have been giving him and becomes incredibly uncomfortable with them trying to care for his feelings and whatnot. It's rocky for a long while as everyone tries to seek forgiveness for something Tim bitterly doesn't hold against them (he is lying to them after all).

Tim rarely, if ever, views his own marks. The last time he checked was when he was having his identity crisis after Robin was taken from him. His entire body, from head to toe, had cracks in it. There was a giant, gaping crack on his back for the metaphorical stab in the back it was.

And we haven't even gotten to when the Bats figure out Tim was never markless :)

[ihtherik]

When You Bare Your Teeth It Almost Looks like a Smile

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav (not described)

Astarion’s POV

SFW/Fluff/Angst (seriously there’s no s€x here)

Summary: Set in Act 2 when the group begins scouring Moonrise Towers and Astarion and Tav encounter Araj Oblodra, the Drow blood merchant. She won’t take no for an answer, and learns why that is a very very stupid thing to do.

~3.2 K words

Bit of a deviation from the canon interactions/dialogue and what the outcome is because ummm little guard dog with her love that most certainly does doesn’t need one is a trope I LOVE and needed to vomit out a lil flash fic at 1 AM last night to perform catharsis help I also kind of made myself sad

I may get this posted on my AO3?

I also will post the next part of Turn My Heart to a Spade soon!!!

“Oh, but I’d prefer if you did.”

The sneering Drow’s reply to his assurances that he would not bite anyone doesn’t quite register for Astarion before she lets slip another gut-reeling string of words, this time directed at you.

“I assume he belongs to you? Judging by the way he’s clung to your shadow since you walked up…” her laugh is mirthful, the metallic smear of red around the blue-grey skin of her eyelids crinkling and cracking in her amusement. “It’s a truly remarkable boon, to have had a spawn at your beck and call during your trek through the Shadow-cursed lands. I’d be remiss and dishonest to say I’m not jealous.”

His pale brows furrow as an unfamiliar emotion hits him. Maybe unfamiliar isn’t right, but he’s been so long separated from it that encountering it again feels like meeting a stranger he’s all too wary of.

Much like how he felt when he met you.

Kind, generous, trusting, infuriating you.

Oh, how he loathed being proven wrong. Having his tried and true skills of determining who people are and what they want sidestepped, his—sometimes hastily drawn—conclusions about things tipped on their heads like a cat swiping a cup off a table. Mostly by you. Endearingly and maddeningly.

For Gods’ sakes, he is supposed to be the unpredictable, unreadable, unflappable one. It’s his armour. His sodding lifeline. When one is in control of their faculties and has only themselves to rely on, their ability to save themselves is entirely up to their skills, or lack thereof.

But you, you whose only purpose was to take a fall or stab (sometimes literally) for him, has somehow managed to get him to willingly hand over the one thing that could kill him.

His trust.

It had kept him from trancing, some nights, gnawing the inside of his lip to shreds while going over every possible scenario in which his trust could be wielded against him.

Yet thus far, you’d not only permitted, but encouraged him to hold the other metaphorical end of it.

Both in battle, and in his bedroll.

He wonders most days if you know. If you’ve caught onto what he’s now realized was a very poorly conceived ploy. He has to tell you, at some point.

There’d been a humbling, blind fierceness in every fiber of your being when you last drew your weapon for him—looking up at the devil Yugir as if he didn’t have his crossbow bolt aimed right between your glaring brows. You swung and hacked and sliced like it was your soul you were fighting for, not his.

You’d done more than received his trust, you’d earned the right to hold it.

And here he is, silently watching, pleading, mentally tugging on the other end like a child grasping at their mother’s shirt—hoping you feel it.

“He has a name,” your voice appears as even as ever to the average onlooker, and certainly to this Drow; but there’s a strain, a warning that Astarion can detect that, to him, feels like the gentlest tug back from your end on the rope.

“Is that so? How quaint,” the Drow tilts her head. Turning her attention back to him, she appraises him from his boots up to his curls with a gaze that makes that strange, ugly feeling swell again. “Do indulge me then, what are you called, spawn?”

“Astarion—but-hold on—“

“Well, Astarion,” the way her tongue flicks over every syllable of his name puts a crinkle of disgust on the slope of his nose. So unlike how you say it. Usually uttered, quick and delicate, the ‘Ah’ nearly clipped off—shortening it to ‘Starion. Familiar and sweet and warm. “I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”

His disbelief manifests in the way he stutters over his words, managing to compose himself into a semblance of his normal character by the end of his reply. “You—What? I’m sorry, You—you want to be bitten?”

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance between the edge of life and death? Yes, I want it.”

Though he’s already decided that this woman is, in fact, a stem short of a brain, the arrangement she proposes catches his attention. And not in any way that’s enticing. A likely dangerous and potentially faulty potion in exchange for drinking her blood is a shoddy deal at best, and a revolting one at worst. Her blood smells foul. Acrid. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, which only worries him more. Not a sort of sickly sweet smell of decay like Gale’s. Nor is it twinged with something medicinal like Halsin’s, or like the pleasant muddle of Shadowheart’s half-elven and half-human blood. And certainly not like yours.

Putting on all the politeness he can muster, which is already more than the Drow deserves, he replies.

“I will have to…erm, decline.”

“Excuse me?” The Drow scoffs, displeasure creasing the space between her brows. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer,” he shocks himself with the lack of grace he speaks with, voice lowered and snarling. He used to be so good at evading people like her. What the Hells has gotten into him?

Tutting, the Drow turns back to you. “Can you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” Addressing you like he’s not in the room, with scant more respect for you than she had for him.

Proving the Drow’s earlier observation right—as loyal as a bloody mutt—he looks to you, anxiety tightening the muscles over his stomach. The scenarios begin to churn in his mind, the worst among them not even that of you asking him to bite her to get the potion—but instead acquiescing his wants in front of the Drow only to reprimand or even punish him in some way later.

They come to a hilt as both he and the Drow await your move, holding his breath.

Then, you do something that manages to stun, relieve, and thrill him all at once.

You smile.

Though a half of a head shorter than him, and barely a few inches taller than the Drow, your presence seems to swell to intimidating heights among the three of you.

“My, you are slow on the uptake, Ms. Araj,” you speak with a lowered, gentle voice, one which commands the both of them to listen carefully—maybe even get closer, though at this point the Drow would have to have a death wish to get within stabbing distance of you. How dreadful, and disappointing, to Astarion; that the ominous and certain threat in your voice still yet seems to fly over the Drow’s head.

And how entertaining it will surely be to watch her pomp crumble in a few moments.

“My dear companion deigned to give you his name and answer, twice. I would pity the other acolytes and pilgrims here—if I cared for their lives—for the mere cruelty it is to converse with you in any capacity.”

Dear companion? Now this is new. And not…entirely unpleasant.

“I’m—sorry, I—“ the Drow’s poise wavers, though outrage still lines the edges of her voice.

“You will be sorry, if you do not shut your Godsdamned mouth while I speak,” you let the full fury of your voice be felt, though you have yet to raise it past what can be heard within five paces of the Blood Merchant.

As a meager credit to the Drow’s intelligence, she does snap her jaw shut. Astarion’s lips curl all the higher with each passing second.

“As I was saying—though I do not pity the acolytes here for the ordeal it must be to give you some form of station here, I think I have reason enough to remove you from it. For how you have treated my—for how you have treated Astarion,” your smile beams brighter, not a crease beneath your eyes to suggest you’re anything but seething. He realizes, in a way, you’re baring your teeth for him. The near possessive slip seems to loosen the anxiety in his frame, slightly. But your self-correction helps more.

“You may be a True Soul, but you don’t have any authority to—“ the Drow’s lips suddenly quiver shut again, but clearly not of her own doing. Astarion glances at you and his own tadpole wriggles as he feels yours come to life.

“I should have been more specific,” you sigh, your tadpole holding the Drow rigid. Brushing past him, you beckon with your finger as you move towards the balcony’s doorway across the room. The Drow begins to follow, feet shuffling awkwardly as the fear wells in her eyes. He’s not used to feeling planted to the floor, but for a moment he can only watch in gleeful disbelief at what you’re doing. He picks up his feet at the Drow crosses the threshold and slips out to the balcony with the two of you.

“When I said I had reason enough to remove you from your station, I meant that in less of a bureaucratic sense—I mean literally remove you from it,” you continue to hold the conversation calmly, one-sidedly, as you turn back to look at the Drow from the stacked-stone guardrail. You point and snap your fingers, gesturing to the one spot on this balcony where the stones have broken off and fallen down to the inky, boulder filled shallows at the bottom of the tower. The Drow moves even more resistantly as the psionic force from your tadpole urges her to obey, but eventually she stands at its edge.

“Tell me, Araj, would you like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to feel what it’s like to fly? All you have to do—“ you lay a hand upon her back, just between her shoulder blades, giving her the slightest nudge. “Is step off.”

Astarion hears a strange, strained sounding humming, and realizes it’s the Drow trying to plead behind sealed lips.

“Oh—but it’s a simple exchange, really! And I’m a woman of my word. You step off, and I cast ‘Fly’ upon you. The only risk is if you fall too quickly, well—then my spell won’t reach you in time…and I’ve only seen it happen once before, but to fall from this height? Your body would pop like a champagne bottle thrown to the floor. Skin and muscle and bone will split, and all your warm guts and blood will burst and spray everywhere. What do you say? In my mind, it’d be plain idiotic to squander an opportunity like this.”

You turn back, meeting Astarion’s eye. Within yours, he can see a volatile mix ready to explode. Wrath. Outrage. A cruel hunger for revenge.

But even with those powerful emotions threatening to overtake you, there’s a tenuous thread of patience still wavering. Patience, and a question: that which asks for his permission. To not merely act or speak on his behalf, but decide whether or not to take this woman’s life for the affronts to his dignity and autonomy.

Indignation. Righteous indignation.

That is the feeling that’s been gnawing at him, the words for which he couldn’t recall until now. And it’s all because of you. Because you’ve refused to let him think of himself, talk about himself, treat himself, like a loaner to his own body and mind. Stepping off the wall, he approaches the two of you with a swagger.

First taking hold of a strap on the Drow’s armor, he then plants a steady foot on a piece of the stone guardrail to hold himself upright. Looking to you with a reassuring smirk, you step back, and with a rough shove Astarion sends the Drow’s upper half forward, dangling her precariously over the edge of the balcony. He lets her moan and protest wildly behind her teeth for a moment longer before nodding to you, and you release her from the hold of the tadpole. She takes a ragged gasp, as if preparing to scream, and he leans in to her ear.

“Now now, Araj, let’s not arouse any undesirable attention from the guards, hm?”

Stifling a groan of fear, her arms unsteadily pinwheel in the air as her feet try to find solid stone, and not the edge which Astarion has forced her onto.

“I think I’m feeling generous, so close to the overwhelming splendor of the Absolute—“ he mocks the name of the so-called deity that had proven itself a thorn in their group’s side thus far. “Whom, need I mention, blessed and deemed me a True Soul, just like my dear companion.”

Throwing a conspiratorial smile your way, it deflates only slightly to see your face set so tightly, all but trembling in anger. Not at him, of course. With a sigh, he tuts and yanks the Drow from the edge, throwing her to the stone floor of the balcony further in. She scrambles back from the both of you. Following her towards the door with unhurried steps, he tilts his head in the same mocking way she had before addressing her once more. “The next time someone tells you ‘no’, Drow, I suggest you not argue. You might not be so lucky next time.”

—

The two of you eventually reconvene with the remainder of your group, and after determining your next move you all settle within an abandoned wing of the tower for the night.

Neither of you relay what happened to the rest of your companions—and in turn don’t find an easy opportunity to address it with each other, until the others have gone to bed.

He finds you hunched over your pack, inventorying your potions yet again—worrying and fidgeting his hands and fingers as he approaches.

“I think we’ll come across more, we’ve not unlocked every door in this bloody tower,” he offers—sounding uncharacteristically optimistic. It betrays just how uncertain and uncomfortable he feels about what he’s actually come over to say to you.

“Ah, I know. Just a bit paranoid since we got here. We had our asses kicked out in Reithwin, then again when we took care of Raphael’s dirty laundry—and to walk in to that whole spectacle with Thorm? Gods above—“ you huff, coaxing a genuine smile to Astarion’s face. Finally you turn, rising from your crouched position with a tired, lopsided grin. It falters as you take in his expression, and Astarion worries he’ll collapse in on himself if you look at him for a moment longer like you currently are.

Like you’re concerned about him. Which you are. Like you care for him. Which you do.

Like you love him.

“Everything alright, ‘Starion?”

“Oh—yes, of course I’m fine-“ he stumbles over every word, his charming, easy, impervious shell cracking. “It’s just that…I feel—awful.”

You push aside your own exhaustion, giving him your full attention—of course you do. You ask him why. He’d almost rather pull his own fangs out than confess what he’s about to. But as you listen, as you take in everything he hurries and tries to explain or make excuses for, your expression does not change. Not for the worse, anyway. Those same shining, gentle eyes hold his, and make his undead heart swell. He makes sure to express his gratitude, for how you stood up to the Drow—but even more so for letting him decide.

