#and his metabolism isn’t helping these eating patterns

[milimeters-morales]

Miles, stopping by Hobie’s dimension: my mom made you tamales you better fucking appreciate this and eat it ALL

Hobie, already halfway done with them: look at me and ask yourself if you really need to be telling me this

[themculibrary]

(TW) Eating Disorders Masterlist 2

part one

can't shake the feeling (that i'm just bad at healing) (ao3) - sadtunes M, 1k

Summary: This is the only way she can belong to herself.

OR

Natasha is struggling. Yelena sees

consumed (ao3) - anyabarnes T, 11k

Summary: Peter's overweight. Which is bad. Unhealthy. Harmful. How is he supposed to be able to protect New York if he can’t even monitor his eating and weight? He gained six pounds in a month. Six. He feels awful. A sour taste builds in the back of his throat.

Peter slams his laptop shut, grateful that May isn’t home to hear it. He shoves back from his desk and just stands. Stares.

He has to fix this somehow. He has to be better. Smaller. He has to lose weight.

or

Peter just wanted to lose a couple pounds. He's not sure when it developed into an eating disorder.

Dilemma (ao3) - salvatoremikaelson T, 1k

Summary: His stomach is cramping again. He can’t tell if it’s because he ate, which was so out of pattern for this week, or if it was because he hasn’t been eating enough.

He knows what to do. He’ll twist and turn in bed, try and fail to go back to sleep, and yet refuse to get up and eat.

Don't Forget To Swallow (ao3) - ManyGayUmbrellas G, 3k

Summary: Peter peers carefully over the things in his mind, turns them over: a piece of toast, half a bottle of gatorade, the rest now stored and saved for tomorrow. A packet of Welch’s and four chicken wings.

It's too much he's taken from the fridge, the pantry, and the blank spaces where the items used to be seem to reach up to swallow him, gulp him down.

The next day he only has one half a bottle of gatorade, swallowing hunger down with empty calories and shaking arms.

five times someone worried about peter parker (ao3) - effervescentfloozy G, 3k

Summary: + one time he asked for help

5+1 about Peter struggling with anorexia.

Gut Instinct (ao3) - somone_else G, 23k

Summary: Bucky isn’t sure why he’d turned himself in to Steve but he knows that he's hungry. Hungry for a solid meal and for a new life, hungry to understand and to remember. From courthouse to treatment center with Steve by his side that hunger is something Bucky’s determined to satisfy.

I Knew My Skin That Wrapped My Frame Wasn't Made to Play This Game (ao3) - peterparkersbff T, 1k

Summary: Bones hollow and stomach empty, Peter feels weightless. His flesh melted away months ago with his appetite, clogging his shower drain and turning the water around it a murky shade of gray. It looks better as a mound at his feet than it ever did stretched over his frame.

It's not always black and white (sometimes greys can save your life) (ao3) - disaster_sapphic7 T, 29k

Summary: May made enough money for both of them to survive, but they weren’t wealthy by any means- he’d picked up on the ways she wrung her hands while scouring over their bills, how she always jumped to take extra shifts whenever available.

Some people joked about being ‘eaten out of house and home,’ but with the spider-bite altering his metabolism, it had turned into less of a joke and more of a serious worry he held. It just wasn’t fair for him to stuff his face and never pay for any of it. So, he’d made a decision.

Or: Peter tries to keep food on the table and develops anorexia in the process

I Understand, Kid (ao3) - rollercoasterblades G, 2k

Summary: Peter had been doing better. He really, really had.

---

A story of how recovery isn't linear and how Tony continues to be Peter's anchor throughout his journey of getting better, even when it's scary to ask for help.

Let's Get This Bread! (ao3) - Coincidental_fangirl T, 9k

Summary: It turns out, (as Tony discovers) that Peter Parker's endless enthusiasm doesn't extend to bread, or food in general.

or,

Peter and May's small income turns out to be insufficient for Peter's enhanced metabolism, and when Tony tries to help out, Peter still can't keep up with it, until he tries a feeding tube.

one, two, three (ao3) - Anonymous steve/bucky T, 30k

Summary: Living in a new world came with trying all the new food. He was finally in a time in his life where he didn’t need to worry about money, and he could afford so much more than just boiled cabbage. So he took advantage of that.

He ate everything he could get his hands on.

or

Bucky Barnes develops an eating disorder. Steve Rogers just wants to help.

Our Voices (ao3) - JustMe_AC steve/bucky T, 1k

Summary: Steve suffers from an eating disorder & Bucky doesn't handle it too well

Peter Parker's Grocery Bags (ao3) - EXEWorld N/R, 5k

Summary: Once he’s done he likes to just sit there. On his knees in front of his mirror studying himself. His cheeks have puffed up along with his lips, he sees the faint glisten of a tear or two. His hair is disheveled and there’s a coating of spit with chunks around his mouth. It’s gross.

“It’s worth it though,” Peter mutters under his breath.

It’s almost lost in how hoarse his voice is.

“It’s worth it. It’s worth it”

Sugar, Spice, and Sprinkles of Shame (ao3) - breatheforeverypart G, 2k

Summary: Cooper offered her an ABC cookie and Natasha shivered. She wasn’t disgusted by the offer; she had certainly eaten worse. How had she survived for so long with so many problems?

Her fellow Widows had been perfect, they were forged in blood and built to withstand war. She had been invincible, but that version of herself had withered and died. Natasha yanked the hood over of her Clint’s sweatshirt over her head. Brooding required the proper fashion, working with Tony Stark had taught her the importance of image.

Winters in New York were not as brutal as Russia, but Natasha had lost her edge. Clint had insulated the big house from most of the windchill, but Natasha was permanently cold.

Clothes served as armor, and Natasha added layers like she as preparing for battle. She had dropped weight over the course of the pandemic but maintained for most the last year. The holidays certainly contributed to this relapse.

The floor is steady, smooth (So why can't I stand still?) (ao3) - HatWearingIdjit T, 2k

Summary: Peter can't stop obsessing over food. He eats, and eats, and eats, until he's in so much pain he can't move.

A dive into Peter's development of an eating disorder he can't quite get out of on his own.

When it gets so bad his family becomes involved, he has no choice but confront them about it.

This is very graphic. Heed the tags.

When did you lose control? (ao3) - dante_baby M, 15k

Summary: Loki starts feeling unwell after a month on The Statesman. And the whole awkward situation he had with his brother wasn't much help. So, he had to go back to his old "helpful" habits.

Unfortunately.

Wool Blind (ao3) - scooter3scooter M, 11k

Summary: “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he sobs out, hands automatically coming to to clench at his hair. Like if he pulls hard enough he’ll break open his scalp and see his brain, be able to dig around for an answer inside. “What- what’s wrong with me?” He’s begging even without saying please.

He used to stay silent in his bedroom, refusing to even listen to music through his headphones in case it was too loud. But now he knows that neither Tony or Pepper hear him, not unless they’re right outside his door. He can cry and he can talk to himself and go can go absolutely fucking insane and they’ll be none the wiser.

Sometimes he yearns to call out, hopes one of the heroes will hear and come save him. He opens his mouth, words tingling on his tongue, just to sob so hard he shuts himself up.

How can they comfort him from something he can’t explain?

He doesn’t have an eating disorder. He has no reason to feel like this. There’s nothing they can do for him if there’s nothing wrong.

you're tied together with a smile (but you're coming undone) (ao3) - galactic_gamora peter/gamora T, 1k

Summary: He turned around to see what Gamora picked out to wear, but he noticed something strange.

She hadn’t put on her shirt yet, so he could still see her torso. And she looked unusually thin.

Peter stared at her in concern. How did he not notice this earlier?

Or: Four times the Guardians noticed that Gamora was unwell, and one time she recognized it herself.

[eat-sleep-burn-review]

Eat Sleep Burn PDF Download Dan Garner (eBook)

Many individuals worldwide have over the average weight, which is causing an alarm for people who just want to live out their lives without worrying about other things that can add up to their stress. Tackling obesity is no easy feat, as many people have already tried to counter this through different types of diet and exercise. The truth is that people who are overweight are risking their lives without knowing. Being overweight is a bane for most people, as it can only be solved by a specific solution within a particular individual. Most people take inadequate sleep as a very light issue that cannot affect their daily operations. What most people do not know is that the quality of sleep affects a person’s weight. However much they try to exercise and eat well, they always end up still gaining weight. 

The Eat Sleep Burn program is a revolutionary weight loss program that focuses on the connection between sleep and metabolism. The Eat Sleep Burn program offers a unique and science-based approach to weight loss by harnessing the power of sleep. With its comprehensive guidance, nutritional support, and exercise recommendations, it provides a holistic solution for long-term success. While commitment and consistency are required, the potential benefits of improved sleep, enhanced metabolism, and sustainable weight loss make this program highly recommended for individuals seeking a transformative journey to better health. Developed by Dan Garner and Todd Lamb, this program provides a comprehensive approach to improving sleep quality and burning fat while you sleep. Dan is the founder of Team Garner (is own company) and he is a professional coacher who specializes in athletic performance and physique transformation. Some of the people who dan coached are world titles and world records. Dan Garner says that more than 75% of the people he works with only need to fix one thing to trigger massive weight loss without big changes to their diet and exercise. Todd Lamb is a former SWAT member and a fitness expert with extensive experience in the field. He is passionate about helping people achieve their weight loss goals and has dedicated his career to developing effective fitness programs. Through his expertise in exercise and nutrition, Todd has co-created the Eat Sleep Burn program to provide a holistic approach to weight loss.

In the program I learned that lack of sleep is not only bad for your belly, it’s also bad for your health and may cause a lot of medical and mental problems. There is no promotion of any harmful diet or another such thing. The Eat Sleep Burn program is a scientifically-backed approach to weight loss that emphasizes the importance of sleep in the body's ability to burn fat. By optimizing your sleep patterns and incorporating specific exercises, this program helps you achieve sustainable weight loss and improve overall health and well-being. Get ready to transform your body while you sleep! In fact, users are only supposed to correct their sleep. This specific type of deep sleep isn’t about your sleeping time, In fact, even folks who are in bed and asleep for 7 to 8 hours a night are probably not achieving the specific and restorative sleep state that they need to lose weight and rebuild health. By getting ample hours of restorative sleep, hormonal production is made optimal and weight gain is curbed. You will feel your own well being when you eat a well balanced diet. Your body lets you know what it needs to feel healthy, when to eat and when to stop eating. You can eat like a normal person and sleep peacefully every night. Then wake up with vitality and see your sagging belly had gone whoosh! 

Click Here to Download The Eat Sleep Burn eBook Now

[aramblingjay]

Geraskier headcanon: witchers are humans too, aka Geralt could survive on nothing but spite and willpower with no sleep and minimal food, but that doesn’t mean he should (and Jaskier makes sure he won’t)

Geralt doesn’t need to follow normal circadian patterns, but it’s better if he does. He can see nearly as well in the dark as during the day, but too much prolonged night vision leaves him with stinging eyes and splitting headaches. Sleep can be an afterthought for days at a time, but after several consecutive hours of rest he’s less likely to be overwhelmed by every little sound or scent. His metabolism can process just about any food he gets his hands on, or shut off entirely if he can’t get his hands on any at all, but his grumpiness is directly related to the quality and quantity of his last three meals

Of course Geralt doesn’t really realize most of this, because he’s never taken enough care of himself to find out. It won’t kill him to travel at night when there are fewer people around to curse and spit at him, so he often does. It won’t kill him to skip a meal or two when a town seems particularly hostile. His stomach growls and his head feels like someone’s using it for target practice and he has to wait several days before heading into the city because every sound grates on his ears, but to Geralt that’s just life on the Path

Along comes Jaskier

Jaskier does not share Geralt’s views about neglecting his self-care, but more importantly, Jaskier is very much not a Witcher and physically can’t function on Geralt’s schedule. At first this is an annoyance, and Geralt overdoes it in an effort to make Jaskier realize that following him around isn’t the life he wants. But Jaskier can outstubborn literally anyone, and just hangs on like a (very lovable) barnacle the more Geralt tries to push him away

Eventually, there comes a breaking point. Jaskier trips over something in the dark and nearly splits his skull open on a rock. Jaskier is so sleep-deprived and drained of energy he very quietly asks if Geralt would be willing to carry his lute for him. Jaskier hasn’t had enough water in days, and loses his voice when he tries to perform at the next inn they stop at. Geralt has two options: 1) use this as a final opportunity to rid himself of Jaskier forever or 2) adapt

To nobody’s surprise (except maybe Geralt’s), he adapts. They start to travel only during the day and rest when it’s dark. If some dire circumstance presents itself (sometimes people take exception to him, or Jaskier is recognized by the wrong husband) and they have to flee in the night, Jaskier gets to ride on Roach. He tries to make sure they stop early enough and leave late enough that Jaskier gets at least six hours of sleep most nights. Geralt starts carrying a second waterskin and takes detours to make sure they pass by a stream whenever it begins to empty

As a result, Geralt accidentally takes better care of himself too. He’s lived so long in a constant state of discomfort that he doesn’t even understand what’s happening the first time he wakes up completely pain-free, no headache, an unfamiliar lightness in his muscles, eyes bright and sharp, ears attuned to every sound but equally able to filter them out, and strangely calm. Geralt didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this, thought his aches and pains and weariness was just the consequence of the Path. Some of it is, but turns out sleeping and eating well and not overtaxing your senses can help your physical and mental wellbeing. Who knew? Not Geralt

Geralt does his best to describe it to Jaskier who has to try very, very hard not to cuddle his witcher into the next dimension in response. After that, it’s Jaskier’s mission to make sure Geralt doesn’t push his limits more than he absolutely has to. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should, Geralt!” When he sees Geralt tiring (or what counts as tiring for a witcher), Jaskier makes a show of how much he’d like a bed for the night so they camp at an inn and Geralt can rest in an actual bed. He likes to order Geralt’s favorite meats and wines when they go to taverns, even if it means kicking up a fuss (Geralt won’t ask for an extra portion himself, he’s just happy enough to be served at all, but luckily he has no reservations about stealing off Jaskier’s plate)

Jaskier can always tell when Geralt’s taking care of himself, sees the way he moves more freely and smiles more easily and (on the really good days) barks out beautiful, booming laughs at Jaskier’s bawdier jokes

[zee-writes-and-draws]

Kuroki Training Lihito Hcs

- He meant what he had said about not wanting students initially. He's not a very social person and another term for 'student' is 'someone weaker than you who you have to take care of'.

- He forgot that Lihito is decently strong on his own.

- The talking is a bit annoying at first, but Lihito is remarkably willing to adjust conversation pattern to the other person. He can banter with Kaneda, coax Ohma into conversations, and he's a pretty good silence filler. Kuroki can't help admitting that it's pretty relaxing after a while.

- Lihito is also pretty good at extrapolating information from watching and then trial/erorring his way through. After the initial arrival in America, it takes three months for Lihito to have to ask for help. Kuroki decided that he should test what else he learned in that time. He'd self-taught himself roughly 90% of what he'd seen, with no guidance.

- Kuroki privately resolves to hone Lihito's skills after that point because clearly the kid has proven himself.

- Lihito has a lot of baggage attached to his real name, and that's part of why he hates when people use it instead of his nickname. Kuroki makes a point to add Lihito's name at the end of any praise he earns to counter some of that baggage.

- It's still not great, but Kuroki and Ohma are the only two people that Lihito won't get mad at for using his real name (the Ohma thing is because the first thing Ohma said after finding out the name is 'that's a cool name, why'd you change it?' and I think that would stick with Lihito for a really long time).

- The few long-time friends/acquaintances Kuroki has all make constant jokes about him adopting this new loud and overenthusiastic child.

- Lihito makes it a point to catch up with the rest of the four idiots at least once a week. If he's had a rough time he tends to get more depressed and will sometimes forget, so Kuroki reminds him.

- Not a lot of moral qualms. They're both very okay with murder providing it isn't sadistic killing sprees.

- One-hundred percent they've called Adam to get food recs and find out the basic layout of Texas. It's also a nice way to talk to Cosmo again.

- Lihito almost always eats extra food if not stopped but if there's not a lot left and there's still time to go before they resupply, he won't touch it. Kuroki used to put it down to either stupidity or youth, but after a week of actually training together he realizes that a) Lihito has a much higher metabolism than average due to how much energy he burns even when not actively training/fighting and that b) it's a habit from a hunger-filled childhood and a subconscious way of making sure that Kuroki gets to eat.

- After that conclusion, Kuroki stops complaining about it and sometimes buys extra bagels so Lihito doesn't feel the need to skip meals.

- Lihito tries to find as many good/so-bad-they're-good jokes as he can and then tells them to Kuroki. If they don't meet the bar, Lihito gets extra mediation (he hates mediating so much). If it's a success, he writes it down and is on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

- Neither of them keep in contact with their biological family. Kuroki hasn't got very many relatives and Lihito has spent most of his life trying to erase them completely. They see the people they've bonded with in combat as their real family

[polaroid15]

Febuwhump day 26 - Recovery

Summary: Healing takes time. And that’s okay. 

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/73102269

----

It’s been twelve days.

Twelve excruciating days.

After all this time, Tony’s still not sure of much. He doesn’t know who took them, or where they are. All he knows is that they want answers to questions he can’t give and that Peter is suffering for it.

They bring the kid back three hours after they take him. Two armed guards drag Peter’s limp form in by the armpits and Tony screams and jerks himself against the chains pinning him to the wall in his desperation to reach him. Through his fear and pain, however, he feels a slight release in his chest. An ease, a peace, because again, for today, Peter is still alive.

