#sort of a thoughts dump/ramble

[voltronthelostlion]

making random worldbuilding lore for chapter 32 because I think it’s fun and I am (self-indulgently) writing Lotaxca’s meet cute, and tell me why the planet I’m (repurposing haha) created would have its former inhabitants referred to as “Daltorians” (it’s still TBD but its planet Daltor) and it got me thinking Earth = Earthlings, Altea = Alteans, Olkarion = Olkari, etc. but Daibazaal = Galra/Galran, not Daibazaalians or some iteration of that.

Is Galra like human? Am I missing something? I know that s3e7 says something about the Galra being a species of many warring factions (haven’t double checked that) and that they’ve always been really war-torn but they’ve also like conquered/colonized before Voltron’s creation.

Is Daibazaal a planet they potentially took over because their og planet went to ruin or something? Or maybe it could’ve been a lot more further down the line and the Galra could’ve been one race and then there could’ve been another race and Daibazaalians could’ve been the general term but then the Galra exterminated all of them, so they saw no reason to refer to themselves as general, they chose Galra. Also since the planet was destroyed, that cemented the fact that there was no reason for them to be called “Daibazaalians”

Wait you know what, I see the vision. This was helpful lololol

[bulletbilltime]

Been watching Vinesauce's Tomodachi Life playthrough, and I just got to the part where Donkey Kong steals Two-Faced away from Walrus. And honestly? My brain's been braining a headcanon about that whole situation

So Donkey Kong is aware that he's in a game, right? And Two-Faced & Walrus were suspecting some malevolent god was messing with him... Here's my take on what happened:

Two-Faced notices that Walrus has been treated terribly, and Vinésauce kept being pushed on her despite her lack of interest. Maybe she talks to Donkey Kong, and finds out they're in a game. And she draws the line between Vinésauce and Walrus' terrible treatment. So, torn between the love she feels for Walrus, versus the literal universe treating him like a punching bag, she and DK make a show of deciding to date each other, essentially breaking up with Walrus and making him into more of a sympathetic figure.

Sure enough, everything becomes better for Walrus near instantly. And from that moment, she knows that the literal universe is fixating on HER. And isn't that a creepy thought? That the god of your universe is trying to push you into a relationship with its avatar? And punishes those you do decide to date?

[sp1resong]

i'd be so good at playing the narrator from razia's shadow

[arolesbianism]

I Really need to properly draw Christopher at some point but everytime I want to I just look at her in game sprite and weep for her truest form has already been achieved. What's even the point. This is her in the flesh.

[jaydenism]

I would love to see what your hypothetical Kanade crash out would look like ngl (you don't need to draw for this if you don't want to a text explanation would still be awesome)

ok soooo this isn't exactly the crashout but rather building up to it i guess :P

the rest of this post is gonna be rambling and predictions ⬇️

alright this ask enabled me, im gonna just dump all my thoughts as of now on what's to come for kanade's story :) i could end up being completely wrong, but hey im just theorizing and having fun here while i wait very impatiently lol

To start, I don't think kana5 will be on the scale of mizu5 (i mean i might be biased but idk if anything will come close to that level of insanity again), mainly because there hasn't been as much build-up to a breaking point. Kanade's issues have been pushed aside (by herself especially) and not heavily focused on up to this point in the story. There hasn't been any increasing tension for things to reach a climax yet. Having her big break be in this next event would be too sudden and sort of unprecedented. For this event at least, I highly doubt that'll be the case. Instead, I think this event will start to touch on Kanade's buried issues more, and begin building that tension for something bigger. I can see this being a multiple event arc, similar to the events leading up to the climax of Mafuyu's story. Summarizing that, yes I think Kanade's got some real tough shit ahead of her, but that's why this won't be a one-off event story. I think it'll just be the beginning.

That being said, to touch more on my predictions for kana5 itself, I think Kanade will start to slip, and the others, Mafuyu especially, will take notice. I can't really predict anything specific, but I think something will happen that will make her question her ability to save people, or cause her to be harder on herself, as she has in the past, to keep composing persistently, neglecting her own needs and health. However, things are different now than they were before niigo. She has more people around her that will be able to see the damage she's doing to herself. But she also knows they all look up to her, and that her music lifts them up. She knows they all have a lot they're dealing with, and she needs to be there for them. She can't let them down.

Then, when Kanade pushes herself past her limits at the cost of her well-being, what will she do then? She meets with the others on nightcord every night, and Mafuyu is living at her place. She won't be able to rot away by herself anymore without people noticing. But she still feels this need to be the group's rock and to be the one to save everyone, so she'll try her damn hardest to prevent the others from worrying about her. She'll shoot down their attempts at trying to talk about it. I think she might be especially stubborn this time around, and it might cause niigo to have to figure out a way to help Kanade, since they won't be able to get through to her at first.

Kanade has shown in the past to get uncharacteristically aggressive when she's pushing herself too hard, as shown above. She starts to take on everything herself, and snaps at anyone who tries to stop her. I think this side of her will be shown more going forward, as she begins to go down this kind of self-destructive path yet again. At least, that's where I think her story will go. Her tendency to work herself to the bone hasn't really been resolved, and she's gone so far with it before to end up in the hospital after passing out. She doesn't care what happens to her, as long as she can save people. The only reason she has ((slightly)) gotten better at taking care of herself is so that she can be able to keep composing without ending up in the hospital again. Not because she cares about her health. Because she must keep composing. She still only does the bare minimum for herself. If it's her cooking, she's only having instant ramen, and most days she's probably not going to see the sun. She still doesn't sleep much, and Mafuyu has said that she's often falling asleep at her computer.

This might be getting a little rambley atp, but my point is that Kanade neglects her own needs in her determination to save others. I mentioned how she neglects her physical health in the last paragraph, but she also neglects her own feelings as well.

She minimizes her own problems or just doesn't even talk about them. I think she truly believes that her problems don't matter, that they only distract her from her goals. The reason she doesn't open up is likely because she herself doesn't believe her feelings are important at all. She doesn't pay them any mind, and she doesn't want anyone else to either.

Of course, I have to bring this card up. I think this is just a perfect visual representation of Kanade's feelings, and it's great foreshadowing for what's to come. Those feelings are buried deep within Kanade, yet to be addressed or solved. THIS is what we're getting into. Kanade, depicted as an angel, surrounded by death. I think this is related to her guilt surrounding what happened to her father, believing it was her fault. That she destroyed everything. But because of that incident, she told herself she has to keep composing, and never stop, in order to save people. She feels like she owes that much, and that that's her sole purpose. She won't allow herself to think otherwise. No matter how much it destroys her, she must be a savior for others.

