#...but having difficulty putting it to words

[cathnospam]

(When Bakugo speaks and it’s italics it means he’s speaking in English and when you speak in italics it means you’re speaking Japanese.)

Everybody keeps wanting more of Bakugo and his Foreign GF with their language barrier so here:

When Bakugo first met you all those years ago it didn’t click immediately you couldn’t speak Japanese, all you did was understand a few phrases.

You both were doing Hero work in America and you never really spoke, just giving everybody smiles, waves, and nods, and so he thought you were mute for a moment.

“Do you speak or something? Why don’t you talk?”

When you gave him a confused look he kept yelling until you covered his mouth and typed: “I barely speak Japanese. Sorry.”

Being so naive if you knew him you wouldn’t have dared put your hand to his mouth, but surprisingly enough he didn’t mind it, he did grab your wrist after though. Which is why he took your phone and stored his number in there stating if you want to speak to him (Because of course you would he’s Bakugo the future #5 hero in Japan) then text him.

Weird. Very weird guy.

Eventually he started to approach you more, forgetting you can’t speak his language so he either points or texts you.

He was only in the States for a few more days, but he managed to make some progress getting to know you even with the difficulties behind it.

He did however managed to learn a couple new words for you.

“Hungry.”

“What?”

He smacks his face and points across the street to a restaurant, “Food.”

“Oh!” You giggle at his accent, “Yes we can go to the restaurant.”

“Rest…taurant…tcht…..stupid.”

Bakugo became a decent learner, English was hard as hell to work on so most of it was broken, but when he got back to Japan you both had study lessons together through FaceTime and the few times a year when you visit.

He taught you Japanese and you taught him English.

Years later when you finally came to visit is when he decided to ask you out.

“Girlfriend….my girlfriend….or date —- I sound so fucking stupid trying to ask you out—whatever.”

“Are you …asking me out?”

The blondie was impressed by how fast you learned, seeing that you still struggled with verbs. Which he definitely clowned you for, but you didn’t have a clue about it.

He scoffs and nods reluctantly , somewhat jealous you don’t have too many complications with Japanese as much as he thought anymore.

“Date….later.”

You felt your cheeks get warm, it’s not like you didn’t expect it, considering how much touchier he’s gotten towards you since you got there and even during texting he throws in a few flirts and compliments, he wasn’t a bad guy what so ever so often course you say yes.

“How about 7pm tonight after class?”

“That’s my job to say the time!”

“Yeaaaahhh I still don’t understand what you said, but Immma assume from context you’re upset.”

He just blinks at you with a frustrated look, and his mouth in a straight line, only hearing the words, “Upset” and “What you said” being translated in his brain, when you speak english you sound like a sim.

His words by the way.

The thing about you not understanding Japanese completely is that there were so many times through out the date he would compliment you and say some of the most sweetest things that he knew you wouldn’t understand.

“You look stunning in that dress.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Your smile is gorgeous.”

“All I understood was smile. You want me to smile more?”

“No!”

He managed to get away with a lot. And so did you.

The first date you both had went more than perfect, it was cute because there was still moments where you and him managed to practice different words to each other. He spoke in broken English to show you how to eat Pho and you spoke Japanese to order your own food.

He was a bit proud to say the least.

When the date had to come to its sad close he walked you back to your hotel, you wanted to invite him back, seeing as you clearly felt a connection from him not just as a friend, but maybe more however you didn’t want him to think you were easy.

Not that he would’ve thought so anyways he was hoping you would invite him back.

Bakugo looked at you expectantly when you unlocked your door, almost as if he was waiting to hear something he probably wouldn’t even comprehend. Instead though you give him something better first when you place your lips on his, “That is what you call a kiss.”

“Kiss.” He repeats, accent still thick and raspy, his hand rubbing your waist, your body being ever pled by his natural warmth, “Kiss…me…more.”

Giggling you do so, which did indeed lead to you inviting him back to your room for learning more about these kisses he loves so damn much now.

[heartyluv]

Note: Sylus is just the fluffiest man ever. He deserves all the love in the world and I shall be first in line to give it. ♡︎

Creds to @/strangergraphics & @/omi-resources for the banners.

No warmings ◡̈

Word Count: 1,040

Protective!Sylus/Reader Headcanons

♱ Sylus is so protective over you in a way that you thought only existed in all the movies you’ve watched and books you’ve read.

♱ It’s not overwhelming in the sense that it’s too much or suffocating. It’s overwhelming because you never thought someone could ever love you so much that your entire existence is what completes theirs.

♱ Sylus hesitated to tell you how important you were to him. He had difficulty accepting it himself when he came to the realization that you were his endgame, because loving someone meant vulnerability—even weakness.

♱ I feel like the moment he realized you meant the world to him was when he saw how seamlessly you mended into his life and daily routine without judgment. I’m still imagining him as the leader of Onychinus, so he’s still that feared arms dealer that everyone whispers about.

♱ I don’t believe he hid anything from you. He laid everything out on the table. For one, it’s because he doesn’t lie to people and two, putting everything out there left no room for you to find something to leave him for later. Sylus doesn’t necessarily have a fear of being abandoned, but he views it as an expectation. If you knew what and who he was from the beginning, he knew it wouldn’t be long for you to be solidified in whatever decision you choose.