“Have you changed your mind?” one of the guards asks. His voice is deep and mechanical, his identity concealed by a thick metal mask.

And it kills him. He’s seconds from breaking.

He wants it to be over.

For Peter to be safe.

But if he tells them what they want to know, thousands of people will die.

“No.” It’s nearly impossible to verbalize.

“Very well.”

And they leave.

Peter is still where he lays on the floor, face down and bleeding. Tony bites back a sob as he takes in the kid’s worsening state. He’s thinner than he had been, his metabolism no match for the scarcity of their food and covered from head to toe in lacerations. There’s thick bruising on his wrists and ankles, on his neck. Electric burns on his arms and dozens of injuries that Tony can’t see through the kid’s clothes but knows nonetheless that are there.

“P-Peter. Bud. Can you hear me?”

His fearful voice carries, splinters, and is met with silence. He pulls harder against the chains holding him in place, wanting nothing more than to reach Peter’s side. “Peter. Wake up kiddo. Let me know that you’re okay.”

Peter shifts, groans, sobs. It’s hard to see through the darkness of their cell but when Peter’s eyes open they’re distant and confused, and Tony knows that they drugged him again.

To keep the brat docile, they had told him on the first day after Peter had fought against them. He’ll learn his lesson soon enough.

“That’s- that’s it bud. Good. Come back to me.”

Peter sucks in a breath, tries to move and struggles. Every inch brings a fresh wave of pain. Tony watches him with a broken heart, turning his hands into fists against their restraints. “C’mere bud.”

Finally, Peter looks up at him. It takes him nearly thirty seconds to cement the eye contact and ten more to recognize who Tony is. When it clicks the boy gives him a broken half smile, shoulders relaxing. “T’ny.”

“You gotta come to me kiddo. I can’t come to you, okay?”

“M’kay.” The boy crawls forward, whimpering low in his throat but eventually making it to Tony’s side. With the little slack the chains provide Tony is able to pull Peter against his body, hugging his frail frame against his chest. If it hurts, Peter doesn’t say, and opts to relax more fully against Tony’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers into Peter’s hair. The kid mumbles something unintelligible in response, eyes closing as the drugs persist in his system. Tony shudders against the hot flush of a fever on the kid’s skin, of the ribs he can feel through his shirt.

He’s losing him.

They’re running out of time.

It’s a desperate, hopeless feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice cracking.

Then, he prays.

----

Two days later and Tony sees sunlight. He jerks awake at loud, jarring noise. There’s a gaping hole in their prison, spilling in fresh air and blue sky. Tony winces at the bright light, feeling dizzy at the sudden development. He curls around Peter who is once again tucked into his chest, shivering and mumbling in his sleep in an attempt to shield him from the dust and debris.

At the mouth of the hole appears Rhodey and Steve.

He hopes he isn’t dreaming.

They run towards him, mouthing things he can’t understand.

Peter doesn’t stir.

“Help him,” he murmurs.

Then he falls back into darkness.

----

Tony wakes up confused and alone, hooked up to beeping machines and blinded by sterile white walls.

He tries to sit up, is stopped by Rhodey, searches the man’s eyes and fails to curb his mounting panic.

“Where’s Peter? Where is- Where is he?”

They clasp hands. Rhodey tells him that Peter is fine, that he’s in surgery, that they’ll bring him to Tony as soon as they're finished.

It’s not enough. Tony needs to see him now.

He doesn’t stop fighting until something cool enters his bloodstream and he falls back against the pillows, the room darkening at its edges.

Rhodey never lets go.

----

The next time awareness comes back to him, the first thing Tony sees is Peter.

Alive, safe, Peter.

The kid is lying on a bed identical to his own across the room. He’s small and pale against the sheets, wrapped in casts and bandages and monitored by every machine you could think of. His eyes are closed but his chest is rising and falling in a comforting, even pattern.

“Peter?”

Of course, Peter remains asleep. It brings back dark memories of their time in captivity and Tony is suddenly overcome with the need to be by the boy’s side, to make sure he’s really okay. That this isn’t just all in his head.

Ignoring the way his own machines beep in protest, Tony clumsily detaches himself from them, and then, from his bed all together. His legs are weak but support him, his goal overpowering his body’s weakness. He reaches the edge of Peter’s bed in a couple steps and collapses against it, shaky and weak.

“Peter?”

The monitors pick up, and seconds later, dark brown eyes are blinking up at him. “Tony?” he slurs.

“Oh thank god.”

Before he can think it through, he’s hugging the kid. Peter completes the embrace, his limbs weak but sure.

They’re both crying.

“You’re okay,” Tony says, perhaps more for his own reassurance, and he hears Peter laugh wetly in his ear.

“You are too.”

He isn’t sure how long they stay like that. Only that after a while, Peter sags against Tony’s side. Noticing, Tony shifts himself out of their hug. “Move over,” he instructs.

Slowly, Peter does, and Tony fits himself in the available space. Peter latches onto him. “I was scared we’d never get out of there,” he whispers, so faintly that Tony barely catches it.

“We did though,” Tony tries to comfort. “Rhodey and Steve saved the day.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

Tony is silent, his head spinning. Eventually he manages to choke out, “I’m so sorry, Pete. This is all my fault.”

This gives Peter more strength. He lifts himself up on his elbow, then looks dizzy for doing so. “What?” he says. “No it’s not-”

“I wouldn’t tell them what they wanted.”

“Obviously. We know what would’ve happened if you did.”

“You got hurt because of it.”

“You got hurt too.”

Tony sighs and closes his eyes when they sting. He feels Peter collapse back against the mattress beside him.

“We’re out,” Peter continues sleepily. “That’s all that matters.”

And Tony is too weak to argue.

----

Three days later and Tony is free to roam as he pleases, his injuries no longer keeping him bedridden. Despite the freedom he doesn’t leave their room, staying in a chair beside Peter’s bed. The kid sleeps, mostly. He mumbles unconsciously and flinches at loud noises. He sweats and cries.

And Tony is there for it all.

----

“I’m so bored,” Peter grumbles, arms crossed and pouting. “I hate staying in bed all day.”

“Remember when you almost died?” Tony says.

Peter sighs, rolling his head back against his pillow. He looks considerably better now, with colour in his cheeks and a majority of his minor wounds closed up. But he still has a cast on his leg, his arm in a sling, and twenty precarious stitches in his side.

“You’ll be out of bed soon enough,” Tony promises.

“Whatever you say.”

----

Ned and MJ visit. They play video games and board games and don’t leave until it’s dark. When they do, Tony returns. Peter is still against the bed, looking more alone than Tony has ever seen him.

“Are you okay?”

Peter jumps and swipes at his face. “Oh- Tony. Sorry. Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.”

And Tony is stupid enough to believe him.

----

“Help!”

Tony jackknifes awake, heart thundering in his chest. He scrambles in darkness for a moment before flicking on the lamp, finding Peter twisted up in his sheets, kicking and clawing and fighting.

“Damn it.”

He drops to his knees beside the bed, gently nudging the boy into wakefulness. It doesn’t take long before Peter’s eyes fly open, wide and deep with fear. He continues to fight and doesn’t stop until Tony forces his face to look at him.

“T-Tony?”

And all he can do it nod, his throat too tight to form words.

Peter stares at him like he’s far away. He chokes on his next breath.

“Peter?”

Peter shudders and raises a hand to clutch at his throat.

“What’s wrong buddy?”

But he already knows. Has seen it in himself for years.

“Can’t breathe,” Peter gasps.

Tony sits on the edge of Peter’s bed and rubs his back, barely able to keep his own panic at bay. He holds Peter’s hand over his chest and tells him to concentrate on the beats. Teaches him how to breathe.

And he does.

In reality that attack only lasts for a couple of minutes, but it seems to stretch like hours. When the worst of it passes Peter falls back into the pillows, exhausted, eyes fluttering. “Thanks,” he says. Then, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize Pete. I should be the one saying sorry-”

“No,” Peter says. He pats Tony’s leg. “No sorrys. For either of us.”

And Tony would like to think it’s possible.

He stays awake long after Peter drifts off again.

----

Another two days, and Peter is discharged from medbay. He’s excited but lacking his usual spark. He spends the day with his friends and comes back exhausted. He sleeps on the coach and wakes up disoriented. They eat dinner, though Peter barely touches his food, and they spend the rest of the night in the lab.

“How was your first day as a free man?” Tony asks.

“Good.”

“What’d you do?”

“Went to the arcade with Ned and MJ.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah. Yeah it was.”

The tinker in relative silence. He notices Peter grab at his arm periodically, as if to stop an ache.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Well, I don’t really believe that, so how about telling me the truth?”

Peter throws down his tools. They clang against the table and Peter flinches back from the sound. Tony stands, worried, and Peter shrinks into himself.

“Peter-”

“Stop. Just stop, okay? I’m fine.”

He’s crying.

Tony takes one cautious step forward, then two. When Peter doesn’t say anything he closes the distance in its completion and wraps his arms around the boy’s shaking shoulders.

“Talk to me,” he says.

Peter sniffles, doesn’t push him away. “I’m sore and achy. I can’t sleep. I never feel like eating. I’m scared all the time-” he trails off, voice quieting. “I’m just so scared.”

He’s not sure if there’s words somewhere out in the universe that Peter needs to hear. If there are, it’s impossible to know them. He tightens the hug and rests his chin on the top of Peter’s head. “It’s okay to be scared. You’re allowed to be. You know that right?”

“I’m supposed to be strong. A superhero.”

“You are. You are, Peter.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Tony interjects. “Listen close, okay? Cause I don’t like to get all mushy gushy very often. You, Peter Parker, are a hero through and through. You’re the bravest, smartest, kindest kid I’ve ever met. You’ve gone through some tough stuff in your life. And you’ve always come out the otherside. This is no different, even if it feels like it right now. Okay?”

Peter clutches onto his arm like a lifeline.

“It’s okay to be scared, Pete. It means you're human like the rest of us.”

Peter nods vigorously against him. “Th-thank you.”

“I’m always here. Whatever you need.”

Forever and always.

----

It’s been a month and Peter is nearly back to his old self. He’s patrolling again, he finishes dinner and smiles and laughs when they clean up afterwards. Nightmares become less frequent. He aces his tests.

Tony reflects on this as he looks at the kid across the room. He’s scribbling away equations in a coil-bound notebook, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. A soft smile turns his mouth up, the warmth of pride leaking through his chest.

“Hey Pete?”

Peter looks up, his pencil drooping in his grip. “Yeah Tony?”

Don’t be like your father. Break the cycle.

“I’m proud of you, kid. Just wanted you to know that.”

Peter blushes. He averts his gaze, mouth open in lost words. “Oh. Uh, thanks Tony.”

“I mean it. You’ve come a long way.”

When Peter reconnects their eyes, Tony feels the depth of the boy’s understanding. He had seen it in the cell, in their shared hospital room.

“Thanks,” Peter repeats, and this time, he sounds sure. He smiles. It’s wide, genuine, reflecting his youth.

It looks like healing.

It is healing.

“Now get back to work.”

“Aye aye.”

Peter writes down more equations, then pauses. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you too.”

The sentiment freezes the air in his chest. He hardly knows how to compartmentalize the emotion. It processes slow as molasses. Eventually, he matches Peter’s smile. “Thanks kiddo.”

Yep, it’s healing.

And they’re family, through and through.

[zewninz]

Dialogue Prompts #6

italic/bold-colored texts = other person

1. I swear I have no idea what this is about. Oh, come on. You know what you did. I’ve done a lot of things. I need to know which one you found out about.

2. I don’t have second thoughts. That’s the luxury of having great first thoughts.

3. This date is boring. This isn’t a date. I said I was going to the store. Then, why did you invite me? I didn’t. I specifically said, “don’t come with me.”, and you said, “fuck you, *name*. I do what I want.” and got in the car.

4. I’m not advocating for murder, but if it happens, it happens.

5. Crushes are the worst. Yeah, whenever I’m around the person I have a crush on, I act all stupid. You always act stupid. Yeah . . . don’t think about that too hard.

6. My future wife is probably pretending to laugh at her boyfriend’s jokes right now. Be patient, my queen. A true clown is on their way.

7. Do you ever think? Nope! And you can’t make me.

8. You can say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to a toddler over and over, and they never repeat it. But if you say ‘dumbass bitch’ one time—

9. I will do whatever it takes to destroy your happiness. My happiness? I’m happy?

10. I usually sit by the window. You mat have ti sit on my lap.

11. What did I tell you about stealing? You taught me how. Exactly. I’m so proud.

12. Looks like you have a friend. *points at a dead body/skeleton on the ground*. Shame you didn’t meet a similar fate.

13. What’s wrong? *name*’s not talking to me. Enjoy it while it lasts.

14. I’m not wearing my glasses, so I’m sorry if I can’t hear you perfectly.

15. I would kill for you! Thank you, *name*, but that isn’t necessary. Oh, that’s good. Because I would do it, but it would weigh on me.

16. Your ponytail looks like a fucking shrimp tail.

17. What are those dead bodies doing there? Honestly? Not much.

18. Oh, c’mon, you can’t just simp over someone you see on your phone’s screen.

19. I suppose I do have the slight tendency to be a bit critical. ‘Slight’? ‘Tendency’? ‘A bit’?

20. Everyone’s talking about e-boy and e-girl that, but nobody’s talking about the e-conomy. Capitalism is a fundamentally flawed system—

21. What’s the hardest thing to say? I was wrong. I need help. Worcestershire sauce.

22. You know what? I take responsibility for this . . . no, wait, I don’t. Responsibility terrifies me.

23. Stop it! Do you want me to stop talking to you? . . . What? Hang on, I’m considering.

24. I hate it when people say something subtly implying that it’s their birthday, just so people will say ‘happy birthday.’ Won’t catch me doing that today.

25. Everyone, shut up! I’m trying to think. Take your time. I know doing anything for the first time can be hard.

26. When it comes to shooting patterns, I like to go PB&J. Penis, brain, and jaw.

27. Do you serve happy meals here? Yes, we do! Great, could I get one without the meal? . . . Please.

28. I don’t like being ostrich-sized! You know like a freaky outsider. The way an ostrich feels around regular birds.

29. It’s moments like this I’ll never forget. With a good therapist, hopefully I will.

30. Introducing my new alignment: chaotic lawful. I have a strict moral code, but nobody can figure out what the fuck it is.

31. Ouch, my armkle! Your what— Their wrist.

32. I drank 16 redbulls before my math test, but all I ended up remembering was my Club Penguin password I forgot 7 years ago.

33. Sometimes I feel like my only talent is breathing. You have asthma, dumbass.

34. *name*, can I take you to my therapist? Cause they think I’m making you up.

35. I hope you’re not going to do anything stupid. I hope you’re not hoping too hard.

36. ‘Are you crying?’ is such a dumb question, like the fuck you think I’m imitating a fountain?

37. Why commit murder when you can eat pasta and calm down? You know what? You’re right. I’d kill for some lasagna. I think you’re missing the point.

38. When somebody responds with ‘I beg your pardon?’, assert your dominance by responding with, “then beg.”

39. Your existence is confusing. How so? Your presence is annoying, but the thought of anything bad happening to you upsets me.

40. I don’t need a Valentine. I just need 10 million dollars and a fast metabolism.

41. I hate to disagree with you— Please. You love to disagree with me. It’s your favorite thing in the whole world.

42. I’m not surprised all the boys were after her in high school. I mean, cheap prices attract customers.

43. Fuck, I cannot stand this puta sitting next to me. . . . did *name* just call me puta?

44. They don’t have a life plan. They don’t even have a day plan. I once found a note they wrote to theirself that said ‘put on pants’ followed by a question mark.

45. What time do we have to be there tonight? 8:30. Tell *name* 6.

46. I have never understood the female capacity to avoid a direct answer to any question.

47. I’m having boy problems. Like “his dead body won’t fit in my trunk” or “I like him” problems?

48. Like, how do you live your life and have never made grilled cheese? The audacity.

49. I think *name*’s in trouble. Alright, I’m struggling to give a fuck if I’m being honest.

50. You think I can’t live without you? What do you think you are? My phone charger?

[I actually don’t own any of these. Credits to wherever it was from. I simply made a list . . . no, actually three of these are the things that I said LMAO. And damn, I haven’t posted in a while.]

[clonewarslover55]

could you do null arcs relationship hcs please ??

Absolutely! I love the Null’s!! I did both SFW and NSFW, I hope that’s alright.

Null Arc’s relationship headcanons     

Ordo SFW

He is secretly scared and confused by women 

Poor Ordo really never taught himself anything about relationships or other people 

He is a nervous awkward wreck on your first date 

You’ll have to start most conversations unless you want to talk about his job

Once you two start a relationship you’ll have to explain what you do and do not want 

He’ll try to take things too fast unless you say something 

Ordo will randomly show up at your house with small gifts 

Or he’ll send one of his brothers to give you a gift 

All of the Nulls absolutely love sweets! So if you give this anxious man sweets he’ll fall in love with you instantly 

Ordo can surprisingly cook very well! He loves making you dinner! 