“Well—yeah,” you sheepishly look down at your feet, scrubbing at the back of your hair. He almost can’t take it, how wonderful you are. “I wasn’t going to rob you of that satisfaction,” you joke. Sighing, you meet his eye again. “I was ready to kill her, Astarion. You know I was. But then… I wouldn’t have done anything for you. Not really. Who’d’ve been empowered if I’d done it? Definitely not you. So, sorry for almost doing that. I was…well, I was fucking pissed.”

He’s not sure if he can recall how to breathe. How could you be apologetic right now, when you were ready to defend him like some knight in shining armor? He came here to apologize to you, not the other way around.

“Hells, darling, I might find an opportunity to make you a villain yet,” he offers you a small smile, voice soft.

You reciprocate, your cheeks dusted with a blush illuminated by the few candles lit outside your tent.

“So, um…what you said—about forcing yourself through-does that mean our—erm,” you try to be so cordial, so empathetic, even though pain seeps from every pore at the implication of what he said.

“No—no, darling,” he rushes out, taking a breath. “Being…close to someone, it just…it was always something I did, had to do, to lure people back—for him. I—want us to be different. I know we are. But intimacy feels…” he struggles to articulate it, feeling your eyes on him even as his own flit around the shadows of the room. “…tainted. I just…don’t know how else to be with someone, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you, Astarion,” you murmur after a heavy pause, and he manages to find your eyes again.

“Really?” He asks, throat filled with a bubble of emotion that threatens to burst.

And where words failing him and the inability to wield his body would normally make him feel completely hollow—a useless husk of a man—the embrace your arms suddenly surround him in makes him seem…whole. Solid.

And unfortunately, capable of dragging him down to the depths of sadness and pain with how heavy he now feels.

However, your arms around him remind him that you’re there with him. That you will be there with him no matter what, Gods and Devils and Mindflayers be damned.

Astarion remembers how to use his own as realizes they’ve been merely hovering, outstretched, and hugs you back. You tighten around him, sighing into his shirt.

He closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into your hair, into the crook of your neck—looking for those places he’d be happily cradled in for the rest of his thus-far miserable life.

When you eventually pull back—Astarion’s hands linger at your waist, his fingers almost curling around your shirt to tug you back in.

“You’re—um-full of surprises,” he musters a shaky smile, which you reciprocate, warmly.

“I am yours until you tire of me, Astarion,” you offer half-jokingly, the gravity of which does not go amiss in his mind.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t sleep—so don’t get your hopes up for being rid of me, darling.”

Your eyes crease, nearly obscuring your irises as you smile.

“I love you, Astarion,” the words are carried from your lips on a breath as it slips out—falling tenderly as a kiss to his ears and piercing as true as an arrow through his heart.

You can tell as much, stepping forward into his arms once more to squeeze his hand and reassure him. “You—you don’t have to say it back. I just want—need you to know that. In the event we die tomorrow or something. Very real possibility, given our dwindling potions.”

“Oh. Well. If we’re telling each other things we need to know, I suppose I should tell you how I’ve been building a stash of potions I’ve erm…borrowed from you, then. You know, clearing guilty consciences and all,” he counters, squeezing your hand back. “I’ll share them with you—as a last resort—of course.” You snort, and then fall into a fit of giggles that he’s dragged into all too easily.

After a considerable effort and a number of failed attempts to stop laughing, a sharp ‘Tsk’va’ uttered from Lae’zel’s tent nearby finally manages to silence you both as you slip into his tent, you staying awake only long enough for him to clear the bedroll of clutter and shake the blankets out.

As you settle your cheek on his chest, snuggled up to his side, his lips press idle kisses to your forehead and hair, desiring to commit your smell, warmth, and weight in his arms to memory.

He eventually slips into a trance—for once, one not filled with crimson eyes and shadows and death—but your sweet smile, laugh, and the way those three words he once longed to forget sound in your voice.

[death---dealer]

Noa x Human ! Reader Imagines - Part Three.

well its about dang time em geez ive been working with these ideas for a hot minute.

PART ONE. PART TWO. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Noa x Human ! Reader. Rating: T. ( Just for safe measure. Some mentions of sensual actions. )

Meeting Dar formally. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

“Would you… Like to join… for a meal?”

Simple enough question and you beamed at the prospect. It wasn’t like you didn't share meals with him. You often found yourself encased in Anaya’s presence when the sun began to dip in the sky, signaling to the Clan that communal dinner was mere minutes away.

The assortment of berries, freshly roasted fish with seeds, and sometimes even apples, green and red, always left Anaya in a good mood, his arm holding onto your shoulders and dragging you along as he urged you to come with him to sit with Soona and Noa instead of sitting in pensive ‘Echo silence’ he had dubbed it. The trio had become a quartet in the blink of an eye, and your usual spot was rested between Soona and Noa, having to take the force of the male Ape next to you when he swatted away Anaya from stealing any of his food.

The next words to fall out of his mouth were that of explanation, “No, no.” You stopped moving your hands against the twine you were using for a necklace and looked over at him with a doe-like expression, like he had just caught you in his grasp on the hunt, “I--- With… Mother?”

The stare Noa was getting from your direction was… Undetectable as far as emotions went. It was like you had gone and turned into the most brittle form of metal, scoured from the depths of the Echo Ruins. A clean slate, but speckled with moss and rust from years upon years of exposure to the elements. He knew how to read you in most instances, but right now, you were giving him nothing to work with as you thought about the posed question he just presented you with. You eyes were widened, he got that. That often meant surprise, shock. Your lips were semi-parted and Noa lingered on the plump and soft-looking nature of them. Your brows were smoothed, no indicative to him of the previously mentioned emotions. It’s like you were frozen before you finally managed to belt.

“You want me to join you and your mom for dinner?”

Nodding in response to your put together question, Noa thanked the highest elders in the sky that you were able to formulate what he was beckoning. How was he, as the Leader of his Clan, proud and endowed with much knowledge ( that he still admittedly had to learn about ), ask an Echo… to join his Mother, who was undoubtedly the most weighty presence in Noa’s life, to share a meal? In fact, he had spent nearly the entire day thinking about and finally just rested and tried to grapple with the idea that asking you instead of throwing you into it would be the better option from his very selective plate of offerings.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t met her - In fact, you and she shared many conversations in passing, one of the more important being when she questioned you as Noa expected she would when he offered you to stay with the Clan. She figured, in all her wisdom and adoration for her only child, that you were not a threat and you were granted the ability and flexibility within the community to do things. She even taught you how to summon Eagle Sun when Noa wasn’t around to make the bid for his bird. But this? To share an actual meal? Something incredibly theological to the Eagle Clan, was a terrifying thought.

Just because she didn't see you as a previous threat did not by proxy mean that she liked your presence. Maybe, she just tolerated it because it’s what Noa chose. You tried to tell yourself that time and time again, almost afraid of the Matriarchy.

“What… if she doesn’t like me?”

--

You were ultimately left with that question still at the tip of your tongue as Noa had told you that it wasn’t something you needed to stress or worry about. As reassuring as his words were, as soft and gentle as he grasped at your shoulders to tear you away from the inner workings of your anxious mind, you still found yourself lingering on it as you feet trailed you along the dirt path of the village, directly towards the sweeping bonfire that captured your attention.

Smaller fires rested to the side, used for roasting the seeds and the meat caught by either Eagles or the Apes themselves. Trying to focus on something other then the usual gait of Noa, bi-pedal and directing you with his body, you found it difficult when he moved with such ease, like this… Wasn’t an issue. That you eating with his Mother was not a big deal.

Your mind was racing.

What if… she found your eating weird? I mean, it was. You thought to yourself with raised eyebrows and stepped over a small rock that would have otherwise left you on the floor had it not been for Noa and your steps mirroring his to an exact tee. It was weird by association because you were the only Echo around, only one to join them ever for a meal. You tore your food apart before eating with your hands, Apes… did not.

They ripped, almost in a very hypnotic way, with their teeth and it left you feeling almost numb when you had seen Noa do it for the first time seated next to him. He was aggressive, canines digging into the flesh of a fish and tearing without reserve. You felt grossed out at first, turning away but you couldn’t stop yourself from gawking at the nature of which his jaws moved with such power and force.

What if… Oh no, you grumbled inside of your head, what if you needed to commence in small talk? You had no adequate training as far as Chimp etiquette. What did they like to talk about? Well, you supposed you could always resort to the Eagles. After all, her Husband had so diligently spent his life, and her life when they got married, taking care of them. She knew things about them that even Noa didn't know.

Bumping into Noa’s back, you gasped as you came into reality once again. Not even realizing that you had been so in-depth with introspection, you caught a brief look from the Leader of the Clan before he directed his gaze, asking you to silently follow, to his Mother. So elegantly seated on the ground in front of the sweep of the bonfire, the flames flapped the blue threaded shawl over her shoulders. It looked like wool - and it looked incredibly comfortable as she watched you come around her son, who was gesturing with one hand a place for you to sit.

Smiling at her, the nerves fluttered around the back of your head like tiny butterflies as you drew your body down onto the ground, cross-legged and watched with baited interest as Noa sat - not next to you, not next to his Mother, but in front of the two of you so all three of your bodies created a triangle, good for communication with speak and sign.

“Echo,” Noa said to his Mother while advertently signing along to his phrases, “Is called (Name).”

You tried to see the nature of the sign he used for your name, if there was even one. The motion was towards you and then towards his chest, his heart. You blinked at that, transfixed but maybe it was the light playing tricks on your eyes.

He introduced you, the fluttering of insects that you felt crawling in your head only magnified at the sound of your name from Noa. It was rare, but you liked the sound.

“(Name).” Two times? You felt like you were going to fall backwards as you looked over at his Mother with kind eyes. At least, that’s how you hoped they looked. There was no clear way to tell as the blaze of the fire surged against you, giving you a good means to cover the redden nature of your cheeks as she looked right back at you.

It was easy to see where Noa got his intense stare from. And the cartoon-heart shaped nose. And the freckles that lined along her and her son's brow bones. All things passed to Moa, proudly, you hoped as he was impeccable all around. Especially to the eyes.

“This is… my mother,” He shuffled on his feet in a crouched position towards her and then towards you, “Dar.”

It felt like you were being watched with intense scrutiny. Was your back straight enough? Did she care if it was? Were you being too forthcoming by sitting cross legged, like you were familiar with her? It was obvious in the way that Noa moved next to you, his shoulder barely grazing yours for a fleeting moment, that the tense nature of the introduction finally hit him and he had an inkling now as to why you were worried about his Mother liking you. A bowl was suddenly placed in front of you. By Dar. Her movements were svelte, almost undetectable in your flurried anxious haze.

“So glad,” She started and gave you a smile. You felt a weight off your shoulders at that, like you could finally breathe, “That Noa find someone… To hold him to the ground.”

Noa scoffed at that, looking at his Mother with eyes that said ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

She just looked at him, grasping the back of his head and bringing it forward so they were kissing brows. As quickly as it happened, they broke apart and she clarified, “So much like his Father.” You laughed under your breath as Noa began shifting on his feet again, obviously embarrassed that his Mother was going into this, “Always, head in the clouds. Like Eagle. You,” she gestured towards you with a pointed finger, “Keep him on the ground. For all of us.”

Riding Horseback. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

From the moment that Noa grasped your forearm and hoisted you upwards to sit on the back of his horse, it felt like your heart was sitting very precariously against your lower esophagus. No matter how many times you tried to swallow it down, it lingered and it preserved and only seemed to cause more discomfort when you attempted to breathe but caught it stuck in your throat. By all means, you were more than capable of riding alone. You had done it many a-time using Soona’s horse who had a lesser temperament than Anaya’s. Like owner, like horse, you laughed at that inside of your head, setting your hands down on the saddle behind you that held you back in position, along the thickened twine that was used to hold provisions to the rear of the animal. 

You lifted and adjusted yourself for comfort in the straddling position and shuffled forwards a bit so the semi-circle opening from your spread-legs was resting closer to Noa’s tailbone. He shifted in front of you, the broad movements of his shoulders leaving you even more breathless than the journey it took to get you to sit behind him. Grasping your right leg in his large hand that could surely take the entire circumference of your calf in one grasp if he truly wanted, he helped you position it properly before mirroring the action on the other side. Your bones of your legs felt like they were on fire, and he had only grazed them through the fabric of your fading cargo pants. 

You were somewhat jealous at how simple it looked for Noa, the way his muscular legs bent around the shaft of his horse and tucked into the sides, the way his fingers held onto the reins so delicately, but with such underlining power. All captivating and done with ease, it left you almost in a trance. You had to shake yourself out of it with the remembrance that he had been riding since he was a child, the idea of him and Anaya absolutely going crazy in their young youth on horseback admittedly a bit comical inside of your head, especially when you thought about the reaction it would have garnered from Soona. Now- just because you were able to ride the horse did not equate to being able to ride them well. Surely you were better on your feet and Noa knew this, even though your feet sometimes faltered and you stumbled. He didn't watch those moments, he knew it would only cause you embarrassment if he gawked at you falling on your face. Noa always found that a bit strange - the premise of embarrassment being such a contention with you but he let it slide, deducing it to that simple notion of ‘Echo Behavior’.

