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mac-cheez · 14 days

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My Guide to Surviving the Waynes

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I finally finished the ending!! Don't expect an update soon I have no idea when the fancy will strike again and the TMA brain rot is real rn.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

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Dear Diary,

I was wrong. SO WRONG. You’d think rich people, especially adopted rich people, would be at least a little sane, but no, they’re not and I have no idea how to deal. It’s only been a couple days since my last entry and so much has happened. So here’s what I’ve learned:

Let’s start with the first incident that happened roughly 10 min after my last entry. I had just finished when Tim offered to meet me in the coffee shop outside of the library (he was picking me up from campus)(Alfred was busy). When I walked in I saw him about to order and walked to the side to wait. He looked at the menu for roughly 0.2 sec before looking the barista dead in the eye saying “I’ll have a Vanilla Cold Brew with seven shots of espresso.”

The barista laughed and joked “Damn you want some cocaine with that?” Then he just said, “Sure that too.” and fucking walked away? He didn’t even give his name he just paid and went straight to the pickup area. The most concerning part of that story is that they fucking did it! And he drank the whole goddamn thing without batting an eye! I was highly concerned for his well-being the entire drive home. (I really need to talk to Mr. Wayne about a rental)

What’s even weirder is when we walked into the manor Dick was just hanging from the chandelier. It was sans rope and more acrobatic, but still concerning considering how tall the ceiling was. I’m still not entirely sure how he got up there, but I just walked away hoping to find my sanity once again.

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly with the normal amount of yelling and death threats (still can’t believe this is reality). The next day something actually nice happened while I was off from college and heading to the kitchen for lunch. It was a Friday so most of the house was either at work or school, and it was pretty quiet (thank god). When I walked in one of the others was in there cooking already (Jason I think?). I decided on a sandwich since he was currently using the stove and it was going smoothly till I got to the pickle jar. For whatever reason that thing was tight as hell and was going nowhere. He looked at me and after my fifth try (and many curse words) he held out his hand. I handed the jar to him, and he opened it without trouble.

“I loosened it,” I said trying to hide my embarrassment.

“Uh-huh,” he said distractedly. We sat in awkward silence till I noticed one of the books from the library on the counter. It was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Sign Of The Four. I asked if he was reading it and he said yes. I asked him if he’s gotten to the twist yet and he looked at me puzzled.

“You’ve read The Sign Of The Four?”

“Yeah, not my favorite Sherlock Holmes Novel, but still good nonetheless,” I said not paying attention, “Are you reading unabridged or abridged?”

“Unabridged,” he said, “you into the classics?”

“Totally, I love a good Victorian mystery or gothic horror novel,” I replied.

“You?” I asked.

“More of a Jane Austen fan myself, but I can respect those choices,” he said thoughtfully.

“I’ve never read her works, but if I have a chance I wouldn’t mind trying,” I said. He looked up at me somewhere between excitement and bewilderment.

“Would you like some recommendations?” He said cautiously. I said sure, and he immediately went into a long speech about Jane Austen and her novels. By the time he was done my sandwich and his ramen were long gone. By the end, I had a list of books to read and a new reading buddy to rant about books to. We’ve hung out intermittently since then, and honestly, it was the sanest thing I did all week. However the sanity didn’t last long.

Many other incidents (too many to write) all culminated in this afternoon, when I finally caved and decided if this was my life, it might as well be documented for (at the very least) the enjoyment of others. It was fairly quiet (first clue) and my morning class had been canceled so I was just sitting in the living room doing some work. Everyone else was out and I was about to leave for my 2:30 class when suddenly someone smashed through the window and a smoke bomb was thrown. I honestly thought it was Tim or Jason being weird again, but then the smoke cleared and there was just a bunch of dudes in Green suits with question marks. They looked around and saw me pretty quickly and immediately pointed whatever weapons they had at me. Eventually, some other ones came in the room and said the house was empty and “Wayne is nowhere to be found.” They started arguing till they finally concluded that if none of the Wayne’s were here, I must be the next best thing. Honestly, I can’t even blame them, and at this point I just let it happen.

They put a bag over my head and put me over the strongest one’s shoulder. I was in a car for about an hour before I was potato sack’d again. Once I was placed down, the bag was taken off my head, and I saw that I was in an abandoned-looking warehouse. I saw some more of the brightly clothed men off to the side arguing, one looking even more ridiculous than the others. The extra ridiculous one finally gave up talking to the others(henchmen maybe?) and walked (more like strutted) over to address me.

“Hello guest of Wayne, may I ask your name?” He asked rhyming for some weird ass reason.

“Vic?”

“Ah yes but what is it’s whole, for a half shall not know?” He said lilting his voice… ‘whimsically’?

“What?”

“Your designation that all might know.”

I just continued looking at him with apparent confusion not knowing what the hell is going on. After a minute he hung his head and spoke normally.

“What is your full name?” He sighed.

“Oh! Victoria Blanc,” I said.

“Ah! And what is your relation to the name of Wayne?” He said trying again with the talking in circles bull.

“Look dude usually I could appreciate….. Whatever it is that's happening, but I’ve had one hell of a week so…….”

“Oh come now it couldn’t have been that bad.” He said dismissively.

“Alright bet! You might wanna sit down this is gonna take a minute.”

Once he sat I started explaining everything that had happened since I’d moved to Gotham. As I was explaining more and more of the “henchmen” started joining the crowd.

“He chased him through the manor with a sword?” Riddler asked (at least that's what one of the others called him).

“Yeah, and apparently this is a normal phenomenon,” I said exasperated.

“And here I thought I was crazy.”

“Oh, no this is probably the most sane thing that's happened to me all week,” I said hand waving (They untied me after a while)(I asked nicely).

I was about to continue when suddenly three figures jumped down and got into fighting positions.

“Let her go Riddler!” Said the one in Black and blue(and maybe a bird?)

“Oh, she was free to leave a while ago.” He said casually to the masked people.

“What?” said the one in red.

“Yeah, we even offered to get her away from that mad house,” said Bob.

“Mad House?”

“Yes, it's almost criminal how they act in that house, you bats should really get on that,” ‘Riddler’ said chidingly.

I didn't really understand why he called them bats since they all looked bird-themed but I didn't bring it up because honestly, weirder things have happened at this point. They agreed to look into it, albeit very confused(and almost offended), and said they still needed to take me back.

“Fine,” ‘Riddler’ sighed heavily, “ but Vic, sweetie, if you need somewhere safe to stay in Gotham I have plenty of friends who will keep you safe while you finish your degree.”

“Yeah, kinda tempting, but I don't think my parents would like that very much, and they are paying for it so…….”

“Very well, offer stands in perpetuity, to Arkham yes?”

“You're not gonna ask a riddle or…..” said the one in red and black.

“Usually I would but honestly I’m far too concerned right now to care.”

After that, they handcuffed him and the other goons (kinda unfair but i guess they did kidnap me) and walked me out to one of the police cars so I could go back to the manor. They offered to drive me but I've seen enough motorcycle crash scene pictures to put the fear of God (thy name is friction) in me. When I got back Mr. Wayne was in the foyer with Alfred and immediately came over to make sure I was ok.

“Yeah, I'm fine Mr. Wayne, honestly I’m more worried about the class I missed than the kidnapping,” I explained.

He seemed concerned by that but had a phone call right after that he needed to take. Alfred walked me to my room (I think to make sure I wasn't concussed) and I just kinda went back to writing and here we are. Can't wait to see what fresh hell awaits me in the coming week……….. Maybe I should've taken Riddler up on that offer.