Last thing I wanted to add, because I saw this reblog under a prev kanade analysis post, and they brought up great points. Especially how dangerous Kanade's composing grind can get. We wouldn't even have a story if Honami hadn't found Kanade unconscious!!! I think she might get to a really low point again like this, but having Mafuyu there especially, it won't be able to go unnoticed. I don't have much else to add to those tags though cus they speak for themselves 🙏

Finally, just real quickly going back to the little comic I drew, this is just a rough idea of how I think Kanade could act. She'll get noticeably worse, but will try to hide that fact from the others and deny any help from them. I also mentioned that I think we could see more aggression from her again, so I included that, as she feels threatened in a way by Mafuyu worrying about her. She can't let that happen. Also, Kanade's impending doom aside, I think this progression in the story may also spark some change in Mafuyu. She might show some more emotion in this or future events, and she may realize how much Kanade means to her, motivating her to do more for her. I think it'll be a full group effort to save Kanade, but I wanna see Mafuyu taking a bigger role in this. I just think this also has the potential to grow Mafuyu's character more.

Also, as for the Kanade crashout, I really don't know how they'll handle that. I can't really predict what they're gonna do with her climax. But I want her screaming yelling and crying !!! like she better go insaneeee 🙏 and I also feel like they have a lot of potential with her seiyuu/VA and stepping out of the soft quiet voice to do some crazy shit, maybe in the songs too pls pls pls give us loud kanadeeee

OKAY THATS ENOUGH YAPPING its 5 am i havent slept....

[tinker-jae-spam]

Here is a philosophy

i am eepy.

uhhh let's make this quick. basically, hee hee hoo hoo. If you take the existentialist mode of thought. Oh wait hold on before I forgot. right so if you take the human mode of thought, not saying there is a default but I guess my mode of thought, looks like it traces back to ancestors in caves, survival, that sort of thing. We(i mean myself) have an innate ability to solve problems, overcome stuff, and think outside of the situation we find ourselves in. anyways I think that's pretty dope, I think that humans are by default, worth living for. Or rather it is worth it to exist. Listen wait here's a premise. I do philosophy mostly for myself and my family and friends, so I don't like generalizing, when I say we I refer mainly to myself and close people I knows experiences. Life is worth living. I think that people have inherent value just by being and it is worth seeking out an existence in this world. However I do think people require meaning, some rhyme or reason or whatever. Not like in the way a fork is made to eat. I think humans are made to exist, and create their own meaning. To be is meaning enough. However certain people seek out that meaning in different ways. Activism, religion, careers, crafts, shit like that. Me personally I think you build your own meaning block by block and that it's not so simple or visible just due to the way that time and life works. Meaning is like a couch, you can see a couch, but you can't see it on all sides, you're always only seeing part of the couch, not the whole thing. That sort of thing. Anyways yeah build your own meaning or whatever I wounder what mine is gonna be when I build it. Building it soon guys I swear. Existentialism is cool ;]

part 2, end.

[starrypawz]

Apparently I'm getting a bit weird and existential again and I just subjected my brother to this so now it's your turn

It's not necessarily sad but this does deal with topics of like death and grief so it'll go under a cut

So I had a bit of a weird moment a couple of days ago, I was cleaning up the living room and as part of that decided to tackle to drawers we have

One under the tv that's sort of an 'important things don't loose' drawer and another one in a side table.

And yeah the drawer under the tv was a bit of a mess as it had become a bit of a doom drawer where things had gone to be forgotten forever so I sorted through it and then whilst working through it I found a pile of stuff that my dad needs to sort, and some of it was to do with my mum, like paperwork from the hospice carers and things so I kind of just shoved it to one side and went 'Hey dad I need you to look through this'

And then yeah the drawer under the side table that was kind of... her side table as it's in the corner of the living room she tended to sit in and I emptied the drawer out into a box to be sorted later and it was a bit of a weird moment. There wasn't anything sentimental in the drawer (And I don't really have anything sentimental from my mum she just... wasn't that person) it was largely random stuff, mostly junk but yeah it was just a bit of a 'Oh uh this is a drawer of things from a person who isn't here anymore' and it's not as if I'm not surrounded by things of hers but apparently that day it just got me more than normal. like just a drawer of random stuff sitting in the living room largely untouched for a few years.

And I've thought about this next point a lot but my mum used to cross stitch. And the last project she was working on before she got too ill to do so was of all things a cross stitch reproduction of the last supper. And for a while after she passed it stayed in the living room on a tapestry frame unfinished and yet it just felt a bit weird (it's been packed away somewhere now, partly bc the frame kept getting knocked and having to put it back on the frame got really fucking annoying after a while) also I can't help but think of the irony of the subject matter and it's unfinished state and how if I saw that in a piece of fiction I'd probably laugh about stupidly on the nose pretentious symbolism. Like I could probably take this thing and get an exhibition space and put it up and present it as some profound piece on life and death and everything else.

And apparently from here I started talking about spirits and ghosts. I know somewhere I actually have an ask from a meme where someone asked me about this topic.

But it's like... I don't feel the concepts of ghosts are as far fetched as you'd think. It's a bit weird as like I will admit I am to a degree a skeptic, but also as some of you might know I have like been looking a little more into paganism and sort of like it.. fits how I feel? But also I do think there's a lot of bullshit involved in that general sphere of paganism and witchcraft and new age stuff and whatever else you want to call it but like that's another debate for another day. I just feel there's something useful back there, and it sure as heck makes more sense than the Christanity I was raised in and I don't think believing largely in the power of nature and that largely everything is living and giving it a degree of worship is the worst way to go through life. Maybe I just like the thought of thinking there's something a bit beyond us, a little bigger or maybe I'm just clinging to my childhood hope that fairies exist.

Like I just feel there's something? If ghosts don't like exist as we see them in public consciousness as like a supernatural being it might be a bit like... We kind of create ghosts?

Like it could just be something our brains do because human brains are very weird and we just create them to help us deal with the concept of mortality. Like just we subconsciously want to fill a void someone left.

And obviously the concept of like spirits and ghosts and everything have persisted throughout humanity's existence so whatever it is is very ingrained and honestly I don't think it's the worst thing to believe in.

Also I feel there's an extension of the law of 'matter can't be created or destroyed' that could be taken to apply to ghosts and spirits like I wouldn't be surprised if something does linger. And like I just have a feeling if it is something beyond like our brains just making up something maybe some people do linger for a while.

I don't feel my mum was one of those though. Honestly I think she was very much quite happy to just leave this plane of existence when the time came. I don't think if anything is around it's in this house she's long gone, she doesn't visit me in dreams or anything like that, she doesn't send me signs like butterflies or birds, I doubt I could tap into her presence with my tarot decks or if i got a hold of a ouija board, I very much would not believe someone coming to me saying 'she sought me out and wants to tell you a message'

But I remember shortly after she passed in that weird space of time between her death and the funeral where everything was just all over the place and it was just a bad time in general something happened.

My mum when she was in on home hospice care during the end had a buzzer.