♱ But when you stayed, when you held him and told him that there was nothing unlovable or unworthy about him, you were stuck with the man for life.

♱ “I’ll never disappoint you. Everything I do from this point forward will always and only be done with your wellbeing at the forefront of importance. Thank you for choosing me.”

♱ He definitely has a tracker on you, at least two. One in your phone and another in a necklace he gave you (you still don’t know about that one).

♱ He proposed the idea of you moving in with him a few weeks after you officially became a couple. While every part of you wanted to say yes, you had to be realistic. The relationship was just starting to get serious, but Sylus had already started moving you in without you being aware.

♱ I’m talking he buys an exact replica of your wardrobe, shoes, jewelry and extras. He’s got at least double of your favorite body wash, perfume, lotion, and hair products. Basically, all the things that make your house a home, he brought it to his place. All your books, records, and movie collections are in his home and if they’re classics, he tries to find original copies just because he loves to make you happy.

♱ “When you tell me that you are ready, there’s no need to wait so that you can gather your things. I have everything you need and more, ready for you to come home. Just like me, it’ll be waiting.”

♱ Sylus became so protective of you because you were the only thing in his life that seemed real. He did nothing, as he says, “to earn you love”, but Sylus being who he is, is what won you over completely. You didn’t question him when things felt a little concerning or judge him when it got scary. You stuck by his side, praised him, believed in him, trusted him. You loved him, something he thought he’d never experience.

♱ He appointed a personal driver and bodyguard(s) to you whenever he’s unable to be around you and they’re what he deems the best available. But if he finds better, he’ll replace them without any issue.

♱ He threatens them for sure LOL. I don’t think he’s light about it either. Like he’s gruesome and detailed about what he’ll do to them should they fail in keeping a smile on your face and your safety secured.

♱ And he goes to you for daily reports. You think it’s the cutest thing despite him being so serious.

♱ “Should you have any concerns or complaints about who I’ve assigned to you, bring it to me directly, sweetie. I’ll handle it.”

♱ He buys you everything. He wants you to feel secure in every aspect within his control. Keeping you happy is what keeps him happy because for him, you’re all that matters. So emotionally, physically, mentally, financially and whatever other -lly there is, he’s going to make sure you have the best because it’s what you deserve.

♱ You bring up a gaming system? He’ll buy it. You bring up a hobby you’re thinking about getting into? He’ll have nothing but the best supplies delivered to you. You want a baby? He’s more than willing to start the family he’s been ready to give you since you first time you told him you loved him.

♱ He has hurt people when it came to you. You don’t know this, but times when someone has called you out of your name or disrespected you and you told him about it, he didn’t go as far as to off them, but he made them feel what will happen should they or anyone else dares to ever try it again.

♱ “Your first mistake was believing you had the privilege to be in her presence. Your second and final one was disrespecting her and thinking there’d be no consequence.”

♱ Sylus loves your skin. HEAR ME OUT!!

♱ You’re just so soft, you always smell so good, and he lovessss to feel you. The man is addicted to rubbing you, licking you, touching you, anything he can do to be close to you because unfortunately, living in your skin just isn’t gonna happen. Like he’s addicted to you and only you get to see how serious he is about it.

♱ He hates seeing you cry, especially if it’s about something he can’t directly handle.

♱ “Tell me how to make it better, kitten. Nothing is unreachable when I’m here to correct it. Talk to me.”

♱ Basically, you’re like porcelain to him. By no means does he think you’re weak or that you need saving. But because you let him be your shield, because you allow him to be the one to protect you from all the dangers and the harshness of the world, he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly.

♱ You are his happiness. You are his reason.

[chill-vibes-but-rainbow-panic]

For the record I want to state that my posts usually stay in a small circle of followers and strays so I did not expect this. I was afraid 50 likes was maybe sounding to cocky

Anyway I am a user of my word

Decided to make one in blue, because I just know they're basic like that

(yes I did give this one to the Pillagers even though they don't spawn in Mansions because I didn't want to have to keep switching texture packs. Not that I think anyone is bothered by this but fun fact)

But I know what you want

Due to technically difficulties there are two versions

Those difficulties being that MC textures are really small, and I don't have access to brushes that are less than a pixel in size (There will be a small rant about my process at the end of this, but I'm putting it under a cut for those of you who don't care)

Bonus shirtless shots:

I had a problem with the hearts, because it actually takes a surprising amount of pixels to even make a small pixelated "heart". Which is space I did not have

So I made a big version, however that does not really capture the vibe, due to how few you can actually fit on the shorts. And the small ones I was afraid would be too dissapointing (these are version two, which are slightly better but still). So you may make your own judgement on which one is better. Though I did have some problems with the pattern, because I kept forgetting where each leg ended, making everything melt together

(And on a completely unrelated note, I find Pillagers continuesly aiming at you even in creative is pretty unnvering; like bro I am actually god, put that thang away)

As a reward for reading this you get to see the funky "Map Vindicators" I made, because I honest-to-god could NOT navigate my way around the texture file, and kept getting confused on what is what and where