#My Guide to Surviving the Waynes #batman #ao3 fanfic #my posts #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #red robin #dc comics #fanfic #alfred pennyworth #dc riddler #edward nygma

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spideytingley · 4 months

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my fic recs!

marvel

peter parker

identity crisis by @heliads

bucky barnes

time after time (on-going series) by @intrepidacious

heal me, baby by @intrepidacious

first date, last night by @intrepidacious

little lion man by @wkemeup

these ties that bind by sweetascanbee on ao3

steve rogers

no other shade of blue by @barnesafterglow

love bites (series) by starfleetstgmgr on ao3

invisible string (series) by gracehateseggnog on ao3

pietro maximoff

hole in the wall by @sebsbarnes

realign by @astxrwar soulmate au

percy jackson and the olympians

luke castellan

a place with you by @supercutszns

fighting chance by @supercutszns

rotten to the touch by @supercutszns

bleedin’ me dry by @atlabeth

i beg you (and you don’t understand) by @emiliehornby

daylight, part 2, part 3 by @tangledinlove

percy jackson

anti-curse by @kamaluhkhan

dick grayson

the moon will sing (on-going series) by minnieears on ao3

jason todd

window pains by @sanguineterrain

reflections of you by dizarys on ao3

romantics by @yourlocalcringydaydreamer

suds and buds (yeah, sure) (series) by sbambs on ao3

baby steps (on-going series) by @lightwing-s

she hates me (series) by minnieears on ao3

damian wayne

flowers (series) by stargazer_lily_1996 on ao3. soulmate au

tim drake

late night park walks by @lightwing-s

sleepless nights by starkk on ao3. soulmate au

who we are (on-going series) by minnieears on ao3

the hunger games

finnick odair

our song and dance (on-going series) by @mrs-kmikaelson

one for the road by @libertyybellls

lover/fighter (on-going series) by aurabella on ao3 @bluemidnightmelody

cato

supernova (on-going series) by glossyybabie on ao3

it might kill me (on-going series) by frick6101719 on ao3

grishaverse

kaz brekker

bejeweled by @reve-writes

dense by @reve-writes

nikolai lantsov

come on back to me by @atlabeth

bad luck by @atlabeth

nine long years (on-going series) by @ellewritesalright

enchanted by @in-my-feels-probably

a familiar melody by thehistoriangirl on ao3

bridgerton

benedict bridgerton

drunk sketches by @delehosies

a lady’s guide to surviving the ton by @atlabeth

ACOTAR

azriel

the green emotion by @utterlyazriel

love will unravel me (so please keep your hands held tight) by @utterlyazriel

daughter of autumn by @writingcroissant

nightlight (on-going series) by @azsazz

cassian

flames and embers by @hellodarling1357

star wars

anakin skywalker

shifting gears by awritesthings1 on ao3

the handmaiden (on-going series) by rufflesandbows on ao3

my very soul (on-going series) by skywalkerog on ao3 @anakinskywalkerog

obi-wan kenobi

fleeting moments (series) by fitzfiles on ao3

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damianbugs · 7 months

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with all this gotham war stuff (most recently the comic sc you posted on your twt with jason and bruce), can u explain what is actually going on? like, i’m not that far so i haven’t read it, but… like is it actually bruce saying all that stuff about the kids? or is it this zur person people keep talking about?

oh my friend, it's crazy around here, but i will try my best to explain it!

A GUIDE TO UNDERSTANDING WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO BATMAN IN GOTHAM WAR:

firstly, the comic reading list to catch up with gotham war is: as of 01/10/23 (the ones in italics are core issues to the story)

for some background on what happens leading up to gotham war:

Batman (2016) #125-136

(Optional) Knight Terrors: Batman

(Optional) Knight Terrors: Catwoman

and then the actual gotham war story:

Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War - Battle Lines

Batman (2016) #137

Catwoman (2018) #57

Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War - Red Hood #1

this is everything that is out right now, but from the third of october to halloween we will also be getting: Batman #138, Catwoman #58, Gotham War: Red Hood #2, Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War - Scorched Earth.

secondly... who is Zur En Arrh.

Zur En Arrh taking over Bruce, Batman (2016) #126

zur en arrh, in the simplest way of explaining, is this alter ego/personality (it's unclear) bruce created for himself should batman (bruce wayne) ever be psychologically compromised or brainwashed. it's not him, but a more sadistic and crueler person that is the "ultimate batman" who doesn't care about anyone or anything but getting the mission done.

during Batman #125-130, zur takes over the role of batman because bruce was losing very badly to the robot Failsafe (which is zur's own creation, that bruce has no memory of making). after getting vaporised by failsafe and sent travelling through dozens of alternate universes, losing his hand and fighting a flying shark (Batman #131-135), bruce returns to gotham incredibly mentally unstable.

During a peaceful dinner with his family, Bruce suddenly imagines the entire world on fire, Batman (2016) #136.

during everything, bruce managed to mentally fight back and kind of... merge their ideals together in order to survive and win in the moment.

and then successfully trapping failsafe back into his mind where he can no longer take over!

Bruce uses some sort of mental technique to lock Zur away in his mind, Batman (2016) #136.

except he didn't succeed! at all!

you see, when travelling through all those universes, bruce somehow brought back every single version of zur en arrh with him. now all of then combined, plus his already deteriorating and weak mental health from the last few years, bruce is currently operating under the impression that he's locked zur away, when he actually hasn't.

zur is the one partly, or even entirely, in control. right now, he's just pretending to stay locked away so bruce continues to do what he thinks is 'right' despite them being incredibly out of character for the run.

During his eight week coma, Bruce sees Zur 'locked away' and he is, apparently, not alone, Gotham War: Battle Lines (2023)

an example is when zur referred to robin as batman's solider, bruce mentally fought back to make it clear that tim was his son. but then, a few issues later, bruce refers to his children as his soldiers and that they've all betrayed him, implying that zur has always had control and isn't locked away.

Bruce and Zur get into a fight inside his mind about Robin [Tim Drake], Batman (2016) #127

so yeah, zur is not bruce! they're both batman, but zur en arrh is like his somehow unimaginably even worse twin. if you're interested more in him, i would suggest giving his character history a read! be warned it gets changed A LOT and is definitely not everyone's cup of tea (personally i hate him and need him shelved for another forty years).

now that that's all done and explained, the current state of gotham war is Bruce (thinks he's okay) fighting everyone else (except Damian) because in his (Zur's) point of view, they're all against the mission and therefore are now his enemies (he's lost his mind). totally not convoluted.

to answer your original question, yes, this is all bruce saying and doing these things but he is being HEAVILY influenced by Zur. we can't tell for certain how much of this is bruce and how much is zur, but we can definitely prove zur is partially or completely controlling him again.

even jason points it out after bruce implants that fear toxin chip into him in Batman (2016) #138:

like we can see the intention is to keep jason out of this, because compared to everyone else, jason was the most directly opposed to bruce. but zur is twisting how this concern gets expressed, since forcing jason into feeling fear everytime he gets an adrenaline rush is hardly the reformation bruce is usually encouraging. the other batfam members also talk about how uncharacteristically violent bruce is being.

"He's out of control." / "He's gone [In more ways than one.]" Batman (2016) #137

as the story progresses we see more and more of zur replace bruce, but because he can't have bruce trying to stop him again, zur is playing along and convincing bruce he's locked away. so really, bruce is at war with not only his entire family, but also his own mind. just another average tuesday for batman. he's being tricked and is unknowingly doing exactly what he was trying to prevent.

to understand what the actual war in gotham war is, give the comics listed above a read! if you find the story boring/ridiculous/stupid, don't worry, it is! the social commentary leaves a lot to be desired, as does most of the characters writings (especially selina's).

bruce and his one sided battle with zur is sort of an overarching story happening alongside it (along with a bunch of other ongoings. i don't even understand how detective comics and batman and robin are going to tie into this once it starts up again).

sorry the answer isn't a simple one, but unfortunately nothing is ever simple with bruce. also apologies in advance if any of the future gotham war comics come out and completely debunk all of this! who knows what will happen in this dramatic family drama.