One day my brothers and I got in an argument, no idea what over. Just we got in an argument and then seemingly out of nowhere the buzzer went off and well it made us all stop.

Logically it's like... that was just random, there was a battery malfunction or something mundane that just set the buzzer off.

But also maybe she was still there for a bit, and honestly it would've been quite on brand if her parting act towards us was essentially going 'SHUT THE FUCK UP'

Also on the day of her funeral, one of my aunts and one of my uncles on that side briefly got stuck in a lift at the church we held the service at, my mum had a bit of a tenuous relationship with her siblings to put it mildly (She was one of six) . Yet again more likely the lift just had a moment but also I wouldn't have put it past her if she was still around.

Also I can't remember exactly when but at some point last year one of my aunts on that side of the family passed. (Last couple of years were a bit weird as well first our family dog Barney passed just before shit really hit the fan covid wise (Is it weird to say a death was sort of well timed?) then yeah we go through that then my mum passed, an aunt by marriage on my dad's side and then an aunt on my mum's side) And then today I was thinking if like we do actually have some sort of afterlife my mum has probably been quite content there. And then oh no, her sister showed up.

I think spirits of some sort likely exist maybe, this universe is a weird one and maybe it's not totally bound by logic, animism makes a degree of sense to me, maybe my mum did in a parting gesture yell at her kids one last time and mess with her siblings or maybe I just think it's funny to think that.

I don't really have a point I'm trying to make here I just apparently had to get some thoughts out.

[reidsglasscs]

TALK NERDY TO ME

✸ pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you love to just stare at spencer as he info dumps

✸ warnings: none!

✸ a/n: this isn’t proof read at all by AYYYY look at me writing again on here 🙌 spencer reid is the new loml btw

You loved to listen to Spencer talk. And when I say love, I mean love.

He could ramble on about anything from the weather to the gravitational propulsion of the moon in comparison to the rest of the celestial bodies in our milkyway, and he could do any of it happily and until someone inevitably told him to just shut up.

That someone was never you though, and it never would be.

You didn’t quite know what it was, but there was just something about the way he spoke that was entrancing. His voice, his focus, the way he talked with his hands, and how his volume would gradually increase as he got more and more excited and remembered more details about what it was he was explaining.

If he moved around, your head moved with him, swiveling about to keep up, awe-struck eyes stuck on him the entire time.

Spencer could infodump about the drying times of different paint brands and you’d hand onto every last word he said, just because he was the one saying it.

It was safe to say that the team had gotten sick and tired of the two of you quickly.

Nobody else wanted to hear Spencer rattle on about useless, unrelated topics, and they certainly didn’t want to sit there and watch as you just prolonged the discussion by encouraging him to continue further just because you liked his voice.

And yet, it happens nearly every single jet ride without fail.

“I mean, really, it’s not all that uncommon for killers to write letters to their victims before killing them. In most cases, it’s seen as either a form of warning or of love. That’s why it never raises any red flags in most cases, because the victim is simply led to believe that they have a secret admirer of sorts. Oh! And a study done in the early 80s by Alexander Wilkins found that in over seventy percent of those cases, the unsub actually was in love with his victim or victims.”

Here Spencer was yammering on about false love-induced psychosis, and you were looking at him like he were professing his own undying love for you.

A hand propped up on the armrest of your chair held your chin, your big doe eyes watching him close and listening even closer.

You didn’t even know yet if it retained to the case whatsoever, it was just a possibility that Emily happened to throw out there in the initial case overview, and now you were all listening to the history of psycho killer lovers.

Spencer caught a glimpse of your wonder-filled gaze and smiled, continuing on with his explanation with a newfound encouragement.

“There’s no shot you’re actually interested in this,” Morgan grumbles to your left.

You swat a hand at him in a weak attempt to shush him, eyes still trained on Spencer.

He talked and talked for about ten more minutes before concluding the topic and being cut off by Hotch before he could cross into another one.

Taking the hint, he reclaimed his seat beside you, all rambled out for the moment.

When he does, you weave your hand through his, your hands resting together in his lap.

“I thought it was interesting, Spence,” You told him as a little boost of reassurance.

“You say that every time,” he smiled.

“And I mean it every time,” you countered with a smile of your own.

“Oh yeah?” He rose a brow. “Can you tell me a single thing I just said or were you just staring and not listening?”

After considering it for a moment you realized that no, you couldn’t tell him a single thing he’d said, having been too distracted with your enraptured staring to actually pay attention.

So you just smiled wider at him, leaning a little closer as you both dissolve into a fit of childish giggles.

[lov3lyl3tters]

I loved your “admiring” fic!! Is there any chance you could do one similar where Spencer and reader are dating and reader purposefully makes Spencer flustered and all “malfunctioned” and stuff? 🫶 I could just imagine Spencer being like mid info dump and he just loses his train of thought and is as red as a tomato HAHA 😭😭❤️❤️

“Flustered”

Summary: Spencer loves to ramble, and you love to listen—but more than anything, you love making him completely short-circuit mid-sentence. With a well-timed compliment, you manage to do the impossible: render Dr. Spencer Reid speechless.

Warnings: teasing, something on quantum entanglement, spencer flustered (when he said he forgot something i mean it in the most fluffy way possible PLEASE🙏)

A/N: THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST AHHHV ILY

Spencer’s mid-info dump.

He’s going on about quantum entanglement, hands gesturing animatedly as he explains the concept in painstaking detail. You’re listening (sort of), but mostly, you’re watching—watching the way his lips move, the way his brows furrow in concentration, the way his fingers twitch with nervous energy.

And then, you strike.

“God, you’re so pretty when you ramble.”

Spencer’s entire body freezes—like someone just hit the pause button on him. His mouth opens and closes twice, and then, just like that, his brain completely short-circuits.

“I—uh—what?”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “What? You don’t like being called pretty?”

His ears are red. His entire face is red. If you look closely, you’re pretty sure you can see the exact moment his neurons combust.

“I—I mean—” Spencer swallows hard, struggling to reboot. “That’s not—people don’t usually—”

“Because they’re blind,” you say, completely deadpan. “You’re the prettiest genius I’ve ever seen.”

He makes a strangled sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, and you swear his soul leaves his body for a second.

Spencer Reid, certified genius, IQ of 187, eidetic memory—is malfunctioning.

It’s glorious.

“I—um—” He blinks rapidly, shifting in his seat, clearly trying to compose himself. “Th-that’s not a scientifically measurable trait—”

You lean in just a little, watching as he physically stops breathing.

“It is when I say it is.”

Spencer swallows again, visibly recalculating all of his life choices. His fingers tap frantically against the table, his usual nervous tic amplified tenfold.

You lean back, completely satisfied, and take a sip of your drink like you didn’t just obliterate the poor man’s entire existence.