If you cook or bake for him even ONCE his brothers will start popping up at your house looking for food 

His metabolism is fast so he eats a lot and often 

Ordo is an absolute sweetheart! He’s awkward but he tries 

Runs off of black coffee and gummy worms. It scares you 

He would take a bullet for you 

Possessive as fuck 

Ordo is terrified of losing you, so he gets jealous and possessive easily

If you get mad at him he’ll panic and do everything he can to make things better 

Ordo bottles emotions up tightly, so it takes effort to get him to open up 

Once he falls in love with you he falls hard

NSFW

Ordo doesn’t have much experience, but he’s still surprisingly good at intimate things

He’s very giving, he’s only concerned for your pleasure 

Ordo has crazy self control, so he can handle a lot of teasing 

If you tease him he’ll tease back but harder

He isn’t very vocal so it’s a challenge to get him to make noises of pleasure 

If you moan out Ordo’s name he’ll fucking lose it 

Ordo is very possessive so he loves to leave love bites all over you 

If you leave love bites on him he’ll wear them with pride 

Ordo is really down for anything in the bedroom 

You’ll have to bring up new things to him though

Ordo is too embarrassed to talk about new things he wants to try 

Ordo will be dominate, but he secretly loves to be the submissive one 

He’ll need constant reassurance that you want to do this and that it feels good 

He’s just a little anxious and wants to be the best he can for you 

Ordo will not do anything in public, he doesn’t want to get caught

He also doesn’t feel like it’s intimate enough, Ordo is an intimacy slut 

Ordo enjoys a nice slow fuck, so he hates quickies 

He doesn’t feel like you get enough pleasure from them 

He’ll drag orgasm after orgasm from you, he loves making you feel amazing 

Ordo secretly wants to fuck you while in his armor, but he won’t admit it 

A’den SFW 

He doesn’t know much about relationships or people either but he knows more than Ordo 

A’den thinks he’s smooth

He really isn’t that smooth 

He’s awkward too, but after a while he adjusts 

A’den will bring you back little trinkets from his many missions 

A’den thinks he can cook and he really can’t 

He will absolutely spoil you once he realizes he loves you 

A’den is super sweet and just needs cuddles 

He’s possessive but he’s not too bad 

A’den bottles up his emotions as well, but is more than willing to talk to you 

He is amazing at reading people, so he knows when you’re upset 

All of the Nulls love sweets! A’den always has to have something sugary on him at all times

The Nulls all have faster metabolisms than average clones, so he eats a lot

If you cook or bake for him you better make extra 

He’ll brag about you to his brothers 

A’den is a big show off 

He blushes easily and hates it 

If you say his blushing is cute he’ll blush harder and get mad 

A’den drinks coffee with so much creamer in it that it’s basically not coffee, it’s hilarious 

He loves you so much and he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

NSFW

A’den is also very giving, he is all for watching you writhe by his touch 

He is a huge tease in bed 

He enjoys teasing too, but he can handle a lot 

A’den doesn’t do dirty talk, he’s bad at it 

He’ll moan out your name though, and mumble out some cuss words 

A’den is up for anything, he’ll bring up new things to you 

He loves trying new things! Your wish is his command 

He’ll fuck you anywhere you want, because he feels it’s all about you 

He’ll go at whatever speed he wants, it all depends on his mood and yours 

A’den will totally do quickies 

A’den will be dominant or submissive, he doesn’t have a preference 

Please leave love bites all over him, he wants to show them off 

A’den will cover you in marks, he loves proving that you’re his 

He’ll ty to be romantic and intimate but he isn’t the best at it 

He will surprise you sometimes though! 

Secretly kinky, but it will take extreme trust to get him to tell you about his kinks 

A’den enjoys orgasm denial, he loves making you beg to cum 

A’den will drag orgasm after orgasm from you till you nearly pass out from pleasure 

He will learn all of your sweet spots quickly! He’s a fast learner with a great memory

He surprises you with how fast he learns exactly what you like 

Jaing  SFW

He knows a good amount about relationships and people 

Jaing will get cocky and flirt a lot 

He is actually pretty smooth though 

Steals things for you all the time 

He steals things he thinks you’ll like 

Jaing gives you weapons and teaches you how to use them

He can kind of cook, but he prefers going out or your cooking 

If you make him food you will own his heart forever 

A huge show off! 

He has amazing style and knows it. Expect him to ask you how he looks 

Jaing will flirt with you anytime, anywhere 

He isn’t awkward, he is pretty confident 

Jaing always has sweets but will not share 

His ears are pierced and when he’s nervous he fiddles with his earrings 

Jaing can read everyone well, so there's no hiding emotions from him 

He bottles up emotions though and won’t talk unless he has a breakdown 

Jaing is protective and gets jealous easily 

Once he falls in love with you he’ll say it as often as possible 

He is really sweet once he adjusts to being in a relationship 

Jaing wants nothing more than to relax somewhere with you

NSFW

Jaing is a big tease in bed 

He’s amazing at dirty talk and knows it 

He’s a slut for dirty talk himself 

He’s pretty vocal in bed 

Jaing will fuck you anytime, anywhere 

He’ll do quickies too, it just depends on his mood 

He doesn’t have a certain pattern or speed preference like Ordo 

Jaing is a giver as well, he loves knowing that your pleasure is his to control 

Jaing will be dominant or submissive, he really doesn’t have a preference 

He’ll do whatever you ask him to do. He’ll make your darkest desires come true 

He’s openly kinky and will tell you what he’s up for, which is really anything 

Jaing has a great memory, so he remembers what you like

Also if you even mention trying something he’ll remember it and make sure you two try it 

He loves making you beg 

You never know if he’s going to make you cum more times then you can count or deny you orgasms. 

Jaing loves switching things up, so you never know what’s going to happen 

Jaing will totally fuck you in his armor whenever he pleases 

The king of eating you out, he amazing with his lips and tongue 

He loves to be marked up, and he loves marking you up 

Jaing will get creative, he finds interesting ways to pleasure you 

Mereel SFW

He has basically slept with everyone on Coruscant 

Mereel is a cocky son of a bitch and he is proud 

He is the biggest flirt ever, don’t expect him to stop flirting 

Mereel is cheesy but also smooth. You have no idea how

He is full of stupid jokes. He’ll always make you laugh 

He covers up his true emotions with jokes and such 

Mereel bottles up his emotions the most. He hates talking about them 

Mereel enjoys spoiling you 

He’ll steal stuff for you too 

He feels he always has to prove his love for you especially in public! He loves pda  

His ears are pierced and he fiddles with them like Jaing 

Mereel dyes his hair a lot for undercover work, you help him dye it 

Mereel somehow always has sweets and snacks on him 

He’ll trade you a snack for a kiss 

He is the best cook out of the Null’s 

Mereel is always cooking for you 

He is always wearing a stupid apron when he cooks 

Mereel doesn’t drink coffee, he just runs off his pure chaotic himbo energy

He will always call you by a cute nickname 

Mereel will teach you cuss words in every language he knows(He knows a lot) 

NSFW

K I N K Y

Mereel is openly kinky and is willing to try anything with you 

He’ll be dominant or submissive, he doesn’t care

He’ll go fast or slow, it depends on how he’s feeling

Mereel is super vocal and kind of talkative 

Please tell him your deepest darkest desires, he’ll make them come true 

He will fuck you anytime, anywhere. 

He loves pda so he’ll fuck you in public 

Mereel loves teasing! He just enjoys watching you writhe before you two even get started 

Mereel also loves it when you beg

He isn’t scared to beg either 

He loves playing games! He isn’t scared to get creative 

Mereel also loves switching it up

You never really know what’s going to happen with him, it keeps things interesting 

Mereel learns quickly, and he never forgets. So he knows what you like and don’t like from the start 

Please mark him up! He loves showing the marks off

Mereel is cocky as fuck, so he will show off his many skills to you 

He has a right to show off though 

He is also a huge goofball, he’ll bring that into the bedroom if he isn’t feeling serious that day 

Mereel is secretly romantic so expect some romantic sexy nights 

Kom’rk SFW

He has some experience with relationships and people, but not as much as Mereel 

Kom’rk is a little awkward, but only at first because he was nervous 

He is a huge flirt! But he isn’t overbearing 

Kom’rk is the smoothest Null and the others have no idea how 

He has three piercing in each ear and loves to tell you about how he did them himself and got nasty infections

He loves telling you stories and such

He spoils you with small things, he doesn’t feel like he needs to shower you in gifts 

Kom’rk can only bake! He loves making his own cookies 

He always has snacks on him too, but most are his homemade cookies 

Please cook him dinner! He’ll love you forever 

He drinks energy drinks instead of coffee. You haven’t seen him drink anything but energy drinks, it’s kind of scary 

Kom’rk has the best paint job on his armor and teaches you how to help him paint it 

He doesn’t give a shit, he is all over you in public 

Kom’rk will show up at your house randomly because he wants a hug

Kom’rk acts like he doesn’t get jealous, but he does

He blushes easily and acts like he doesn’t, you think it’s cute 

Kom’rk bottles things up, but he likes to talk about them 

He can read you like a book, he uses his skill to be extra attentive to your needs 

He just loves to shower you in affection

Kom’rk is clingy because he’s kind of an attention whore 

NSFW

Kom’rk is the king of dirty talk

He’ll make you cum with only words 

Kom’rk is also a massive tease, and he’s good at it too 

He’s very vocal, he loves saying your name 

He challenges Mereel for the kinkest Null title 

Kom’rk will tell you what he’s into right off the bat 

Please tell him your dirty secrets, he’d love to make them come true 

Kom’rk is very creative with his ways of giving you pleasure 

He loves switching things up so you stay on your toes 

He is very attentive in general, so in the bedroom it’s all about you 

Kom’rk will do whatever you want, he’s up for anything and tells you that often

Kom’rk doesn’t have a preference for anything. He’ll be dominant or submissive, he’ll go fast or slow. It all depends on his mood 

If you take the reins he will do anything you ask. Even beg, he secretly loves begging 

Toys! He loves them 

Kom’rk has a nipple piercing that he got because of a dare. If you play with it he’ll cum almost immediately. 

He loves being romantic and intimate, but he also loves being nasty 

It’s surprising how quickly he can switch it up 

Kom’rk will do quickies, but he prefers doing them in public. 

Kom’rk loves fucking you in his armor 

He knows your body perfectly, he never forgets where your sweet spots are 

Prudii SFW

He has some experience with relationships and people 

Prudii is still kind of awkward though 

He is very quiet and doesn’t like to talk much 

Prudii likes being alone, so once you start dating it takes work for him to adjust 

He’s an absolute sweetheart, he’s constantly showering you in gifts

He’ll steal gifts for you, but you won’t know it 

Prudii enjoys teaching you other languages that he knows. Especially Mando’a 

Prudii dyes his hair a lot for missions, so you help him 

He blushes super easily and knows it 

Prudii can cook and bake, but he isn’t the best. Once he nearly burnt down your kitchen 

He eats as much as the rest, but he doesn’t have snacks hidden in all of his pockets. Only some of his pockets have snacks 

If you cook for him he’ll eat it all and say it’s amazing even if it tastes like shit 

He always brings you beautiful stones or jewels he finds while on missions 

Prudii lives off of coffee and chocolate bars. But he is still always tired 

He has a hard time sleeping, so cuddles are a must 

Once he realizes he loves you he’ll fall super hard for you 

He always has jobs that are long and far away, so when he comes back he showers you in love 

Prudii feels guilty for leaving you for so long, but he makes up for it

Prudii will always give you forehead kisses 

He just wants to cuddle and sleep 

NSFW

Prudii is similar to Ordo, he doesn’t have a lot of experience 

He’ll still surprise you with how much he does know though 

Prudii is surprisingly vocal considering he isn’t a big fan of talking 

He won’t really talk, he’ll probably moan your name though

He secretly likes to be submissive, but he’ll be dominant if you want 

Prudii doesn’t care about his own pleasure, he thinks it’s all about you 

He’s actually really into anything, and he’ll talk to you about it 

Whatever you want to do, he’ll do 

So he can be nasty if you want 

Prudii isn’t nearly as possessive as the others, so he doesn’t mark you up as much 

He isn’t really into quickies because he feels you don’t get enough pleasure from them

Prudii loves pleasuring you, he just enjoys seeing how many times you can cum

He isn’t really into pda, but he’ll fuck you in public if you ask nicely enough 

He’s never had a blow job before, so the first time you give him one he’s a mess 

Prudii won’t get creative or play games unless you ask him to 

He’s all for teasing, he loves seeing you writhe 

Prudii is a huge beggar  

He has the most tattoos out of the Nulls, he loves it when you trace them with your tongue 

Prudii loves intimacy, he enjoys the feeling of being so close to you 

His favorite thing is surprising you with an intimate, but sexy, romantic night 

[snarkythewoecrow]

Sorry if this is weirdly specific. Peter’s calorie counting app helps him relax. Tony’s not sure that’s healthy. Not an eating disorder prompt per se - more like Tony catching a troubling pattern early and trying to nip it in the bud.

*TRIGGER WARNING FOR EATING DISORDER*

Read on AO3

Peter checked the back of the crinkly cellophane wrapper, noting the calories. One hundred and fifty in just one of the two cakes in the package. That seemed like a lot for a measly mass-produced coffee cake barely the size of a plum. He started to regret eating it a little, but instead, he pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the numbers and logging them into the app on his phone.

It was a calorie tracking app, and he hadn’t meant to keep it past his initial experiments with his metabolism. Still, the habit he’d formed over those few months logging the data had become something of a comforting ritual. He liked the familiarity of it. It soothed his nerves. The simple process of recording each thing he ate helped calm him.

Today he’d already eaten nearly three thousand calories, and sickly, he realized most of them were from junk. He absently touched his stomach and poked his belly through his shirt. It didn’t feel soft, but that was probably only due to his insane metabolism and extracurricular activities.

Setting the phone down on his desk, he leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. It was still early enough he could go out, so snapping his chair back onto four legs, he hopped up and grabbed his suit from the closet, making quick work of changing. May wouldn’t be home for a few more hours. She’d had switched to the swing shift for the rest of the week, so she was at work until nearly midnight.

It turned out to be a quiet night, but he did stop a bike theft and saved a dog from being run over, so he called it a win. The kid whose dog he’d rescued gave him a Snickers in thanks, and Peter had taken it to a nearby roof to eat.

During his initial experiment where he logged his calories, he’d installed the program into Karen, syncing it to his phone, helping to keep track of the data. It was only supposed to be for six weeks, but that had gone out the window.  Not even Tony knew he was still logging the calories. Honestly, it didn’t seem like a big enough thing to bring up. It seemed relatively harmless, almost like a game. There were a few times he’d challenged himself to go with the bare minimum of calories. It wasn’t like he did it to hurt himself. It had just become addictive in a way.

Sitting on the building's ledge, he twirled the candy bar in his hands and then stopped to examine the nutrition facts. It wasn’t good at all. It had two hundred and fifteen in just one bar. That made his stomach twist funny. It wasn’t the first time lately that he’d hesitated over something’s calorie count.

“Karen, can you bring up my logbook?”

“Sure, Peter.”

His daily and weekly totals showed on the HUD. He cringed at how much he’d already eaten.

“Thanks, Karen. I saw what I needed. You can close it. I think I’m gonna head home. I’m feeling kinda tired now.”

“Of course, Peter. I’ll plot a course.”

Peter dropped down to the street and passed the candy bar off to the first homeless person he saw. He didn’t need to eat. Just making that choice gave him a rush of control, a little thrill. It felt good in a bad way to deny himself.

XXX

After school the next day, Peter was due to go to the tower to visit Tony. They were going to work on integrating the nanotech into his web-shooters. While he sat in the back of the black Audi as Happy maneuvered them in and out of traffic, Peter soothed his frazzled nerves from the day by looking over his app and seeing what he logged.

He’d done better about controlling his choices. He’d cut out most of the junk, other than the school pizza anyway, but he knew he needed some fat for his metabolism to burn. It wasn’t like he was planning to starve himself. He just liked the feeling denying himself gave him. When school and Spider-man had him stressed, this, this was something that he could control.

Happy didn’t say much as he drove, only calling over his shoulder once to see if Peter wanted him to swing by McDonald’s before they got to the tower. Maybe a few weeks ago, even a few days ago, he might have said yes, but today he wasn’t feeling it. He could only think about how many calories it was.

“No, I’m good. I ate at school.”

Happy met his gaze through the mirror, seeming to search his face. “If you’re sure. You used to eat half the menu. What changed?”

Peter shrugged, turning to look out the window. “Nothing, just not hungry.” He glanced back at Happy and tried for a smile. It probably looked forced.

Happy hummed to himself then raised the divider, leaving Peter to his thoughts.

When they got to the tower, Peter waved bye to Happy and then headed to the elevator, asking Friday to take him to whatever floor Tony was on. It turned out to be the workshop.

Music played from somewhere in the workshop, and Tony was bent over his workbench, tools in hand. The volume lowered automatically when Peter entered, making Tony look up.

“Hey, kid, how goes the spidey battle?”

Peter shrugged. “Nothing to report. Things have been okay. May’s working a lot this week, got detention once for falling asleep, but that was totally not my fault.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, Tuesday? I check the reports. You were out until a little after midnight on Monday.”

“Oh, yeah, well, May is working new hours.”

“So, you thought you should ignore your curfew?”

Peter winced. “Yes?”

Tony snorted, shaking his head. “Toss your bag on the chair and get over here. We have work to do.”

They worked together for a few hours until Tony’s stomach made an audible protest, making the man pause. “I think it’s probably time to call it quits for the night and get something to eat.”

Peter froze for a second. “Oh, um, yeah, I’m not really that hungry, though. I’ll be fine.”

“Give me a break, Pete. I’ve seen the data. I know how much you need to eat. I’ll order up some pies, and we can eat upstairs.”

He tried to smile, but he only managed to make the corners of his mouth twitch. “Okay, yeah. Pizza sounds good.”

When the food came, Tony set the pizza boxes on the counter and grabbed them each a plate, plopping two big slices on top of each other on Peter’s.