#bruce wayne #gotham war #dc meta #saki anons #saki comic talks #i have such a toxic relationship with this run #i have nothing but complaints and hate for it #but its so terrible i cant wait to see how it all crash and burns #the most “it gets worse before it gets better” storyline for batman i have EVER seen

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jasonswh0rre · 1 month

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The Psychological Analysis of Jason Todd

I am a psych major, and my professor is allowing us to make an analysis of any character of our choice, so I figured who better to write then Jason Todd. This was very fun to write and I very much enjoyed rewatching Batman: Arkham Knight. Please enjoy. ☁️ Warning(s): Trigger Warning for Trauma, Mental Health Content, Violence, Graphic Imagery, Spoiler(s)☁️ Word Count: 2.6k ☁️: Authors Note: I am working on fanfics, more headcanons for Arkham Jason, unfortunately I am busy with classes, assignments and deadlines. I will try to be punctual but it may take time. Thank you for your understanding.

Introduction

Jason Todd is the secondary villain in Batman: Arkham Knight, which has the same moniker. He is the second Robin and Bruce Wayne's adoptive son.

Jason Peter Todd was born in the slums of Gotham City to two drug-addicted parents, who would eventually try to settle a debt they had by giving Jason away when he was a baby. Jason received no parental figure to help guide him, leading him to petty crimes such as theft to nourish his survival. Jason is a character who takes what he needs if it means prolonging his survival; his lack of a parental figure leads him to an identity crisis between longing for a parental figure and convincing himself he is better off without one. When the simple truth is that every human needs a mother and a father, we respond positively to a nurturing environment, and through early adolescence, our brains crave the structure needed to build us into well-rounded adults.

At fifteen, Jason inadvertently met Batman while committing robbery when Batman was fighting Gotham's notorious supervillain, The Joker. Believing Batman is in trouble, Jason jumps between pushing the hero from harm's way. Despite life's misfortunes, Jason possesses a remarkable code of morality enough to want to save someone. Jason, attempting to rid Joker of his breath, aims a pistol at the clown and, before firing, is knocked out of his hands by Batman's batarang. Unfortunately for him, Joker would leave Jason with a cryptic message, one for the young man to head.

Jason would later be apprehended and taken into custody in the back of a police car by Batman after Batman retrieved his gun and stolen money. However, rather than being charged, Jason receives a blessing through a Wayne Industries project that helped troubled teens; through the program, Jason was able to turn his life around. All attract the man who helped Jason find a new purpose: Bruce Wayne. Months after being released, Batman appeared in Jason's dorm, again offering Jason another opportunity.

2nd Robin and Kidnapping

Taking Jason in as his ward as well as dubbing him Robin after Dick Grayson, Jason sought justice and enjoyed being a hero. Like the previous Robin, he showed a keen aptitude for it; unlike his predecessor, he possessed a fiery temper and willingness for more lethal force. While Jason's temper is directed towards the criminals that harm the innocents, Batman views this as inexcusable, fearing the day that Jason will kill instead of reprimanding.

In the most twisted sense of irony, Jason's morality inevitably becomes his downfall. The Joker has blown up a school with kindergarteners; this leads to Jason's resolve that Joker needs to die. Knowing that Bruce would try to stop him, Jason abandons his comms and tracker so he can kill Joker. However, it is a trap, and Joker ambushes Jason. Jason was kept in a wheelchair, bonded by barbed wire that kept Jason leaning hunched over in excruciating pain. Throughout his pain, Jason's mind remained still; he was confident that Batman would find him; his sheer will at the beginning of his torture is, with all honesty, remarkable as Joker has been known for his mental abuse and mind games he plays with his victims including his sidekick, Harley Quinn.

In the six months of his torture, Jason's unwavering mental resolve was slowly crippling as Joker had wanted; throughout the game, Jason's voice mixed with crippling fear and small doubts about Batman coming. The Joker feeds into his doubts by showing him a photo of Batman with his replacement, Tim Drake. This leaves Jason troubled as he slowly loses hope for Batman.

The last act of Jason's torture involved a video sent to Batman via The Joker of Jason, who has undergone all his brainwashing; in the video, Jason is sitting down in a chair; he is not chained, barbed, handcuffed, or kept sitting still in any way by all means Jason could easily walk away. This is a significant and crucial part of Jason's torture as it symbolizes just how much mental anguish and emotional exhaustion Jason went through to the point that he no longer had a yearning for freedom—making him downright timid and submissive towards Joker enough to out Batman's identity when asked by the latter. This results in Joker shooting Jason point-blank in the chest, as Joker "never could stand a tattletale." However, this was only a ploy to make Batman believe Jason is genuinely dead.

On the contrary, Jason was kept alive for another year, endeavoring more torture, mistreatment, and malnourishment. Harley Quinn did the final touches of Jason's emotional and mental brainwashing; a former psychiatrist who manipulated Jason into believing that Batman was the cause of his anguish and his pain was his doing; she did this long enough, even punishing Jason by waterboarding him and electrocuting him when he refused to say Batman, indicating he still had some level of awareness of who was torturing him.

However, once Harley could get Jason to say Batman's name, Jason was drugged and beaten by two prisoners dressed like Batman; he was given a gun by The Joker and was ordered to kill them. Jason's resolve and humanity were a cord, still entrenched in him before Harley convinced him further, snapping his humanity and getting him to shoot the two dressed-up prisoners dead.

During the riots of Arkham Asylum, The Joker paid mercenary Deathstroke to keep Jason there and shoot him if he escaped. However, Jason convinces Deathstroke that Joker will not keep his promise and that if he helps, Jason will triple whatever Joker plans to pay. Accepting the offer, Deathstroke assists Jason in escaping, stealing a helicopter, and flying to Wayne Industries. Jason steals millions of dollars from his former guardian. Ironically, crossing paths with Tim Drake, who assumes Todd to be Deathstroke's sidekick, when Jason's ankle is caught between Tim's grappling hook, Jason cuts the cord, allowing Tim to fall when suggested by Deathstroke that killing Robin would bode well for them with the Dark Knight. Jason Coldy says that if he dies in a fall like that, Batman needs to pick his sidekicks better.

Jason's psyche has been torn and scattered, leaving him a hollowed carving with a mocking J branding etched onto his face, from birth his eyes were already met with darkness, born to parents who never showed him recognition, let alone love, and through the Wayne Industries Project and his adoption by Bruce his eyes were wide, and remarkably hopeful, to be free of the weight of Gotham's misfortunes finally; those eyes that looked with gleam forced shut until he saw nothing but blackness.

Arkham Knight's Birth

Jason adopts a new persona built on the pain and suffering in the wake of his escape from Joker. He feels betrayed by the one person he only had in the world and wants vengeance. Jason works alongside Scarecrow, one of Batman's enemies. The two begin a plan on Halloween to take Gotham and Batman's legacy along with it. Jason gathers all Batman's enemies to join, assembling a militia with Deathstroke. While working with each other, Scarecrow "tests" his fear toxin on the young man, sending him on a psychological spiral. One of his more apparent fears is the Joker, who can be found near, in the background, or standing right in front of him laughing and mocking him, but beyond the clown prince of crime's appearance, Jason also sees his replacement, Tim Drake, and "fights" him.