Spencer just stares at you, wide-eyed and dazed.

And then, in a small, defeated whisper:

“…I forgot what I was talking about.”

[delphi-shield]

— 「 BODYGUARD 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.2k summary: you're not his responsibility (not yet), but the guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't get your drunk ass home safely. content: lighter's pov, vomit, alcohol use, sappy lighter, jealous lighter beyonce's bodyguard is so him to me i can't do this anymore fellas

You call; he answers.

Some things in life are just that simple. Lighter tries to keep it that way for you.

You don’t normally call in the middle of the night, though. Lighter doesn’t mind – honest, he doesn’t. He had been tossing and turning since he laid down, passing the time by picking open old wounds, letting the regret sting the raw edges. It takes time to realize that the ringing isn’t in his ears, that he’s flat on his back in bed, not in the ring. He almost ignores the call, but when he rolls over and sees your name flickering back at him, he dives to pick up before the last ring.

You're silent on the other line, nothing but muffled talking and rustling against the microphone. All sorts of scenarios race through his head. You're stuck somewhere - trapped in a hollow, or cornered by a rival gang. His past has caught up to him, mired you in all this ick. His stomach turns.

Adrenaline works way better than caffeine and he’s known that for a while, but he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with the helplessness that grips him. Lighter sits up, swings his legs over the side of his bed, poised to run to you.

It’s nothing so serious. When you finally get your phone up to your face and greet him with a (too loud, too sloppy) ‘hey!’ it becomes painfully obvious. You're drunk. That's what all of this is about.

Lighter needles the details out of you bit by bit, trying to glean information from your ramblings. Stranded out in Badger Springs. You met some guy out there for a date, he went to the bathroom and didn’t come back. You don’t laugh when he offers to deck the guy, and he can’t tell if you’re really torn up about this or if you just didn’t hear him.

Lighter pinches the bridge of his nose. He exhales long and low, away from the mic. He shouldn't encourage this. Can't keep bailing you out every time you get yourself in a sticky situation. But the thought of you drunkenly stumbling around the Outer Ring, bumbling your way into real trouble, has him fumbling to get his arms through his jacket.

“Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

Badger Springs. Seriously? Why’d you have to go so far out? What was so wrong with getting a drink in Blazewood?

Irritation pricks at him, has his hands feeling staticky even when he grips the handlebars of his bike. You probably went out there so no one would interrupt your date. What, were you trying to hide it? Did the girls know about this? No. No way. You would have called one of them to pick you up if that were the case. Right? You weren’t trying to hide it from him, not specifically.

He has a long ride ahead to stew about it, to knot the meaning of your actions into ugly shapes and then smooth them out, only to twist it all up again another mile down the road. This wouldn’t have happened - he kicks the stand down on his bike - if he’d manned up, if he’d asked you to watch the movie he’d rented. (New release, independently produced, apparently based off some old civilization tapes that had only been spoken about in a scant few records - some horror flick called Seen that you had been raving about. Not his thing, but your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He figured he could just watch you during the bloody parts.)

But he didn’t ask, and now he’s here, freezing his ass off in the middle of the night, parked outside this shithole bar, two towns over. The bar is a dump. Looks like your date couldn’t even take you anywhere nice. You’re off by yourself at the end of the bar, shoulders drawn in close, crowding over your drink. At least the regulars are leaving you alone. A quick look around tells him that there’s too many people in this place for it to be a quick fight, if it came down to that.

He strolls past tables and booths, lets his hand fall heavy on your shoulder. You jump, turning sluggishly to look up at him - eyes wide and red. C’mon - don’t tell him you’ve been crying over this prick. Your expression smooths the moment that you recognize him. 

“Lighter!” Your arms fling around his middle, squeeze him tightly.

The tide of adrenaline that he washed in on pulls back, drags his relief away. Anger shores up, quick and sudden. It soothes in another pulse of his heart; understanding. It's kind of flattering if he doesn't think about it too hard. You trusted him enough to come pick you up. Probably couldn't even think clearly - just knew you wanted to go home. Knew he would get you there, safe and sound. Not a bad prize for driving all the way out here; he tries to enshrine this moment in his memory. Later, trying to fall asleep in his room, he’ll feel like a sleaze for delighting in being your hero like this.

He pats the top of your head, takes advantage of the distraction to wave the bartender over, check if you’ve still got an open tab. He slips him a couple extra denny for the trouble, keeps you distracted and talking with carefully placed ‘oh, really?’s and ‘mhm’s.

"You're wasted, huh?"

“Not that bad.”

You sound confident. He steps back, lets you hop off the bar stool on your own. Lighter hooks a thumb in his pocket. He drums his fingers against his thighs, watching you sway back and forth in front of him. Your eyes are hazy and unfocused, looking in his general direction with a dopey grin on your face.

Pride feels better than anger. He latches onto that. You make it so easy to feel when you cling onto his arm, lean into him. He keeps you close, ignores the whispers he overhears about the Red Scarf. His step quickens. He’s not getting into any trouble, not when he’s here for you.

You struggle to keep up, all uncoordinated limbs, your head probably spinning. He helps you onto the back of his bike and passes you a helmet. He’d grabbed it on his way out - figured if you were as trashed as you sounded on the phone then it was better safe than sorry. He’s glad he did.

Somewhere along the ride home, you stopped babbling. He had felt your words pressed against his back more than he had heard them. He stops just before home to check on you. Can’t have you falling asleep. He doesn’t want to hear it about riding in with you all banged up on the back - he’d never let it down. He’d never let himself live it down, more accurately, but his bike starts back up before you hear that part.

Honestly, he’s almost positive you won’t remember much past when you first called him. That doesn’t stop him from treating you gently. He helps you off his bike, keeps your hand in his to guide you around stray milk crates and cacti that just seemed to leap into your path.

It’s just a little further. He’s almost got you back to your place when he hears it. That ominous groan. Your face pallid, cold sweat breaking out against your forehead.

“Gonna throw up?” He asks, big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

You shake your head, the force of it knocking you off balance. You would have stumbled right into a cactus if he hadn’t hauled you into his side by the back of your shirt. (Like scruffing a kitten, he catches himself thinking. Cute.)

He tries to guide you to the closest trash can, but you can’t quite make it. Your legs are quaking, all the strength sapped from you while you expel that contents of your stomach into one of Old Demir’s flower pots. He gathers your hair back from your face gently, caging it all in one hand to rub your back with the other. Somewhere between gentle coos of ‘there you go’ and ‘let it all out’, he manages to make out your garbled apology. You thread it between heaves, between sobs, but he catches it all the same and shushes you for it.

“All better?” He asks when the dry heaving has stopped. You nod slowly. The tiniest whimper he’s ever heard drifts from your lips. He knows from experience that much more movement than that will hurt.