Following Tony to the living room, they sat on the couch, and Peter started nibbling on his pizza. After the first slice was gone, he paused, setting his plate on his lap to pull out his phone. Not thinking about Tony in the same room, he opened the app and started inputting his meal's data. He was already stressing a little about having two slices on his plate. It was going to be a lot of calories. It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten much before coming over.

Tony’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Isn’t that the metabolic recording app I designed? I thought we were all done with that. Why are you still using it?”

“Huh? Oh, this?” Peter flashed him his phone screen. “Um, yeah. It’s the same program. I was just—I was just doing a little more research to confirm our findings. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried about it, but I gotta say, now I’m a little curious as to why you’re lying about it. It’s cute how you think you can pass one by me, Pinocchio.”

Peter’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Tony, unsure what to say. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide anything, but Tony wouldn’t understand either. “I wasn’t—it’s stupid.”

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Tony said, taking a bite of pizza. “No truer words.”

“What? Is that a reference?”

“Heathen. Enough distracting me. What’s up, muchacho?”

Peter fiddled with his phone, and then stuffed it into his hoodie pouch, setting his plate on the coffee table after. Without meeting Tony’s gaze, he cleared his throat and tried to think of a way to explain it.

“It’s really not a big deal. I don’t know why we have to talk about it.”

“You not wanting to talk about it is precisely why we need to, so spill.”

Sighing, Peter bit the bullet and started his stuttered explanation.

“Putting in the numbers, it became sorta like a habit, I guess. It was cool seeing a chart of what I’ve eaten. I know it sounds weird.” Peter chanced a look at Tony. The man had set his pizza down on the coffee table, too. His expression was scrutinizing. “So, um, I kinda set myself goals, you know? Just like can I stay under a certain amount, or other days, I could eat better. I don’t know how it started. But the process, the numbers, they were soothing. They are soothing.” Peter kept his gaze on his hands that were clasped in his lap, unsure what he was hiding from. It wasn’t like what he was doing was that bad. “So, yeah, that’s what’s up. Told you it’s nothing big.”

Tony was quiet for a moment until Peter heard him let out a breath. When he glanced up, Tony was scratching at his chin, his head tilted to the side, eyes sharp and cutting right through Peter.

“Pete, that’s the definition of something big or the start of it. I don’t know a lot about head shrinking, but I’ve seen enough after school specials to know you’re on a slippery slope.”

“It’s not—I’m not anorexic or anything. I swear. It’s just the app. I’m not trying to lose weight. I’m not starving myself. You just watched me eat.”

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his mouth before dropping it. “Kid, I know you might not see it that way, but trust me on this. From the outside, it doesn’t look healthy.”

Peter frowned, trying to think over his actions through a different lens. If this had been someone else, MJ or Ned, Peter would probably be feeling the same way as Tony. Then why didn’t it feel like a big deal for him to do it? Was what he was doing really that dangerous? His brow furrowed in thought.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s that bad. Wouldn’t I know if I had an eating disorder?”

Tony shook his head a little, then shrugged his shoulder, wiggling his hand back and forth like he was weighing options. “You could, or it could just be the start of one. Either way, I think the first step should be getting rid of that app, remove the temptation. Though I think you might need more than that.”

“Like what?” Peter asked, already feeling a little anxious at the idea of losing his app. It was like a security blanket for him. He’d been logging for months. He didn’t want to lose all that data. It was like a journal of his good and bad days, his accomplishments, and his failures. Sometimes he did like looking back and studying the past weeks, seeing where he could have done better. The action itself soothed him. And now he was losing that.

“I don’t know, therapy would be my first guess, and I think your aunt needs to know, so she can keep an eye on things. I don’t know a lot about eating disorders, but I know about addiction, and I think they share some traits.”

Peter sank back into the couch, looking over at Tony with a frown. “Do we have to tell her? It just feels weird. Like it doesn’t feel like this is really a problem. I felt in control like I knew what I was doing. It doesn’t feel dangerous or like an eating disorder. I don’t want to worry her over nothing.”

“I need you to put on your listening ears here, kid. If this were anyone else, would you feel the same? I don’t think you would. I think Spider-Man would feel the same way I do. I’m not worried over nothing, and you shouldn’t just brush this aside. This could be the start of something that could take over your life. I don’t want that for you, Pete.”

Thinking back to MJ and Ned, Peter knew the truth. He knew that for anyone else, he would be concerned.

Sighing, he nodded slowly while twisting his fingers in his lap. “Okay, we can tell her, and I’ll delete the app. As much as I don’t want to believe it, maybe you’re right.”

“Okay, do you want to tell her together?”

Peter licked his lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it as he thought. He wasn’t sure he would have the courage to tell her on his own, but if Tony were there, maybe it would be the push he needed. If only he could get over the feeling of shame that was building in him, shame for letting this become a problem in the first place. He thought he was smarter than that. He should have known, should have seen the signs. How could he be so blind?

“Yeah, but can we wait until tomorrow to tell her? I’m not ready tonight.”

“That’s fine. I don’t think you're in immediate danger. If I thought that, this would have gone differently. I think we can take our time and figure out how to tell her. Your hot aunt probably knows a few things about this, given her career path.” Tony raised a brow, waggling a finger a Peter. “Don’t make that face. Didn’t anyone ever tell you your face could get stuck that way?”

“I’m not making a face.”

Tony scoffed. “You looked like your sucking on a Warhead.”

“Ew, I hate those.”

“The youth of today appreciate nothing.” Tony reached over to the coffee table and grabbed his abandoned dinner. Taking a bite of the cold pizza. He waved a hand in the direction of Peter’s remaining slice. “Eat up, kiddo. Cold pizza is the best pizza.”

With a nod, Peter sat forward and grabbed his plate, picking his slice of pizza up with his other hand. With probably too much thought about what he was feeling, he took a bite. He realized as he focused on what he felt that there was a tiny spike of fear, and he knew that wasn’t normal. This was something new in the last few months.

Now that he thought about it, he could remember that little feeling attached to most of his meals, getting more prominent as time went on. His fingers itched to record the calories, and he realized that he did have a problem. Something else inside him was steering his decisions, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. The knowledge hit him hard, making an invisible band tighten around his chest.

He pushed the feelings aside the best he could and focused on eating. He wouldn’t let this beat him. He’d tell May, and he’d do better. Spider-Man, Peter Parker, wouldn’t let this get him down. He’d find a way to fight it, and he was pretty sure he could. He had Tony and May in his corner.

[archived-borispavsky]

FRUIT HEADCANON MEME.  

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body?  how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them?  

boris stands around 5′10″ / 5′11″ and is very thin / lanky in appearance. this is in part due to a history of substance abuse, higher metabolism and disorganized eating patterns.   in some instances during his upbringing, he had little access to healthy food options or larger quantities of food.    he’s happy with his height, it isn’t something that he actively thinks on, easily noting how people are shorter than him, however, but he doesn’t think anything special of his own height.   boris also appears with darkened circles under his eyes, eyes that already appear rather sunken, his skin is pale; he pretty but in an unconventional sense.  he is rather confident in himself and his own appearance, not seeing any need for change, not caring about societies standards of beauty or the pressure to fall within those labels or categories. 

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?  

companionship is a tough subject.   boris does value the time that he has alone, he’s been used to having to fend for himself in all aspect of his life, dealing with a lot of things on his own. it’s familiar and he trusts himself the most out of anyone.      boris does have friends, a handful of them, some that he values and connects to more than others. he’s had friends in the various countries that he’s lived in whom mean a lot to him, that he misses.       he does also value romantic companionship and has a few individuals that he considers himself involved with in some capacity.    he does enjoy having friends and often will try to make new ones should the chance arise or if he feels that person is a good one to connect with.   otherwise, is is very particular and enjoys a deeper psychological connection. 

🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them? 

boris will help people if he feels up to it.  one of his love languages is gift giving, he is always ready to give people the shirt off his back.   he makes sure his friends have food, makes sure they have what they need and often splits cash down the middle with someone if he feels up to it.   while he is inclined to help others, boris is also a selfish and self-serving individual who always ensures that he gets what he needs first.    even if it comes with a cost.    if we look into canon, boris steals a painting that theo had previously taken from a museum.    boris holds onto this painting for years before eventually selling it through black market art dealings.    

🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them? 

to some, boris appears as a free spirited individual with no limits or bounds, some find this exciting and enticing, someone that is always up for adventure -- and it is fairly accurate.   there is also a factor of that boris is highly inconsistent in many ways, he prioritizes his own needs and survival above all else and this can often lead to inconsistencies in communication, breaking boundaries, the committing of many crimes, etc.      he may lie on some rare occasions should he feel the need to or if he believes that it’s going to protect someone.     all of these do make up some essence of who he is as a person.    his reputation matters to him in a minimal degree - at least, he’d have anyone believe. 

[bbq-hawks-wings]

I want to express an unpopular opinion. I hope for your understanding, because such things don't like to listen. Why does everyone think that Hawks is a bird? I couldn' fit my logical arguments into the askbox :( (about how he sits on a pole "like a bird", supposedly likes jewelry and so on). Even his quirk is called Fierce Wings, not a Hawk, not a Red Bird. Do you remember the names of the quirks of Hound Dog and Tsuyu-chan? We haven't evidence to believe that Hawks is behaves like a bird.

I do believe very much he’s a bird, and if you would let me friend, I would love to try and prove it to you because I think the evidence is overwhelming. I’ll make a TL;DR at the end but I’d really like to take the opportunity to perhaps teach others at least one method for literary analysis since it can be a really dry and boring subject to learn in school but is SO useful not only for getting good grades but getting into colleges as well as interpreting both entertainment and genuinely important information like the news, history, laws, and scientific papers. Using fiction - especially such a rich, engaging one like HeroAca - is a great way to try it out without the pressure of a grade. I don’t have the qualifications to teach in any formal capacity, but as a “peer” tutor I hope I can be helpful.

I’m going to put everything under the cut from here because this is going to get LONG, but I promise the TL;DR at the end will be very easy to read. If you liked this sort of unofficial tutorial please let me know. I’d love to help make “academic” skills like this more accessible for those who might benefit from it and enjoy it, but it doesn’t make sense to put in all that effort moving forward if I’m garbage at it.

Before we get too into things, I want to lay out a few notes to keep in mind as we go.

I will only be using the official translations from Viz’s Shonen Jump website when available. Fan translations are more than close enough to casually enjoy and follow the story, but professional translators are paid to know and get various nuances correct and some of the trickier cultural background behind certain phrases (for example, the phrase “where the rubber meets the road” might make zero sense in a foreign language if translated literally, so an equal cultural phrase should be used instead) that give more exact information. Rarely is this too important, but sometimes it helps, plus it supports the source material.

If you’ve followed my blog for a while you might know I’m very fond of doing this kind of thing in my spare time and that I’m a huge fan of YouTube channels like Game/Film Theory, Overly Sarcastic Productions, Extra Credits, and Wisecrack that do this kind of thing with popular media as well. If you like this sort of content, may I encourage you to check them out after this to see how else you can apply these kinds of analytical skills to things that aren’t homework.

My writing style tends to meander, but I do my best to cut out the fat and only include relevant information so even though there’s a lot of information here, please know that I’m trying to be thorough and explain things to the best of my ability. If I seem to go off on a tangent, I’m trying to set up or contextualize information to explain why it’s relevant and then come back to the point. In other words, please be patient and bear with me as I go.

Now, to start, I want to explain at least my method for analyzing a text/piece of media. There is a set order and number of steps to take, and it’s as follows:

Read the material all the way through.

Come up with a hypothesis about something you’ve noticed when reading it. (In this case, it’s “Is Hawks actually supposed to be a bird?”)

Collect as much relevant information as possible and test the evidence to see if it supports the hypothesis we’ve made.

Step back and look at everything again with those points in mind.

Determine if we were right or wrong with the evidence we have.

If we were wrong, go back to step 3 to figure out what fell apart and see if we need to go back to step 2.

If that sequence sounds familiar it’s because it’s the scientific method! Aha, didn’t think we’d be pulling science into all this, did you? Don’t worry, we won’t be putting numbers or formulas anywhere near this discussion - the scientific method is just a way we can observe something and test if what we thought about it is actually true; and it applies to almost everything we as humans can observe - from the laws of the universe, to arts and crafts, to philosophy and religion, and so on! When you think about it that way, whole new possibilities can open up for you when it comes to understanding how the world works.

So with that set let’s (finally) begin!

Steps 1 and 2 are already done. We’ve read the manga and want to prove that Hawks is a bird. (We’re going to try and prove he IS a bird because in the context of the series there’s a lot that *isn’t* a bird and less stuff that *is* which will make our job easier.) So now, we’re onto: 

Step 3 - collect data and see what conclusions we can get just from our evidence.

Now, to pause again (I know, bear with me!) there’s a few different kinds of information and considerations we have to keep in mind as we collect. There are four kinds of information that are important to know about in order to determine if it’s good data that will help us with the testing phase in Step 4. The kinds of information to keep in mind are:

Explicit information - this is information that is directly spelled out for us. For example, Hawks says, “I like my coffee sweet.” and his character sheet says “Hawk’s favorite food is chicken.” That’s all there is to it, and it’s pretty hard to argue with. This is the easiest type of info to find.

Implicit information - this is info that isn’t directly spelled out but is noticeable either in the background or as actions, patterns, or behaviors that can be observed. For example, Hawks has mentioned in at least three very different places his concerns over people getting hurt while he tries to get in with the League:

Chapter 191 when confronting Dabi about the Nomu he says, “You said you’d release it in the factory on the coast, not in the middle of the damn city!”

Chapter 191 again in a flashback with the Hero Commission he asks, “What about the people who might be hurt while I’m infiltrating the League?”

Chapter 240 when discovering how much influence and power the League has gained, “If someone had taken down the League sooner, all those good citizens wouldn’t have had to die!”

Hawks never says in so many words, “I never want innocent people to get hurt under any circumstances!” but the pattern of behavior and concern is consistent enough to form a pattern and clue us in that this is a key part of his character to keep in mind.

Peripheral information - this is information that isn’t directly to do with Hawks or maybe even the series as a whole but is still relevant to keep in mind for his character and the questions we’re asking. This may include extra content that isn’t the “series” proper, but is still an official source like interviews with Horikoshi, etc. but it can go even further. For example, while we try to prove that he’s a bird, we should have some knowledge about what makes a bird a bird, some specific and notable birdlike habits/behaviors/features, etc. This is just to show how wide-ranging we need to cast our informational net.

Contextual information - this will be important when we get to Step 4, but it’s good to keep in mind now. This is when we compare evidence against the broader scope of the series and consider the circumstances under which we find the information. For example, if I told you, “Harry kicked a dog.” you might think “What a jerk! What decent person kicks a dog?”; but if I said, “Harry kicked a dog while trying to keep it from biting his kid.” suddenly it re-frames the story. “Is the kid ok? Why was that dog attacking? Harry put himself in danger to keep his kid safe - what a great dad!”

I’ll go chronologically to make it easier to follow my evidence as I gather and give references as to where I found that information. I’ll go through the manga first, and then any peripheral sources that are either direct informational companions to the series (like character books or bonus character information sheets) and interviews with Horikoshi. Please note the categories these details fall into may vary based on opinion/interpretation, but I did my best to list them out for reference.

Chapter 185 - Explicit Type: Feathered wings - regardless of the specifics of his quirk it’s undeniable his wings are made up of feathers which is a distinctly birdlike quality. There are many mythical creatures and even dinosaurs that also have feathered wings, but this is our first big piece of evidence.

Chapter 186 - Peripheral Type: Large appetite - birds have an incredibly fast metabolism because flying takes so much energy. They’re constantly eating. Plenty of young men are big eaters, but it was specifically pointed out and works towards our hypothesis so we’ll keep it in our back pocket for now.

Chapter 186 - Implicit/Peripheral Type: Fantastic vision - Hawks senses the Nomu coming before the audience even is able to make out what’s headed their way. It could be implied his wings caught it first, which might be the case, but he looks directly at the Nomu and brings Endeavor’s attention to it. Birds have fantastic long-range vision, especially birds of prey that mainly swoop in from high in the air to ambush highly perceptive prey. Also good to add to the pile.

Chapter 192 + Volume 20 Cover - Implicit/Peripheral type: Wears jewelry and bright colors - birds are well documented to be drawn to bright colors and are known for decorating their nests with trinkets. Scientists actually have to be careful when tagging birds with tracking bracelets because they can accidentally make him VASTLY more popular with the ladies by giving him a brightly colored band to the point they can’t resist him! Male birds are also known for having bright, colorful displays for attracting and wooing mates. While Hawks isn’t the only male character to wear jewelry in the series, he’s the only one (to my recollection) that wears as MUCH jewelry so often both during and outside of work. It may not be obvious, but the illustration on Volume 20 is actually an advertisement for his line of (presumably) luxury jewelry. In other words, Hawks on some level is synonymous with style and flair to the point he can make money by selling jewelry with his name on it.

Chapter 20 Volume Cover - Explicit Type: Hawk emblem on the watch face - If the name “Hawks” didn’t give it away, he’s very clearly trying to align himself with more avian qualities if his merch has bird motifs. In other words Hawk = “Hero Hawks” and “Hero Hawks” = bird.

Chapter 192, 244, clear file illustration - Peripheral Type: birdlike posture. Chapter 244 isn’t quite released yet on the official site as of writing this, but when Hawks swoops in and beats the kids to the punch apprehending the criminals trying to subdue Endeavor, his hands are clenched in a very talon-like manner similar to a swooping eagle. When walking with Endeavor in 192, he holds his resting hand in a similar fashion. On the clear file illustration he’s not only perched on his tippy toes in a pose that has been famously called “owling” (remember that trend/meme, y’all?) but his wings are slightly outstretched to catch the breeze to keep from falling over which a lot of birds can be seen doing when they don’t have great purchase on a surface in a place that’s a little windy. The fact that he seems to gravitate to high places like birds are often seen doing might also be a noteworthy indication.