‘Good?’ Noa had signed to you with his one free hand, and turned his head so he could see you from his periphery. His other hand pulled back the reins to get his horse friend into position to take off. 

You staggered against him from the movement and drew your arms around his tapered waist, playing with the fur under your fingers as you did so, almost outlining the muscles that you knew were buried underneath with unspoken carnal want that was forbidden to both of you, at least, that’s what you told yourself. That’s what Noa told himself but it just drenched the moments when you were close with tooth-rotting sweetness, like someone had poured honey all over them. 

Noa didn't mind at all - in fact the tickling sensation was more than adequate for the Ape and he found himself perked with almost primal pleasure at how you slid right against him, chest to his back. You placed your hands straight to his chest, palms down against it. 

His fur hadn’t thickened yet for the winter months that were coming, it was easier here to feel the rip of his tendons under your touch. He swore his heart jumped a bit, curious if you were able to feel that against the pads of your fingers but you were quick to flee, moving away from that position, wildly dangerous on its own and even more so when you were on horseback and Noa was unable to look around at you to deduce your emotions from your face. Instead, you found your hands now cupped around him like a loop and placed them gently by the satchel he had tied around his hips for stability once you started moving. Fluttering your eyes forward towards the lush landscape that sat in front of you. The greens blended into the gold of the sun rising against the horizon. Like Noa’s eyes, they were in a fierce battle of dominance between the coloring, but as the sun continued its rise, you knew that the grassy green would come out on top and all you wanted to do was feel it against your bare back in the most deletable pose, like you were naked before Noa in a grassy meadow. Your destination? You were unsure, Noa was taking you to some place he had sought refuge from when he was on the hunt to find his Clan when they had been taken. 

The notions of Raka fluttered in your mind, that Humanity and Apes had once lived side by side, you wanted to know more about that. About what he had found there, the remnants of humanity, so scared and faded. The remnants of a past you didn't want back, how could you think that when you were so placed so perfectly against the Eagle Clan’s leader. Placing your face between his shoulder blades for a moment and drenching yourself with his fur along your cheeks, you drew a deep breath in and shut your eyes. His smell eradicated your senses and left them all numb. The delicious vine smell that clung to the very tips of his fur all the way down to the Earth and how it would feel against your bare toes that rested beneath the upper layers of essence. 

You clenched him tighter, crushing your breasts against his back in anticipation. Noa looking down at your hands, small and bare of any fur or scars, so snug against his waist with some flurry of satisfaction. You nodded against his back, turning your head to the side so you could rest against him like a pillow.  Noa had told you the journey was long, but worth it, which meant you were going to be positioned against him for hours at a time to make the trek. With one gesture of his hand, Noa urged his horse forward, almost relishing in the small gasp and subdued tightening of your grasp as the two of you set off towards the rising sun.

Watching the Sunset. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

The pure strength of a Chimpanzee became abundantly clear the moment you mounted Noa’s back. He barely faltered at the sensation of your weight against him, the only time he shifted outside of the norm was when he noticed how tightly your legs were drawn shut around his waist, how soft your arms were around his neck, a grazing connection happening when you set forth that motion and he could still feel it against his fur lined cheek.

It wasn’t much of a complaint that cause him to ruffle beneath you, just the fact that you were so near to him. Your very core, given the circumstance of your position, was resting against his mid-back as he helped hike you onto the broader nature of his torso. A shiver tore down your body as you placed your face near to his, like you were inside of his body as a secondary pilot. Your chest crushed against his back, near the sloop of his shoulder blades, your breath encasing his senses as your heart beat accelerated, felt even though the thickness of his fur and your jacket. 

 The climb upwards itself was always a ride, feeling the shift of Noa’s muscles under your forearms as he swung and captured his body along with yours, catapulting it off rusted beams and grown out trees. It was a skill he possessed very well; to climb without knowing where his next grip point would be. You figured all Apes had that innate instinct, but seeing it so close, seeing the actions of his hands grasping for air and then settling for a grip point, the tendons themselves of his fingers flaring with each hold… You focused on that as you embarked upwards, afraid to look down at how far he was taking you into the heavens. If he was ever nervous to carry you, it never showed on Noa’s face or movements. 

As soon as it began though, the Chimp who had given you a ride planted his spread out toes along a sturdy concrete roof. It was secure under him, no falling for either of you. He dipped his body into a crouch, a courtesy to you so you could slide off of him in the most practical, not meant to be pretty, manner. Your shirt rose against his fur, catching all the right spots on your way down that you were both blessed with just a fleeting seconds worth of your bare skin hitting against the very tips of his dark brown fur. You fluttered at that, dangling your feet before pushing your weight off Noa with a small ‘thud’ to the ground below accompanied by a rather yummy ‘uff’ from your mouth that Noa ate up.  At first, in your haze to get situated so far off the ground, you thought it was a tree. The green lush of Mother Earth took back what was hers, all the way into the blue sky as toppling sky-scrapers reminded everyone of a time long ago. “What are we doing?” You asked him softly, watching as he hunched onto all fours and was urging to follow him. ‘Up here?’ You asked again in sign, this one a little different in phrasing as your signing was rudimentary at its best.  Noa just scoffed at your impatience, signing at you to just wait, and that he was taking you to see was more than worth the wait. So typical of Echo to want to know where they are going before they go, always ruins surprises, he thought to himself with a chuffed laugh in your direction as he crawled himself up a fallen beam that was angled upwards, resting against an embankment of another level of the building you were on. 

Graciously, he held a hand out for you to take and helped you with the beam, one of your hands grasping at the side of it so you didn't teeter on your unbalanced legs trying to follow his movements before Noa yanked on the arm he had held securely in his fur lined hand. He grunted as he hoisted you, more aggressive than either of you realized until you came barreling right into him, your chests meeting, his arm instinctually grasping at your waist before you crunched your knees to stop yourself from completely taking both of your bodies down by force of momentum.

That only lasted a second as you looked at him with widened eyes, still smacked together, his mouth forming an ‘O’ shape as he hooted out of laughter at the reaction he got from you. 

Scared. Senseless? Never with Noa. Out of your mind for being so far up the ground and one slip of your hand, or even his, was going to end in your impending doom as you fell to the ground below? Oh yeah. 

You brushed off him and muttered a small, ‘I could have died’ as your fingers trailed along his own, twirling around the calloused pads and detailing them with your grasp, searching for more leniency, more yearning brooding right at the end of your fingertips. Your words must have struck him as even funnier as his head tilted backwards with a huff and ragged mouth breathing, indicative of amusement. Noa raised his free hand and gave you a rather grasping ‘dramatic’ with his fingers in response to your statement. You tried to give your eyes a rest from the feast that was the Ape in front of you, but the expression across Noa’s face was drawing you in as you chuckled alongside him. Still entracing your hand in his, the only part of the previous actions that made it to survive, you weren’t begging yourself to take away from the embrace as Noa led in front of you, past fallen debris, past overgrown tree leaves that would rival you in size, up, up, up. The only distance between the two of you being that of your bent in arm, extending into his own as he trailed forward bi-pedal now. Less than two feet, you figured, was lingering between you and you could smell his essence wafting off him with each swift move of his shoulders. You soaked it in selfishly, enjoying the bounce of his fur with his movements, how it caught the light from broken shells in the ruins around you as it drifted between appearing black and appearing honey-soaked brown. A giggle bubbled to the surface of your lips as he tugged a bit harder, the excitement of what he was pulling you towards coming to a bittersweet end as you two rounded one more corner. “Noa, you’re going to rip my… arm… off…” You came to a dead stop. Feet unable to move forward, your eyes widened at the scene in front of you. If only you had the proper words to describe to Noa what you were seeing, what the two of you were experiencing. You had the feeling that you were going to chatter about this to him for days on end once he got you back on solid ground.  Beyond the valley of where the Eagle Clan had made its refuge decades upon decades ago, spanning so many generations, beyond the flushed nature of the greened landscape that was kissed by grass, shrubs of variety, trees and flowers… Was a vast panorama of blue, splattered against the backdrop of the sun as it began its routine descent in the sky.

The sky itself was holding onto the last remnants of soft pastel azure, speckled deliciously with whitened clouds that reminded you of the white feathers the Eagles would shed once they came to age. Swiftly, right before your eyes, the Heavens dove into the greater beauty of fluffy clouds with tingles of orange and pink clinging to the edges, more vivid in the center of them as the Earth above turned from the regular day into a set. The sky, alight now with purple near the horizon, flirting against the brisk of the blue you could see, pink enthralled the capsulated lid above the sun itself. Your lips parted. Noa, as much as he wanted to see what you were seeing, was unable to tear his hazel gaze from you. He had found this place by accident on a personal search for what Raka’s words meant, a journey of self-reflection he took once the Clan was back to some normalcy after what happened. You swallowed gently, trying to find words but there were none to describe this. Feeling a prickling at the corner of your eyes, you moved away from Noa. One step at a time was taken, Noa watching with haze as you shifted away from him as if you wanted to become one with the sun itself.

He held his arm out for you in case you slid your feet against something slick, in case you came too close to the edge and he needed to pull you back in but you stopped, inches away from the ledge. A few pebbles of concrete bursted from the weight, trickling downwards in a spiral.  The blue you were seeing… right along the curve of the Earth... It was the ocean, it had to be. There was no way… That it wasn’t. The laps you were seeing, crisped with a white top as they hit into each other, were waves. You could swear that the smell of sea-salt hit your nostrils, but that could have just been wishful thinking. 

A gasp escaped your lips when a tear slid down your cheek. Noa rounded you, coming to stand beside you on your right side. He was sure you had seen his movements, but just in case, to make himself known to you as you admired the beauty set before you by his truly, the side of his hand delicately placed itself against the smoother nature of the side of yours. “Noa, I---” You were grappling for something to say, instead you just gawked in amazement. Another shift occurred, the sun dripping itself away along the ripple of the blue. The sky was lit up now with more of a purple hazed tone with underwashing of midnight navy and some delectations of pink if you were really focusing.  “You,” He was looking at the side of your face with devotion, eyes flickering from the softening of your eyebrows, to the curl of your lips as you backed into a smile of sorts, trying to ignore the tears that exploded on your tongue as a result, “You like… Where Noa brought you?”

“I’ve… I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” You tried to get that pushed out of your mouth before you were put under the hypnotic state of the sunset again.

“You… are…” Noa whispered more to himself as you gave him a locking of the eyes for a moment with a tearful grin to thank him for bringing you here before you looked back forward to savor everything that your eyes had been blessed with.

Everything else to you faded away, your hand having realized that he was so near, went to grasp his fingers into your own to relish the moment. Inappropriate? Maybe. Did you care? Not anymore. You wanted to share this with him, and only him. Noa’s eyes dropped from the stare he had on the side of your face, down to your hand, snuggled into his own as he muttered so gently, you could have sworn it was murmured into the shell of your ear in a second of sparred intimacy. “So… beautiful.”

[phoenixkaptain]

I just want to say that the repeated mentions of Tim being like Bruce - Dick telling Tim that “you’re more like Bruce than I ever was” and even things as small as the other members of Young Justice assuming that Batman is literally Robin’s dad - mean so much to me because like-

Tim is so similar to Bruce. They are both rich kids, only childs, people like them but they never let anyone truly know them. Tim’s deductive ability is so often likened to Bruce’s, and even his combat prowess or leadership skills are more often compared to Bruce’s than Jason’s or Dick’s. Despite being Robin, and the third one at that, Tim really takes being the Batman of the group to an entirely new level with just how much he really is like Batman.

And that’s why they work so well together! Tim and Bruce are so similar, but they’re fundamentally different! Bruce is afraid to get hurt again, afraid to feel connections to other people, afraid of revealing his emotional vulnerability. Tim is afraid of disappointing people, afraid to fail to rise to the standards other people set for him, afraid of revealing that he isn’t as calm as he appears on the outside. Bruce and Tim both begin fighting crime out of love, a love so strong that it would lead either of them to give up their lives for that love, but Bruce does so out of a love for Gotham City and his parents and the legacy they represent to him while Tim does so out of a love for Gotham City and Robin and Batman.

Their partnership is built on their similarities, but it’s improved by their differences. Tim is softer than Bruce. He wants to trust people, he doesn’t enjoy making lists of ways to kill all of his friends. He tries to talk, to draw things out, to banter, while Bruce is more straightforward. Which, honestly, being more subtle than Bruce is a talent in its own right, ngl

Tim is described a lot as the perfect Robin. And, I can’t help but feel like yeah, he is. The writers really made this character perfect for Bruce specifically. Tim is a person who understands what Bruce wants him to do, even if he doesn’t always understand why. Tim cares about Bruce, both Bruce Wayne and Batman, and that care knocks down a lot of Bruce’s walls. Tim wants to fight crime with his friends and enjoy himself, but he also has his main goal which is to protect Bruce, especially from Bruce himself.