The fight has Jason severely outnumbered in the beginning, with Tim succeeding, even using his staff to choke Jason, forcing him to the ground as the Jokers around him laugh. Further into the fear toxin, Jason appears in front of Wayne Manor, where he throws down his helmet and says the following: "Someplace warm, someplace safe, someplace where I'm needed, someplace where I'm loved," Joker once again appears in front of him laughing and mocking him on whether he even deserves it, this is Jason's internal struggle in a manifested form of the person who caused him harm, of the person who convinced him from the start that he was alone and would not be saved. Jason is mischaracterized as always being angry or standoffish, but anger has more truth than any lie detector can scoop. Jason feels this anger is not just because of some personality trait; anger is his cry out, and he's shouting to be seen and loved. This is most likely due to being tortured at 15 or so, which, despite the fact that at the time of Arkham Knight, he was in his early 20s, his mental age was regressed to the age when he was captured. This makes Jason appear at first glance as someone emotional, cocky, and arrogant. He values safety and love; he doesn't want to be on his guard 24/7, but he's grown up in an environment where letting your guard down gets you killed. He follows Joker into Wayne Manor, where he sees Bruce; suddenly, several versions of Batman appear in the room. They beat him and told him they never wanted a partner or even a son. This is a conflict that has always waged war in Jason's mind. Jason's biological father attempted to give him up and then belittled him when he explained that Jason's worth was so low that he couldn't even leave him; he has low self-esteem that he internalizes into rage in the way that he fights to prove his strength.

This is why Jason has a strong attachment to Bruce/Batman it maybe due to an underlying desire to seek his approval especially by the time when he adopts him. Bruce gives him everything he could ask for and anything he could think of, and Batman gives him a purpose. Ironically, this is still the case despite Bruce himself having an avoidant attachment style.

Conclusion and Diagnosis

Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" exhibits a complex interplay of psychological factors that align with the diagnostic criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). One prominent feature of BPD is emotional dysregulation, characterized by intense and rapidly shifting emotions. Jason displays various emotions throughout the game, from anger and hostility to vulnerability and despair. His reactions often appear exaggerated or disproportionate to the situation, indicating difficulty regulating his emotional responses.

Furthermore, Jason's sense of identity is notably unstable, which is another hallmark feature of BPD. Having grown up in a dysfunctional environment with absent parents, Jason lacks a stable sense of self and struggles to define his identity. This is evident in his adoption of various personas, including Robin, the Arkham Knight, and, later, the Red Hood. His shifting identities reflect a profound inner conflict and a desperate search for validation and purpose. Jason's interpersonal relationships also reflect the interpersonal instability characteristic of BPD. He forms intense and unstable attachments to figures such as Batman, vacillating between admiration and resentment. His interactions with other characters are marked by rapid shifts in perception, alternating between idealization and devaluation. For example, while Jason initially idolizes Batman as a mentor and father figure, his feelings of betrayal and abandonment lead to resentment and hostility towards him.

Moreover, Jason exhibits self-destructive behaviors as a coping mechanism for his emotional pain, another hallmark of BPD. He engages in reckless actions, disregarding his safety to seek vengeance against those he perceives as enemies. His confrontations with adversaries are often fueled by a desire for self-assertion and control, masking more profound feelings of emptiness and despair.

Underlying Jason's behaviors is a pervasive fear of abandonment, stemming from his traumatic upbringing and experiences of betrayal. This fear drives his desperate attempts to maintain connections with others, even as he pushes them away with his volatile and unpredictable behavior. Jason's fear of abandonment manifests in his interactions with Batman and the Bat family, where he oscillates between seeking their approval and rejecting their authority.

Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" embodies many of the core features of Borderline Personality Disorder, including emotional dysregulation, identity disturbance, interpersonal instability, self-destructive behaviors, and a fear of abandonment. By analyzing his actions, relationships, and psychological struggles within the context of the game's narrative, it becomes apparent that Jason's character aligns closely with the diagnostic criteria for BPD, providing a compelling framework for understanding his complex and multifaceted personality.

Besides indicating various symptoms of BPD, I would also consider diagnosing Jason with Complex Post post-traumatic stress Disorder (C-PTSD). Given Jason's background of severe trauma, including childhood abuse, neglect, and prolonged torture at the hands of the Joker, it's worth considering Complex PTSD. C-PTSD typically develops in response to chronic trauma and is characterized by symptoms such as emotional dysregulation, disturbed self-concept, difficulties in relationships, and a persistent sense of threat. I would include diagnosing Jason with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD): Jason's experiences of profound loss, trauma, and betrayal may contribute to symptoms of depression, such as feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness, and a loss of interest in activities. His struggles with emotional regulation and chronic feelings of emptiness could also align with depressive symptoms. Following my diagnosis, I am also inclined to believe he suffers from attachment disorders; given Jason's tumultuous upbringing and experiences and a multitude of parental figures involving neglect and abandonment, it's possible that he may have developed attachment-related difficulties. This could manifest in insecure attachment styles, fear of abandonment, and challenges in forming and maintaining healthy relationships.

Furthermore, I would consider Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD): While Jason displays empathy and compassion at times, his willingness to engage in morally questionable or violent behavior, as well as his disregard for societal norms and rules, may align with some features of ASPD. However, his capacity for genuine care and loyalty makes this disorder out of sorts with his character.

Lastly, Post-Traumatic Embitterment Disorder (PTED): PTED is a proposed diagnostic category characterized by intense feelings of injustice, betrayal, and embitterment following a traumatic event or series of events. Jason's experiences of betrayal and abandonment, particularly by Batman and the Joker, may resonate with the symptoms of PTED.

In conclusion, the character of Jason Todd in "Batman: Arkham Knight" presents a compelling portrayal of psychological complexity shaped by a tumultuous history of trauma, betrayal, and profound loss. Through a comprehensive analysis of his experiences and behaviors throughout the game, it becomes evident that Jason embodies many psychological struggles, warranting consideration for various diagnostic possibilities. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) emerges as a primary candidate, given Jason's emotional volatility, identity disturbances, and interpersonal difficulties. His tumultuous relationships, intense fear of abandonment, and self-destructive tendencies align closely with the diagnostic criteria for BPD. Furthermore, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) offers another lens through which to understand Jason's psychological profile, considering his history of chronic trauma and its pervasive impact on his functioning.

Additionally, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) may contribute to Jason's experiences of profound despair, hopelessness, and emotional emptiness. His struggles with attachment-related difficulties suggest the possibility of underlying attachment disorders stemming from his early experiences of neglect and abandonment.

While Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) and Post-Traumatic Embitterment Disorder (PTED) offer alternative perspectives, they may not fully capture the complexity of Jason's character, given his capacity for empathy and genuine care, despite his propensity for morally questionable behavior.

In essence, Jason Todd's character in "Batman: Arkham Knight" is a poignant exploration of the human psyche's intricacies, illustrating the profound impact of trauma on identity, relationships, and emotional well-being. By delving into his psychological struggles within the context of the game's narrative, we gain valuable insights into the complexities of mental health and the enduring resilience of the human spirit.

#arkham knight #jason todd #red hood #headcanon #positive thoughts #psychology #psych student #arkham batman #psychological analysis #psyche student analyzes #jasonswh0rre

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 2 months

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Sarcasm's Rec List 2: Electric Boogaloo

[Thank you to everyone who voted!]