Anyway this post is already way to long uuuuuh thanks for liking my silly idea <3

Illagers, except you robbed their Mansion in the middle of the night so they are all in pyjamas

Alternate Evoker

My inspos:

(Look I know I did NOT capture the vibe of the pink dress, but I don't actually know how to pixel art, I'm spitballing everything)

[adhdevankinard]

Evan Buckley and ADHD-Emotional Dysregulation in 8x16 

I’ve seen a lot of good takes on Buck’s grieving in the latest episode and discussions on why he’s stoic, putting on a brave face, or dissociating. And with my personal experience of being ADHD with emotional dysregulation, I thought it might be interesting to look at Buck and his emotional state in 8x16 from this perspective! I know it’s not confirmed in canon that Buck is ADHD, but like. Come on. I could spot that man’s ADHD from a hundred miles away.

(This is based on my own experience and the research I’ve done – people process emotions differently, so if you have a different perspective, I’d love to hear it!❤️ Also, disclaimer that I’m not saying any of these behaviors are healthy or unhealthy, I’m just interpreting what I see on screen, and I’m certainly not a mental health professional. Finally, I’m writing this knowing that I’m reading wayyyy too much into this show. Let’s go clowns.)

Let’s start with what Bobby told Buck in 8x15. “You’re gonna be okay, Buck. Remember that. They’re gonna need you.” The show might say otherwise in the coming weeks, and Buck might be questioning what Bobby meant by those words, but I don’t think Buck is acting how he is in 8x16 because he interpreted what Bobby said as “You need to be strong for everyone.” I think Buck knows Bobby wouldn’t want him to bottle everything up. Buck will always want to help the 118, support them, and be there when they need someone. But in regards to his own grief, I think Buck is processing as his brain can. 

Emotional dysregulation is fairly common among people with ADHD.* Between 30% to 70% of adults with ADHD experience emotional dysregulation.**

Emotional dysregulation is when someone has difficulty processing, managing, and coping with emotions — emotions and feelings can become intense and overwhelming, in addition to (but not always):

Difficulty identifying your emotions and feelings; difficulty putting them into words or explaining them to others

“Overreacting” to what is perceived to be a minor inconvenience

Purposefully avoiding emotional situations

Being prone to outbursts and/or impulsive behaviors

Feeling unable to cope or calm yourself; feeling “stuck” in intense moods

“Shutting down” and/or isolating when emotions become too intense

Difficulty identifying the emotions of others (Btw, these are just a few of the most common signs of emotional dysregulation, and this is certainly not a complete list.)

With that in mind, let’s go back to Buck in 8x16.

(Should be noted that Buck did have his initial breakdown of grief and sadness in the immediate aftermath of Bobby’s death in 8x15, but I want to focus on the long-term grief and living with those feelings.)

In 8x16, Buck is processing. Losing a loved one is an intense and complicated process in general, as we see in the show with the other characters. Anyone going through grief needs time, of course. But someone with emotional dysregulation dealing with an emotion as complex as grief? Forget denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Buck would feel like he is buried. Completely drowned and trapped in a grief that is overwhelming and unspeakable. Too much all at once. As he mentioned, he’s had years of therapy, but losing Bobby? This is new territory. He’s never navigated the loss of Bobby before. Sure, there were close calls. But this is final. No coma, no second chances. 

Someone with emotional dysregulation will need more time than what is considered “normal” to process. And it might not look like others’ grief.

Buck needs time to dig himself out and begin to understand his intense, overwhelming feelings in the safety of his own mind. “Putting on a brave face” can be helpful. Or keeping your body busy with work or, say, baking. And that can look like avoiding, shutting down, or isolating.

I think this is seen when he is talking with Maddie and she asks how he’s doing. When you don’t have the words to describe your feelings, saying “I'm fine” is so, so much easier — because how can you explain it to someone else when you can’t even explain it to yourself? 

Later, at the funeral, we see him hit with an intense wave of feeling, which is why he looked dissociative, imo. He was overwhelmed by what he was experiencing, and his brain and body were unable to process and cope. This might look like he’s repressing his emotions, but this is how his mind protects itself when everything feels like too much. 

But I think seeing Buck slowly process his grief, allowing himself time to feel even when it's overwhelming, shows his character growth. If he had lost Bobby a few years ago, he probably would have done something impulsive and dangerous in response. Which is maybe why Bobby told him what he did before he died. Reassuring Buck that he will be okay and that the team will need him — a way to remind Buck not fall back into previous behaviors and potentially hurt himself. Bobby knew what grief can do to someone and just how strong Buck’s emotions are.

And maybe he does feel the need to bottle it up, to a degree. To not have an emotional outburst in front of everyone again. To not be “too much.” There’s a tendency for ADHDers to “mask” — to learn how to hide and conform to social norms. 

However, that’s not to say that there won’t be an emotional release, that there isn’t a breaking point to these emotions. I know in my experience, when I’m hit with intense emotions, I isolate and avoid, though I’m still processing exactly what I’m feeling in the “background” of my mind, until there’s a limit, and then, I never know when, everything bursts out on, like. A Tuesday afternoon. And it does feel good to cry and physically release those emotions from your body (as long as you’re safe, ofc). So, maybe Buck will have that moment of physical release. 