And it’s a two-way street. Bruce knows Tim so well. Like, I can’t even begin to describe how well Bruce can read Tim. He can tell that Tim’s care is sincere, and he wants to reciprocate that care. He trusts Tim, on such a deep, foundational level, and he trusts that if Tim lies to him, then Tim has a balid reason for doing so. He’s protective of Tim, even more than Tim is protective of him (for obvious reasons), but he’s also proud of Tim. He’s proud of how Tim can work with people and how Tim can handle his own and how Tim can solve cases.

Bruce and Tim are such a dynamic duo, literally. The understanding they have of each other is amazing. The trust they have in each other. The care. Bruce treats Tim like his son, and Tim honestly treats Bruce like his dad, even while Tim’s birth dad is still alive. These two are great together, they work so well together, they fit each other almost perfectly because Tim was literally made to be perfectly suited for Batman.

And, of course, there is an obsession there. Tim’s obsession with Batman runs deep. He would almost certainly make a great Batman, no matter how you look at it, because he has moments where he reaches that ability to be threatening. Of the times I know that he played Batman, he didn’t do a bad job. He’s intimidating and frightening and he manages to have his cape pulled around himself so he’s just a shape, just like Bruce does, and that’s mostly because he also literally does that same thing as Robin. Tim prefers to be Robin, because he prefers to be partnered with someone else.

(To be completely honest, I think Tim’s first choice of who he would want to be paired with at any given moment is almost certainly Dick. Dude loves that guy. I haven’t seen if Batman Dick and Robin Tim interact in those respective roles, but Tim is almost equally made to be Nightwing’s Robin. Bruce is his second choice though, definitely.)

I have to assume the obsession goes both ways, because the story is a lot more interesting if it does. Bruce is protective of Tim, even as he trusts Tim with the fate of the entire planet. His protectiveness of Tim is funny, actually, because he doesn’t mind Tim fighting gods but he does mind Tim showing the other members of Young Justice his face. (I mean, I get that one of the members is named Impulse, but Bart himself said that Batman gave him that name, so I feel like Bruce bringing it up as a detractor is just a bit hypocritical)

All the times we see Batman with Tim in the Young Justice run, Batman is pretty chill. Like, during the Sins of Youth storyline, when Bruce is Robin and Tim is Batman, Bruce seems totally cool with it. He doesn’t seem worried about Tim messing up. His comments on Tim talking to much read more to me as banter than actual criticisms. Bruce trusts Tim to be Batman, and I find that both sweet and a bit funny for a variety of reasons.

We see Batman get mad when Arrowette says the Justice League doesn’t understand any of the Young Justice members, although even then he just glares at her, he doesn’t say anything. Bruce is like “Yes, I know I don’t understand the majority of human interaction, what of it?” Batman doesn’t say much during that whole comic, actually? Like, he shows up with the rest of the Justice League and he taunts Tim (literally like someone taunting a child pfft) but he doesn’t actually seem to think they won’t pull through? He makes a quip about them being late getting back, but it doesn’t go anywhere, it was him teasing Robin, why was he even here?

(I like to think he kind of hoped Young Justice would disban so he could take Tim back. He obviously wants Tim around, he implies as much in the World Without Grownups arc, and he obviously enjoys Tim’s company, he seems to genuinely enjoy fighting crime with Tim, even when their roles are switched, and he lets Tim talk to Oracle all the time (he definitely could have cut that connection off if he really wanted to make it difficult for Tim during that whole bet thing) Like, Bruce believes that Tim is capable, I think he’s like Wonder Woman and thinks that the others (coughImpulseandSuperboycough) are bad influences. He is taking his boy wonder and leaving to get him good influences, like Nightwi- oh, wait, no, yeah, let’s let him hang out with Impulse and Superboy-)

This turned into a ramble about Young Justice, but I can’t help it!!! I really, REALLY wish that Batman had gone to the parent-teacher conference. Like, Nightwing showing up was wonderful on so many levels, but can you imagine?? Batman?? Dealing with Bonnie King-Jones??? Like, I think if he ever met her he would break the no-killing rule, full-stop, no hesitation. I want to know how the parent-teacher conference would have gone if Batman was there. I think it would have been mostly awkward silence while Batman lurked in the shadows and Red Tornado didn’t understand why everyone was so nervous, like, it’s just talking about what time he should feed their kids, why are you guys sweating-?

I love Tim and Bruce’s relationship. They’re so codependent. I don’t know if Bruce could ever not hold the next Robins up to Tim’s standard. Like, Damian trying to kill Tim makes a lot of sense if you look at it as Damian viewing the situation as “there only needs to be one Robin, and if there is a Tim to be compared to, I will lose.” Dick and Jason were great as Robin, but neither of them were Robin during the period of time in the nineties and early 2000s where Batman got a lot edgier and needed an edgier boy to be Robin. Dick was perfect for the 50s through to at least the 70s, and Jason was probably just fine too (still haven’t read Jason comics hrnng) but Tim fits Bruce perfectly because he was made for the more modern vision of Batman as a character.

Tim is a dweeb and a nerd, just like Dick before him, do not think that he isn’t, but he really works as a balance for Bruce. He was introduced to be that equilibrium, and he fulfills that role.

Tim and Bruce work so well together because they’re just on slightly different sides of a spectrum. They’re so close to being too similar, but they’re dissimilar enough that reading their dynamic is engaging and interesting. Tim really just is the Robin I understand people mistaking for Bruce’s blood kid, y’know? Before Damian, I mean. I feel like the Justice League members met Tim and went “whoa, shit, Batman knocked someone up, holy-“ The Young Justice members continuously genuinelybelieve that Batman is Robin’s dad (which makes it a lot funnier, because if he was Tim’s dad, Tim would essentially be saying: “my dad made me do this and won’t let me do this and to make things worse, my DAD moved us out!” Like, why would he just randomly mention who the subject of the conversation was again at such a pointed time? I understand that Superboy and Bart were not paying attention to him, but it’s just really funny to think that Tim would talk in such a strange way?) I like to think that Dick does not help matters, and instead goes out of his way to worsen them, because Dick is always the one telling Tim that he’s doing great and that he’s so similar to Bruce (he means it as a compliment, like Tim isn’t making the mistakes he thinks he’s making because he, just like Batman, just is unlikely to make mistakes) so I think Dick definitely tells his friends that Robin is Batman’s kid because it’s funny-

And this has gone from rambling about Young Justice to writing fanfiction mid-post, I should really stop while I’m ahead.

All in all, to sum it up, TLDR: Tim was made to be the best Robin specifically for Bruce as Batman. That’s why they work in harmony, but are ultimately entirely different instruments.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 21

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: I just want to say, hello to all the new people! So many of you have found this series in the last week. So welcome! Thank you for making me smile like an idiot when my phone goes off when a binge read happens. Literally makes my day. And you've come in at a great time for me in introduce some tension back into the story. I'm not sorry.

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

We had managed to keep my signet development hidden longer than I thought. Xaden had requested I hold off from approaching Professor Carr till some of the tension around Amber’s execution had died off.

In that time I had used any free moment to practice, mainly in the privacy of my room or Garrick’s. But a few times I had practiced in the training room while Garrick, Bodhi and Xaden sparred. Though I had to be careful. One time I had tried to pull one of the weights towards me and instead of a slow gradual pull, I had flung it across the room, narrowly missing Bodhi and Garrick who we’re in the middle of a fight. Both of them had turned to me wide eyed after the weight had skimmed over their heads before imbedding in the stone wall. Xaden on the other hand had burst out laughing even though I’d nearly taken them out our best friends. I had yet to grasp the other part of my ability, coming up short any time I tried to focus on someone. Amber and Jeremiah had been erratic in their emotions. Both knowing death was coming. I had wondered if their calls for help had amplified their presence, allowing me to draw on it. The only other ones I had managed to slightly do it on since were Xaden, Garrick and Bodhi. Which I had put down to how well I knew them. As if my signet already knew exactly where to look, where to seek them out. But even then I couldn’t always do it. I had put the incident in the tower that day down to my heightened emotions. But I couldn’t put it off any longer as I walked into Professor Carr’s classroom for the first time. His room set all of my senses into overdrive. A long chamber with no windows on any of the outwards facing walls. Every wall was padded. Which given the variety of signets we all had and had passed through this room over the years, were probably there for protection. Carr looks up at me instantly, a smile curving at the edge of his mouth that sends a chill down my spine. The way he studies me doesn’t help.

”The other Riorson. Finally ready to join us I see.” He drawls.

I nod and stand up tall. “Sure am.”

His eyes finally meet mine again. “What’s your signet power?” He asks as he slowly walks over to me.

Xaden and I had discussed how to address this topic. We could try pass it off as levitation, but knew that would be no point. The way I could manipulate and control things would soon alert Carr that I possessed another ability. A more powerful ability. The one thing he and I agreed on, as well as Garrick, was that I was not to let on about the projections I was able to do. We just hoped I didn’t get influenced by my emotions and let it loose in the middle of class one day.

I draw in a breath. “My dragon called it Psionic sir.” I tell him.

Carr’s eyes light up instantly at my words. I knew they would. After scouring the records of every rider who had passed through this quadrant, we had not found a single person with this signet, or a name similar. From what we could tell I was the first. Unless it had been redacted. I was something new for Carr to examine, to see what my signet could do. Something I really did not want. But to give myself the best chance at improving my signet, I had to. If I was to help Xaden and this rebellion, I needed all the help I could get. Carr hurries over to his desk and comes back with a scroll, sealed by a wax seal that must be his own. Next to is a marking I know all too well from my time around Melgren. Classified. He hands it out to me. As I grasp it he leans in.

”You must not speak a word of your signet to anyone. Take this downstairs after class with your jacket.” He tells me barely above a whisper before turning back to his desk.

I look down at the scroll in my hand and know all too well what this holds. My uniform is now to bear another patch. A patch I’ve only seen one other person in this quadrant bear. The classified signet patch. A compass. I look up to see the other squads including my own looking at the scroll in my hands with intent. All of them clearly wanting to know what it means. I quickly shove it into a pocket inside my jacket before taking a seat between Rhiannon and Liam. Both of them turning to me instantly.

”Care to explain?” Liam asks as he leans on the desk looking at me.

”Explain that I have my signet? Thought that was obvious by my appearance in the class.” I reply sassily, earning me a roll of his eyes.

”That, but also the fact you didn’t tell us and why he gave you that scroll.” Rhiannon adds as she leans in from the other side.

With Liam and Rhiannon leaning on their desks facing me, I am boxed in completely. No escape while we wait for the class to start.

”It only just happened.” A lie. A blatant lie. And with the way Liam shifts in his seat I know he can tell. He isn’t blind the the training sessions that only Garrick, Bodhi and Xaden have been allowed to since the night Violet and I were attacked. “And even if I wanted to tell you, I can’t now.”

Rhiannon’s eyes drop to my jacket where I had shoved the scroll. I can see the temptation in her eyes to use her signet to draw it to her. “It’s classified isn’t it.”

I merely nod at her as Carr moves from his desk. I might be the first one to posses this signet, but Carr had known my signet was important. As if he had already imagined someone manifesting this. Waiting for it. He probably had a hunch about what else I could do or hoped I could do. I was now playing a dangerous game. Classified signets we’re only told to those who needed to know. Those in command. By the end of the day the leaders of formation would know. Melgren would know. From here on out I was playing a dangerous game.

Walking down the corridors to battle brief I could feel every pair of eyes on me and the new patch on my jacket. As instructed I had taken my scroll to the uniform room, and watched as they had quickly attached the patch to my jacket. And in that time, the first years in third and fourth wing had already spread the news. The quadrant had another classified signet. And everyone knew. As I walked into the battle brief room, everyone went silent. Even Devera and Markham. All eyes on me. Though there were two sets I felt more than the rest as they burned into the patch on my left shoulder. As I meet Xaden and Garrick’s eyes, I could see the worry. No I could feel it. There in my mind I could feel their presence. I could feel the nervousness that now consumed them. Not only did we have other cadets to worry about, we also had leadership. I now had a different and bigger target on my back. A target not even they could protect me from.

A target that had very quickly met its mark. I watched as every single cadet in the room straightened in their chairs or where they stood. Watching as Xaden and Garrick’s eyes went wide. Xaden’s arm raising to push Garrick back as he steps forward. Just like he did on conscription day. I didn’t need to turn to know who stood behind me. I knew their presence all too well. Enough my signet could sense it. A looming black presence, crackling and erratic at its edges. It screamed danger. Screamed to run away from it. It was so fitting for them. But in the five years I had been under their guidance I had never run from it. And didn’t plan to any time soon.