Masterlist Previous Rec List Mundane Macabre (main blog)

[Hardcover/Anger Management ship]

Red is Hood’s Favorite Color by mango_sushi98

Sonnet 29 at the End by ew_selfish_art The Rapid Growth of the Fenton family tree by Lunaml (First entry of the series)

If you find a vigilante in the dumpster by lunamugetsu (WIP)

The Night Will Come But Not To Stay by ectoentity (WIP)

Friendly Neighborhood Vigilante by Elizabehta_Beilschmidt (WIP)

Somehow whatever’s eternal in me knows whatever’s eternal in you by DemonicoAngel (WIP) (This has to be one of my favorite works in the hardcover ship) To hell and back by Ocearna (WIP)

The Night Will Come But Not To Stay by ectoentity Advent Reunion by Shynnohwen (First entry of the son of the hood series)

[General Recs/no particular tag]

This Way Madness Lies by ConspiracyCrows (WIP)

Foundling At The Door by Spaced_Ace (First entry of the House of Elle series)

I can be both even if it’s hard (and it’s hard) by multi_fandomfreak (WIP) (What if Sam and Tuck went to get Jazz before Danny came back out of the portal?)

Staring is rude but so am I by Imshookandbi (Let Sam unleash that anger at her parents, as a treat)

Ghosts on a plane by NightShiftShenanigans

We All Have Our Christmas Traditions by Multisakublossom (Tucker-centric)

Alfred and the Tiny Attic Squatters by Shynnohwen (WIP) (Alfred is the real patriarch of the batfam, we all know this)

Like and Survive - Phantom's Guide to Young Hero Survival by robinasnyder (WIP) (Grown up danny, first hero, gives life advice, makes ripples) Visitant Lights by Shynnohwen

5 + 1 Meeting the Nightingales by elizabthemerald

Please Don’t Take My Sunshine Away by FearlessHades (WIP)

Son of the hood? By Valiantlybold (first entry of the Danny Wayne series, wonderful) Wayne’s Haunted Mansion by Tathartiel (WIP) Spelunking by SummersSixEcho (First of the Ghost in the Family series) regular boy: daniel wayne by phantom_o_writes (WIP) Dad from Mars by Animefangirl1221 (WIP)

Undead Lockpicking or How Danny shamed Superman into changing his locks by Milaley Contractual obligations by Calix, Tathartiel (A twist on the usual DC recs: This one is steeped to perfection with Hellblazer lore. Wonderful and epic, well done to the authors!)

[Dead Tired]

The Batfamily Can’t Communicate by miistical

Bitter, had the Heart by CastrianAmore (WIP)

[Demon Twins]

The Sketchbook by Notrus You’re Not Who I’d Thought You’d Be, and I’m Glad For It by Nanenna

The Parent Trap by Nanenna

my starlight by hollowgast1 (WIP)

Loss Like A Severed Limb by Littlestartopaz

The Devil’s After Both of Us by TheWritingOwl

[Dead Silent/Deaths Dance]

Full Time Hero, Full Time Disaster by halfagone

Lex Luthor’s Ascent from Supervillainy to fatherhood by halfagone (WIP) (This feels like reading an epic) By My Count by TheStrange_One (WIP)

[Dead Serious]

Artificial Wingman by TheSleepyKitsune (WIP)

Love Like You by DisillusionedDanny (WIP)

Press Heart to Subscribe by Die_Erlkonigin6083 (WIP)

Webbing Up A Family by Agelaius_Ace

Peter the Pizza Guy by Irisen (WIP) Along Came A Spider by RagsnBones (Cassandra Cain/Peter Parker) Butler Spider by Danny_shells (WIP)

Time flies by (bye) by whyiseverynametaken

Little Red Spider Hood by Cashmire

You With the Watercolor Eyes by DefinitelyNotIndecisive (WIP) A Long Way From Home (And No Way Back) by Vivia_wants_boba (WIP) Homesick by NotSoSweetHeh

Red and Blue are hero colors by Cashmire (WIP)

Spider-Man or Spider-Spider by disappear_rapidly (WIP)

Spiderhead by emmacortana

Archnomaly by Songue85 (WIP)

Nothing Left to Lose (Dick in New York) by seekrest (WIP)

A/N: Congrats to 3am me for double checking the links worked properly. I hope y'all enjoy these reads!

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc au #dc x dp crossover #hardcover ship #dc #peter park #peter parker in gotham #peter parker vs gotham #sarcasm's rec list 2: electric boogaloo

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1americanconservative · 8 months

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@ScottFishman

Tucker is Outing Obama as Gay. But Everyone is Missing the Big Story. I’m Obama’s College Classmate. I’ve Been Trying to Warn America for 15 years! By Wayne Allyn Root I’m Barak Obama’s college classmate at Columbia University, Class of ’83. I’m also the author of the #1 bestselling hardcover book in America in 2012, “The Ultimate Obama Survival Guide.” I’ve always had Obama’s number. I understand what makes him tick. I understand his goals. First let’s get the “gay issue” out of the way. I’ve reported on both my radio and TV shows for 15 years that my wealthy, connected friends in Chicago have always said, “Obama frequented gay bath houses and gay clubs. Everyone in the know, knows Obama is gay.” Now that we’ve heard from Obama’s biographer that Obama wrote about his daily gay fantasies, I think it’s pretty clear my Chicago pals were right. Tucker Carlson is onto something! But gay is not the issue. The issue here is fraud. If Obama is in fact gay, then he was lying to the American people from day one. He portrayed himself as a happily married family man with a wife and two beautiful young daughters. That’s called fraud.

If America had known the truth in 2008, does anyone honestly think Obama would have been elected president? But all of this is small potatoes. This is not the big story. Why does any of this matter now? Because Joe Biden is a brain-dead puppet. This is the third term of Obama. The proof is we are all reliving the nightmare Obama economy. Great for Wall Street and billion-dollar multi-national corporations. But a disaster for the American middle class and Main Street. Second, Biden is fading fast – and everyone can see it. At the same time Biden’s cognitive health is in freefall, all of his corruption from the past is pouring out of the closet. Biden is finished. He is toast. He will never make it to 2024. Sometime this fall Biden will have a very public “episode” and be hospitalized. Soon thereafter he (or Jill) will announce he is stepping down for “health reasons.” Who will replace him? Either Michelle Obama or Gavin Newsom. But whoever it is, Obama will be calling the shots from his nearby Washington DC mansion. That’s why this story matters. I’ve had Obama pegged from the first day. Obama is the ultimate “Manchurian Candidate.” Gay is unimportant. What matters is he was groomed to be president by the Deep State and communist, fascist, globalist enemies of the United States. What matters is Obama is a radical Marxist tyrant carrying out the destruction of America.

Obama was tame in his first two terms. He was “boiling the frog slowly.” But Trump ruined his plan. Now Obama is trying to destroy this country as fast as he can before Trump has a second chance to undo the damage. And at the same time, Obama is coordinating the attacks on Trump to either imprison him, kill him, or disqualify him. My guest on my show, “America’s Top Ten Countdown” on Real America’s Voice TV last week was former Illinois Governor Rod “Blago” Blagojevich. Blago’s Governor’s mansion was raided by an early morning FBI Swat team. Sound familiar? I pointed out to “Blago” that Obama’s fingerprints were all over his frame job… and FBI SWAT raid… and long prison sentence. Obama set him up. Obama took away his freedom. I asked him to comment. Blago reported, “Obama set up the meeting that led to my arrest.” Do you get it now? It’s the exact same M.O. as what’s happening to President Trump. The same FBI raids, persecution, frame job. The same weaponization of government to destroy Obama’s political adversaries. I’ve always said the key to understanding Obama was his time at Columbia University.