Lighter sighs. The scent of your perfume curdles with the stench of vomit. He arranges your hair back as best he can, trying to replicate the way you had done yourself up - all pretty for another man, he remembers. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and he pulls the end of his scarf free.

“No, Lighter–”

Your hands are clumsy. He dodges your attempts to stop him easily. He clicks his tongue and swipes the vomit from your chin. “Don’t worry about it. This scarf has seen worse.”

It’s about time to get it cleaned, anyway. Add that to his growing list of chores.

You’re moving slower than before. He tucks you into his side to give you some more stability. When you pause at the steps to your place, he sweeps an arm under your knees, cradles you close to him. He had expected a protest, or an apology - something in line with the rest of your behavior this evening, but you curl closer to him. 

It’s a fumble to find your keys - shifting your weight from one arm to the other until he finally finds them in your back pocket. He knows your place well enough to dodge the shoes left in the entrance way, to step around the box that sticks out into the hallway from your bedroom. He settles you into your bed, rolls you onto your side - just to be safe.

Lighter keeps watch for a few moments, making sure you’re not going to roll onto your back, pressing the back of his hand against your sweat-chilled forehead. Once he’s certain the worst has passed, he leaves to fill a glass of water for you. Your eyes are half-open when he gets back. He draws up a chair, tries to figure out how to ask if you want his help changing into something more comfortable without sounding like a creep.

You rip that idea from his head when you blindside him with a question.

“D’you think it’s my fault?”

“Course not,” Lighter answers before he can even put together what you’re asking. “Everyone has too much fun sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even gonna remember this.”

“No, I mean…” You curl tightly around your pillow. He could have sworn he heard a hitch in your voice. His heart lurches. Christ, you can’t start crying now. He can’t take it. “Why would he just leave?”

Lighter has to remind himself not to pull a face. Not what you need right now. He’s already said too much. He’s just going to wind up upsetting you more. He wants to tell you that guy is a douchebag, that none of it had been your fault. The guy just wasn’t man enough to be upfront. That was all.

“I just don’t think I’m meant for this,” you whisper. His train of thought crashes abruptly. "Like– love, and stuff.”

“You’re so much fun to be in love with,” Lighter says, and if you were sober you would clock him for just how quickly he did so, “and someday, someone’s gonna see that.”

“How do you know?”

Because my heart feels like it’s buckled into a roller coaster and I can’t figure out if I’m having fun or if I’m scared shitless. Because I’ve got eyes. Because it’s you.

He can’t say any of that. Not now, while you’re shivering and small, a little bundle of raw nerves that he rescued from some dump. Christ, you really are a kitten right now. He chucks your chin with a knuckle, his smile twisting to something bittersweet.

“C’mon. You should know not to bet against me by now.”

For the first time since he got you through the door, you smile. Barely there and flimsy, but you’re only just clinging to consciousness. Your cheek presses back against your pillow, eyes slipping shut.

“Thanks, Lighter,” you murmur.

You’re out cold within the next minute.

Lighter lingers overlong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in your room while you’re passed out like this, but he can’t bring himself to rise. His shoulders hunch, expression dropping, stomach churning. Through your window, dawn is just beginning to break. The Outer Ring is bathed in a cool blue light, the horizon tinging purple at the edges.

You have a hell of a morning ahead of you. He runs a hand down his face and forces himself to stand, to get his day started properly. Another sleepless night. Maybe the next time he finds himself awake, staring at the ceiling and tormenting himself, he’ll call you first. Maybe he’ll do it before anyone else has a chance to.

Lighter locks your door on his way out and tucks the key under your mat. He should act. He should tell you.

He walks back to his place in silence, resisting the urge to grab his phone, to text you and say let me know if you need anything.

Maybe one day.

[nope-asdf]

Ramble of thoughts and a small sketch dump under the cut.

Y'all can't convince me that my boy looks absolutely NO different than he did before that portal accident. Whether his "molecules got rearranged", or is walking around both alive and dead at the same time like Schrodinger's cat, or any of all the different headcanons that exist out there, surely there has to be SOMETHING that's not quite right, right?

That's why I really like to draw Danny's human form's eyes like the above concept art. I like the idea of his eyes passively being the only visual hint that not everything is as it seems. The eyes are the window to the soul, after all. Maybe it's too obvious, idk, I might scrap the concept at some point. But no one on the show has ever noticed the consistently blatant use of his powers in plain sight either, so I guess it wouldn't be too much of a stretch.

Likewise, just like how Danny's human eyes will glow green when he's angry, I think it would be cool for his ghost form to also have a version of his "scary eyes" that's more dynamic than a simple brighter glow than normal. I feel like the idea of his pupils changing color to a bright yellow makes it much more intimidating than normal (I mainly took inspiration from the old Pet Sematary movie when I first thought of this, which freaked me out as a kid, so maybe it seems more eerie to me than it actually is, idk, I just thought it was a cool concept).

From a quick glance around the tumblr I didn't see anyone else have this sort of headcanon. Of course I didn't look very hard either so I'm sure there's something similar somewhere probably that I missed, but I wanted to throw it out there anyway.

(Also, I've been working on a couple of projects that I hope to be finished with soon, hopefully I'll be able to get done with those and post them within the next week or two. Or three. Or so. Idk, I have a full time job and part time job so it's hard for me to balance things.)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Dialogue

A Guide to Writing Better Dialogue

Consider the following criteria:

The dialogue must move the story forward. After each conversation or exchange, the reader should be one step closer to either the climax or the conclusion.

Reveal relevant information about the character. The right dialogue will give the reader insight into how the character feels, and what motivates them to act.

It must help the reader understand the relationship between the characters.

Tips for Better Dialogue

12 tips to writing forward-focused dialogue:

Keep it brief

Dialogue shouldn’t go over for pages and pages. The best dialogue is brief.

You don’t need to go into lengthy exchanges to reveal an important truth about the characters, their motivations, and how they view the world.

Pair the dialogue down to the minimum that you need for the characters to say to each other.

Avoid small talk

In the real world, small talk fills in the awkward silence, but in the world of your novel, the only dialogue to include is the kind that reveals something necessary about the character and/or plot.

How’s the weather? doesn’t move the plot.

If you’d like to show that your character doesn’t like awkward pauses, work on characterization and scene description.

Instead of using mind-numbingly long exchanges, show the character’s discomfort by describing how she taps her fingers against the window pane, or takes a series of sharp sighs.

Small talk can water down the effectiveness of your scene.

Instead, pick exchanges that capture the essence of the moment, and bypass small talk altogether. Let that be an understood nod between you and the reader, and dive right into the action.

Don’t info dump

While you can certainly use dialogue to learn more about your characters, you shouldn’t use it to dump a whole lot of information on the reader.

If you must info dump, don’t do it in dialogue.

It may slow dialogue to a grinding halt. It may sound awkward.