”Sorry to disturb you Devera, but I need to borrow Cadet Riorson here. They’ll be missing your class today.” He drawls. I can hear the smirk in his voice.

Devera stares behind me before nodding. “Of course General.”

I turn around and meet the cold and familiar stare of General Melgren. Part 22

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko

[il3x]

so about that messy cauldron cape oc...

Current permutation is a boy who grows up as his family's golden child, the flipside being that his sister is scapegoated and emotionally abused. When he's 15-ish (and his sister is 13-14, probably? It works better if she's younger), she triggers with a Tinker or Thinker ability. An ability that's suddenly very useful to their parents, who have no problem exploiting her for money or fame. The boy doesn't see it this way; he just sees his family suddenly paying attention to his sister instead of him (he's still favoured, but more net time and energy goes to ~managing~ her). Why did his sister get powers, anyway? Weren't those meant to come to successful people in moments of grand triumph? She sure hasn't had many of those lately. So he Googles powers, or finds a library book. He's just curious. And, woah, there's a lot of theories. And no one knows for sure! It's kind of intriguing. He's always gotten hooked on interesting things pretty hard (one of his teachers mentioned ADHD, but he's always done great at school, so.) and he spends the weekend deep-diving. There's also a lot of claims on how to get powers. Probably bullshit. That's not really the cool part, anyway. Seriously, he doesn't know how nerds spend all their time on Cape Football when there could be alien demigods walking among us! Or angels heralding the Rapture! Or the keys to a completely new branch of Physics!  Well, um. Most likely that last one.  His powers interest ebbs a bit, and meanwhile, his sister is still being super important. Like, it should be illegal for one person to be that important. Her power is probably the only one ever that isn’t cool to look at and think about, just frustrating.  Those How To Get Powers blogs and forums keep popping up. Sue him, but he’s kinda curious. They’re probably so stupid they’re funny. Some of them are hilarious (he sends screenshots to his friends). Some of them, well, he’s gonna follow them (as an experiment, ironically) to prove just how fake they are. It can’t hurt to try.  They are fake, fake and stupid and frustrating, but they’re not exactly a waste of time because - did you know there are people who seriously believe you can get superpowers? Like, not just grifters and kids messing around at sleepovers? Adults with jobs who actually believe this shit. It’s kinda fascinating to observe them, the religious forums, the self-trigger nuts. And they’re so obscure, it’s exciting. He’s on a deep-cover mission. And, you know… these people, they’ve actually read the research, they document, they’re doing real cutting-edge shit. (Sometimes literally, hah. That Activation forum is insane.)  You know… they get it. He’s witnessed someone get powers firsthand, and they’re all really interested to hear his observations. He wishes he’d paid more attention to his sister before. She doesn’t really like questions now, and he doesn’t want to debase himself by begging her.  By now, he’s tried all the really harmless no-cost methods. No results, of course. After all, putting his sister’s case in the context of the literature, he is 100-percent sure that whatever latent mechanism gives you powers requires high emotion to activate. It unifies everything. Who knew, the self-harm junkies were probably closest of all?

He’s 16 and learning to drive when he plans his own activation. He’s not sure he could go through with it if he had to walk or jump into danger. A car, though, he could probably activate without trying, haha. The tricky bit is not actually killing himself before the powers kick in.  He succeeds! …Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have totalled it.  …Maybe he should have waited until he had his own car to total it.  And yeah, okay, he failed at activation. It’s kinda fucked. It’s kinda really fucked, actually, he didn’t think about the medical bill (he shouldn’t have even needed medical treatment!) or how much it might damage him (it shouldn’t have hurt) or his parents going off about the car (he should have had powers to show them, and then they would’ve forgotten everything else). Fuck, why’s he acting so entitled? He knew the risks. The painkillers must be getting to him. Well, he survived; and now… now he really has to get powers, somehow. He’s missing school, and his sports has gone out the window. It’s the only way left to win everyone back.  He gets creative with his activation attempts after that. It's easier with practice. He even tries the fringe alchemy forum’s latest ridiculous cocktail, with the mindset that it wouldn’t do shit for his “midichlorians” but would probably poison him really well. His parents think he’s trying to kill himself, and that somehow makes them madder. His sister… She knows. She clocks what he’s trying, and throws a fit about it, because God forbid someone actually works for a win instead of just crying about it. What does she know! She’s still trying to play the victim, with superpowers.  (He used to actually feel bad for her. To be honest - he sometimes still does, but she’s burning that goodwill fast.) He bombs his final exams, and stays in his parents’ house, and they ignore one another cordially, which is fine by him. More time for research. And research is actually useful again, because - well, because another stunt might use up the last of his own goodwill, and he’s honestly not sure he could get up the nerve for it, but that’s not all. He’s found a new lead, buried so professionally he’s not surprised that it took three years. “Cauldron”. 

[v3nusxsky]

Hello! I love your writing, and I have a request;

Larissa x teacher,fem!reader and they’ve been together for a few years and then Wednesday arrives to Nevermore and things start going downhill, the murders start and all that, so just about Larissa being overly overprotective over reader when those things happen, not letting reader out of her sight and constantly having to know where reader is because she doesn’t want reader in danger/to lose her. Reader is a bit stubborn and too independent and sometimes (for example) goes for a walk in the woods where the hyde is even though larissa told her not to bc its dangerous.

Basically fluff, larissa being overprotective, and possibly angst too!

You don’t have to write this if you don’t like the idea, also take your time!

Thank you <3

Temptations and Confessions

*Authors note~ the first instalment of my you are my world (YAMW) series and I must say I adore my Larissa Weems. Some themes may be a bit tricky so always read the warnings and check the rating love yall. Sorry to the anon for changing a few details to fit in with the series I hope that’s okay*

Trigger warnings~ Nevermore supernatural usual drama overprotective Larissa due to past trauma

Prompt~ see ask^^^

Tag list

Empathy. Often as children, we get told to have more empathy for others. But for you that’s not the case. No. You were labelled the overly sensitive child. The one who seemed to be nicknamed the cry baby. It wasn’t your fault really. Being born into two Normie parents who didn’t understand you wasn’t going to help your situation. I’m fact your ability became a curse rather quickly. It became a weakness. Others could now use this against you and it resulted in you curling in on yourself, speaking less and less, isolating yourself completely and building walls so high that they would rival the Eiffel Tower. All until you stumbled into Nevermore. Literally.

Feeling your own emotions deeply was manageable but feeling others on top of your own made everything ten times harder than it should’ve been. Your own nerves bubbled in your lower stomach uncontrollably as you made your way to the gates of Nevermore. That’s why you didn’t see it. Overwhelmed with not only your emotions but those of the whole school as well made your head spin, eyes blurring round the corners causing you to trip over a obnoxiously large stone and fall face first down to the ground. What a great impression that is.

That day led you to the current moment in time, you’ve been teaching at Nevermore for a year now, dating Larissa for a few months. Larissa’s aura immediately drew you in, a stunning mixture of gold, pink, green and light blue and slight speckles of red all swirling together in a pattern that is so uniquely hers. You adore how each colour simply is woven into each other yet still remaining visible to your eye. It is nothing short of gorgeous and even now you know you’ll never stop being stunned by the woman.

Over the past two weeks your girlfriend has had exhaustion and irritation rolling off her aura in brutal waves due to the newest student of Nevermore. In fact, you felt like you’d hardly seen her since Wednesday had arrived at Nevermore. And whenever you did, she was drained. Wherever an Addams goes, trouble and darkness will always follow, a rumour you’d heard but not had evidence of till now. The young Addams radiates black and indigo in her aura, it’s practically dripping like blood as her emotions of disinterest and annoyance seeped through. Despite not seeing the principal, you’d received many texts apologising for her lack of presence these days, reminding you she cares for you and to stay safe. Things would settle down soon. You both hoped for that. But a niggly feeling deep in your soul told you that that was simply wishful thinking.

Emotions constantly consumed you, the fear of the students impact your ability to remain neutral, to the point you were having near consistent headaches. New rules being implemented for staff and students due to what some believe is bears. Bears in the woods were believable but perhaps it was paranoia of the students effecting you or Wednesdays constant insistence over there being a monster In the woods killing people. Whatever the reason was you couldn’t do the constant headaches, anxiety hitting you like tidal waves every time you left your room, even altering your dreams now. This couldn’t go on much longer, it’s draining everyone, especially the poor Principal. Truthfully you weren’t sure what emotions were your own these day.

Shooting a quick text off to Larissa you found your shoes and jacket and got ready to leave the grounds in search of a break. Only to be stopped by a frantic round of knocks on the door of your private chambers spooked you. Instantly tapping into your ability, you knew your girlfriend was stood on the other side of the door riddled with panic causing you to make quick work of letting the woman in.

“Isa?” You puzzled, stepping back away from her slightly as the full force of her emotions hit you. “Darling! You shouldn’t leave the grounds. I can’t protect you there my love! Please don’t risk your health. I can’t imagine what would happen if-“ her own sobs choked the final words of her pleas. Tears forming in her cyan blue eyes, “I don’t like this darling girl” you couldn’t help but mumbled sadly “I need a break Isa. It’s too painful. Maybe if I can prove there’s nothing abnormal the students won’t be so paranoid. I have to try Larissa! Please for my sake let me go” you stated with the stubbornness she knew you held. Especially when it involved someone you care for. “I- I don’t like it” she whispered as her emotions clouded every word. As much as she didn’t like this, she doesn’t want you in pain either.

Warm slender fingers came to cradle your cheek as she attempted to persuade you otherwise. The blondes heart clenching with fear as you squared your jaw and pushed calming emotions into her. “I’ll be fine Isa. I promise. Just need fifteen minutes to myself away from all the madness. Larissa you must know I respect you but I need this. I’ll be back soon love” you stated before slipping under the shifters form that was blocking the doorway. You didn’t dare look back, knowing your heart would shatter into millions of tiny pieces at the hurt and anguish she was being drowned in.

One thing about Larissa Weems is she protects those within Nevermore and those who she holds dear with every fibre of her being. To see you go into the unknown alone most definitely shouldn’t be happening on her watch. But, she’d the let fear of losing you paralyse her, moments trapped in her own mind as it drew up the worst case scenarios.

The ticking sound escaping the grandfather clock seemed to be only adding to the blondes fears. You’d said fifteen minutes, by minute three she had moved back to her office and began rapidly passing the floor. A desperate attempt to calm herself was failing as she glanced again at the clock for at least the hundredth time. By minute eight, every emotion was clawing its way through the shifter inhibiting her from forming a plan. To save you from the unknown.

By minute fifteen, tears caressed pale cheeks as her chest heaved in attempt of getting enough air to fill them. You’d left. And she’d let you. Failing you in the first few months of your blossoming relationship wouldn’t booded well with her desire to love and protect you till her last breath. A lapse in her judgment that wouldn’t happen again.

As you made your way back to the grounds, shaken and sore you were immediately hit with your lovers emotions. Self hatred, solitude, love, panic, confusion and an overwhelming sadness were swirling inside of her like a mini tornado. So much so it practically made you feel more nauseous than you previously did. As you crawled into Nevermore the only thought you had was that she was right. If only you’d listened to her.

Not even bothering to knock you let yourself into the office panting slightly through the pain which caught her attention. “Are you hurt? Darling? Let me see. Are you okay? Gods don’t ever do that again! I could’ve lost you. Do you know how incredibly dangerous that is. Is that blood?” She rambled as her eyes frantically ran over your from. She immediately noted that you seemed to hold your right heel off the floor and a deep crimson stained your cheeks and left arm. Almost as if you’d been scratched by something.

“Isa” you groaned, “yes. I’m sorry. You were right” you mumbled as you tried to focus on anything but the swirling emotions that were brewing inside of you. “Stay” was all she offered as she let her long beautiful legs carry her to fetch what could only be a medical kit. Sure enough that’s exactly what she was clinging to as she moved to kneel by your saw body. “I’m sorry darling. I need to clean this up love” she murmured softly to you as she set to work on her task. A peace offering of painkillers and some bottled water to help with the physical pain. Praise flowing as she carfully cleaned and patch up the deep cuts before wrapping your ankle to help with the pain.

“Feel sick” you whimpered as she cleaned off the blood staining your cheeks. “I’ll just” she trailed off as you cut her off with a desperate plea to stay. “Please! Isa I need you here! Don’t leave me! I’m sorry, don’t go” only to be hushed and gently scooped into her arms and carried to her private quarters. From there she joined you on the bed, extra cautious of your sore body. “Okay.”

Okay. You were okay. But hurt. Alive. She reminded her self as you clung to her. She had no clue what had happened and it wasn’t her right to pry, you’d speak when you felt ready. In an effort to help with your nausea she tried to pour all her love and calming energy into you as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. You could’ve died. Left. Gone. She wouldn’t have been able to tell you she loved you. Although you knew that, she wanted the first time admitting it out loud to be perfect.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again” she mumbled dropping a sweet kiss to your head. You’d been silent for a while, chest rising and falling slowly with your eyes screwed shut as you hid yourself into her. Only natural she thought you’d been asleep. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down my darling. I can’t lose you. From here and now I’m going to make sure that you are safe. Better protection for you from emotions. Anything to keep you safe and happy. I- i- oh heavens how will I tell you when you are awake if i can’t say it now?’ I love you sweet girl. Always will.” She managed to stumble out before dropping another round of sweet kisses to the crown of your head. No verbal answer was given, but the onslaught of love forcing its way into her body was all that she needed to know.