First, there is the “Ghost of Columbia” mystery. I was a Pre Law, Political Science major. So was Obama. He had to be in all the same classes as me. But he was never in one class. I never met Obama, never saw him, never heard of him, never met anyone at Columbia who has. Obama got in, so why didn’t anyone ever see him? My educated guess is Obama was in the Soviet Union studying communism. Columbia had a “sister school” in Moscow. That would be the only real answer as to why Obama was rarely if ever seen at Columbia. He was being groomed way back then by the enemies of America. Secondly, at Columbia we learned a plan to destroy America called “Cloward Piven.” I’ll bet Obama spent two years in the Soviet Union at our “sister school” becoming the world’s expert. Look around. Everything happening in America today is Cloward Piven… The open borders bringing millions of foreigners into our country, changing our demographics forever. The explosion of welfare and bailouts. The Green New Deal. The destruction of our military. The end of the dollar as world reserve currency. The plans for pandemic lockdowns, climate change lockdowns and Central Bank Digital Currency.

The censorship, banning of dissent, and weaponization of government against conservatives and Christians. Defund the police. The vicious criminals let out without bail. Critical Race Theory and Transgender brainwashing. Persecution of PTA parents. Conservatives and Christians classified as “domestic terrorists.” The arrest of political opponents. 87,000 new IRS agents. It’s all about Cloward Piven and communist-level control. Sound familiar? It’s what Obama the “Manchurian Candidate” learned in the Soviet Union from the best. This man was groomed from day one by the communist and globalist enemies of America. He was sent to destroy us. Now he’s working behind the scenes to finish the job. He is the man who ordered the spying on Trump. The framing of Trump. Now he’s the man directing the nonstop government attacks against Trump. Just as he did to Blago. So, Obama being gay is the least of it. America is being destroyed. Obama is at the root of every evil thing happening.

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angelynmoon · 10 months

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Eldritch Steve verse

Part 10

So, apparently A03 is down and I had nothing better to do, so I wrote this, I'll post it to Ao3 either tomorrow or when it's back up if it takes more than a day.

Thank you for all your ideas for a title, I haven't actually chosen one but you've gotten me thinking so thank you, (a little part of me wants to name it 'From the rot', I don't even really know why).

"...and that difference was my undoing, it was the undoing of my kind as well, they just didn't know it yet." Steve began.

And Eddie listened, quietly, he listened intently because this was Steve's story, the journey into who he was now, and Eddie had always been curious about who Steve was before he came into their world.

Not enough to ask, no, he'd seen the way Steve looked away when Jonathan asked about others, when Nancy questioned if they should be worried about others like Steve.

And Eddie felt his heart break when Steve mentioned spawning, when he'd explained what that was.

And he felt the tears in his eyes escape when Steve described coming home and finding the broken shells, the remains of his raveged children and the anger that had filled him.

Eddie didn't blame him, he'd be angry if anything happened to the Party, to El and Erica and Max, he didn't know what he'd do if someone killed them, didn't want to find out.

"I sat there for what must have been days, watching the remains of my babies rot and then I buried them as deep into the ground as I could." Steve spoke softly, an otherworldly grief in his voice.

And Eddie expected him to say that he'd sought out a way into their world, snuck through a crack or hole and ran from his anger and grief.

What he did not expect was what Steve told him next.

"I tracked the scent of the one that took my spawn, and I tore it apart, piece by piece until nothing was left but scraps and blood. And I stood there and I knew that I could never safely spawn, not while my kind lived." Steve looked to the window, to the tree that scraped at the glass, "And I knew that I'd be hunted for what I'd done, not the killing of a fellow, but that I left it to rot."

Eddie frowned wondering why that would be the problem, Steve seemed to understand and explained.

"My kind, they aren't like humans, it's survival of the strongest, and we'd eat the weaker of our kind, to gain their strength, their rage , that I didn't eat the one I killed was the wrost sort of insult I could give, they'd hunt me for that alone, but as far as the others were concerned I'd attacked unprovoked, for no reason since I wasn't eating.

"So I let my rage and anger have me, let it guide me in my slaughter, thinking of my spawn broken and killed before they had the chance at life.

"When that rage, that anger finally faded into the sorrow it was covering I was..." Steve looked at Eddie, tears in all those thousands of eyes, "I was alone, the rest of my kind were dead and left to rot throughout the Down Below, their blood poisoned the rivers and the fumes from their rotting flesh poisoned the air. I made the Down Below the wasteland it is now, because I would not feed on those that killed my babies, because it was worse for me to leave them where the fell once I'd killed them."

Steve looked away from Eddie, "You say I'm not a monster, but you're wrong, I am, my reasons for doing it don't change the fact that I commited a genocide, that I am one of two, that neither of us will spawn together or alone, our kind, if we breed at all, will eventually be diluted with each generation, until it is nothing but strange quirks appearing now and again."

Eddie stared, it was a lot of information but it didn't change Eddie's feelings, grief did strange things to everyone, Wayne, when Eddie's mother died had spent days wandering the woods, always retuning covered in blood that Eddie could only hope wasn't human. Eddie had seen him digging holes in the far side of the trailer park to bury something but he'd never been brave enough to ask or to go digging later. And Eddie's mother wasn't related to Wayne, Wayne was Eddie's father's brother not his mother's.

But knowing what Steve had done didn't change anything, not for Eddie at least, his heart was Steve's for as long as Steve wanted it, even when Steve stopped wanting it, Eddie's heart would still be Steve's until it stilled, this changed nothing, except...

"Wait, does that mean you and me could have biological children?" Eddie asked, because he had no filter.

Steve looked at him with a from, "You don't hate me?"

"I could never." Eddie said as he pulled Steve into his arms and let him relax into him.

They stayed that way for minutes or hours, at some point moving to lay down on the bed, before Eddie's curiosity needed to be satisfied.

"You never answered me, can you have my babies, because I certainly don't have the right equiptment for carrying babies." Eddie said.

Steve looked up at him from where he laid on Eddie's chest, "I can have either parts, I'm not male or female in the way humans are, the male form was just easier when I changed, it's a less complicated system."

"Cool, I'd like to spawn with you, when you're ready for that, if you ever are." Eddie told Steve.

Steve stared at him in his unsettling way, "You are not lying."

"Nope, I love you, Steve, Monster or not, I'm yours until you decide otherwise." Eddie vowed.

"You need to talk to Wayne." Steve said.

"What?" Eddie frowned, what did Wayne have to do with this, with anything.

"He can explain what you're getting into better than I can, I didn't spend much time with Mated Pairs." Steve explained.

Eddie frowned, stared at Steve.

"Oh My God! WAYNE IS LIKE YOU?!" Eddie shouted.

Taglist: not taking tag requests, it's getting too long.

I will update this with the Ao3 link when it's posted.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48500452?view_full_work=true

@addelyin @merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @0o-mushroom-o0 @starlight-archer @darkwitchoferie @just-a-tiny-void @swimmingbirdrunningrock @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @adhdsummer @purpleanimeoverart @space-invading-pigeon @lilaclilyroses @nohomoyesbi @plantzzsandpencilzzs @korixae @subversivecynic @flusteredcas @persnicketysquares @freddykicksasses @little-trash-ghost @cupcakesnwhiskey @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta @planetsoda @paintsplatteredandimperfect @irregular-child @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @steddieassheg0es

#steddie #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #mpreg mention #cannabalism mention #genocide mention #From the Rot

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griefabyss69 · 3 months

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Gone Fishin'

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ] [ Tip / Commissions post ]

‘HOLE’ wc: 404 | rated: G | cw: none there's only peace and love on planet earth, outsider POV, this is both a wayne x scott clark and a steddie fic

Wayne takes Scott fishing on a beautiful spring morning, and they make a little wager.

Sunshine crests at the horizon, kissing the far end of the lake with gold as it shoulders the pale blue of early morning.