What’s the difference between info dumping and revealing relevant information?

Info dump is a large amount of exposition given all at once, and left for the reader to sort out.

Relevant information is more subtle, and it’s dispensed a little at a time.

Give your characters a unique way of speaking

Every character, just like every person you know, will have a unique way of speaking and delivering their thoughts.

Some people are more forceful and deliberate.

Others are more passive and meandering.

You can honor these (and other) different styles without rambling.

One method is to focus on word choice.

Example: To show that someone is rather gruff or abrupt, go towards single syllable or somewhat quick words, like “yeah.”

Same basic concept but different delivery, based on character.

Of course, word choice alone can’t dictate character.

You’ll do most of this through characterization, but word choice should subtly support and reinforce characterization.

Also establish a pattern of speech:

Does the character speak in a sharp staccato, or a deliberate, flowy manner?

By knowing how the character (especially the protagonist) speaks, you can create consistency whenever the character dialogues with others.

Be consistent

Remember to be consistent with your characters.

Someone who speaks in a self-depreciating and shy demeanor won’t automatically become bold and acerbic.

When your characters speak, they should stay true to who they are.

Even without character tags, the reader should be able to figure out who’s talking.

Create suspense

Use dialogue to increase the suspense between characters.

It’s human nature for people to withhold what they’re truly thinking or feeling.

People leave a lot unsaid, and this is also true for the characters in your novel.

To create a realistic interaction between your characters, you must honor the fact that most people leave a lot of things unsaid.

But that doesn’t mean that the reader can’t be privy to what’s being left unsaid.

As a writer, you can build the scene, show the characters’ motivations and desires before the scene, and let it play out, with the reader wanting a resolution that doesn’t quite happen.

Answer the following questions to setup your scene for suspense:

Does one character have the upper hand in the scene?

Is the other character seething just under the surface?

What does the reader find out through the exchange?

You can control all of this through dialogue.

Honor the relationship

Characters tend to speak differently based on who they’re speaking to.

A character will speak to his mother differently than he does to his best friend. That’s not a shift in consistency.

It actually gives more depth and realness to the character. You can still stay true to the personality you’ve created by using the same speech pattern.

Show, don’t tell

“Show, don’t tell” is the writer’s mantra.

When writing dialogue, it’s easy to start “telling” what the characters are feeling instead of showing it.

Instead of your character saying, “I’m angry!” describe how the character’s body is closed--tight lips, narrow eyes, deep breaths.

Don’t underestimate your reader.

The reader likes to see the scene, pick up the cues and come to the conclusion, instead of being told what to think. Your dialogue shouldn’t be completely on the nose, and explain exactly what the character is feeling.

Most people -- including your characters -- aren’t always aware of how they feel.

And sometimes, what they say they feel is different from what they truly feel.

Use dialogue to reveal characters, but not directly.

Body language is also an important part of dialogue, and should be written into every scene. It gives the reader important clues that they’ll use to recreate the scene in their mind.

Minimize identifying tags

“He said, she said” gets boring after a while.

And the answer isn’t to switch out those “said” tags with other words like “enthused” or “shouted”. (When it doubt, “said” wins out.)

Not only is it boring for the reader to constantly see “he said” or “said she”, it may be disruptive.

Identifiers take the reader out of the immersive world of your story and reminds them that you, the author, are relaying a story.

That can be pretty jarring, and it can happen if you use identifiers too often.

Of course, you can’t not use identifiers.

They’re vital for establishing who’s speaking, but can be minimized by doing the following:

Creating a unique pattern of speech.

Using descriptive follow ups. (e.g., “That’s not what I said.” Vincent reached for the rock.)

The second option can show what the characters are doing to further emphasize their words, or add context to the scene.

Greetings and goodbyes aren’t always necessary

While it’s only polite to say hello and bid adieu, it’s not necessary in novel dialogue to document these courtesies.

You can use exposition for salutations, but do avoid writing a blow-by-blow.

Set up the scene by describing how the character enters or leaves the scene.

Avoid speeches and soliloquies

Most people, in conversation form, do not have the privilege of extended speech.

They’re almost always interrupted because who wants to listen to someone natter on and on?

Read it aloud

During the editing process, you should always read your manuscript aloud, but do pay special attention to your dialogue.

If the dialogue doesn’t seem to flow, or you’re tripping over your words, it’s not going to sound right to the reader.

Even though you’re not capturing every part of a conversation in your dialogue, everything that’s written should sound like an actual person said it. If not, it’s time to erase and try again.

Source Writing References: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character More: Formatting Dialogue ⚜ Children's Dialogue ⚜ Dialogue Prompts

[teaboot]

Hey! Bamboo toilet paper person here. Your response was very thoughtful-- I want to apologize for placing the onus of climate issues on individual action, haha. I work at a zoo that bills itself as being very heavy on conservation messaging, but as a non-partisan organization we're obviously not allowed to talk about the evils of capitalism. This means that in our programming, we MUST place the responsibility of stopping climate change on individual guests, encouraging them to make more environmentally conscientious decisions like buying reef safe sunscreen or reducing carbon emissions by driving less. The most "political" we're allowed to get is telling people to stay educated and vote in favor of laws that will have a positive impact on the environment. I think I've been drinking the Zoolaid a little TOO much recently, because you're totally right-- the vast, VAST majority of damage to the environment is caused by major corporations, not random people working around their own unique needs. It was also low key a little ableist of me to take issue with that ngl.

Obviously no obligation to respond to this publicly (though it's fine if you choose to do so), but I did want to thank you for your response and mention that it did get through the nonprofit mission-based-organization propaganda living rent free in my head haha. Cheers!

Hey, you work at a zoo? That is SO cool, aadsdggjjg@!!!

And hey, no worries, you totally had a good point about endless waste and trying to counter it where possible- Just from personal experience involved in the barest edge of the fashion industry, I really, really, REALLY hate the idea that, like... people can't access simple shit like plastic straws, even if they're the best, most practical, least-harmful option for them.... because a 12 year old made up some random number for a school project about plastic waste

Where, as a zoo person, I imagine you're already aware that the average sea turtle is WILDLY more likely to die from abandoned plastic fishing nets or ocean-dump grocery bags than accidentally get a straw inside it

So here we are, using paper straws!- which may be an improvement, or may not, I don't have that data, and construction emissions are their own thing- BUT WE STILL HAVE OCEANS FULL OF ABANDONED NETS

WHICH ARE OBJECTIVELY WORSE, but MUCH harder to get rid of, and as the average person doesn't USE fishing nets, it'd much harder to market as a "You, not me" sort of issue.

Cleaning up fishing nets isn't trendy. It isn't sexy. You can't troubleshoot a cute little trendy solution for it that you can market to upwardly-mobile tweens.

But a reusable water bottle? A cute canvas tote? A metal straw? That's a solution you can buy and feel good about.