Or maybe he’ll be able to work through it without a physical release. The scene on the roof with Chimney might be indicative of that. Giving him the very Bobby advice of, “I think you’re just supposed to live.” Showing how much Bobby has impacted Buck. 

So, I think it’s important to remember that just because Buck isn’t crying, just because he’s “keeping it together,” doesn’t mean he’s repressing his emotions and not dealing with them as his brain can. It’s tough when you can’t understand what you are feeling, at first. It takes time. 

Anyway, if you’ve read this far, tysm!! ❤️ I hope it was interesting or insightful or maybe you have a different perspective! 

*Not everyone with ADHD experiences emotional dysregulation, and not everyone who experiences emotional dysregulation is ADHD.

**Hirsch, O., Chavanon, M.L. & Christiansen, H. Emotional dysregulation subgroups in patients with adult Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD): a cluster analytic approach. Sci Rep 9, 5639 (2019). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-019-42018-y

[secret-sector-antag]

🦇⚔ Dhampir Hunter V ⚔🦇

Intros/Profiles Part 3/?: Veni, vidi, dictavi [Potential CW for mentions of death and the following grief, as well as brief (albeit fictional) political stuff. Nothing overly detailed/gory, but just in case]

"Ingannamorte" Surname of Italian origin. Translates to "deciever of death" ("inganna"= "to decieve"/"decieves", and "morte"="death".) A rather fitting name for a creature of the night...

The Ingannamortes of Schprekenheim, at least loooooong ago, were the absolute rulers of the land. Being a subtype of vampire known in the area as StrigOwie, they lived up to their name: bring about immense suffering and misery, feeding off of it, and continuing the family name for generations to come.

However, despite the threats of torture, exile, and/or annihilation for any sort of political dissidence, the peasants of the land began to band together and fight back. After several attempts at a coup, the family have since fallen to a more underground, "figure-head"-like status. 

The then-current heads, Havaska and Polaris Ingannamorte, had a full plate on their hands: keeping the power of the family flowing throughout the land (but with a less...heavy-handed approach), other standard royal duties...and now, bringing up the next heir: Syberia (pronounced "Sĭh-Bĕ-reeyah").

For a while, things were actually...relatively okay. Syberia was growing into her role of one day becoming the head of the family...but as she began to learn about her family and the absolute power that they used to hold. She wanted a piece of that pie; none of this "figureheads-who-stand-in-the-background" business. And she was vocal about it. As she grew and had more of a hand in things, she became louder and louder- despite her parents doing what they could to try and quell that fervor.

Then disaster struck.

Havaska, mother to the latest heir of the Ingannamortes, had been murdered. While the "heat" between the royal vampire family and the peasants had disspated quite a bit over the years, a small extremist group wanted to make their mark...by doing what the several coup attempts back then couldn't: getting rid of the vampirs for good. While the group was quashed incredibly quickly (c'mon, you're fighting against vampires; and it wasn't like these guys were professional hunters), the toll it took on the remaining two Ingannamortes. While they grieved, Syberia saw this as an opportunity for them to bring that "iron-fistedness" back into play...but Polaris, her poor old Papa, was heartbroken. No matter how much she tried to convince him, he would not go all scorched earth and bring the entirety of Schprekenheim to heel. This, of course, led to increased tension in the already emotionally-bedraggled household.

...Then a little bit of light entered back into their lives...or, at the very least, Polaris's. A peseant woman known as Cerealia, who had brought it upon herself to continue to plant flowers on the deceased queen's grave, as well as keep the area surrounding area looking nice, was spotted by Polaris. Initially, he was a bit testy (how dare some...some commoner intrude on his land!), but seeing what she was doing, the ice that had come to surround his heart began to slowly melt. For the first time since he lost his wife, he had begun to feel...happy. Syberia, being Syberia, was suspicious. Who was this plebian, and what did her Dad see in her?! She was trying to usurp the throne, she just knew it!!

This, of course, wasn't true. Cerealia had no hidden intentions and genuinely cared about the forlorn king. Though one could argue that this took place very quickly, Polaris and Cerealia were soon married. And eventually, they welcomed another child into the kingdom.

Syberia was furious. Okay, yes, she was still the next in line to rule, but who the hell was this...this half-blood to come in and usurp what was supposed to be her time with her dad?! She wasn't acknowledging that peseant woman as family- even if she now bore the royal last name. But of course, under the treat of being sent away to the lower part of Schprekenheim to live out her life (or at least until she calmed the eff down and worked out her rage and resentment) in, potentially, a tall tower all by herself (almost like a "grounded for life" kind of scenario), Syberia let that hatred simmer. And simmer. And simmer. With her sister, that hatred did occasionally manifest as the standard acts of sibling rivalry, but her..."stepmother", eugh... was understanding, having been one of several siblings herself. However, even with the assurance that both kids were loved equally, it didn't mean she went unpunished for acting the way she did sometimes.

Things were going okay, it looked like.

Until they weren't.