Scott breathes deeply, the fresh air energizing as Wayne readies their little fishing boat. He sweeps his eyes over where his strong hands are working with the ropes at the dock, all of their gear inside waiting for them.

Wayne had promised to take him to the "fishin' hole" back in October, and now that it's spring, Scott finally gets to spend a peaceful morning alone on placid water with him.

He hadn't expected such a big body of water, but he's trusting that Wayne knows what he's doing. It certainly seems so, as he climbs in and gets the motor running, gesturing for Scott to come aboard.

"Easy," he says, his hands steady as solid ground when he guides Scott's way.

The ride to the middle of the lake is pleasant; Wayne kills the motor early and uses an oar to keep the momentum of the boat, so they don't scare all of the fish away. Scott tries not to get lost picturing the ripples of sound that would reverb through the area, and wonders what the fish think of their noise.

"How's this?" Wayne asks as they settle, bending to open the tackle box.

Scott has no idea if this is a good environment for fishing, but he's content. Wayne's wearing his fishing hat; a gift from Eddie. The ironic text embroidered on it reads:

Let any fish Who meets my gaze Learn the true meaning of fear For I am the harbinger of death

Truly a message fit for Eddie himself, but it kills Scott with fondness whenever Wayne wears it.

"It's nice," he answers, looking out at the distant trees. "We should invite the boys next time."

"If you survive actually catching somethin', yeah," Wayne teases, drawing Scott's eyes back to his expected smirk.

He's still getting used to how the teasing makes his heart-rate speed up, and he feels a blush coming on.

"I'll make you a bet," he says, straightening. "If they start dating before June, I'll clean a fish for you."

Wayne's eyes sparkle even under the shade of his cap.

"And if they don't?"

"Well, then I get to meddle."

Wayne laughs, shakes his head.

"For their sake let's hope they get their shit together soon," he says, picking up a fishing rod.

#griefabyss69 writing #clarkson fanfic #wayne munson x scott clark #now for a complete tonal shift from what I just posted LMAOO #literally the nicest thing I've written imo... it's just a nice day for them #NOW WITH THE FULL THING.... somehow I managed to just not copy and paste the first part #reblog this version please ;__;

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catgirl-catboy · 1 year

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My hopes for S2 of the total drama reboot:

More Axel screentime! Honestly, I felt like Ripper really should have got voted out that ep because he was less useful to the team and the nerds were already annoyed by him. It felt like they booted her just because she's like Eva in the episode where they voted off Eva.

Julia keeps the bun the entire season

Maybe I'm getting my hopes up, but Priya x Millie? You can have it be one-sided if you want to make Priya x Damien canon. But they had just as much, if not more romantic tension then the canonically queer couple! (not a bad thing, I love Rajbow too!)

Speaking of Rajbow, I DON'T want season two to introduce artificial drama between them. I don't think it would make sense from a character driven perspective, because Bowie knows how to play the game too well for that. I think that in season two, its likely he'd put his relationship on hold to better persue the million.

Emma Villain arc, but like in a sympathetic way. She really wants to win the million and prolonged Chase exposure might cloud her judgement on what she will do to get it.

Nichelle and Julia alliance. Or just any interaction between them. Please. I need to know how she'll react to Julia's true colors.

Speaking of Julia, I want to see her come back next season with a new fake personality. Maybe have her be a fake gamer girl idk. Nobodies buying it.

For Priya and Millie, I want to see them both working on a book TOGETHER next season. Maybe a total drama survival guide?

Less fart jokes from Ripper. More of a personality that does not revolve around fart jokes from Ripper.

MK learns from her mistakes and gets farther in the next season. I want her to pull a Noah.

In between seasons, Damien watches Total Drama and becomes a fan. Maybe he and Priya geek out about it?

This one's never gonna happen but if the writers make my Autistic!Priya headcanon official I would literally die of :DDD

Either vote Caleb off first again, or give him something distinct from Justin and Alejandro. This is silly, but the first thing I thought of is that he dislikes his looks because its hard to make genuine connections with other people when all everyone wants to do is get in his pants.

More humor based around Zee being an amputee. As a physically disabled person, I thought it was hilarious and handled respectfully.

Bowie and Emma don't become friends again, so WAYNE takes over trying to help Emma out with Chase.

What do you want to see next season?? Please tell me in the RBs I'm curious!

#total drama #total drama reboot #td bowie #td raj #td priya #td zee #td julia #td ripper #td emma #td nichelle #td caleb #td damien #td mk #td millie #td wayne #td chase #total drama island 2023

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glorified-red · 1 year

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Autopilot (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home, you were left at the mercy of your own memories. All the usual tactics Damian knew weren't helping. It's a good thing he had a little helper.

word count: 4,070~

warnings: flashback during a panic attack, disassociation and driving through it, reference to past physical abuse (not specified from who or if it's domestic, it's very vague. But is heavily implied to be from a male), depictions of physical abuse in terms of verbs (punch, kick, hands on body, etc. Nothing more. Aka no bodily harm, just the feeling), and reference to passing out from a panic attack in the past.

Nothing quite like real world events to jerk me out of a writer's block, aye? This is based on a personal experience from just a few days ago so if there is a complaint with this story being too specific, I will ignore it. This fic means a lot to me so please be kind to it. Dont hesitate to let me know what you think of it! For those wondering, yes, I did finish writing that essay. Have not submitted it because I would love to read it and edit it at not 1 am, so that's a task for tomorrow while I dye my hair.

Autopilot — acting or functioning without conscious thought, as a result of routine or habit.

That was one way to describe what was happening.

From the second you put your helmet back on to the moment your hand closed the front door, you couldn’t pinpoint a single frame in between. The entire world around you was a blur, even as you zipped through Gotham traffic on a busy afternoon.

Distantly, you knew you should be aware of the wind hitting your skin, especially as it assaulted your jacket with its wispy breath. Each red light and your boots hit asphalt. You should’ve been able to register that feeling shoot up each of your legs, maybe feel the way your body shifted into an upright position.

But instead, your eyes were blank behind the tinted lens of a bike helmet.

You didn’t even try to fix it, not yet anyway. Not when there were cars blocking you in from every angle; not when one wrong move—one stuttered breath—could mean your bike jerking into a freefall.

So you didn’t even try to fight for awareness. If you did, maybe your hands would be gripping the handlebars a little tighter, maybe even twisting the kevlar of your gloves into the grooves until you felt something. You would’ve rubbed your hands down your thighs, dragging the fabric along your skin just enough to force your body into consciousness.

But you didn’t.

You just let yourself run on autopilot.

It was safer that way anyway. Safer than having the worst panic attack of your life while driving at least. You didn’t even want to think about how Damian was going to react when he found out you were driving this far down into your subconscious—on your motorcycle no less.

He really was going to murder you one of these days. But then again, you had countless retorts ingrained into your repertoire, countless callbacks to days where it wasn’t you in the driver's seat doing this, but the hypocrite himself.

So you didn’t worry enough about it. You gave it maybe two seconds of thought before you put your helmet on and rolled out of the parking lot. Should you call Damian? Wouldn’t it just be easier for him to pick you up and worry about the bike later?

Your brain sighed, maybe your body did on instinct, if it did, you wouldn't have known. He was at home—which was barely fifteen minutes away, you could survive that long—waiting for you, it’d worry him too much to get a phone call two hours after you were supposed to be home.

Somewhere between hues of gray, your legs guided you through the maze of a familiar home. There was a buzz in your ears, like the poor organs were trying desperately to comprehend the noise around you but fell short every time. They were filled with water then dried with cotton only for it to dissipate with water once more: a ferocious cycle that left you a stranger to the greeting happening right before you.