Never mind that you need to use a single cotton reusable bag somewhere like a million times before the cost of its construction counterbalances the cost of a single grocery bag every time you shop- which, hey, some of us were reusing as trash liners for their wastebaskets, or bundle bags for donating clothes, or lining for our leaky winter boots!

If a better option is available, I'll take it. But as ZERO HARM is next to impossible at this time, I personally am gonna aim for MINIMAL HARM as long as I can.

...sorry, I didn't mean to ramble off again.

But hey, if your nonprofit is doing good things, feel free to shoot me a link! I can post it on my blog :D

(Link to original post for context lol)

[zarteyaz]

Snowy Nights

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: In which, during a snowy night in Velaris, Azriel reflects what or rather who brings him peace

A/N: This is my first time posting anything, so forgive any typos etc. Not really sure what this was, more of a late night ramble, but I hope you enjoy! -----

Fractals of ice dance, a silent symphony that only he seems to hear. Azriel’s on the front porch of the townhouse, staring silently into the sea of white before him. He feels the warmth and laughter of the house behind him, the rumble of Cassian’s laugh or the twinkle of Feyre’s laugh, and the shenanigans they were certainly up to.

As much as he loved his family, they didn’t truly understand the concept of quiet. The lights, laughter, the drinks all got to be too much and Azriel found himself longing for a moment of peace, which is why he was currently standing outside alone, looking out over Velaris. He let out a breath, and loosened the damper on his shadows, letting them roam about.

“You are undoubtedly going to freeze to death” came a smooth voice behind him, and he startled. 

Azriel shot a glare at his shadows, she seemed to be the only one capable of sneaking up on him, his shadows never caring to inform him. Before he could respond, a fluffy throw blanket was dumped unceremoniously over his shoulders.

Azriel hadn’t even realized he was shivering, but upon the warmth of the blanket found himself unconsciously drawing it around himself. She came up beside him, the night painting the smooth planes of her face in moonlight, setting her aglow, something akin to a goddess. 

She fixed him with that viridian gaze, “Don’t expect me to lug your hulking ass indoors when you freeze into a sculpture out here”.

Something in his chest warmed at the concern, albeit harsh, in her voice. He chuckled, “I’ve survived worse temperatures, I’ll be just fine.”

She simply shook her head and shoved a steaming cup into his hands, a shadow passing over her eyes, as she considered what circumstances exactly had subjected him to such extreme conditions.

He blinked down at the cup of hot cocoa complete with a healthy serving of marshmallows and a dollop of whipped cream. No one really expected the feared Spymaster of the Night Court to have a sweet tooth, and Azriel wasn’t one to voice his preference for all things sugary and sweet. All the more reason he was shocked by the sweet treat in his hands, one he hadn’t even asked for.

She studied him for a moment longer, her dark waves tumbling over her shoulder as his shadows twined through the tresses. She never seemed to mind his shadows’ constant attention, for some unnamed reason Azriel could never decipher.

She reached out a hand and he ceased to breathe as she gently brushed some fallen ice crystals out of his hair. He fought the urge to shut his eyes and lean into the warmth, the care of her touch, the feeling of being wanted, of being seen -

“Just because you can handle worse, doesn’t mean you should Az” she simply replied, with regard to his previous comment.

He met her piercing gaze, and as always found himself lost in the stark clarity in her eyes. From the moment he met her, he always had the sensation that she saw him, straight to his core, and by some miracle he supposed, she did not shy away.

There was a bleak sort of understanding in her eyes now, an understanding of how after years of torturing and dealing with the worst Prythian had to offer, it was hard for him to allow himself to enjoy a simple night with his family, to believe he even deserved to feel peace, or gods forbid happiness.

That sometimes he couldn’t stand to be around his family, all the joy they all fought for, because Azriel couldn’t stand to burden them with his dark thoughts when he felt the walls closing in so tight he thought he’d just suffocate right then and there-

She smoothed her thumb down the rough scarred planes of the hand he kept clenched on the railing and his head went quiet. You are not judged her eyes seemed to say. 

Another stroke down his hand. You deserve the world and more.

Another. Let it out, I’ll always be here.

No judgment laid in her gaze for ditching the party, just clear acceptance and an uncompromising vow.

She turned to head back inside, understanding his need for a few moments to himself. An unfamiliar panic rose in his chest and he reached out a hand to grab her wrist.

“Stay” he said quickly, stumbling over the word. 

Now she blinked at him, whether it was at his flustered demeanor or at him voicing a request he couldn’t tell. 

“Someone will need to chaperone me in case I do end up turning into an icicle” he amended.

She let out a breath of laughter at that, “I’ll chaperone fine, but like I said earlier, I will not be lugging you inside” she said, giving him a smile.

Azriel found himself smiling dumbly back at her as she came back up beside him. 

“I’ll never leave you alone” she said softly, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. 

Struck speechless, Azriel considered the words, a promise of something more. 

As he stood there with a female who had proven time and time again that she couldn’t be scared away, he considered. Perhaps his peace wasn’t found in silence, but a person.

And perhaps his peace was something worth, more importantly, something he deserved to find. 

[merakijinx]

Jinx as Your Girlfriend (Part 1)

Author’s Note:

Hi! It’s merakijinx here, at first this was supposed to be a list of headcanons but then it kinda developed into a short story of how Jinx and reader’s relationship developed. I don’t want this fandom (especially the Jinx lovers part) to die haha so..

I also don’t know how to check for the word count I apologize, but this isn’t super long. This is the first time I’m writing something on here, and this also isn’t a serious AO3 story type shit, just a fun thought dump?

Hope you enjoy!

Before Dating ｡𖦹°‧

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ When Jinx first saw you, she didn’t think much of you. At most, she thought you were physically attractive— “easy on the eyes”.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Until you began being popping up in her life more, persistent to be around her. It was annoying & uncomfortable at first, because she wasn’t used to people wanting to be around her.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ It didn’t take long for her to warm up to you though. She tested you with pranks, pinned harmless glitter bombs on your back, set up booby traps just to see your reaction, to gauge if you can really keep up with her.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Your energy somewhat intimidated her. The way you wouldn’t look at her in fear when she came, or how you weren’t just counting the seconds until she finally left you alone. You liked being around her, and it was all new to her.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ She was even more confused when you started showing your true colors. Whether you become more kind and gentle, or more playful, or more quiet.. It intrigued her how full of life you were, and that also scared her.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ When she finally accepted that you would just stick with her no matter what, she let her guard down around you as well.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ You became her new best friend, the one person that would listen to her ramble on and on about her inventions.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ She would show off her weapons to you, and explain how she created them.

“And this here is my trusty Pow-Pow! She’s seen all sorts of things, real fighter, this one. It’s like she’s got a mind of her own..”