Polaris and Cerealia had mysteriously perished on a trip to another village, as a show of goodwill. Some say that Syberia had a hand in it, but no one can be 100% certain...especially now since she's taken on the role as the head of the Ingannamorte family and will silence anyone who questions her. Playing to the public, she uses the death of her parents as her "reasoning" for bringing back the harshness that the family was once known for long, long ago.

Schprekenheim has been under her dark rule for who knows how long, and S.C.A.R.E. seeks to bring her and her army of monsterous creatures of the night down- to restore some semblence of peace to the region.

Can they do it?

Will she bring the band of freedom fighters to heel and recruit them to her undead army?

And more importantly...where's this sister of hers? She wasn't with the then-king and queen on their trip...she seems to have mysteriously vanished...

----------------------------------------- Syberia Ingannamorte Voice Claim: Eden Riegel

Codenamed "Nightside" by the organization, she is a fierce vampire that has plunged the region into darkness and misery. She is a manipulative creature that will stop at nothing to keep the iron grip she has on the area from loosening. With the passing of her parents and now as the official head of the Ingannamortes, there's nothing getting in her way to stop her....or so she thinks.

But of course, what is a queen without a bit of help?

"Faust" Voice Claim: Steve Valentine

Codenamed "Phantomblade" by the organization, Not a lot is known about this kid. It was shortly after Syberia's parents' passing and the disapperance of her sister that he came into the picture.

Acting as the confidant to the new ruler, 'Faust' does what he can to maintain order and acts as a "one man band"- directing creature hordes to deter any do-gooders, directing who keeps watch over the Ingannamorte hold, acting as Syberia's bodyguard and informant, among other roles. In short, Faust would give his life to save Syberia. ...He...doesn't exactly have the choice to not. At least, not anymore. That half-face burn (covered by the half-face mask) had to come from somewhere after all...

[moe-broey]

Reposting this one on its own bc. It means So Much To Me. It means EVERYTHING TO ME.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Some more angst, but with some fluff, not a lot tho

Leslie, after promising that Bruce hadn't made a deal with a devil or done mad science to bring Jason back, had given the boy a check up, running proper scans that couldn't be done at the Cave (yet.)

Even if Jason's fatal wounds had been mended, there were many that wasn't, not to mention the damage he had done to his hands digging his way out of the grave.

(Bruce had gone there one night, after Alfred had been sworn twice over to be by the boys side at all time, he saw the muddy trail leading away from the dug open grave, the shards of wood coated with blood, if Bruce was any other man he would have thrown up by the mere sight of it all.)

From Leslie's tests, (and the autopsy report that he had never was able to make himself read) Bruce learned the extent of what his little son was suffering, X-rays showed his hands had broke at his escape, his wrists which had been broke before he was buried barely mended and brittle.

A head CT showed why Jason struggled to speak, brain damage barely healed enough for him to function, leaving him in state of a continuous concussion.

The rest of the boy's body followed much like his hands, barely put back together, like a broken porcelain doll glued back together and played with before the glue had a chance to set.

---

Jason wasn't the same, Bruce couldn't help but notice as he got used to having his son back with him, his boy struggled so much now. The simplest tasks now herculean with the amount of effort that he had to put in with it.

Bruce helped as much as he could, always getting up to help his son stand, carring him up the long staircases of the Manor (Bruce would never admit it but he loved the closness of those little moments) though Jason was still his little spitfire underneath all difficulties he now faced.

Jason always managed to dress himself, though now most of his clothing were much more loose, easier to slip on and off, with no buttons his shaky hands struggled with nor zippers that his aching fingers couldn't properly zip.

He still was able to feed himself, though it took time for him to learn how to again, the now constant tremors he was plagued with caused more woe that Bruce liked to think about.

Not all of Jason was able to peak through though, the boy hardly spoke anymore, and when he did, his voice was weak and ragged, smoke and dust of the explosion leaving their mark on him.

Another issue Bruce had noticed was that Jason struggled to read, he would sit and stare at a page for long minutes, managing only a single chapter in the time Bruce knew that he used to be able to tear through the whole book.

Bruce had to intervene, sitting next to his son and pulling him close, the man settled him on his lap (something that Jason protested minorly), and after pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Jason's head, Bruce read for his boy, letting him close his eyes and just listen for that moment.

---

It was a month later when Bruce finally got up the courage (as well as a weak pleading look from Jason, and a single raised eyebrow from Alfred) to finally reach back out to Dick.

It had been nearly 6 months since he had heard from his eldest, though that didn't mean Bruce hadn't kept tabs on him.

Knowing right when Dick usually took a break from his work, Bruce pressed the call button, his eyes squeezing shut as the phone started to ring.

It rung once, twice, and a third time, before it was finally cut off. At first Bruce thought that Dick declined the call before he heard his sons clipped tone.

"What do you want Mr. Wanye."

Those words sunk into his chest like an arrow, and Bruce had to take a short breath before speaking.

"Richard...Dick I...I need you to come home. Something has happened and I-"

"Home? Do you mean the Manor Mr Wanye? Because I think last time we spoke you said it would never be my home. That it was a mistake to take me in." There was a growl to Dicks voice as he spoke, and Bruce could only imagine his sons clenched fists, knuckles white as he resisted the urge to yell.