You’d get through this together. She hadn’t lost you. And wouldn’t ever again. Stubbornly, you mumbled telling her she was protective of you. Only to be reminded that to Larissa Weems you are her whole world. Nothing is more important than your safety and happiness. Nothing. She’d deal with your stubbornness if you accepted her need to protect someone as precious as yourself from such a cruel world. Her love. Her life. Hopefully her wife. One day.

Word count ~ 2005

[eroticwound]

The Parentification of the Berzatto Siblings: Mikey’s Mental State

Let’s take a look at Donna’s mental state, as a way of understanding Mikey’s. Donna is dealing with mental illness. She most likely has a personality disorder (Borderline would be my guess) that might be comorbid with a mood disorder (Bipolar or Intermittent Explosive Disorder), and is using alcohol to self-medicate.

Donna’s alcoholism doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Because of her mental illness and the stressors of being a single mom, she is self-medicating with alcohol, meaning she is using it to numb herself out. Between 50 and 70% of people with BPD have substance abuse issues, and 41% of those with Bipolar disorder self-medicate.

This is the state of the Barzatto Family Home: the unstable woman at the center, who can be fun and funny, but is incredibly volatile. She is influencing and modeling behavior for all of the Bear Sibs. So looking back at Michael, as the oldest son, the burden of Donna’s moods and the state of his siblings (and any guests that happen to be around) is firmly on him. And he is empathetic enough to get others out of their funk and charming enough to keep things positive and running (relatively) smoothly. But all the anxiety of this situation—the parentification, which forces a child to disregard their own emotions and well-being in favor of their parent—gets severely internalized, and then masked by his ability to be loud and funny.

Mikey is avoidant above all else. In that first interaction in Fishes, between him and Nat, he literally says, “with [Mom], not handling it is the best way to handle it.” And this approach of his pops up again and again, whether he’s avoiding Carmy (by not picking up the phone or engaging in difficult conversations, or literally, when he leaves the pantry after Carm gives him the present), avoiding handling Donna, or avoiding dealing with his own mental health. This is in no way helped by the fact Mikey is most likely dealing with some form of chemical imbalance, whether it’s depression or bipolar disorder like Donna.

Add to all this the self-medicating behavior Donna models for him, and it’s a fairly clear line from internalizing and masking his pain, to substance abuse; alcohol and pain medication and whatever else he was using are just more intense ways of avoiding his pain. They are quite literally the only ways he’s managing his distress.

In fact, so much of Mikey’s behavior is modeled off of Donna:

The first person to throw a utensil in Fishes is not Michael, it’s actually Donna. She throws one at Steve while Mikey and Richie are giving Carm a tough time about Claire.

Mikey hits himself after Carm gives him the gift, and Donna hits herself at the dinner table.

If Donna hadn’t driven her car through the wall, the scene Mikey makes at the dinner table might’ve been the big story from that Christmas.

And then of course there’s the traumatic tirade Donna goes on about killing herself. That seems like a fairly common threat in the Berzatto household. And it makes me wonder if the gun Michael used to kill himself was his father’s, the one that Donna threatened to use.

And this is a real issue with Parentification: it becomes normalized and perpetuated. These roles and behaviors become integrated into a child’s personality, and alters ideas of what normal and healthy relationships look like. You can see this in how Michael treats Carmen. It was normalized for Mikey to handle Donna in the kitchen. It never occurs to him that baby Carm shouldn’t be around that. But it is normalized *and* unavoidable, so Michael let’s him take on that responsibility. Even the way he talks to Carm, calling him moody, a saltine—these are intended to get Carmen out of his head, but they are also cruel and tell Carm that his emotions are too much, that his emotions can’t compete with Donna’s. After all, Donna and Mikey work together as a parental unit.

You see it especially in the first Mikey-Carmy-Donna Kitchen scene in Fishes, where Donna and Mikey gang up on Carmy together, getting Carm to say he’s happy to be home and loves them. This is a lie to smooth things over on Carmen’s end, but if being around Donna is bad for Carm, it’s bad for all of them. Living at home has got to be triggering, and you can tell throughout Fishes just how done Michael is with it.

Michael’s adulthood is so sad. We know that he had a trail of failed business ventures, money problems, and even had to move back in with Donna. He doesn’t seem to have a girlfriend, and is stuck telling the same old stories from his youth, because the best he can do is mask his dysfunction and entertain everyone. All of this is a self-perpetuating cycle, his avoidance making sure he cannot ask for the help he needs, and his relative functionality ensuring no one pushes the issue.

My next post will breakdown some of the key Mikey scenes in Fishes.

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Hey I'm a huge fan and I saw you did a Stucky Yan dad and I was wondering if you write for Matt Murdock/Daredevil? If not it's totally cool but if you do could I get a Yan dad one with him and a reader he kinda just found one day, who has the ability to control others emotions? I love your DC work and didn't realize you also do Marvel so that's super exciting! 🥳

Absolutely!! I basically do everything on my rules list, and I’m sort of constantly adding fandoms and updating it lol 😅.

I think this is a super interesting ask, so thank you so much for sending it!

Warnings: snippet from yandere’s pov, blackmail and extortion to gain custody of a child, reader does not want to be there, themes of obsession and overprotectiveness.

When Matt closes the door behind him, the house would be entirely silent if it was for his enhanced senses. As it was, it takes only a moment of listening to reassure him that you were in the apartment, curled up in your bed as you so often were. The brown paper take out bag rustles in his grip, and he puts it on the counter, moving through the apartment and knocking gently on the door.

“(Y/N)? I brought home some food. Why don’t you come out and eat?”

The rush of apathy that floods his chest makes him wince, and he grits his teeth. Most wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, between your powers and their own emotions, but his training with the monks had taught him how to spot the mental or emotional influence of others. That didn’t mean he liked it, though, especially because you had very quickly tried to learn which emotions got him to leave you alone the quickest.

“(Y/N), the food is on the table.” He manages to grit out, before he retreats, sighing.

He could hardly blame you for not wanting to interact with him. As far as you knew, he was just some guy, who had swept into your life when you were at your lowest. Even though Matt had been nothing but patient, he knew well enough that you were scared. Why wouldn’t you be? Your entire life had flipped upside down, and this had been one of the more tame plans to get you somewhere safe and taken care of.

Not that you knew that. Although Matt suspected that you were, at the very least, suspicious of him. He wasn’t sure how in depth your powers went, whether you could sense the burning need he felt to keep you safe and out of harm’s way, but there were days when he simply couldn’t push it down. When the only thing that kept it at bay was going out as Daredevil and making the world that much safer for you.

He sets a pan on the stove, splitting his attention between you and his cooking. Foods with lots of spices, or even strong flavors, were often overwhelming to his tastebuds, thanks to the enhancement of his senses. Because you liked very heavily seasoned foods and strong flavors, he often had to cook himself a plate separate from whatever it is you were eating.

There’s the soft rustle of the covers, and he tries not to smile when he hears your bedroom door open, hears you quietly padding down the stairs to the kitchen. He keeps his focus on the pan, stirring the food constantly, and when you slip into the kitchen, you’re heart rate doesn’t go up. Good. You hadn’t thought he had noticed you.

There’s the rustle of a paper bag, and your heart rate spikes when he shifts, and he turns his head just slightly.

“You might have to heat it up in the microwave. There was an accident on 23rd street so I had to take a different route than my usual.” That has been…inconvenient. He had spent the entire walk back to the apartment anxious and tense, worried that someone had managed to sneak in or you had managed to sneak out.

“Thanks. I haven’t eaten today.” You mutter, and he feels you try and shove away the concern that wells up in his chest. It doesn’t work, and he sends a frown in your direction.

“You need to eat. It’s important you take care of yourself.” He moved the pan off the stove, and grabs a plate, setting his plate with a hum.

“I take care of myself. I just wasn’t hungry.” You say defensively, and he sighs. He had forgotten that you didn’t exactly respond well to being shown concern.

“So when am I starting back up in school? No offense, but this apartment has been driving me crazy.” You huff, and Matt nods, going to sit next or you at the table.

“It shouldn’t be too long. It’s difficult to find a decent school in Hell’s Kitchen, much less one we can afford, so in the meantime I spoke to your old school and managed to set it up that you would be attending online. Shouldn’t take more than a week or two.” He explains, taking a bite of his food.

While Matt did want you in school, he knew full well how important it was, it wasn’t the school that was the issue. It was the safety. How would he get you to and from school safely, what neighborhood was it in, what were the students and teachers like. Every factor and aspect went into whether or not he wanted you going to that particular school, and so far, all of them had been failing to meet his standards miserably.

You frown, and he shoves down the concern and the frustration and the overwhelming urge to protect. Your heart rate has picked up, your scent sharpening with the beginnings of adrenaline being released, and he needed to get a handle on everything before he managed to frighten you so badly that you decided to run off.

“Matt… can I ask you something?” You start hesitantly, and for some reason, your heart rate picks up even further. He nods, and he can smell the sweat that you wipe on your jeans. He does his best to come off as calm, and to be as disarming as he can.

“Of course you can. What is it?” He asks gently, and he hears your heartbeat slow, which makes him smile, just slightly. He was glad he was able to help, even just a little bit.

“Do you.. know? About me?”

It doesn’t take a genius to realize you mean about your powers. He nods, and he feels your breath hitch, heart rate picking up so quickly it makes alarm race through his veins.

“I knew since I met you. I didn’t want to rush you into telling me, or make you uncomfortable by telling you.” He explains softly, and your heart rate begins to slow.

“You knew… does that mean you knew when I was.. messing with you? To get you to go away?”

“I did, yes. I’ve worked with a lot of super-powered individuals, including some psychics and empaths.”

“And you weren’t mad?” You sound almost challenging, and he exhaled through his nose, trying to figure out just how to word what he was about to say.

“I was, for a bit. It’s never fun for anyone to be in your head, or tampering with your emotions, and I felt.. uncomfortable. But I also understood why you were doing it. You were scared, and angry, so you were defending yourself the only way you really knew how.”

“How do you know that? How do you know it was just that, and I’m not some.. some jackass who does it for fun?” You challenge, and you are terrified, panic in your scent and he feels the vibrations from your shaking in the floor and hear the speed of your heart.

“Your whole life had been turned upside down in a matter of days. I would be angry and upset to.” He says it gently, and for a second, fears that he said the wrong thing when he smells the salt of tears and something like grief.

He gets up when you start sniffling, and he feels you jolt at the warm hand on your shoulder. For a second, he considers telling you about his own powers. About the senses, and how he lived in a world on fire. He decides not to.

Instead, he just sits with you while you cry. The kitchen is silent beyond your sniffling, and when he finally wraps his arms around you, you lean into his arms and sob, burying your head in his chest.

You don’t notice when the arms around your shoulders tighten, and you don’t notice the way the tiny feeling of victory curls in his chest.

Matt promises himself that he is never going to betray this newfound trust. He wouldn’t let himself.

[stcries]

HERE HE IS, MY POST CANON VIKTOR DESIGN. putting all of his info/headcanon below the cut because of spoilers as well as just how long this post got. this design may not be finalised just yet.

-both him and jayce emerge from the crystal. due to some arcane magic mumbo jumbo, viktor’s appearance has been reverted back to his human self (sort of a combination of season 1 + season 2 act 2)

-is serving prison time due to his involvement in the noxian invasion. however someone (COUGH jayce COUGH) managed to talk things out, especially with catlin in order to make his situation more comfortable. he’s not bound to a prison cell, but he is bound to a specific area in piltover, which could either be the prison, jayce’s home, the kiramen household, his old lab, who knows! where exactly he’s being held is still under development, but it’s sort of like house arrest.

-spends most of his time still tinkering with machinery. whilst he doesn’t have access to a lot thanks to him serving his sentence, he’ll ask jayce and others whom he’s friends with to bring him scraps they may find and he’ll use what he can salvage to make new things. one of his favourites is making small robotic toys, just like the boat he made as a child, for the children of piltover who were effected.

-despite his situation, viktor wants to help rebuild piltover, since its destruction was majorly his own doing. he’ll help out when and where he can, doing small jobs here and there, but he hates that he’s not able to do more. he also feels very guilty about his crimes, but is on his way to both being forgiven and also forgiving himself.

-his leg is still deformed, however his terminal illness has been somewhat cured. he is still physically weaker than most, but his condition will not deteriorate any more from where it currently is. in short, whilst he won’t get any better, he won’t get any worse.