“I blew up the council with this, you know?” She says as she lifts up her rocket launcher.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Your presence certainly brightened up her life, but she couldn’t help feeling like she didn’t deserve you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ You were just too precious for a cruel world such as this. You didn’t deserve to go through any struggle or pain, and that’s all she would bring you. She’s a Jinx after all, right?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Even though her mind is telling her to push you away, a selfish desire inside her wants you by her side. She scolds herself for being so selfish, keeping such a good thing like you with a bad person like her.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ As time passed, you two only grew closer. When she brainstorms about her new inventions, she would also take into consideration your ideas. No matter how unrealistic they may be, she will find a way to incorporate them into her works.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ She found herself creating trinkets and weapons dedicated or inspired by you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ At the corner of her desk laid a pile of papers with messy doodles of you two together on all sorts of adventures. Most of them were scratch papers to draw out her ideas for her weapons, but suddenly you were there on the paper holding the gun she was drawing.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ One or two Polaroid photos of you two would be pinned to the frame of her shattered mirror.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ It was one night that you decided to stay over at her place, that she realized she had feelings for you.

The world seemed to brighten up along with the sound of your laughter

How beautiful you looked when you were against the warm light.

You two were sitting together on the couch, talking and laughing, until you two stopped to catch your breaths and just soak in the moment. Jinx’s gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, observing the gentle outline of your bottom lip, and your cupid’s bow— then back up to your eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing, Jinx?’

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ You crashed on her couch while she slept on the other side of the hideout, in her own bed. She was watching you sleep peacefully on the other side, painfully unaware of how much pain Jinx has caused so many people. And there you were, sleeping safe and sound in the very home of one of the most wanted criminals

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Jinx reflected on all her memories with you. That time when you would listen to her rants, when you would laugh at her jokes or nonsensical muttering, when you wouldn’t run when she had an episode. She wanted to keep you safe, and most of all, she wanted to keep this thing going. You are possibly the best thing that’s happened to her in… a long time, after Silco died, after everything went to shit. She didn’t want to ruin this. She’s got something to live for now.

That’s when she realized, on that very night, in that dimly lit, silent hideout, that maybe… she developed something for you.

｡𖦹°‧

I might make this into an actual story, maybe.

[pyramus-the-poet]

A favorite trope of mine is when characters just trauma dump in the middle of mundane conversations. And I’ve seen quite a few people characterize Jason this way, where he’d hide the fact that he was in the League or All-Caste from the other Bats because either: 

1. He’s a really private person and doesn’t want to open up to anyone, especially the Bats

2. He compartmentalizes a lot of it, so he genuinely forgets it even happened

3. He keeps it in his back pocket until the perfect time to bring it up to do the most damage to whoever he’s talking to

And although I enjoy all three of these, I’ve always had sort of a different view on things so hear me out for a moment.

Jason Todd a boy that would tell his Mom everything. He’d tell her about the characters in a new book he’d read that day at the library, or he’d complain about how much of the gross cologne Mr. Davis wore, hell, he’d tell her about a brick he saw on his way to school laying on the sidewalk that was kinda shaped funny.

Little Jason Todd could ramble on for hours and hours about everything or absolutely nothing. He was a natural conversationalist (which he used very much to his advantage when he was hungry, on the streets, haggling the store clerk for a bag of chips). He could strike up a conversation with the introverted 90-year-old widow down the block or the excited 8-year-old he met at the library who only spoke in broken English. 

He would tell everyone he spoke to out in Crime Alley little anecdotes about himself that would later be the only crumbs of his life that would be remembered when he moved into Bristol to live with Bruce Wayne. (And would be the only proof of his existence when his death in Ethiopia was covered up)

But Jason hardened from losing his Dad cause of a stupid job gone wrong, slowly over the course of a year, having to watch and accept that he was losing his Ma too, and then being left alone to fend for himself.

He wasn’t used to talking anymore. 

He missed talking to someone who would listen so badly.

But then he was living with Bruce Wayne, the aloof, billionaire, playboy by day and the savage, fearless caped crusader by night.

When Jason finally got comfortable, he did ramble. 

He told Bruce all about school and homework and the new book he found in the Manor.

He told Batman about the new move he learned watching Selina and the guy who was so drunk he thought he was The Batman and tried to help Robin out during patrol.

But that was all he’d let himself talk about.

He would never let himself waver from safe subjects. Whenever he felt like Bruce was trying to (awkwardly) start an emotional, heartfelt conversation, or Batman was trying to pry more information about Robin to update his file, he’d subtly steer the conversation to safer topics.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk about the heavy stuff but because he couldn’t.

Bruce didn’t hide how unsure he was with taking Jason in as well as he thought he did. Sure, he had raised Dick just fine but Dick was also a much easier kid to deal with and Bruce related to the pain Dick had lived through in a way he couldn’t with Jason. The Todds weren’t some picturesque family that lived in the spotlight and were torn apart in a flash. Willis Todd was a petty criminal who was desperate to put food on the table and was in over his head. Catherine Todd died slowly; her arms and legs were failing her, and the under-the-counter pills she took from a friend of a friend to help ease the pain were dragging her to an early grave. 

Batman didn’t hide how unsure he was as well as he thought he did, either. The second Robin wasn’t raised doing flips through the air and freeing himself from ropes under a timer in the circus. He needed more training and more time and more money put into him. Batman made his distrust clear every time he’d bark at Robin to be more careful while dealing with crooks on patrol when the sidekick had hardly managed to get a punch in.

Bruce Wayne needed a son who he could show off at galas and captivate a crowd with his good looks and award-winning smile. (Not Jason, whose hair was so poorly cared for for years that it still sat half-dead and frizzy. The boy that knocked his tooth out cleaning out Ms. Coleman's gutters and it grew back in crooked.)

Batman needed a Robin he could rely on to watch his back, a Robin that was unafraid, a Robin that he didn’t need to baby and rush into battle to save all the time.

If Jason told Bruce what he’d gone through living on the streets, he’d realize how broken Jason was and send him off to one of those foster homes for troubled kids.

If Robin told Batman that he was still afraid of the dark or about the time he pushed Auntie Sofia’s abusive drunk boyfriend down the stairs, he wouldn’t want him anymore.

And now years later, after waking up in his grave and coming back wrong—coming back broken—it’s instinctual not to open up to Bruce.

Especially when Bruce still sits in that damn cave in front of that fucking memorial case and mourns the son and sidekick he’d lost. The son who is standing right infront of him and is only a phone call away. The sidekick who still patrols the streets of Gotham only five minutes away from Batman’s usual patrol route.

But Jason knows why he mourns that fifteen year old version of himself because some days—on those really bad days—Jason mourns him too. 

Jason mourns the kid he could’ve been, the kid he was supposed to be, and he mourns the father he’ll never have again.

Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne will never talk about it.

And neither do Red Hood and Batman.