Extra sources:

Hawks Shifuku: Horikoshi describes Hawks as a “bird person” and says that his initial design was based off of Takahiro from his old manga. 

Takahiro’s design:

Current character design: The banner image on my blog was commissioned from a friend of mine who doesn’t follow the series. When I showed her reference images of Hawks, you know what she said? “Oh! His hair is feathers!” Even his eyebrows have that fluffy/scruffy texture to them that his hair has. The markings on his eyes can also be seen on him as a young child in Chapter 191 which means it isn’t makeup meant to tie in a theme or look. He has those dark, pointed eye markings like many birds do. So on some genetic level he resembles a bird.

Step 4: Testing our hypothesis with the gathered evidence.

There’s already a lot of compelling evidence that already closely aligns him to birds which is promising. However, to really prove our point we should try to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt he is a bird. To do that this time around I’m going to see how the series treats people with animal-based quirks and see if it’s consistent with the way Hawks is portrayed.

You bring up Hound Dog and Tsuyu, and they’re fantastic examples. Let’s start with Hound.

He’s pretty straight forward - he’s like a dog. He has a dog face, has dog-like tendencies, and dog-like abilities. Superpower: dog.

And in Tsuyu’s case - quirk: frog, just frog. She’s stated explicitly to have frog-like features, frog-like tendencies, have frog-like abilities, and even comes from a “froggy family.”

So with these two very explicitly animal-like characters the common theme seems to be “If they’re considered to be like a specific animal, they have to physically resemble that animal, act like that animal at times, and have abilities like that animal.” Let’s see if another animal-quirk character matches up and then put Hawks to the test.

Spinner’s quirk is Gecko. Based on our criteria, is he a gecko?

Does he look like a gecko, even vaguely? 

Yes, he’s covered head to toe in scales, and his face is very lizard-like.

Does he occasionally act like a gecko? 

Unclear. We haven’t really seen any evidence of this, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t. For the sake of our argument, we’ll just say no and move on.

Does he have gecko-like abilities?

 Yes! Though most of his abilities are limited to things like being able to stick to walls, it’s still gecko-like in origin and qualifies.

Spinner hits clearly hits ⅔ criteria and our standards seem pretty consistent, so let’s see how Hawks stands up.

Does he look like a bird? 

Not all of his features may explicitly scream “avian” at first, but upon closer observation and with his clear previous inspiration this is a resounding yes.

Does he act like a bird? 

Many of the mannerisms and behaviors he displays can just be chalked up to him being a little eccentric, but with the sheer number of them that also parallel birds in some way this is also a pretty convincing yes.

Does he have bird-like abilities? 

While most of the emphasis is on his wings and what they can do, it does seem that he not only possesses things like heightened senses which could be attributed to avian abilities but he also very much possess high intelligence and incredibly fast reaction times which birds are also known for.

Even if we only gave Hawks a “maybe/half a point” for those last two, he still meets the 2⁄3 that Spinner did. So we have another question to ask: Does a character have to have an explicitly named “animal” quirk to be considered to be/resemble a specific animal? Let’s look at Ojirou and Tokoyami for reference.

Ojirou’s quirk is just “tail,” but he’s been described by his peers and classmates as a monkey and does seem to share some more monkey-like features. It isn’t lumped in with his quirk because the only notable monkey-like quality he possesses is a tail. He doesn’t have fangs or an opposable toe - he just has a tail. For quirk classification as far as hero work goes, that’s the only important thing to note.

Tokoyami, on the other hand has an entire literal bird head, but nothing else. He has a beak, feathers, and even in illustrations of him as a baby he had fluffier feathers on his head. Even with only those details, he just screams “bird!” However, his quirk is classified as “Dark Shadow” because that’s what sets him apart for hero work.

Back at Hawks we see his quirk classified as “fierce wings” but like Ojirou and especially like Tokoyami, the emphasis on his wings is what sets his abilities as a hero apart. Otherwise, he’s just a guy who looks and acts a LOT like a bird.

But astute observers may have noticed I’ve left out a detail that’s more or less a nail in the coffin on the whole matter, so let me ask a question: Tsuyu in particular has something else of note that solidifies in our minds that she is, indeed, a frog - she explicitly calls herself a frog. Could we say the same about Hawks?

Chapter 199 - Explicit Type

Bingo. Hawks has known himself for as long as he’s been alive. He knows his habits, his impulses, his family/genes, and so on. If he calls himself a bird, are we going to call him a liar? In fact, he calls himself a bird not once, but twice!

That’s pretty much it. With the evidence stacked to that degree, I’d be hard pressed to NOT believe he’s a bird.

That was a long amount of text to get through, so if you’re here at the end thank you for sticking out with me to this point. I really appreciate it. This is more or less the process I use when analyzing anything and everything whether it be HeroAca related or not. Maybe it’ll help you if you’ve struggled with literary analysis, or at the very least I hope you got some enjoyment out of it.

TL;DR If Hawks looks like a bird, walks (acts) like a bird, is based on a bird (character), and calls himself a bird, he’s probably a bird.

[lisacatherwood]

Me and M.E.

The Horror

Fatigue as a word doesn’t begin to describe the horror that they casually call Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or M.E. - Myalgic Enephalo Myelitis

I was 14 in 1980 when I contracted a virus known then as glandular fever. I was seriously less than chuffed… I was an 800 meter runner. I was a member of my town swimming club, doing competitive swimming and planning to do scuba diving training (I desperately wanted to be a Marine Biologist). I played hockey and went on my bike to the athletics club on a Saturday. I had a lot to do, but I had friends who had had the illness, a cousin who had been very ill and had had a long recovery over some weeks, so we knew what to expect, and I wasn’t too worried.

I had a high fever and then a low grade fever and felt really rotten and it simply didn’t go away. It’s such a simple thing to write down but the reality was and is horrific for my family as well as for me.

I was finally diagnosed with M.E. (myalgic encephalomyelitis) when I was 22 years old. In the intervening time I had had nearly two years off school. I got O’ levels, at 16, doing two year’s work in a year but was then so poorly during my 6th form that I largely blew my ‘A’ Levels at 18. I spent some time in the metabolic unit at my local hospital as they tried to work out what was wrong, with no success. It was frightening and disappointing for me, and for my family. I was so exhausted, confused and miserable that I couldn’t even fill in the university applications never mind thinking of packing and going.

A pattern developed which has persisted until now, forty years later. I would start to rebuild my life out of the illness and then catch a bug or even just overdo it a little and be destroyed by it. The illness seems to be something to do with a defunct immune system. Some bugs, colds, flus etc. I catch and get over the same as other people, some I catch and it’s like my immunity fails. I can’t get rid of the bug and the symptoms persist for months and months. In my body it feels like the immunity starts to triumph in one part of the system, but is overwhelmed in others. Like chasing dry rot round an old house. The painful joints start to feel better and then it flares in my digestive system and I have nausea and other digestive symptoms. Or the headaches die away and I feel so physically weak, I can’t stand steadily, lift a kettle, turn a tap on, hold a pen. Not just tired, but sore and stiff and lacking control. I have had long periods of being incredibly fatigued cold and hungry. Mind numb, sluggish forgetful, time concertinas, days, weeks pass in weird disjointed forms, sometimes I can barely speak. Summer days spent in low light indoors with two duvets and a hot water bottle, the central heating on, the fire lit, still freezing cold.

Every year or two Something happens which knocks me down into bed for months, sometimes years. After the initial sickness illness the convalescence is unending. I have described it as being like the worst flu and hangover you have ever had combined and lasting for months – the problem with this description is that I don’t think it really explains it, people don’t really remember what that level of awfulness feels like. The brain has a gift for not really storing the memory of physical symptoms – pain discomfort etc. We remember as an intellectual exercise not as a visceral experience. Even if you can vaguely put together a sensation of what that might be like it doesn’t really scratch the surface. (Try thinking of what a strawberry tastes like – really imagine it, hard as you can. Now eat a strawberry. See?)

The terror of finding you can’t roll over in bed on your own, the humiliation of having to have your personal care taken care of by someone else, the days when all the radios in the world are on in your head, all light is too bright, all sound is too intense, the indignity of being questioned like a criminal in benefits offices and doctors surgeries. I think I can now write openly about all of this because I have nothing left to lose.

I think I had always tried to hide the damage the illness does particularly to my mind because I was afraid of a diagnosis of mental illness. I had an acquaintance who had the same symptoms as me when we were in our twenties, she ended up on a ward in our local mental hospital. They took her drawing materials away from her. They wouldn’t let her write. I fear this kind of thing more than anything.

I have not been idle. I have not been a scrounger. I have a tiny website design business. I work as much as I can always from home and now employ two people part time. I am a self taught artist and designer and love my work when I can do it and I do it as much as I can. Just at the moment that isn’t very much. But I live in hope.

I don’t have any children. We sat down and thought about it. It seemed that to bring a child into a house where their mother could spend long periods unable to look after them was a bad thing to do. We made the choice some years ago and given how my health has been subsequently we were right. We made an adult choice and we live with that every day. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t and isn’t painful. I say 'we' but my marriage broke up after 23 years due in no small part to the effect of my illness. When we married I was 25 and the prognosis was that the illness would lessen and in at worst 7 years it would be gone. I'd grow out of it.

I am writing now because I feel awful, my hands ache the tears of weariness and anguish are running down my face. The brain fog is ghastly and I feel so alone and isolated. My next major birthday I am 54. I have not learned to scuba dive. I didn’t become a marine biologist. In some ways it would not be over dramatic to say this illness has ruined my life. Certainly it has ruled it, changed it, made it unpredictable, difficult, at times nearly unbearable.

I saw a child on the TV the other night, recently diagnosed with ME/CFS, he is lying there, another little grey shape in a bed (we all go that way) and I saw the desperation in his mother and recognised myself and my mother. The silent scream of horror I had at seeing it all happening again was from the depths of my being.

That the scream was silent is partly because I don’t have the strength to scream and partly because I have no words. It is not just me – the English Language has not got the words.

I had a really bad flare which put me in hospital unable to walk in Oct 2018 and I’m still housebound/bedbound dealing with the consequences. Applied for disability benefit got a home visit and didn’t score a single point even after 40 years I am not believed. Too ill to fight for it and terrified about the future. My incredible Mum stepped in again to take care of me when this latest flare happened. I have no words to express my combined gratitude and shame for being this kind of endlessly needy daughter. l when, at this age I should be taking care of her.

Originally Written September 2012.

Header Artwork originally by me aged 15.

Added to in 2015 after my marriage broke up.

Updated July 2018 and again Feb 2020 for #MEAwarenesshour on Twitter every Wednesday share relevant content with the hashtag to help raise awareness.

Reposted July 2020 to send to @OxMEDiscovery

[action-of-health-blog]

Live An Overall Healthy Life

There are the obvious ways in which you can stay healthy and "live a long happy life," but I want to talk about some of my favorite tips to being healthy. I know what it takes to be a healthy person, but it's even hard for me sometimes. I read other peoples' blogs sometimes to give myself motivation. Sometimes your mind isn't enough. Sometimes you need other people to give you that push that you need to keep going. I've said it many times before and I'll say it again: food and fitness are not the only aspects of health. I like to help people be healthy, but it's going to take more than my words and my tips for you to follow through with your goals. One of my favorite tips is to cook meals that you know will fill you up. Also, make sure that it is something that you will enjoy eating, and that it will satisfy your cravings. The worst feeling ever is filling up on a bunch of food and realizing that you are still "hungry," because you have a craving for something more. Listen to your body when it tells you it needs something sweet. There are healthy things that are sweet. Eat an orange! Another tip what I have for my viewers is to be honest with yourself. If you're lying to yourself, how do you expect someone else to be truthful with you?! I'm talking honesty in all aspects. For example, for one, be honest with yourself if you need a cheat meal. It's okay to have a cheat meal to get through the week. Your week is going to be just horrible if you are constantly drowning yourself in lettuce. That's the physical aspect about being honest with yourself. The mental part about being honest is that you need to just be an honest person overall. You attract what you give. You don't want to get caught up with what you think you want and what you really need. Also, do not put too much on your body (or mind) that it cannot handle. Only you know what is too much, what is just enough, and what isn't enough. You have to push yourself in all aspects of life but not to the point of no survival.

Relationships are another huge aspect to living an overall healthy life. You accept the love you think you deserve. That is why it's so important to not only have a healthy body, and a health mind, but also a love for yourself. You have to love yourself enough to know what you deserve. If someone isn't making any positive contributions to your life, then in all reality, they have no point in being there. Also, if there are more negative aspects to a relationship rather than positives, it's time to let go. Negativity in your relationships effects you more than you realize. It effects your confidence and your overall well being. Unfortunately, you are setting the standard for all of the following people to enter your life. They have to know how they need to treat you in order to stay in your life. If you allow people to walk all over you, they're going to.

Another thing that I want to touch on is family. Some people in your life will come and go. Friends will most likely come and go. Boyfriends/girlfriends will come and go but family is blood and family is forever. You can't get rid of them. You were put with them for a reason and they are there to get you through the times when you feel as if you have no one. Yes, you may fight with your family. In fact, I fight more with my family than I do with my friends. But, I also forgive them much faster than anyone else. I know that they know me better than anyone else. They've known me longer than anyone else in my life and so has your family. While sometimes you may feel as though they don't know what you want... they know what you need and that's more important.

Another huge part of living a healthy life is sleep. I'm sure you know that you're supposed to get enough sleep every night, but did you know that too much sleep is horrible for you? Did you know that there is a significant correlation between too much sleep and weight gain. I don't know the entire reason for that, but I do know that skipping breakfast is bad for your metabolism so I'm sure that that has something to do with it. For me, if I know that I have a long day ahead of me, I make sure that I get to bed very really. Ever since I got a Fitbit, I noticed how horrible my sleeping patterns are. Sometimes I'll go to bed around 10 and wake up at 8 and I'll still be exhausted. So, I check my Fitbit and I see that I only got 5 hours of sleep. I am obsessed with my Fitbit because it is so accurate. My dad wears one too and his says he gets good sleep, so it is different for everyone but I am so glad that I got one, because now I know why I have been so tired throughout the day after thinking I got 8+ hours of sleep.

So, with all of that being said, I want everyone to be the best person they can be. Follow all aspects of health and don't just focus on the physical features. A healthy mind can mean a healthy life, too. I think everyone needs to focus more on the different parts of health. In fact, I would argue that weight is just a number. Muscle weighs more fat. People need to stop seeing the numbers on a scale as a representation of health. I learned to be happy with my weight, because I know that my body contains a lot of muscle. Once again, thank you for tuning in.

[blushyeddie]

chubby eddie headcanons!

brought to you by my beautiful girlfriend @richiebubba (* marks) and i (- marks)! just some little storyline on beautiful eddie and his pudgy tummy. (keep reading)

- eddie was born (slightly) prematurely. “a whole two months, isn’t it a miracle?” his mother would boast at their neighborhood’s annual Easter dinners. the seat count each year would slowly wither down to only close (pitying) friends after his father’s death. sonia preaches that it’s because the others are far too anxious to be around such a poorly behaving child, but eddie knows it’s because frank was the only endearment to the kaspbrak house.

- “i’m so sorry, mrs. rosi. he’s never usually this rude! i’ll have to set more ground rules.” eddie had only said ‘no’ to her off-putting mash potatoes. they resembled a cat’s hairball.

- growing up, he showed trivial symptoms of his earlier birth like a disproportionately large head compared to his tiny feet, and a generally low body temperature. sonia was always scribbling these symptoms down, measuring his height religiously every morning and afternoon. he’d always been healthy though, only spending about a week after his birth in the hospital. as he hit kindergarten, his growth spurt grew out... rather than up. standing 3’5 and sporting love handles that stuck out the back of his shirt, he was shoved into public school, meeting richie tozier. a savior in some sorts.

* public school saw eddie kaspbrak holding hands with richie tozier on the hopscotch chalk before lessons every morning, and leading them soft right up to his tummy; just the pouchy part that didn't fit in his polo shirt. the bubble had burst.

* eddie hadn't ever thought anything too bad about that little body of his up to this point, or the number of hairball potatoes it ran on. the bubble his mama had kept 'round him growing up had once been enough to keep magazines and pink tv comedies and even the gossiping of other moms in derry totally alien to him. to keep a body as only what carried your soul until it was all ready for heaven: two legs, hands, arms, a head, and right over the very core of it, a tummy.

* if you weren't careful with it, your body could carry not only your soul but a whole load of sins as well, eddies mama started telling him once his first semester had gotten well underway. it could carry chocolate ice cream and potato chips and strawberry lollipops, and now that he was getting older, almost old enough to be thinning out, sonia kaspbrak was getting obsessed with this. "you ask mrs. tozier how much sugar she puts in her cookies, for your ma, and i'll write it down here," she'd say, scratching down all his calories for that week as he took his sunday night bath. "too much, i'll bet. i'm surprised that boy of hers doesn't turn out sick as a dog...dontchu have anymore."

* eddies growth continued on that funny out-not-up path as his age got closer towards double digits and his mama's hostility towards it grew stranger, more strained. she'd never shout at him or smack him on the bum like she might if he broke something or grazed his knee, but sometimes she'd cry when she took his height and weight at the end of the month, and it was the worst thing ever.