-scars still on his face, and left hand is lost completely engulfed in arcane scarring thanks to what he and jayce accomplished in the astral plane. and yes, they somehow managed to salvage the blanket, which he still wears as a scarf.

-a lot more mellowed out. still has some snappy comebacks and that sass we all know and love, but he’s much calmer. he also still speaks quite robotically and monotone thanks to his fusion with the hexcore, but he’s working on improving it with some speech therapy here and there.

-viktor still has some remnants of his healing abilities left, but they’re extremely minute and have extreme limitations. it requires a lot of concentration to work, and he can only heal at least one person daily, as the process is incredibly draining on his body. however, he can’t heal major wounds or disease like he previously could, the most he can do nowadays is make a flower stop wilting, or heal someone’s scrapped knee. anymore than that and he’ll simply get too exhausted or pass out from over exertion. however, he’s secretly training himself to try and enhance these abilities. he does so in private as to not cause panic, as his many still remember his abilities being associated with his cult and then their robotic transformations, so many aren’t very trusting.

-sparks/small pieces of arcane magic can still emerge form his body, but it’s an involuntary reaction. they’re heavily tied to his emotions, and if you’re touching him when this happens, the most you’ll feel is a small buzz. this can happen when he’s excited, surprised, and more. however, these sparks are also tied to his anger, and if you find yourself in physical contact with him when this occurs, it’ll feel much more like an electric shock or being hit with a taser.

[kohakhearts]

deeply curious abt mentally ill timeskip goh and his ditto. but for some reason mostly his hair??? did he grow it out on purpose? does he take care of it? just brush and go or does he use products? not important or something he takes pride in?? idk why

hi anon thank you SO much for asking!!

(ok so disclaimer the premise of this timeskip is like what i think would be a natural future scenario for the characters. most of my fics are AUs so essentially unrelated, but in terms of designs and stuff this is kind of what i’m playing with in those fics too. the short answer to the hair thing is i just think it’s neat. but dw there’s also a long answer :p)

“mentally ill timeskip goh” is perfect btw. that’s him in a nutshell. if he’s not mentally ill what’s the fucking point /j

i think that goh is someone who, in canon, uses his ambitions as a distraction from things that actually upset him - i mean, we see him as a kid from his parents’ perspective so invested in research that he barely acknowledges when they say they won’t be home for the holidays because they have to work, but his own memory of the same scene is coloured with a little more emotion lol. so we get the impression that he tries hard for his parents’ sakes to be unbothered by their lifestyle. i wrote about how goh is a quintessential parentified child here and doing that to your kid is basically just asking for them to grow up to become a neurotic workaholic which is why He’s Like That. but in canon meeting ash opens him up to other opportunities - where he is valued and appreciated by someone who, like him, is so driven by his goals he’s willing to. you know. jump on the back of a a giant god-bird mid-flight.

but then he and ash go separate ways. and even though goh comes out of their shared time together every day a little more friendly and open, he’s still himself, right??? so while ash is off journeying, i think goh would eventually take more of a gary path where he does stay in one place for an extended amount of time in order to further his education (as an aside, at this time gary is between kalos and hoenn studying primal reversion). he tries the ash thing first, but it’s not the same on his own. using his goal of catching every pokemon as a distraction from the fact that he gets lonely without ash only works so well. but he’d rather eat his own arm than admit that to anyone, let alone ash (who keeps in touch…to an extent), so he eventually pivots and seeks out other opportunities. one of those opportunities results in a cerulean cave expedition where he meets his ditto, whose goal is stirring as much shit as it possibly can and as a result it’s very talented at transformations. i don’t have the whole story there figured out yet, but for one reason or another ditto decides to go with goh (who is very impressed by its ability, and sees that it could be a huge asset to his research).

goh’s field of research is pokemon genealogy - quite literally working his way up to mew! (as a result, he winds up consulting frequently with gary, who is a pokemon palaeontologist. so they’re not actively coworkers but they still work together. here are your crumbs shigegou nation.) ditto is the perfect research assistant because its transformations are a cellular reconstruction. so yes it can transform into any other pokemon but it can also in theory transform into any other pokemon moved-slightly-to-the-left. meaning that it can replicate less evolved (in the real-world definition of evolution, not the pokemon definition) versions of pokemon based on models and simulations.

but going back to the being lonely thing, that’s why he got the early 20s depression beam LOL (imo there are other things wrong with him but thats a whole other essay). his hair getting long initially is just a result of never getting it cut (first because he’s travelling and doesn’t have time for that, then because he’s “too busy” in general) but i think he’d come to like it because it’s easier to manage in the sense that he can just pull it back and ignore it lmao. also it’s a little Gender and i think he would grow to appreciate that quality. so it’s not something he takes pride in necessarily but i don’t think he’d have any kind of dramatic “i’m not too depressed to cut my hair anymore” moment or anything. he doesn’t have the patience to style it himself but i think he’d be willing to let chloe tackle it now and then!

[sunflower73498]

Thoughts on Farima (and a bit of a contrast with Kristina) in ep 1-5

In season 3, Farima takes a bigger role. She’s been in the background since the very first episode as an employee of the royal family (a PR person of sorts?), and seems to have always had a substantial role in “managing” Wille. I have conflicted feelings about her. On the one hand, she’s the most functional adult in Wille’s life outside of school, and probably the one he interacts with the most - he seems more comfortable around her than he is around his parents. On the other hand, she’s employed by the royal court, by his mother, and it’s literally her job to “handle” Wilhelm on behalf of the court and its needs. 

In some ways, she’s a bit like the queen was in season 2 - she’s nice to Wille and gives him support and attention when it suits her goals - which are to maintain the monarchy and boost the image of the royal family. However, since she isn’t Wille’s parent and is just doing her job, this doesn’t particularly bother me like it does when Kristina manipulates him. This season, Farima generally acts more motherly than Kristina does, in that she seems more aware of Wille’s emotions and communicates with him in a way that is less confrontational and more designed to consider his feelings and anxieties. Yes, having a good relationship with Wilhelm is self-serving in that it makes her job easier, but considering that Wille has likely made her job much harder quite often in the last year, she still treats him overall kindly. 

She also picks her battles more carefully than Wille’s parents do. Wille insists that he will be the one to talk to Simon about public image - she respects that (she shouldn’t, Simon really needs more formal guidance and training and Wille, though I think he does mean well, has no idea how challenging the attention is for someone who hasn’t grown up in the public eye like he has). Wille asks for protection for Simon, she doesn’t push back or try to explain why that isn’t possible like I suspect Kristina would, she just does it. She doesn’t have the ability to change that Wille’s parents are asking him to step up and putting too much pressure on him, or that they both  decline to show up at his first foundation event, but she is there the whole time and agrees to send August back to school instead of the birthday dinner. 

Anyway, her job is supporting the court, which is sometimes counter to Wille’s best interest, but she does it with kindness and respect as much as she is able, and since she is not related to him and just doing her job, I don’t see anything wrong with this. 

I see A WHOLE LOT wrong with the queen considering her teenage son her employee, and putting that on the same level as being her son. Being one’s employee and one’s child are two radically different things, and while yes, Wilhelm is technically her subordinate in their work, he’s also a minor and her own child. When the two interests conflict, it should be the parent-child relationship that takes priority, not the other way around. 

Employees like Farima exist so that they can be the bad guy, and to allow Wille and Kristina to try to maintain the mother-son part of the relationship, only it seems a bit like Kristina has instead hired someone to mother her child when it isn’t convenient for her.

[borom1r]

for the asks, how do you feel things like autism/neurodivergence are regarded in Rohirric society (as opposed to Gondorian)?

I’ve been lettin this ask marinate for a bit bc I wanted to give a relatively coherent answer snfjjs. anyways blah blah I’m too lazy to find it and link it— the post is somewhere on the blog but that ask u sent abt the fellowship + neurodivergence n my comments on Gimli being Astounded that Men make these things a Huge Issue when you could just. work to accommodate people. That.

but like. okokokok so I’ve mentioned. offhand that i quantify my gender best as an ulfheðinn. I am a wolf and I am also a man at the same time. I know my brain doesn’t work the way people expect it to. human society is a struggle. I still don’t Get It, but at least I can fake it well enough — and that’s like. A Thing. we have stories of berserkir coming home from raids and never being able to adapt to life in regular society. + that’s iron-age Norse society, right, but we know there were 1) these niches that existed on the sidelines of society that one could argue served as an outlet for people with mental illnesses (and berserkir taking part in psychoactive substances before battle is. Highly Likely Bullshit — 42:01 for discussions specifically of hallucinogens; tldr there’s no archeological evidence of such substances in viking warrior burials + the last thing you want to do is run into battle intoxicated. any substance use would be for bonding + rituals PRIOR to battle w/ enough time to recover from any adverse effects) and 2) there was some level of care for warriors/vikingar who returned with what could probably be classed as PTSD (there is at least one saga I can think of where an ex-berserkir had married and had children; Egils saga Skallagrímsonar — Skallagrím went into a fit while playing a ball game with his son and nearly killed him. He was only brought out of his rage by the intervention of a servant girl)

anyways. Rohirrim. SO, the Dunlendings seem to get all the shitty violent aspects of “viking” culture meanwhile the Rohirrim get the romanticized Wagner-esque sort of portrayal where they’re all noble mounted warriors and that’s Simply Bullshit. but if we take canon as filtered through a pro-Gondorian lens then it’s easy to understand why the Dunlendings would be portrayed this way. I’ve said it before but I do think it’s a very natural conclusion to draw that the Rohirrim were once a raiding culture and I’d argue the conflicts between them and the folk of Dunland began WELL before the Rohirrim were gifted land by Gondor. all this to say like, I’m certain the Rohirrim (and Dunlendings too, but we’re sticking with the Rohirric focus) had at least basic ideas of how to manage symptoms of PTSD even before they’d settled in what would become Rohan

as for like, autism specifically. not to be like “all the Riders have autism” nfnsjfjsjf but let’s be. Oh So Very Real here. what do you do when your child is struggling and simply cannot cope with life in the village? when they need an even more rigid, structured routine than you can give them? when they have more anger than you can manage? when you’re doing your absolute best for them but they still keep getting into trouble and you likely have other mouths to feed and responsibilities to take care of? when even if you love them to the best of your abilities, they still chafe at their surroundings? send them off to be a Rider.

let them work out their battle-lust against Orcs, let them burn off all their wild energy on horseback patrolling the open plains, let them flourish in the rigid routine of a soldier surrounded by other Riders who may not understand but still accept and embrace them because they are all brothers in arms.

and this isn’t to like. GLORIFY vikingar/berserkir from my end. this is me saying very genuinely that if I had lived in that time, knowing how my brain works and how I both struggle with societal expectations And how I quantify emotions/relationships/the Self in a decidedly non-human way— if it was socially acceptable for me to run off and live in the woods with a pack of my brothers-in-arms As A Wolf, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I think you run into a lot of “that’s Brigdwine, he’s a little strange and he still doesn’t speak, but he tends the horses well and even the meanest stallions are calm around him” where it’s like. Yeah They’re Weird But They’re Part Of The Community So Who Cares? + on the flip side, there’s probably a smaller but not insignificant amount of “did you hear Sigewynn got a letter from Sigeofor? seems he’s made a good name for himself amongst the Riders. better than terrorizing the goats and chickens and biting other children.”

sometimes nobody understands you and nothing that’s expected of you makes sense and you have no idea what to do with your emotions and everything is Too Much All The Time. and sometimes the answer is “go forge an unbreakable bond with your Éored and kill Orcs about it.”

[love-addybug]

this is gonna be more stream of consciousness writing than like a well put together post because i want you to analyze this the same way i am.

as i have started to find the terminology ideologies that have made up the beliefs i’ve held about humanity and our coexistence my entire life i have come to find myself disgruntled with the way that some of my peers in political spaces approach their inclusivity.

also this is probably not going to be very pc at all and i do not aim to offend anyone with what i’m about to say, if you feel like i am missing something i would love to talk about it as i’m trying to learn and grow as much as i can <3

so there are four main things i want to talk about: differences in beliefs regarding motherhood, the approach of community and grassroots activism, and PRACTICING WHAT YOU PREACH and i say that very very loudly oh my flipping goodness

motherhood

a lot of the women on the left, especially those my age both online and off are very confused when i say that my dream, like ultimate perfect life would to be a SAHM.

- “don’t you have career aspirations?”

yea duh. i LOVE teaching because

i LOVE kids and i LOVE learning and i think it is so incredibly important to inspire children, especially, to pursue knowledge. but if i could pick anything to do without consequence it would be to fully invest those loves into my own children’s lives full time. to raise them with magic brushing their spirit.

also it is so weird to me that people on the left still only really value paid labor. domestic labor is real work too.

- “aren’t you scared of being dependent on only your husband’s income?”

oh for sure it terrifies me. but i am determined personally to have children

with a man who i trust enough to be their

father, which matters more to me than anything else in the world. if he cannot be a good husband, i would not choose him for their father to begin with. and i know i cannot truly predict the whims of life. the ebb and flow of the world, but my selection will be of the most careful variety and sometimes you have to trust that things will work.