Guilt built up like a tidal wave inside of Bruce, much like the bile that was rising in his throat, he had said that didn't he? He just wanted Dick to get away, to leave before Bruce's defections grew even more into his son, like a mold digging deep into the core.

"Dick please...I..." Bruce struggled with words, his throat felt tight, but he wanted...no needed to speak to Richard.

"Its Jason. He is alive. Something happened and he is back. I...I understand that you don't want to speak to me but...But please...he misses you."

Dick was silent on the other end, the only way Bruce knew he was still on the call was the shaky breaths that sounded through the receiver.

"If you are lying I will break both your arms and leave you in Arkham to rot like the insane, narcissistic bastard that you are. Don't be at the Manor when I get there."

Bruce wasn't able to get a word in before he heard the call drop, and he was left standing in his study, looking down at his phone as the guilt grew and grew.

---

And when Dick arrived Bruce was no where to be scene.

The first Robin, freshly his own man stepped back down onto the dark pavement of a place that he swore he would never return to.

Alfred was waiting by the steps, grabbing him into a frim hug before pulling back, his normally professional passive mask was gone, and a sad smile instead adorned his face.

"Welcome home Master Richard...welcome home..." and at that moment, Dick felt that maybe it was once his home. But not anymore.

Sighing slightly but returning the hug, Dick pulled away from the older man, a frown set on his face, "Bruce told me...Alfred is it true is he-"

Dicks words died in his throat as he saw movement at the front door, first assuming Bruce was coming out, that he was actually at the Manor, but...no.

It was Jason, God it felt like Dick was sucker punched in the gut, breath left him as he stared up at the boy from the steps, his eyes taking in every detail

The boy looked rough, there was scars across his face, jagged and still fresh looking, and he had a sickly palor that just seemed wrong.

"J-Jaybird? Is...holy fuck it's you..." Dick was moving before he could even think, taking the steps two at a time to get up by the door even quicker.

Jason smiled weakly, shuffling a bit over to him, letting out a soft "Hi Dickie" as said man wrapped Jason in his famous octopus hug.

Dick took a while to pull off of Jason, tears prickling at his eyes, but practically jumped back when he heard the soft whimper of pain come from Jason. "Sorry sorry...Fuck I am sorry your..." thousands of words wanted to spill out all at once but Dick stopped himself, just staring down at Jason, watching as the boy took the walker that Dick didn't even see Alfred fetching.

"I-its okay Dickie...J-just squeezed to hard..." Jason tried a smirk but it only came out as a grimace, but that turned into a frown at the look of panic on Dicka face.

"S-stop that. I...I get enough pity from D-dad." Jason said, stopping to cough half way through, which only caused the panic to shift to anger than guilt.

Alfred sighed softly as he watched the brothers, Dick looked worse than he did the last time he was at the Manor, his hair longer and tangled, dark bags under his eyes and seemed to favor his right leg, and the older man was sure that if he tapped the left it, Dick would crumple in pain.

"Gentlemen, Might I suggest to continue in the parlor? It is not too wise to have Master Jason standing for longer than he needs."

Jason gave another frown, squinting at Alfred while Dick hurriedly agreed, trying to usher Jason back into the place he once called home.

---

Bruce watched from the Cave, the security cameras of the Manor playing the live footage of his sons, and Bruce could only feel anguish as he watched the two of them sit, Jason laying his head on Dicks chest, watching as his oldest froze, the way Dick was practically forced by the hurting young boy to card his fingers through his hair, as if Dick though that if he touched Jason wrong the boy would dissappear.

Bruce though the same, that if he looked away for just a moment that he wouldn't be there, that Jason would be dead all over again.

The man held his face in his hands and wept. Because Bruce knew that deep down, that in the depths of his soul that he deserved this pain, that the suffering he caused to his little sons to endure for his foolish crusade meant that he must sit on the side lines, watching as his sons are reunited again.

---

And after hours, after Jason falls asleep and Dick spent that time acting as his human pillow, long after Bruce had cried every tear he had and dragged himself away, donning his regalia once more to be the Bat, and after Dick had left to patrol his own streets.

A young boy watched, eyes glistening with tears, joy and relief welling up in his heart as he watched through the lense of his camera, his Robin was alive. Robin was magic.

He came back.

Just like he promised he would

I am thinking about, what if Jason, fresh from the grave, actually managed to get to Wanye manor?

Like, some Gothamite stumbles upon this kid in a muddy silk suit, with hands bleeding and bruised, whos hollow looking eyes are filled with tears, trying to draw in weezy breaths and let's out a long desperate whimper that sounds like..."help me"

But instead of running and calling the police because clearly the dead are starting to raise in Gotham and that is like, actually the worst, they notice something, they have seen that face before, fucking hell nearly all of gotham had, maybe a little younger, maybe with a happy smile and a twinkle in his eye even in a black in white photo put out by the newspaper, cus that's the Wayne kid, that's Brucies little boy that got killed.

And they take him home, to the Wanye Manor clearly some bullshit happened, because in Gotham the even the dead arnt allowed to rest it seemed.

Even if nobody ever made it past the front gate, everyone knows where the Manor is, it's the seat of power for like, the most important family in Gotham, criminal or otherwise.