* sonia never bought his clothes any sizes bigger either as her growin' boy was really starting to need, in fact, eddie sometimes had bad thoughts she might actually be getting them smaller. just so she could start crying all over again when eddie couldn't work out why his t-shirt sleeves were leaving little, sharp red ridges on his chunky arms, and keep on yapping at him, "what'd i tell you, eddie? what did your mama tell you?!"

- come swim class nearing middle school, when the boys grew rotten and smelt like Axe spray and their fathers' after-shave, he realized he didn’t want to take his shirt off anymore. the other boys’ metabolisms were hitting their peaks and eddie grew selfishly jealous of their tucked in stomachs and bony knees. it wasn’t like they hadn’t noticed either.

- “you’ve been fillin’ out, eddie! whatchu hidin’ in that bag of yours?! think we outta put a stop to this, huh?! would hate to have to tell your mother you’ve got some sorta food stash.” chad, the loudest of the bunch, would cackle. the echos in the locker rooms bounced ‘round with ‘fat’, ‘chubby’, and ‘someone grab his shirt!’.

- he’d never developed an eating disorder like the boys would crudely suggest, though. he’d miss his macaroni nights with mama and candy splurges filled with sour patch and fizzy pop rocks at richie’s house, the only place he was allowed those treats. he just felt pudgy. a bit too large in the belly, thighs forcing his speckled knees apart as he plopped down in the plastic staticky chairs at school, and shorts never quite making it up past his muffin top.

- when the coach introduced a mandatory ‘no shirt’ policy while swimming, eddie had hidden in the locker rooms, barricading himself behind a bench, his highlighter-yellow lunch pail, and his matching backpack in hopes they’d assume he’d gone to the nurse’s office or somewhere else “sick” boys resided. he’d cried harder than when he scraped his knees flying down Lily Pond Rd on his bike too fast. harder than when his pet rock went ‘missing’ and his mother was unusually complacent

- “ma, where’s mister pebble?!”, he’d cried from the top of their broken staircase railing. his mother hand fallen back into the wood and broken the damn thing right off the hinges.

- “keep looking, honey!” she’d called back, knowing fully well that googly-eyed rock was sitting on the bottom of their aluminum trash can. she couldn’t let eddie get too attached. she’d always been frightened of the idea of her baby eddie loving anything more than her. he had a delicate heart after all. the doctors said so.

* it was richie's tickly hands that managed to get him out from behind that bench, richie’s hands and two or three of those famous sugar cookies from his ma that eddie was starting to have bad dreams about. richie still liked to touch at that little pouch when they were eating their lunch at the end of the field, where none of the other boys would come and try and rope them into any of their mean games, and sometimes he'd sing silly songs while doing it.

* when eddie seemed too shy to play like this today, richie leaned close with mud on his lip and just told him very quietly, "i think i know your secret."

* "what are you talkin' about, nene?"

* "you know...what you were so upset about when the coach said you had to take your tee shirt off. and you don't have to spill any of the details 'cause i appre-shate it's top secret, but...i know you are a mermaid!"

* richie had put a lot of thought into this, funnily enough; he knew a lot about faeries, dragons, pixies, and unicorns- so much his mama had to make him do special breathing patterns and drink a glass of water when he started talking 'bout this with too much gusto - and mermaids apparently weren't all that different. "their skin is sparkly and nice to touch, they're good at all things, they're very kind and if they take off their clothes in the water their tails will spring right out," he'd explained, using eddie's tummy today as a rest for his big, green fairytale manual instead. even drew a couple gel pen mermaids on the freckles of it to show him, ‘cause he drew there a lot at their sleepovers to keep himself from fidgeting. usually cats or rocket ships.  "s'a big no-no if you let all the humans know...kicked out of atlantis for good, bubba. so like i said, don't worry 'bout the details."

* and eddie’s heart had never healed so fast!

* richie's grand theory also came with a solution, too; a cherry-red swim shirt made of nice, clean lycra, presented to eddie with a wobbly flourish in maggie tozier's holiday drawer. turns out they went on lots of expensive beach holidays with richie's dad's paychecks, and even that richie tozier wasn't all that fond of taking his t-shirt off either, but for different reasons. he got bad eczema all over his middle and it left lots of itchy scars and pimples in the driest parts. "it's not a shirt shirt so i think it'll be allowed. keep your tail in too, i promise," he'd said, helping eddie slip it (half) past those soft love handles. there was a pretty glint in his eye that told eddie he was talking about much more than a 'tail'; that he knew it full well, too. only magic was a little bit easier than the truth just for now.

* "thanks, richie, i love you very much."

* "i love you triple-chocolate!"

* was a real shame richie couldn't have had the rest of their grade under that funny spell of his, however. the boys in eddie's gym class did not believe in magic, and if they ever could have, they certainly would not believe it would be anywhere near eddie kaspbrak's tum. no, that was something to giggle at, on a par with calling your teacher 'mom' or someone farting in an assembly. they took great pleasure in hiding and tugging and even forcing that swim shirt right back off over eddie's head at every nasty opportunity, making him cry into richie's funny raccoon sweater after the very next swim lesson all over again.

* "ch, ch, ch, they're lying, tiny...they don't mean it...ch, ch..."

* this would set a pattern for the rest of eddie's teenage years - getting a little bit of confidence and those bony-kneed boys in his grade knocking it back down again. his mother's guilting tears over the candy stashes tucked in his pillowcase and his not fitting in her handmade, hideously embarrassing halloween costumes were one thing, but this was a whole 'nother.

* like when he sometimes raced richie and his big shepherd dog called honey 'round the tozier’s backyard, and, although richie was the slowest runner in their grade, found himself at sixteen years old beating him quicker and quicker. quick enough to try out for track behind his mother's back and, god, even get in. needless to say, his teammates had taken one look at eddies tummy bouncin' left and right on his brand new track shorts' waistband through his sprints, and had given him hell. even when he'd proved himself far beyond the fastest.

- as he grew older, hitting crossfire with the track team, soccer coach, and even himself, a sadness started to boil up inside. right in the pit of his stomach. kept him from ever looking too long in those awfully long ‘body-mirrors’. he’d skip out on the Tozier’s neighborhood barbecues, fearful that richie might somehow convince him into the pool somehow. that one curly boy always had a way into eddie’s heart. felt like a glittery snake would wrapping ‘round his arteries and squeezing out so much love over his braces-filled smile. he was a sucker for richie, alright. and this persistent anxiety sucked. it just sucked. eddie often thought of that hopeless feeling as a bird. a gentle brown bird that was perched atop his right shoulder, singing directly into his ear. the songs were never as nice as the old birdie looked, often carrying thorny messages, reminding him to pull his shirt down and sit up straight, to suck in his breath and practice his exercises. and after a strenuous fight with ma, or perhaps a terrible test score, it’s nasty talons dug deeper. soon, it wasn’t a songbird anymore, but a pecking vulture, tapping at the very back of eddie’s head with a crooked beak and beady eyes. those nights were the worst.

- so, he’d often call richie.

- he was never one to beg for acceptance. that was something he knew was always earned. like some days he’d have to do double chores for his ma to stop playing her ‘ignoring game’ and maybe play a board game instead. something to reassure himself he wasn’t a floundering shadow at times. so, he always felt foolish pleading down the phone for richie to talk to him. but the taller boy never seemed to mind too much, always a mixture of sunshine, candy, and lispy braces as he whistled down the phone. it drowned the bird’s endless caws.

- “hi, richie. c-can you tell me that one- uh that one story again? about the angel and the goose, please?”

- the night would be spent under a makeshift fort built from a thin white sheet draped over his shiny headboard and hooked over his homework desk chair, home phone pressed against his ear and smile as wide as the atlantic ocean. the pair would be as sleepy as banana slugs the next morning, having stayed up well past a reasonable hour. but, it always made those awful thoughts whisk right out of eddie’s head and straight down the toilet. sometimes he’d wave down the drain after his nightly bathroom trips, imagining some of those awfully prickly thoughts rolling round and round the toilet bowl. he suspects that’s when he started loving richie. but yet again, he sometimes thinks he’s loved him forever.

- after richie and eddie had finally sputtered out confessions of painstakingly long-awaited love, hands clutching on to one another’s and hearts louder than drummer boys, things got a bit brighter for the boy made of sunshine.

[aliceslantern]

Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Chapter summary:  Ienzo's attempts to regain his power go awry, leading him to a confrontation with Even.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo turned back to his work, again, with a fervor. Only this time, after dealing with all of Ansem and Even’s frippery, at night he tried to find places to train magic.

The greenhouse was out. Demyx was using that, and might see things he didn’t need to see.

The castle was huge. Plenty of nooks and crannies to squirrel himself away in, but Ienzo did not want to spend hours climbing or walking somewhere just to train for yet more time. He spent several days trying to subtly coax the entirety of Aeleus and Dilan’s rounds out of them; it needed to be off their radar, too. At last, though, he found it. It was a domed courtyard, perhaps fifteen meters in diameter, with several pillars; these pillars had lighted sconces. The ground had once been inlaid parquet, only it had been damaged and torn away in places. It was quiet, here, and there was potential for moonlight.

He dressed comfortably. He brought with him a small store of water, nonperishable snacks. Ienzo wasn’t quite brazen enough to try stealing ethers from Even’s stores; the man would no doubt notice they were missing. He’d have to make do for now until the next time he went to the market.

Ienzo sat cross legged on the ground. He tried to breathe and center himself, and once he felt he was sufficiently focused he summoned the lexicon.

It had once been named “Book of Retribution,” a name he’d not consciously chosen but had been inscribed in the front cover. He knew now that of course this was the very essence of his psyche; what else would a scholar, a researcher have other than a book ? He had no need for knives, swords, or instruments. Words could--and did--hurt just as much. They could break your heart.

Sticks and stones , he thought sourly.

But this volume? There was nothing written on the inner cover, just blankness, a generic paper print. There were some contents to this book now, from all his time spent reading in this life so far. So what was it? Was it nameless? Did it matter?

Friend, he thought towards it, help me.

Ienzo stood. His powers had been partially telekinetic, at least in regards to the lexicon. It might be easiest to start there. He held it out in his arms and tried to pull from within. He could feel the book trembling in his grip as he tried to lift it with his mind; instantly Ienzo felt a hot headache blooming, his heart rate increasing noticeably. Just fucking pick it up, he thought to himself. He let go with his hands, and it immediately fell to the floor.

He almost groaned out loud, but composed himself. He had to be calm. Try again.

He must’ve stood there for hours. It was unclear.

Every time Ienzo tried to get the lexicon to do what he wanted, it simply flopped to the ground. He could get it to do no more than tremble in his hands. The pain grew worse, and he grew dizzier, until his breathing was quite labored. The water and snacks only partially helped. He felt drained, depleted, in more ways than one, and to his shock felt frustrated tears building in his eyes.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

He walked back to the apprentices’ quarters and dropped into bed for a weary few hours of sleep before his alarm woke him.

---

These days took on a pattern. By day, he was Ienzo, a modest scholar of the heart, seeking to plumb the depths of Kairi’s. By night, he was closer to Zexion, struggling to reign in a power he’d once had like breath. He had no idea if he was making any progress or if he were simply hurting his body for no reason.

Because it was hurting. He was prone more than ever to headaches, to wooziness, and sometimes even in sedentary stillness his heart would race. He felt out of breath climbing stairs. The ethers he finally got his hands on did help, but only so much. It seemed like Even was right, about the entropy. Not to mention, magic burned ludicrously more calories for humans than Nobodies, and he struggled to keep up proper intake.

He couldn’t do nothing. What were some aches and pains compared to Sora’s life?

The weeks--or months? He wasn’t sure--seemed to drag on in this manner… Ienzo so slowly made progress, was able to lift and manipulate the book with relative ease, though it left him gasping for air. He would get used to it. He’d be sure of it.

That morning, he’d again been feeling dizzy, but thought nothing of it. He saw Demyx in the hall, on his own way to work. “Hey, Zo,” he said pleasantly. Ienzo had tried to be cordial, since his breakdown, had even responded to the other boy’s texts--but Ienzo had no time for friendship, and he thought Demyx knew that. “How’s it going? Haven’t seen hide or hair of you in forever.”

“It certainly is going,” he said vaguely. His vision was blurry, and he felt again his heart starting to skip, to race. It would pass. “I’m afraid I’ve barely had a moment to myself.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “But are you… doing okay?”

“Better than I was. Thank you for asking.”

“‘...Course.” He smiled a little.

“How’s your work?”

“Oh, same soup, just reheated, you know? But I honestly don’t mind. It’s just different enough every day. And so far… almost all the people I’ve met are nice. It’s… refreshing.” A wry laugh.

“I know I haven’t been--very warm--” A particularly sharp pain echoed through his head, and he touched it without meaning to.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate--Zo?”

He tried to breathe through the pain. His heart had leapt into his throat. He realized all this must be very visible because Demyx added,

“Hey. Zo?”

Ienzo tried to find the words to console him, but his knees were weakening.

“Zo? I… fuck.”

His consciousness cut rather abruptly, and from here there were only odd snatches of things. He was being carried, his face pressed against Demyx’s chest, the smell of laundry and something like salt and ginger. How odd… to be so vulnerable…

“I got your call--what on earth happened?”

“We were just talking and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes.”

More darkness, more lost time. Ienzo didn’t regain awareness all at once. He felt blankets, the distinctive pull of an IV, the smell of bleached linen. An ache, dulled by painkillers, nothing quite having straight lines.

“...My boy? Can you hear me?” A warm, dry hand against his.

His eyelids felt like lead, and a scratchiness of sandpaper.

“Let him sleep, Ansem. He’ll need it for the hiding I’m about to give--”

He either slept or was unconscious--it was hard to tell. But things were clearer once he opened his eyes.

He was not in his bedroom. He was in the med bay, where he’d tended to Even and Dilan as they recovered from their Nobodies’ wounds. While not as cold or as sterile as the Organization’s own ward, it was still quite jarring.

“Awake at last?” Even set aside the tablet he’d been holding and came over to the bed.

“Time for the hiding, then?” Ienzo asked dully.

“Do you have any idea what shape you were in when Demyx brought you to me?”

“I was simply unconscious.”

“Simply--” Even sputtered, his hands near his face, and Ienzo saw Vexen once again. “You do realize healthy twenty-year-olds don’t simply black out, yes?”

Ienzo sat up. He was still perilously dizzy, but less so. “Perhaps I was just ill.”

“None of this perhaps nonsense. I know exactly what you’ve been up to.”

His heart stuttered again, though this time from that familiar punch of caught.  

Even scowled and turned away from him. “Do you know what the ideal weight for a person of your size is?”

Ienzo was confused; not the lecture he’d been expecting about entropy and danger . “Well--yes--”

“Tell me.”

“What are you getting at?”

“What is a healthy body weight for a person of your height?” His lips were pursed.

“Between fifty-nine and eighty-one kilograms.”

“Do you know how much you weigh?”

“Even, I’ve no idea where you’re going with this,” he said honestly.

“Fifty-four. Fifty-four kilograms with a twenty-year-old’s metabolism.”

It started to click. Even didn’t know about Ienzo’s attempt to regain his power. He thought all these health issues were from-- He put a hand to his head. Ienzo knew the magic was causing him to lose weight. He didn’t think it was drastic or noticeable.  

Which angle to play, then? How did he get himself out of this? He did not want to confess to an issue he did not have, but confessing to use of power seemed infinitely worse. “Even,” he said tiredly. “You needn’t worry about my weight. At all.”

“Oh, but that isn’t all, Ienzo,” he said smoothly. “You think nobody’s noticed that your bed is rarely slept in? That your phone shows you active all hours of the day--and night? Not to mention you barely eat, barely drink water, that I’ve noticed, anyway, and I’m not the only one paying attention. The dehydration, the sleep deprivation, this…” Again he trailed off. “Your blood pressure, the ambient amount of cortisol in your blood… Ienzo, if you keep living like this, you won’t see thirty.”

Ienzo dropped his eyes.

“I don’t know how to impart the seriousness of your condition.”

“I’m not radically underweight.”

He groaned. “It’s not about your weight. It’s that you clearly are neglecting your own needs--and it’s catching up to you. And it will keep catching up to you unless you learn to take care of yourself.”

“I’m an adult, I’m perfectly capable--”

“Perfectly capable? Perfectly capable? You think losing consciousness for the better part of three days is a reflection of health ?”

Ienzo gritted his teeth. A rage began coiling in his stomach. “What does it matter?” he all but snarled.

“Child, I can’t make you want to live. But how else can I convince you that your body can’t, and won’t , react like a Nobody’s? It’s not a vessel, not a plaything. You can’t expect to work if you’re deteriorating so rapidly.” He softened just a touch; bizarre to see it happen. “You can’t expect to live, either.”

Ienzo didn’t know what to say. It felt like getting punched.

“I lost you once. I won’t lose you again.”

“Lost?” The claws were well and truly out now. For the first time Ienzo fully understood what it meant when someone snapped , despite having seen it and forced it on people countless times. It did feel like breaking. “You lost me?”

At his radical change in tone, Even’s eyebrows shot up.

“You…” He couldn’t find the words. “You took my father and you dumped him out, and then you had the nerve--the gall -- to lie to me about it. For years .” He was trembling. “You let Xehanort do to me what he would. You let me see and break those people. You.”

Even had turned very pale.

“And then--after all that--you let him take my heart. You think a kid could make that kind of decision? A fucking child?” Ienzo breathed hard. “I was just another one of your experiments, Even. That’s all I ever was. Admit it.” He’d never heard his own voice like this, rough and on the verge of a scream. “You, Aeleus, Dilan. You didn’t lose me. You threw me away.”