- “why would you demean yourself to only the biological implications of womanhood?”

hm. so this feels veryyyyy icky to me, idk why but when my friend asked me this i couldn’t help but feel a ball of nervousness form in the back of my throat. saying that my pursuit of motherhood, of bringing new life onto the planet (or adopting and hopefully giving a child a home they need), is a mere biological implication of myself feels so utterly dehumanizing. it is a life, a voice, a spirit, and through it i will attach myself permanently as a source of reliance. additionally while many women and other folks have the ability to get pregnant, it doesn’t mean it is their like lifelong destiny.

- “what if you get lazy?”

i think motherhood is a domestic labor so undervalued that it is drastically effecting the shape of families across the world. there is no such thing as a ‘working mother’ ALL mothers work,

and tirelessly at that. not only are their jobs without rest, but come with an emotional load closer to the heart than any other job on the face of the planet.

- “won’t you look back and regret not doing more?”

oh my bad i didn’t know raising the next generation of people was such a menial job to you.

i truly feel that many people with all different sorts of ideological convictions underestimate the value of mothers to our society. so to my friends on here: please please please consider that it isn’t a conservative value to want to put your children first. motherhood is just as noble a pursuit as any paid job and if you think otherwise maybe your beliefs aren’t as removed from capitalism as you think they are.

community and grassroots organizing

i am about to get cancelled by my like 12 followers on tumblr

1. go to the church-led event where you can serve the needy. as someone who has a very complicated relationship with religion i still manage to make it to every soup kitchen, food bank, clothes swap, and charity drive that my hometown church puts on. that is because over my own needs, i place the needs of my community. i know they need my hands to help, my ears to hear, and my heart to fellowship. my discomfort is les important than not taking the opportunity to serve my less fortunate neighbors.

2. your outspoken republican neighbor is still astronomically closer to your class interests than almost every single one of our representatives. keep in mind your real enemies are the people preying on those neighbors’ miseducations to turn a profit and encourage the cyclical war machine. a real socialist considers class war before anything else and sympathizes for those people while simultaneously making an effort towards their re-education. some of y’all love hate way too much, you would be surprised what NOT using buzzwords does :)

3. obviously organizing should be a constant effort. but it won’t be if you don’t know the people in your community. go outside, actually touch grass. go to those community events, or host them! even if it means going to a church led function. (i said it again)

even if we can’t have universal healthcare, we can always offer our neighbor our own excess and kindness.

ACTUALLY DOING IT

- it starts in the home. i have realized that many of y’all (ESP THE MEN) will get on here and yap self righteously about how much a progressive they are, how labor is undervalued by superiors and society at large etc and then that’s it. do the dishes, the laundry, the cooking, stop talking about how much you loveeee communism or socialism or anarchism when your mommy still bleaches your tightywhities for you.

*obviously on occasion, there are times when work isn’t gonna be split. but you should aim to normally do what you should and then 1/2 of the things your partner would have that aren’t ‘your jobs’ yes they are now, shoo”

- stop demeaning inherently leftist things because they aren’t intellectual enough for you. gardening, cooking and feeding people, mending clothes, doing crafts with children, are all just as or even arguably MORE beneficial for the movement towards a quote unquote radical society where everyone has what they need.

- no more getting offended when i say some wack violent shit. as Kwame said, “in order for non-violence to work your opponent must have a conscious” that’s right and our opponent is? the super mega duper crazy powerful warlords that run our country mhm. mhm. so let’s just let that marinate. because when i say “ocean gate is god’s wrath” y’all didn’t take kindly to it. and that feels very silly to me. as someone with so much appreciation for quality human lives, i could care less about any of those people who spent a gazillion dollars to go in a shitty submarine.

anyways i’m done and i’ve been teasing this post forever so here it is. i don’t even think y’all gonna like it. and i especially don’t think y’all are going to like my next nerdy post because it is about the B-I-B-L-E

i know, crazy right?

[thearvariblues]

Pit Babe Anniversary Week 3 - Red Racing?!

prompts: Sonic, North, Red

also on AO3

---

Seeing the tragedy standing before him makes North lose all of his ability to speak. His words are simply gone, and all he can do is to open his mouth in a vain attempt to express his emotions, then close it again, open...

“You have got to be kidding me!” he screams.

Oh, so he did manage to find some words, after all.

Sonic merely smirks and folds his arms on his chest – his arms stuck in the red sleeves of his red racing suit.

“I assure you that I’m not kidding,” he proclaims. “I just decided to find myself a place where I will be appreciated and loved.”

“Red Racing?!” North shrieks. “How could you have done that to our team? How could you have done it to P’Alan? How could you have done it to me?!”

“I mean,” Alan says from his spot on the couch. “Red Racing are not really our mortal enemies since Kenta took over, so I don’t see a problem with Sonic trying to race for them if he wants to.”

North turns around. Sonic gathered the whole team, including Way, for this grand announcement, but no one appears to be truly shocked. Not the way North is. Babe and Charlie seem mildly confused, Way is smiling encouragingly, Alan is perfectly calm and Jeff seems almost relieved that he’s gonna have one less car to take care of. Oh, and Kim is sipping an iced americano, looking like this whole thing doesn’t concern him at all.

It really looks like North is the only person around who cares.

“Uncle!” he whines. “How can you say something so terrible? Sonic is family!”

“So is Kim,” Alan shrugs. “And it doesn’t really stop him from regularly visiting Red Racing.”

Kim chokes on the coffee, which is exactly what the bitch deserves, really.

“Excuse me? How the hell do you know about that?!” he sputters out in between the coffee droplets.

“I have my sources,” Alan shrugs.

“By which,” Way grins, “he means that Kenta told Pete and Pete told me and I told P’Alan.”

It’s a good thing that Kim haven’t had time to get back to drinking, as he would only choke again.

“Kenta–”

“Oh, to be fair, he didn’t want to tell him, you know. It was an accident,” Way shrugs. “He thought of you at the wrong moment, and, well, Pete convinced Kenta to tell him the rest, mostly by promising that he won’t tell a living soul about it.”

“So how come he told you, phi?” Jeff blinks.

“Thank you for asking, child,” Way chuckles. “I have my own methods.”

“Yes, we all understand that you mind controlled him, P’Way,” Babe murmurs, rolling his eyes.

“No, I did no such thing. Different methods. Vastly different methods.”

Alan promptly lifts his hands to place them on Jeff’s ears.

“Way!” he hisses. “There are children present!”

“Children?” Babe smirks. “Didn’t that child ride you right in your chair last week?”

“And how the hell do you know about that?” Alan asks before immediately pausing, clearly to backtrack the conversation in his mind, judging by the words that come out of his mouth after this thinking process is complete. “I mean. That absolutely didn’t happen, he did no such thing!”

“Uhm, uncle?” Jeff peeps. “Two things. One, I can still hear you pretty clearly even with your hands on my ears. And two, uhm… I might have already told Charlie about the chair, so…”

“Does no one in this team know how to keep a secret?” Alan sighs, finally lowering his hands.

“I can keep other people’s secrets just fine,” Kim argues. “But it looks like no one can keep mine.”

“Welcome to X-Hunter!” Babe grins. “Everything you want to keep a secret becomes public knowledge within an hour.”

“Yep,” Sonic nods. “Even if no one even asks. Especially if no one even asks. I didn’t need to know P’Babe likes getting his ass eaten, but I have been cursed with the knowledge anyway.”

“Oh, yes,” Kim nods solemnly. “So have I.”

“Way!” Babe groans.

“That wasn’t me!” Way blinks. “I might be bad at keeping secrets, but I’m sure I kept this one!”

“Uhm,” Charlie mumbles, clearing his throat. “P’Babe, that actually… might have been… I mean I might have told… Jeff. Kinda. Sorry.”

“Jeff?” Babe growls, turning his head to the young mechanic.

“Uncle?” Jeff murmurs as he moves to hide behind the big boss of the team. “Help.”

“Help? I told you not to tell North and Sonic, didn’t I? I told you there would be consequences. And I was right. There. Consequences!”

“Enough!” North yells, just as “consequences” moves to stand up and go murder Jeff. “Shut up! Just… Enough! We’re not here for this stupid bullshit! We’re here to stop Sonic from leaving X-Hunter!”

“Are we?” Way blinks. “I thought we’re here so Sonic can announce to us that he’s already left X-Hunter.”

“No. No,” North protests, shaking his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. No way in hell. I won’t let it happen!”

“And why not?” Sonic smirks. “It’s not like you care about me, is it, North? You’ve said so yourself. You don’t even miss me when I’m gone.”

“Is this still about the coffee thing?!”

“What else would it be about?”

“But that was just an excuse, you moron! Besides, I thought you were the one who was just joking! I didn’t think you’d really expect me to miss you after two minutes, but I couldn’t have told you that yes, I had missed you, could I?”

“Wait, you’re saying that you…” Sonic whispers, his lower lip quivering in the cutest way imaginable.

“I miss you even when you’re only gone for a single minute, you idiot,” North sighs.

Sonic’s eyes are wide and adorable.

Something rustles loudly behind North’s back.

“Popcorn, anyone?” Babe’s voice asks.

North groans, grabs Sonic’s hand and drags the stupid boy – his stupid boy – to the locker room.

“Hey!” he hears Charlie protest. “Where are you going? We want to see the big confession!”

“Fuck off, all of you!” North snaps, right before slamming the door shut and locking it, mentally thanking Alan for installing the lock in the first place – even though he should probably be thanking Charlie and Babe, who were the reasons for this measure.

“North,” Sonic gasps as North leans him against the closed door. “Are you really saying–”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

And then, before Sonic can argue, North does the thing he’s been longing to do for months, probably even years. He kisses Sonic’s sweet, plump, gorgeous lips.

For a second, Sonic hesitates, freezes, almost – but then he starts kissing back, fervently, passionately. He groans softly, probably as the alpha in him takes over, and then he grabs North by his shirt and forces him to take a step back, then another, towards the nearest bench…

“You shut up,” he murmurs, because it wouldn’t be Sonic if he didn’t have to have the last word. Then, before North has any chance to react, he slams their lips back together.

---

It probably takes quite some time before the pair emerges from the locker room, judging by the fact that most of the team seems to have given up waiting for them. The only person still sitting in the garage is Kim, who is staring into his phone, perfectly unconcerned.

“So how was it?” he smirks, just as Sonic starts to hope they might sneak around him to avoid any awkwardness. “Can I be the first to congratulate the happy new couple on finally pulling their heads out of their asses?”

Sonic opens his mouth for the automatic not a couple reply, only to realize that while they haven’t officially talked about being a couple, they… probably are, right?

He grins at the thought.

“Well, since you’re here, Kim,” he says, lifting the red bag he’s carrying and taking the few steps that separate him from the couch to plop the bag onto Kim’s lap. “Can you please tell your boyfriend that I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to race for him, after all?”

“First, not my boyfriend,” Kim says, suspiciously fast. “And second, don’t worry about it. P’Pete told him all about your little feud with North and he never really expected you to join in. He only gave you the racing suit because P’Pete begged him to, and he only begged because P’Way begged him, saying it’s the only way to finally get you two idiots officially together. The other alternative was to mind control you, though to be honest, I told Kenta that P’Way should have done that a long time ago. We could have saved ourselves a lot of time of you being annoyingly in love while pretending you absolutely aren’t.”

“Maybe I should tell P’Way to mind control you, then,” North chuckles. “Since now you’re the one being annoyingly in love while pretending you absolutely aren’t.”

“Excuse me?” Kim frowns. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His phone vibrates and his eyes dart towards it immediately, without the slightest hesitation. A second later, the corners of his lip turn slightly, but still visibly up.

“Who is it?” Sonic asks sweetly.

“What?” Kim blinks. “Just Kenta. Asking if the plan worked.Why do you care?”

“I rest my case,” North says.

“Fuck off,” Kim grunts, getting to his feet. “Well, I suppose that since the two of you will probably be too busy fucking in the foreseeable future, I’ll make sure to deliver this suit back to Kenta. Not because I want to see him, but because he might need it for another racer he might want to hire. I’m just a responsible human being, you know?”

“Of course you are,” Sonic nods. “Tell him I said hi and thanks!”

“Especially the thanks, eh? Anyway. I’m off. Enjoy the fucking, you have a lot of catching up to do. Bye!”

With that, he promptly grabs the bag and struts out of the garage.

“You know,” North murmurs into Sonic’s ear, pulling him close to his chest. “He’s right. We do have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Mhm,” Sonic agrees. “My car or yours?”

“Yours is bigger. Will be more comfortable.”

“I meant for transport, you horny…” Sonic starts, but then he pauses as an idea worms its way into his head. “Though… We could, right?”

“Fucking in cars parked in front of the garage isn’t forbidden,” North shrugs. “Yet.”

“Okay,” Sonic chuckles as he grabs his new boyfriend’s hand. “Let’s be the reason it gets banned, then.”