And they feel horrible ringing the gate bell, they would wince because it sounds like a sick joke to just to roll up, and say "I got your dead kid, you want em back?"

Imagine the pain that Alfred has to go through hearing that? Some stranger has just rung in that they have his youngest charge grandson who Alfred personally dressed in his finest to be laid to rest. The same Alfred who did the same for Thomas and Martha, who cried over their bodies in secret just as he did Jason.

He let's the stranger through the front gate, while Master Bruce has a rule against killing, Alfred is more than willing to, and his shotgun is loaded as he watches a older car slowly wind up the long driveway.

He is standing at the door, gun lowered as the stranger pulls to a stop, they don't even look surprised at the gun in the old man's hands, simply nodding at it before heading to the back seat of their car and-

Dear God they dug up his boy, anger pulses through him, the gun raises to shoot down this utter scum before...the body twitches as the stranger speaks to it, gently shaking it and...and Jason blinks awake, a strangled gasp coming from his chest before coughs, and Jason is stumbling out of the back seat.

Alfred can't move for a second, can't think as he sees Jason alive once more, the boys pained expression lessens slightly as he seems to spot thr butler, and a soft, hoarse whisper came from his lips, "A-Alfie..."

Imagine Bruce, drunk beyond the point where it should kill him, laying in Jason's bed, the curtains drawn closed, leaving the room pitch black, the only lights coming from the smattering of glow in the dark stars, done up in constellations across the ceiling, and a small night light by the door.

His son still needed a night light, his darling boy was still young enough to fear the dark, even if it was at an instinctual level.

Bruce felt disgusted by himself, hatred of the pathetic excuse of a man that he was, his son was gone gone GONE.

The lights of his life was gone, and he deserved it, he shouldn't have been so greedy, so selfish to want Dick in his life, so what if Vruce saw himself in the boy, commerserated with the searing pain of his parents, Bruce should have kept the child away, to not allow Dick to become anything like him.

It was good that Bruce was pushing him away, making the wonderful young man Dick turned out to be hate him, Bruce only deserved that, it hurt so much to turn his back on his son, but Bruce couldn't allow anymore of himself to befoul the boy he loved so dearly.

The man longed for another drink but he refused to bring the bottle into Jason's room, he wouldn't desecrate his sons space with something he had hated so much.

It was the only reason Bruce rolled out of the bed, his body felt like lead, numb and dull to the world, and as he opened the door into the hall, he saw him.

There Jason was, yet more to hunt him, his child's phantom back to torment him again.

Mind clouded with pain, Bruce would stumble up to that ghost the figment of his imagination that sought to torment him, stopping only a foot away and falling to his knees, fresh tears sting at the man's eyes. A gutteral sound of agony tearing through him as he wails in sorrow, of a future, a life snuffed out.

Only to be silenced by a weight on his shoulder, followed by a smaller body drapped across his own, the cry of pain was choked out by shock, eyes that shut fly open to see that the phantom, the ghost of his son...was not just a figment of his foul mind.

And Jason's body was not cold, not stiff with rigor mortise, it was warm and soft, the thrum if a weak heart beat pounded across his back where his sons chest was across him.

With shaky hands Bruce would, almost reverently, reach out to touch his son, pulling his hand back as if he was burned went he felt the boys body.

In a moment the man was latched onto the boy, holding onto him as if he let go Jason would fade away and he would lose his son once again.

Of course they run tests, though Bruce is never not in arms reach of Jason, always trying to keep the boy in his eyesight, and went they come back that it really is Jason? That their boy is returned? Bruce clings to his son once more, tears renewed, this time filled with relief not sorrow.

Though sadly, we don't get this, instead after digging himself out of his own grave, Jason gets hit by a car and gets kidnapped by a murder death cult and gets dunked in the evil mountain dew before getting turned against the people that love him, fed lies to fuel his pit madness and then set off on a killing spree of revenge.

[dxxtruction]

I still think the photos were either an absent minded accident to where no one can be really sure who made it (several people have had access to the archives and have sorted through it over presumable many years) or deliberately planted by Rashid for Daniel’s benefits to go through the files uninterrupted. Because I think it’s a better display of how Armand is operating here simply out of a complete disinterest to be supportive, accountable to anything, or understanding of what the aim of all this is, and his care for Louis only goes about as far as himself, especially where the threat of exposure or abandonment is concerned. In short he has a disdain for this entire interview, let alone Louis history and inner struggles with it, and for selfish reason, so the photos, regardless of how they got in there, expose him of this. It clues us in about how his love is conditional on meeting his expectations of it not ending or being threatening in some way, especially where his sense of security is concerned, but he’s extremely possessive of who he loves so manipulates as much as he can to prevent this, to a point, and in such ways, it is just emotionally abusive. Though we also do see a result of when he’s offered something else that his love can shift easily to someone else if they are simply offering him all this sense of security, so his possessiveness is conditioned on the fact he has no other better options of getting his strong desires for this kind of love met.