Ienzo didn’t know what to read into that expression--only knew that he’d never seen it before. “Ienzo…” He began tremulously.

“Everything I’ve done…” The guilt was almost stronger than the rage. “You gave me the tools. Why?”

“What?”

“Tell me why.”

“I never wanted him to hurt you. Never wanted you to have that life. But Xehanort… his hold on us… we were so convinced we could… change the world. He told me he wanted to make it better for people like you.” His eyes were pleading. “Seeing all your pain… I thought the darkness could heal. That it could help people. But it twisted me. Made it so much easier to put aside the human for the scientific… made my ends… worth their means. We were experiments too, Ienzo. Do you think any of us had a choice? It was give up our hearts… or become another subject in his plan.” He pressed one hand to his face, his eyes shut tight. “By the time I tried to get us out, it was too late… and being a Nobody cut all my bonds with others, especially you.”

The rage was cooling, hardening, and becoming something far more painful.

“Every time I see your face I think of it. What you could’ve done. Already, already you’re doing so much more good than I ever did.” He came closer to Ienzo. “I had hoped to raise you to be better. When Ansem asked me to help him care for you… you were already all but feral from his ragged childcare. I saw that you were… different, a brilliance I had hoped to nurture. But once the darkness came we exploited you. And I am so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The tears in his eyes were oddly cold.

“It pains me more than I can describe to see you struggle now, as a direct result of my actions. All I can do is hope I can make this place good enough, safe enough, for you to have the life you deserved.” His voice was unsteady. Ienzo had never seen Even cry; part of him didn’t think the man was capable. But the tears on his face were very real.

“...Even.” He felt his lip trembling in an attempt to hold it back.

“I do not expect to be forgiven. I hope that this guilt… will make me better .”

The apology rang dully in his ears. He feared he was breaking again, in a different way this time. Even sat on the bed next to him.

“Let me help you, Ienzo. You are no longer so alone. I wish to earn your trust again… should you so let me.”

It was this that did it, on top of his very exhaustion. Again the tears seemed to run from a deep, awful place in him; the abandonment and guilt and rage mixing into a slurry he couldn’t fight anymore. They broke out of him. He curled up. Despite it all, Even was here. He’d apologized, something Vexen never had done. He was… upset.

So gently, Even reached forward to embrace him. It had been years since he’d last been consoled like this, yet it was so eerily familiar. Even smelled the same, bleached cloth and powder. Ienzo found himself clinging to him. “Just cry,” Even said softly. “Scream, if you need. It might help.”

All Ienzo could do was listen, paralyzed again by his own emotions, but it felt… cathartic? Like the dark things were bleeding out of him, bit by tiny bit. He knew on a literal level it was probably humiliating, to be a grown man sobbing in his old guardian’s arms, but he felt less mortified than when he had broken down in front of Demyx. Even stroked his hair, another familiar gesture. Eventually, eventually… the sobs quieted, calmed, and he could breathe normally. Even got up and handed him a cool, damp cloth for his raw eyes.

“Is that better?” Even asked.

“How disgraceful this is,” he muttered.

“Your system is no doubt out of sorts--and so is your heart. Natural for it to need some kind of release.” He took off his lab coat; Ienzo noticed before he set it aside that the shoulder was quite damp, translucent, almost. “You should spend some time recovering. Sleeping, eating, getting outside.”

“What about Kairi?”

“Kairi and Sora would both agree that this isn’t worth the price of your health. Physically or mentally.”

“But with Aeleus and Dilan pulled away by rounds--” and Even and Ansem seething at one another, “--you’ll be--”

“We’re both grown men, Ienzo. I think we can set aside our differences for the time being.”

“What will I do if I don’t work?” It was more a question to himself than anything; Ienzo truly didn’t know. He’d been working and working for years now.

“Perhaps focus on your own studies? Or…” He considered. “We could have you on in a heavily reduced capacity, say three hours a day?”

Ienzo felt odd. Stripped bare. “This is so humiliating, for it to come to this.”

Even just sighed. “What else would have happened? It’s all you know--working yourself into the ground for things you care about. We raised you this way. But now your cause should be learning to be human. No more, no less.”

It was clear Even was right. If he were to do good, he had to be healthy. Dealing with these emotions and memories should be a priority.

“I’ll give you some medication to help you sleep,” Even said. “And the anti-anxiety. I’d like for you to try both, at least for a time. See how it treats you.”

“...Alright.”

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [3/?]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47654632

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: # fate #gods in disguise #reincarnation #secrets #titans #wings

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

As a general rule, Tim avoids going to Batburger when in uniform; it feels as if he’s endorsing a company that capitalizes on cape and rogue identities, and which he knows for a fact treats their employees like chattel.

But apparently mythological gods of love have insane metabolic needs.

He makes a mental note to ask Bart to send some of those special high-calorie protein bars he eats. There’s no way Tim intends to spend valuable time playing delivery boy if Jason’s in trouble.

He frowns at the thought, causing the girl at the takeout counter to step back nervously.

Jason was his usual charming self tonight. But it was a bit off.

The older vigilante, never the paragon of patience and gratitude, was on a hair-trigger tonight. Under normal circumstances, there’s more verbal sparring between them before Jason things get physical. Even then, their altercations are usually because some villain is trying to pit them against each other.

Or he really was just pissed off I was following him.

But Tim can’t help thinking that’s not it. The whole thing has been nagging him since the night before, drowning out what would normally be frustration and hurt after his encounter with the Red Hood. There’s no time to be hurt when there’s a problem to solve.

Tim accepts his order, and after ensuring it’s triple-bagged, tips the girl at the counter for her time before taking off. Swinging across the rooftops of Gotham carrying ten times more than he ever buys for himself is too awkward, so he ends up jumping on the roof of a passing bus and riding it toward the old theater district.

His eyes automatically flick to the passing buildings, wondering if his progression away from Jason’s part of town is being watched from up top.

Or if he should be ducking an impending sniper shot.

Jason’s words echo on repeat in his mind, needling deeper each time. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does, but they were just getting to a good place in terms of trust.

“If I need help, I’ll ask. And chances are, I won’t be asking you.”

“So much for that,” Tim mutters to himself as he prepares to disembark from his ride.

Upon arriving back at the Nest, he skips changing out of his gear and heads straight for the subbasement. The containment unit there was build with Poison Ivy and Scarecrow related emergencies in mind, but it’s come in handy since he acquired an Olympian roommate of sorts.

Normal protocol after a twenty-four-hour observation period would be to send Eros off to a prison for metahumans, but Tim is wary about giving up custody of him any time soon. The potential danger to Jason aside, he’ll need to get his hands on a good deal of null technology and fortified transportation just to move the guy without setting off his powers.

That memory induces a shudder; it’s been a day, and he’s still tasting pomegranate.

Tim doesn’t wish that on anyone. And if that lack of control seizes Jason, forcing him to throw himself at Tim like a ravenous dog?

A visceral swirl of nausea settles in Tim’s gut. Jason’s always had strong ideas on consent, even before his death. It’s one of the few things that didn’t change following his resurrection. If Jason becomes the very thing he’s been fighting his whole life, Tim worries he’ll break for real this time, and in a manner very different than when he first broke The Rule.

Tim isn’t going to let that happen, even if that means working with an entitled godling that’s already become more trouble than he’s worth.

It was hard enough just getting him here, the guy’s way heavier than he looks…

He wonders if it’s the wings, if their mass is still discernible even when they are out of the visual spectrum, and how strong they’d have to be to carry something person-sized. They probably aren’t like a birds’ appendages, and Eros is clearly not hollow-boned, so either they’re extremely well-muscled or of some metaphysical material construct that—

“Hey! Are you going to feed me at some point, darlin’? Or is part of your brand of hospitality enforced starvation?”

Tim jolts back to present from his drifting thoughts and glances across the open space of the Nest toward the containment unit. It’s a hundred square feet of bulletproof glass and filtered air designed by S.T.A.R Labs specifically to counteract the abilities of metas and other enhanced humans.

Eros lounges on his cot, wings out and examining the feathers with his lips pressed together. He’s been annoyed with Tim since waking up in the in custody, though Tim thinks he’s more upset about the whole being knocked-out thing. There’s some kind of telenovela playing in the background.

He wasn’t sure how long he was going to have his guest, so while Eros was still unconscious, Tim hooked up a television screen inside, and brought several books and a mp3 player. He also brought every piece of art from his apartment upstairs and crammed it inside the unit. Eros’ abilities may not have affected Tim when he put him in there (this time), covered as he was, but as those powers grow beyond his control, he’s going to want to siphon it off however he can.

Eros finally looks up at Tim, narrowing his eyes. “For your sake, I hope you got the fries Jokerized. And your channel selection sucks. What kid your age doesn’t have at least one Adult channel?”

“The kind that finds them gross and exploitative.” Tim makes a face as he pushes back his cowl, though he keeps his domino on.

And who has two full-time jobs that make sitting down to watch anything like that pretty much impossible.

He can’t remember the last time he went on a date or did anything nearing the realms of sexual. Normally he just sees to his needs in the shower and that’s that, since there’s no time for much else. He’s even gotten in the habit of not taking more than five minutes so he can do other things. What’s the point of taking longer if there’s no one there with him?

Eros is watching him with a cruel twist to his lips, and Tim’s ears warm. He has a flash of worry that the Olympian can read minds but then decides if Eros had that ability, he’d be using it mock Tim by now.  The guy's sort of a dick.

Tim scowls at the notion and opens the hatch in the side of the unit and shoves the takeout bag inside, punching in the code to decontaminate the area.

Eros gets up from the cot, stretching in a languid movement that’s distracting for reasons other than his shirtless state, and stalks over to the hatch on the other side. As he moves, he brushes his fingers across a bronze Grecian krater from the Classical period. Something like golden wisps of smoke swirl around it and then settles into the piece, which gleams a bit brighter.

He wasn’t kidding about that, I guess.

Eros clutches at the takeout bag and begins unloading it on the table by the door hatch, stuffing fries in his mouth and making borderline pornographic noises that have Tim swallowing uncomfortably.  

“So where’s Tall, Dark and Angry?” the Olympian asks. “I figured you’d be wrangling him back here—force him into a sweet set-up like this one.”

He kicks at the glass.

“There’s no wrangling when it comes to J—Red Hood.”

“And you’re not worried at all?”

Tim considers the last meeting and carefully says, “He seemed fine when I ran into him tonight.”

But he can’t quite hide his unease. Eros picks up on it.

“You get that that’s only temporary, right?” he asks, stuffing a handful of fries in his mouth.

“I also know that going at Hood head-on isn’t the way to convince him of anything. He’s got to reach out for help himself. The most I can do is monitor him from a distance until he’s ready.”

He wanders over to his main computer and brings up the tracking program for the bug he planted on Jason when he grabbed him tonight. The other man was more distracted than he let on if he didn’t notice Tim slip it on him.

And he hasn’t gotten rid of it, judging from this.

It’s not making a quick exit via sewer or a passing truck, which is par for the course when ditching a tracker. He’s chased enough of those to know what that pattern looks like. And when Tim pulls up camera footage from the surrounding area, he catches several shots of Jason making his way to the safehouse in Coventry no one’s supposed to know about.

“Really?” Eros drawls. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re perfectly happy with this state of affairs? Maybe you’re hoping you’ll finally get some recognition from the guy you’ve been pining for?”

Tim tenses and turns, forcing a blank look and neutral tone. “I’m not pining for him.”

“Don’t lie to me—God of Love, remember? I could smell it on you the minute you were both in the same room.”

Tim clenches his fists, a pit forming in his stomach at the idea that someone knows, followed by disgust as he registers what Eros just said.

“No, I’m not happy about it,” he growls. “Why would I be happy about him being forced to do something against his will? Especially if it’s giving a crap about me?”

“Hey, no offense meant,” Eros says, holding his hands up in surrender; the effect is ruined by the burgers clutched in each fist. “My mother and I have made a career off guys wanting the object of their affection to pay attention to them, at whatever the cost. And there was no such thing as dick pics back then. It’s kind of a question I’ve got to ask in my line of work.”

“Your line of work? You mean you still fly around the world making people fall in love?”

“Uh, no, human beings fall in love fine on their own. I just…make it happen faster and last longer. To my mother, love is a whimsy, gossamer thing, all moonlit strolls, and flowery words and basking in the newness of it all. For me, it’s fierce. Intense. Something that when denied guts you like a knife and hollows you out with desperation.”

A hungry expression passes over his face that has nothing to do with food, and Tim shivers, disliking how a lot of that sentence is hitting too close to home. Rather than betray his discomfort, he takes a chiding tone. “If that’s what you do, no wonder people kill themselves after bad break-ups. Some people aren’t able to deal with that sort of pain—do you even care?”

“Not particularly. Besides, it’s only the interesting ones we get involved with. They tend to be stronger at heart.”

“Because that makes it so much better!”

“Do I tell you how to do your job? No. So how about I get a little less judgment and a little more ‘start finding my diviners’ from you?”

“Oh, we’re going to find them,” Tim says, fighting to control his anger. Whether I’m letting you have them back is another story entirely. If I can figure out some way to keep you and your bow locked up, it’d save a lot of people grief.  “But just so you understand, Red Hood is my priority here, not you or your toys.”

“Really?” Eros purrs, sneering skepticism on his face. “Even though I could ensure he starts to return those pesky feelings of yours? In a less life-threatening way, of course.”

“He might not even be affected.”

“Naivety’s not a good look on you, darlin’. But seriously—all I have to do is use an arrow, and you two could retire from the cape gig and go antiquing in New England once this is all over.”

Tim snorts at the ridiculous image and shakes his head. “No.”

“Really? You’re still willing to fight for him, even if he goes back to treating you like an afterthought if you help him?”

“When I help him. And it’s not like it would be something new.”

And, yeah, that still hurts.

Eros huffs, his expression suggesting he’s not sure what to think of that, and then shakes his head.

“Self-sacrificing as ever,” he pronounces and pops the top on a can of Zesti.

Tim puzzles at that remark for all of five seconds, when the screen of his computer lights up with an incoming transmission from Titans Tower. Tim accepts it and the screen fills with a familiar face.

For the first time that night, his mouth smooths into a genuine smile. “Hey, Cassie.”

“Red Robin,” she replies, eyes flicking over him as if to assess him for injury or danger.  

She keeps to his rules about secret identities in his base. Sometimes he wishes his identity was public like hers—and then he remembers that he gets enough unwanted attention as Tim Drake-Wayne, it would be worse if people knew for sure he was Red Robin.

Vicki Vale would be the first in line to turn my life into some kind of reality TV show…

“You tried to get a hold of me earlier?” his friend asks, and Tim nods. He’s never been the type to leave anything to chance, and last night while Eros was still conked out, he shot an email to Cassie asking her to get back to him as soon as she could.

“How are things in California?”

“A hell of a lot warmer than where you are, but I don’t think you want to talk about the weather.”

“Nope. How much have you heard about Eros?”

“Eros?” she asks. “Like Cupid?”

“Really?” the winged Olympian groans. “You too? You’re supposed to know better.”

Cassie’s eyes narrow as she takes note of the figure in the containment unit behind him. “Who is that?”

“He says his name’s Eros, and from what I’ve seen, I’m inclined to believe him.”

Eros gives Cassie a smarmy smile. “Hello, Auntie. Nice to meet you finally.”

She wrinkles her nose, and Tim can’t help mirroring the expression. “And I thought my family was messed up.”

“Your family is messed up,” she retorts. “Mine’s just been doing it longer.”

“Touché.”

“So, why’s he in a cage?”

“The real question is why isn’t he gagged,” Tim replies, earning a smirk from Cassie and an offended ‘hey!’ from his detainee. “Basically, he’s losing control of his powers and when that happens apparently there will be a nuclear explosion of desire.”

And that’s possible the weirdest sentence he’s ever said.

“Super orgy,” Eros agrees. “Which though fun in theory, is a lot messier than any of us want.”

Cassie and Tim shudder.

“Not that Gotham couldn’t use a collective chill pill,” Cassie says, “but that sounds like an easy fix. You’ve got him locked up, send him on to Iron Heights or one of the other places that have meta containment.”

“Hey! What’d I ever do to you?!”

“I would, but there’s a complication,” Tim sighs. “He was wounded in an altercation involving a bunch of mobsters, and some of his blood infected a human—no, not me.” He is quick to add that at her widening eyes. “But the individual in question isn’t exactly known for being in control of their emotions. They have a history of trauma as well that could turn this into an issue, so I need to find a cure as soon as possible. Preferably before the symptoms Eros insists are coming manifest.”

He purposefully downplays Jason’s involvement, since the Titans aren’t his biggest fans. Even the ones who weren’t around at the time have heard the story of unconscious bodies, a message written in blood and Tim nearly dying. Heroes are supposed to be above grudges, but they are still teenagers.

“Not sure what I can do for you on that front…”

“Eros says his arrows will reverse it, but they’re missing, along with his bow. I’m looking for that. But I have to find out how bad this could potentially get, and how long it will take.”

“I could tell you that,” Eros grumbles.

“I need independent corroboration because I don’t believe he’s being completely honest with me,” Tim finishes, ignoring him.

“I know nothing beyond what I’ve heard in the stories, and those you have to take with a grain of salt,” Cassie muses.

“Told you,” Eros informs Tim.

“But I’ll contact a few people in my family. They might know something concrete.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, relieved. “Other than that, everything’s good with the Titans?”

“Just the usual stuff. Nothing end-of-the-world bad this week, but it’s only Tuesday.”

“Don’t jinx it!”