Anyway, if it’s an accident like that, and let’s say it’s one Armand happened to have made, it falls right in line with this even more, though I think the point is we actually can’t know if this is the case of it as even he doesn’t know who did it. Though if there were any care he’d probably not point fingers at Louis who is the one who’d be least likely to have made such a mistake, but he doesn’t care and is just mad about being blamed by Louis, so does carelessly throw it out there.

And if they served a purpose of allowing Daniel to access the files for an extended period, which he couldn’t do much earlier when Raglan initially sent them over without raising suspicions, one can make the assumption that Rashid, who we find out is working for the Talamasca, did it for Daniel’s benefit so he could do so undercover.

Just my two thoughts.

[risingchaos]

Vulcan is just an ideal autistic society.

[dkettchen]

[vivispec]

.

[dsudis]

Stop referring to characters as dumb and idiots and stupid for having difficulty deciphering their own or others' emotions/attractions challenge 2k23!

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[re-code1713]

interminable

[crosspost of a shuuenpro "fanfic" / "love letter" I published back in January, half-written in like. an emotional frenzy. relevant again because I'm feeling a lot of the same things]

At first, it was simply a curiosity.

It appeared to be an ordinary book at first, when you had found it splayed open on the floor face-up. You surmised that it must have been there for a long, long time, as its leaves were caked in dust - to the point it seemed to dye the very first page an ashen gray.

It was a thick book. You wondered of its contents. Cryptic white symbols were etched onto the front cover, indecipherable in meaning.

You brushed the dust off the front page, sat down, and began to read.

This book, just as many books tend to, contained a story.

It wasn't a particularly impressively written story, but you would find yourself drawn to it time and time again.

It was a common story featuring common elements. A mystery, a school setting, and a cursed book. A traitor, a tragedy, and an endless loop. The characters were left unnamed, but they were unique. Eccentric in their own ways.

The cursed book became an accessory in their tragedies, but the real antagonist could hardly be known. Was it the living book whose legends came to haunt them? Was it the traitor they were told to find?

Was it the children themselves, whose suspicions of one another deceived them into a one-way trap to doom?

The tragedy repeated. Then, a narrative sleight of hand. A confrontation.

Perhaps, the words on the page read, the real "fox" was you.

The end of an act, and the beginning of a dream.

You flipped to the next act.

A mystery was unraveled about the book's origins.

The innocent children who led this tragedy crafted it themselves, willingly played their parts as they filmed and presented it in front of a festival. These children, who would be reduced to mere legends to the generation that followed them, saw the ones that would follow their trail a decade later as mere fiction.

They had loved and trusted in each other, and yet they, too, met their own tragedy, its culprit just out of their sight. A grieving child experienced an endless dream, and with that, the curtains fell before any knots could be tied.

Before you had realized it, your eyes were dancing over blank pages.

No.

You wouldn't let it end here.

You kept turning the pages. There were many of them, after all. Yet they were all unwritten. Wasted paper. Wasted space.

You flipped to the beginning, and read again.

And thus began your own endless cycle, your own endlessly repeating tragedy.

Time and time again, you would walk away from the book. And yet time and time again, you would always return. You read, and you read again, as though the crumbs you picked up fallen into the book's gutter would solve a whole story.

(And when you weren't reading, you'd see whispers of the story everywhere you go. Within common words and mundane sentences, and even the words "common" and "mundane" became anything but;

The ghosts you'd see

decorated hide-and-seek and impostors and phone calls and stolen ribbons,

echoed through conclusions and prayers and tragedies and dreams,

and gave life to numbers and colors.

Things that most would find flavorless or common—to you, when you drank them, they always would mean something else.)

You read the book a hundred times. A hundred and twenty times. By the thousand two hundredth attempt, and your brain would fill in the last digit.

One thousand, seven hundred and thirteen times.

You shone a light upon its pages as though you could uncover some final hidden message, something that could satisfy the gaping hole in your heart carved by a story that wouldn't end.

What solace was there to be found in a book whose last pages remained blank?

You tried to let it go. You really did.

But it seemed as though you had fallen under a curse, from the book about a cursed book, and led into a tragedy by a book containing endless tragedies. A book about unsolvable mysteries and unwritten endings. How ironic.

Before you lay a ghost. But try as you might, ghosts couldn't answer questions, regardless of how many times you pleaded to them.

You could only follow the ghost's trails, collect them,

burn them into your memory and into your heart,

drink up its dredges and spit them back out,

clutch it tight to your chest, and pray to higher beings, or to someone, or to no one at all—please don't take this away from me. There's already so little of it left.

How could a story so permanently engraved into your being be so fragile, so small, so fleeting?

(When you're gone, when the author's gone, and when everyone who loves and remembers has gone, who will be there to keep the memory of the rumor urban legend story that no one knows, that altered the course of your own?)

This ridiculously mundane story, of an incredibly worn-out world. You don't understand how it had touched you so.

Had the author known this would be its fate?

You would never, ever know.

Still, you love, and so you write a love letter that won't receive a response.

[miupow]

slowly teaching myself that writing is supposed to be fun and to not take it so seriously, that my writing is good and enjoyable even if it isn’t my best, and that people enjoy my work even if i don’t feel confident in it

[itzphynix]

Thank you Astral Spiff for combating the narrative that Post Shift 2 is a hard game o7