“We live in a jinx,” Cassie replies with a roll of her eyes. There’s a crash somewhere in the distance, and the trumpeting of an elephant and she winces.

“Beast Boy?”

“I’ll see you later, Red, I’ve got an idiot to kill,” Cassie sighs.

“Isn’t it fun being the leader?”

“Shut up.”

The screen goes blank, and Tim can’t help his grin.

“So, you know my aunt.”

The grin vanishes as he turns to face Eros. “First, stop calling her that, it’s weird. Second, she’s with the Titans. Of course I know her.”

“Titans,” the Olympian scoffs. “You call yourselves that, but you’ve never met an actual Titan. They were formidable warriors. So fearsome they had to be thrown into the deepest pit of Hades to ensure they never rose up again to threaten the gods.”

“Clearly they weren’t all that if they got locked up,” Tim retorts, offended on behalf of his team.

Miraculously, Eros has nothing to say to that.

⁂

Jason wakes to the sensation of lips between his shoulder blades and someone’s fingers sliding down the curl of his spine. He grumbles in dozy annoyance, shoving his face deeper into his pillow. It took him way too long to fall asleep last night, his overactive imagination plying him with thoughts he does not want to be having. Whoever’s bothering him is about to—

He jerks upward then, fingers clenching around the pistol beside his bed and whirls around to aim at whatever intruder has slipped into his room.

Because he went to sleep alone last night, and no one should know about this safehouse or how to bypass his security.

(Well, obviously there are the members of the Family, but Jason’s fairly confident none of them would be waking him like that.)

He faces the emptiness of the room, breathing hard as he tries to gather his wits. The space is too sparsely furnished for someone to find a place to hide, the shadows already eaten away by the sunlight. There’s no question he’s utterly alone, gun pointed at nothing and his body heaving like he just went three rounds with Bane.

What the hell…

He lowers the gun, scowling, and rubs the back of his head with his free hand. He’s used to having realistic dreams, but that’s new…

Jason scrubs a hand down his face, gives one last bleary glance at his surroundings, and heaves himself out of bed. There’s no way he’s falling back to sleep after this.

He’s distracted the rest of the morning, paranoia higher than usual as he takes second and third glances around the room before getting in the shower. He really shouldn’t have skipped it last night, because his skin is sticky with dried blood.

The wound in his shoulder is completely gone now.

If he’s learned anything in his life it’s not to ignore when things magically appear or disappear.

And yet…

If he acknowledges it, it means acknowledging the fact that he’s starting to fixate—hell, already is fixating—on Tim, and that’s something he can’t give in to.

Repressing shit is a time-honored Bat tradition, and he decides for once he’s going to partake for as long as possible. He’s still able to function, which means there might still time for him to figure all of this out on his own.

He returns to the location of Eros’ warehouse, hoping to find some trace evidence left from the night before. If he can get an analysis of the blood that infected him—

Except, the person he’d usually ask for that is the one he should be avoiding at all costs. The other options are ten times as unpalatable.

Damn it.

It turns out there’s nothing to be found anyhow, although Jason isn’t sure it’s because someone cleaned it up (the GCPD crime scene cleaners or the ever-diligent Red Robin) or because maybe Olympian blood doesn’t stick around. His wound is healed like it was never there, it’s possible it’s the same with the blood.

The day gets steadily more discouraging.

The first time Jason hears the voices, he’s in the middle of busting up a shipment of drugs he stumbled onto while leaving the warehouse district. The Triad flunkies seeing to said shipment aren’t exactly happy to see him, which is why things quickly devolve into fisticuffs.

As one of the knife-wielding henchmen take a run at him, Jason crouches, ready to engage, when without warning, someone whispers in his ear.

“Ready to lose?”

“Do your worst, infant.”

Somehow, he can feel warm breath along his jaw, even though he’s wearing his helmet.

Jason jerks to one side, prepared to pull whoever is behind him over his shoulder, only to find the air behind him empty. His pause allows his opponent to shove his knife at his ribs.

Body armor and his own deflection abilities keep the blow from being fatal, but the rest of the fight, Jason is thrown. There’s no one else but him and the Triads, but the sensation of someone hovering behind him doesn’t disappear.

Tim?

He’s looking for him before he even registers it, stepping over the groaning bodies of his opponents and examining the shadows for any sign of Red Robin. It would be just like him to sit and watch from the shadows, the little stalker. Dick told him stories about what little Timmy was like as a kid, and it wouldn’t surprise him if he still liked to sneak around with a camera.

That idea makes the blood rush to his cheeks for some reason.

Disappointment rises when he confirms he’s completely alone—followed by the queasy realization of what he was just doing.

He doesn’t even bother calling the GCPD to do a clean-up as he flees the scene. 

As he stitches himself up later in his safe house, Jason eyes his reflection in the mirror, glaring at himself in reprimand. He should be stronger than this, damn it! If not because of his All-Caste training, then even thanks to Bruce’s insane regimens for dealing with poisons.

His gaze flicks over his scarred body, assessing the damage. He’s used to the litany of scars that cut across his skin, this latest is just part of a growing collection. The other one, though—

He studies the healed part of his shoulder and swallows.

If he hadn’t known there was something wrong with it before, healing as quickly as it did, he knows now. The raised skin of the new scar looks as if it’s been glossed over with gold; fine threads of it follow the surrounding capillaries like loose threads.

If this is some kind of King Midas deal, I’m going to kill that winged douche. Though, turning into a golden statue is potentially a better outcome than what could happen if what Eros said was true. At least this time Bruce will have something better to stick in the case than an empty suit.

The grim humor usually makes him feel marginally better; today it doesn’t.

After that, the voices are everywhere he goes, needling at him in a way that is somehow more present than the insanity of the Pit, more maddening. At least when he was driven by an insane rage, the voices egging him on made sense. There was a purpose, a logic behind their prompting.

“Always planning, aren’t you?”

“Well, someone has to.”

The whispers that dog him are more like snatches of a picture or a dream, without context, and yet each word murmured to him falls on him like a searing iron on his heart.

“Should e’er I go, will you go with me?”

In the next few days, things get steadily worse.

Jason’s all but given up on sleep, since every time he closes his eyes, Tim’s face seems engraved on the backs of his eyelids. Only not Tim—sometimes he looks different, but the image is so fleeting Jason couldn’t even explain how. And when it’s not Tim’s face or his voice, then his slumber gets interrupted by vibrant flashes of color and sound. There is warmth and laughter that abruptly turns to crushing, wrenching pain.

“You think of me as a shield?”

“I think of you as my shield.”

“You’ll have to catch me!”

It’s not an echo of the physical, the way nightmares about his death tend to be; the bone-shattering imprint of the metal bar against his bones. No, this pain is something else, a gaping hole, someone shouting into a dark void that no one will ever hear.

“I would that you would leave them all to perish.”

“Bury us together.”

During the day, he experiences a bitter longing, like he’s missing a limb or a lung. By night, his patrols are more vicious, bloodier as he tries to exercise his frustration the best way he knows how. As if hitting harder, and faster, will bleed out whatever is slowly poisoning him.

By the middle of the week, Jason is smoking a pack a day and filled with the manic energy of the perpetually exhausted. He’s started seeing things out of the corner of his eye—full lips tilted upward in amusement, flashes of blue eyes, dark hair disappearing into a crowd—that makes his stomach flip.

“Come back to me.”

He picks his phone up and puts it down several times one morning, each time getting closer to calling Tim until he throws it at the wall. He leaves his apartment before he can do the same to his tablet.

There’s no point carrying out his usual errands, and he ends up wandering aimlessly around the city for a few hours. Somehow he ends up on a building across the street from Wayne Enterprises, staring at the floor where he knows Tim’s office is. Where he knows Tim is.

Even on a case, pretty boy has to be the model employee or no allowance from B.

It would be simple for Jason to get into the building if he wanted to. There’s Bat access points all over the place, and secret corridors and doors. He wouldn’t even need a disguise to keep anyone from recognizing Bruce Wayne’s dead kid.

Yeah, and then what, moron? What exactly is the game plan once you get in?

He can’t even answer himself and lets out a wordless yell of rage that gets lost in the whipping wind.

“Screw this,” Jason growls and turns his back on the WE building. It galls him that it’s difficult to do even that.

Time to get some answers.

Since there haven’t been any reports of arrests of winged metas, he knows exactly where to look. Tim’s as paranoid and as much of a control freak as Bruce, and he’s not about to let a potential resource go before he’s used it to its full potential.

And there’s no way babybird doesn’t have a secret hideout under his place.

It’s a short journey back to the old theater district, or at least it feels that way; Jason’s more distracted than he’d like and barely registers the trip. Once there, he circles the block where Tim’s apartment is located a few times, making sure that there’s no sign of its owner (even though he knowsTim’s at work, there’s a part of him that keeps hoping) and then breaks in.

It’s a bit of effort to disable the security system (the little shit is too paranoid and smart for his own good) and then even longer to start looking for a way into Tim’s base of operations.

He may or may not get side-tracked snooping through the kitchen (no wonder he’s so scrawny, he’s got barely any food in here) and rummaging in the bathroom medical cabinet (at least he’s well-stocked, it’ll keep him from bleeding out the next time he gets injured) and picking through various DVDs (of course Tim has the extended versions of Lord of the Rings, why doesn’t that surprise him?). It’s only when he peeks into Tim’s bedroom, sees the king-sized bed and has a sudden image of the younger man sprawled out on it that Jason remembers the actual reason he’s here and almost runs back downstairs.

It takes longer than he’d like to find the trick to opening the secret door, though when he finds it, he snorts.

Because fish? Really?

When would Tim even have the time or patience to remember to feed them, unless he was coming over to the aquarium every day? It’s the only thing in the apartment that doesn’t feel like Tim.

Jason scowls, wondering when he started being so familiar with Tim’s esthetic. They’ve barely hung out together since his grand and bloody return to Gotham, and they’re both always traveling the world or wide void of space, there hasn’t been the opportunity to get to know the kid. Yes, he once studied his replacement obsessively, but that was to find his weaknesses, to learn how to take him apart, to destroy him and in turn destroy Bruce.

None of that should translate to knowing minutiae like how Tim takes his coffee.

When did I even pick that up? Could it have been that time with the waffles?

His ruminations trail off as he takes in the vast, three-level cavern he’s descended into.

And…okay, this place is way cooler than Jason’s pseudo-Batcave, but he guesses that’s par for the course when a tech nerd whose Daddy bankrolls everything.

Though he doubts Tim would have used Bruce’s money to finance this. He likes his independence; Jason learned that for himself about the time he found the kid holed up in Lex Towers. It’s one of the things he likes about him.

He finds Eros in a containment unit.

Bingo.

The guy has a decent set-up too, from the look of it; he might as well be in a swanky hotel room.

“Back so soon?” Eros calls, not looking up from his show right away. “I thought you had work or whatever it is you humans force yourselves to endu—” He glances up and sees that it’s not Tim, and his sentence trails off, expression becoming almost gleeful as if he’s been waiting for him a while.

“Kairόs dé, poimḗn laôn,” he purrs.

Jason blinks, not understanding the words even as they tug at something in him. It’s like being spoken to in a dream or from beneath running water.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, that’s not one of the languages I had drilled into me.”

Eros’s face morphs instantly.

“Well, you’re no fun,” he says, and though the words are accompanied by a childish pout, Jason thinks he senses actual disappointment there. Normally he might investigate that, but he’s here for a reason, and that involves figuring out what the hell is going on with him.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Indeed,” Eros says. “Starting to get that unscratchable itch, aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I warned you and you didn’t believe me. Not sure what you expect me to do about it now.” The Olympian examines his nails.

“Oh, I don’t know--fix it, maybe?!”

“I already told you how to fix it. You could have been helping the pretty boy the past few days and possibly gotten closer to sorting things, but then you had to be all brooding and tortured and stomp off like a teenager.” Eros considers him. “Unrelated, but have you ever actually seen a bird brood? I’m curious, if you took that bucket off, would there be actual similarities?”

Jason tells himself the reason he clenches his fists is because of the Olympian’s flippant manner, and not because he called Tim ‘pretty’.

Which, no, not relevant.

“You said I’d be going out of my mind over T—Red Robin,” Jason growls. “That including hearing voices? Or seeing things that aren’t there?”

“It might? To be honest, I have no idea,” Eros says with a yawn. “I’ve never had anyone with your particular…history exposed to my blood. There’s any number of things it could be.”

“My history,” Jason repeats.

“Well, to start with the most glaringly obvious, you’ve returned from the dead. There’s an odor Revenants like you give off…hm, sort of like dirt and petrichor. If they’re brought back properly, I mean, otherwise it’s all rotting flesh and bodily fluids.” He shudders. “And there’s the unmistakable seal of the All-Caste on you. Ducra’s work, I’m guessing.”

Jason’s mouth twists. “And you can just…tell all that.”

“It’s written in the story of your soul,” Eros intones, and then looks smug, “among other things.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen too much in my time to go for that poetic New Age crap.”

“Oh, it’s far from New Age, boy, it’s from an olden time when men were men—”

“And sheep ran scared?” Jason interrupts. “Spare me the walk down memory lane and just answer my questions.

“You haven’t really asked me anything yet.”

“How long do I have before I completely lose it?”

“Again, no idea. Though no one’s ever made it more than two weeks, and by that point, there’s not really much left to save, if you know what I mean.”

Kind of figured that.

“And before it gets to that point? Is there a way of putting off the…urges?” he almost gags on the word.

“Depends.”

“On?”

Eros smirks. “On how far the object of your obsession is willing to go to save you.”

Rage frissons through Jason’s body. “Fuck you. That’s not happening.”

“Then you’d better get your affairs in order and say your goodbyes, et cetera…”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, do try,” Eros sniggers. “Birdboy took great pains to tell me there’s no way into this shiny prison cell unless you unlock the door from the outside. And if you walk in here now…well, you might end up seeing those troubling hallucinations and hearing those whispers a little more clearly following a second exposure.”

Jason snarls with rage and punches the glass in front of Eros’s face; it doesn’t even make a dent, and his knuckles immediately burn with pain.

“Feel better now?” Eros simpers, and then his face goes cold. “I don’t care if it’s with or without your little crush, it’s in everyone’s best interest to get my toys out of the world and back in my hands as soon as possible. You two have already withstood enough tragedy, don’t you think?”

“That written on my soul, too?” Jason spits but doesn’t wait for an answer. He whirls around and stalks away from the containment unit. This was a waste of time, and he needs to get out of here before Tim returns.

He’s not sure what he’d do if he actually ran into the other vigilante just now.

But one thing’s for sure: he’s going to have to start taking this seriously.

Knowing Tim’s already investigating the bow and arrow angle, Jason decides on a different take. There’s something not entirely above board about Eros, and Jason has no illusions the guy wouldn’t screw them over in a second. He’s calculating, like Tim, except in the Olympian’s case, the only one to benefit from that calculation is himself.

And there are some things he says that don’t jive. Jason’s not sure what exactly he’s been picking up on—going over all of their interactions, there’s nothing that stands out—but his gut is telling him there’s more going on here than the Olympian is telling.

The problem is, who the hell is going to help him out with this?

He can’t work with Tim, for obvious reasons, and contacting Bruce or Dick to use their Themysciran connections is right out. He doesn’t have any of his own, not really—Donna doesn’t really talk to him anymore. Even if he did have an in somewhere, he’d want to have at least enough background on the issue to understand whatever mindfuck logic usually comes along when dealing with Olympians or magic or anything like that. 

He needs information, and he knows who he needs to reach out to to get it since Tim isn’t an option. He’s not looking forward to it.

It’s always a toss-up if she’ll help or not.

Or make him beg or demand a favor in exchange.

Though at this point, the sooner he unravels the shitstorm that his life is devolving into, the better. Then he can hightail it out of Gotham and not come back until he and Tim have forgotten all about this little bit of awkwardness. Perhaps get back to the Ally-Possibly-Friend-Kinda-Brother-Sort Of? thing.

And so, before he can talk himself out of it, he taps into the private comm line to Oracle, the one he purposefully keeps muted whenever he’s back in town.

“Red Hood,” the familiar digital voice acknowledges a few seconds later.

“I need a favor.”

“Will wonders never cease.”

“I’ve been asking myself that for years.”

“You’ve been pretty adamant about not wanting help from me,” she remarks, and even with the lack of intonation he can hear the rebuke and rolls his eyes.

“Look, can we skip the guilt-trip? I’ll owe you.”

“I know you will.”

 “It’s more your research skills than hacking.”

“Oh?”

“I need to know as much as you can find about the Greek god Eros.”

Oracle is quiet for a long moment, and he wonders if she hasn’t logged off, but then she says, “Does this have anything to do with Red Robin asking me to watch for reports of individuals carrying a bow and arrows over the past few weeks?”

“It might,” Jason allows, a smile in his voice at the mention of Tim. He forces that back down, mentally castigating himself.

None of that!

“Are you two working a case?”

“Sort of. Not together—” Definitely not together! “—but same case. We’re approaching it from different angles.”

“But you’re reaching out to me, which you don’t do unless things have the potential to take a turn for the worse.”

“I’m reaching out to you so that they won’t have to later on, and that’s all I’m going to say. Can you help me or not?”

Another pause.

“It will take some time.”

“We’ve got less than two weeks. Think you can manage that?”

“What did you boys get yourselves into this time?” Oracle sighs. Her cooperation is implied, and Jason relaxes a hair.

Things are going to be fine.

“Thanks,” he says, and then pauses. “So, when you spoke to him—Red Robin, I mean. How did he sound?”

Or not.

 ⁂⁂⁂

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