You shouldered passed . . . something? It didn’t matter. If it did, surely your brain would let you know later . . . right? Then came the mechanical routine of finding a place to bring yourself back. But when every wall looked the same and your boots trudged against the carpet—Damian was so gonna gripe about shoes in the house later—it felt like a losing game.

So you stuttered to a stop, somewhere. Arguably the worst place because the only tether you had to the outside world was the ground under your boots, which you couldn’t even feel because there was at least an inch of rubber tread between your reality and everyone else's.

The same buzz hit your ears. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you could blame the disconnect on the inner padding of the helmet stuffed against your head. It’s worked before, it’s not like it’s easy to hear with this thing on, let alone when your brain didn’t even want you to.

You could start to feel the autopilot wearing thin, the remnants of it dissolving with each passing second you remained idle. You tried to tap each of your fingers against your thumb one at a time to cling to what little autopilot was left. All you got from your body was a single twitch in your thumb.

A tap, a click, and a slide. All sounds you saw rather than felt or heard yourself. The tinted panel in front of your eyes lifted slowly until your grays turned into greens. You could get lost in that green for eternity and your soul would find contentment. You could find that green from memory, even when your eyes were filled with grays or your body turned blind to it. That green was one you would never lose.

It came naturally, locking your eyes into his. You could almost laugh at the fact that the last wisp of autopilot was used connecting yourself to him, as if your body had formed a habit you didn’t even know about until now.

You knew those eyes better than he did himself, even if he’d spent years staring at them before you. It was an easy victory when you traced them in your memories. So you knew each crease of worry that outlined the narrowness they had at the moment, the subtle squint as he tried to reach you.

Unfortunately for the both of you, he succeeded.

Your next breath came right before your lungs were punched by reality. The sheer weight of it was enough for you to struggle for air. It was like you were trapped as Atlas once was. But instead of holding the weight on your shoulders, you were crushed underneath all the rubble, having failed to keep everything upright.

You choked out a sob, hating the way your own breath ricocheted off the helmet back into your skin. You were suffocating. Your hands shot to the offending metal and clawed at each of the safety latches built in. Shaky fingers didn’t have enough dexterity to succeed which only made you gasp harder.

In an instant, there were skilled hands overtaking your own, practiced enough to succeed where you had failed.

“—eathe, I’ve got y—”

Newfound peripherals blindsighted you, they were both a blessing and a curse. While the new vision made it easier to protect yourself, the responsibility of having to do so was far too heavy a burden. You wanted to keep living in your tunnel vision and pretending it was safe there.

You were still suffocating. Air was scarce to come by and when it did travel through you, it scorched your lungs until you considered if air was truly worth the fight if it hurt so much. The same shaky hands grasped for the collar of your jacket, suddenly far too tight against your neck. It was as if the fabric itself was choking you and not Reality. Thready hands were better to imagine than calloused ones.

You didn’t notice your feet tripping backwards until your back collided with a wall, you didn’t even care, you just wanted this stupid jacket off. Agile hands swifty unlatched everything, unclasping safety mechanics and helped shrug the leather bind off of your skin.

“—ok, it’s off. Brea—”

The wall was solid; the wall was good; the wall was safe. You let yourself slide all the way down until you hit the floor, your green easily followed. You coughed on an exhale, your inhale having hurt far too badly to finish.

Your hands settled together behind your neck, fighting to grab at something, might as well protect your pulse points.

“—off?”

Your gaze struggled to lift up to him without staggering. When it settled back into his calming hue, you choked out a response: “What?”

Realistically, you exhaled far too much on the word when you received another kick to the chest but you figured he would get the gist. He’s smart.

“Do you want your boots off?” His hands floated in the space between you both, where your bent legs ended and his crouch began.

With a tilted comprehension, it took a few breaths—albeit pretty quick ones—for the words to sink in. When they did, you jerked out a nod. Without hesitation, he made quick work of velcro, buckles, and zippers, forcing you to trudge through heightened awareness alone.

Awareness was always worse than letting your mind shift into sand to pass through fingers with ease, free from the pain those fingers always left. Especially when Reality was combing through sand with a sharp comb, breaking each particle down to the atom. Water couldn’t wash away atoms the same way it could sand.

Your lungs convulsed again just as your socked feet felt the bite of cold tile, boots long since forgotten.

“Breathe,” he said simply, telegraphing his movements slowly. “Can I take off your gloves?”

You liked the safety of where your hands were, but feeling a leather mesh on your neck wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling.

You jerked your hands out slowly, seeing for yourself just how much you were shaking compared to his steady hands. His movements were slow and deliberate, testing the waters to see how you reacted to his touch on your skin. The second both hands felt air instead of fabric, they retreated back to safety.

“You need to breathe.”

You shook your head, feeling the muscles under your hands twist along with the motion. “I—” you choked, “I can’t”

“Yes you can.” Damian shifted from his crouch to sit before you. “You’ve been through this before and you always come out of it, don’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help somewhat. Another kick to the chest and you were back to scrambling.

“ ‘t hurts,” you whined.

“I know it does, but you have to breathe. Breathe with me.” You opened your eyes to look at him through the blur of watery tears.

That was a mistake.

Reality was finicky at best. It shifted like the waves in its fluidity, morphing into new forms and combining within itself. Your fingers twitched against your neck.

Focus on the green.

But then his hands slowly laid atop your knees, a familiar trick he did every time. Innocent touch, a tethered connection between you two to bring you back to him. The further the attack would go, the more weight he’d put into his palms until your legs unbent without your knowledge. It was an easy way to open your chest cavity to make breathing a little bit easier while making it seem like nothing is changing, especially when your brain is occupied with other things.

But this time, his hands felt bigger, they felt more calloused, and held more weight in them. You jerked in an inhale. “Sto—stop touching me.”

Immediately his hands lifted off of you. “Okay, I won’t touch you.” His palms raised in the air so you could see them, an emphasis to his word. “But we’re going to breathe together.”

Damian waited a single moment for you to register his words, for your eyes to shift from his hands to his eyes, then finally, to his chest.

“Breathe in.” He exaggerated his chest visually for you to replace touch. Usually there would be some comfort in the way your hand was guided to his sternum, fingers spread out to feel the fabric of his shirt and the way his chest rose with each inhalation, only to fall when he exhaled. Yet this time, his chest would’ve felt different and that thought alone was enough for your breath to stutter.

“And out.” You envied the way he released his breath so slowly and with so much control where yours was rushed and clunky.

He praised you all the same. “Good. Again. In,” he breathed in, you followed shortly after, “and out.”

You fell out of the inhale before he did, your lungs quivering under an invisible hand. Your head hit the wall with a whine. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he stressed. “I know you can. Try again.”

You wheezed where he inhaled, you coughed where he exhaled. Your hands sunk from your neck to your chest, gripping on tight to the kevlar.

“That’s it,” he said, just before another set of breaths. You hated this part the most. You could live with the shakiness afterwards, the pain and the burn of your lungs once they finally settled down. You could ignore the feeling of being on edge for hours after, the feeling of fragility, like someone could blow and you’d wither away with the feeble wind.

But the feeling of true hopelessness that came from this part was always the worst. You couldn’t fathom succeeding at this simple human task, a task that comes mechanically—completely on autopilot. Yet for some reason, it was a monumental task for you.

Before Damian—and a little bit during—you let yourself get consumed by the darkness. You let the hands squeeze your lungs until your brain fizzled out, the consequences to be dealt with once you woke up. It was far easier than fighting for consciousness, especially when said consciousness was so painful.

He didn’t like that very much.

So here you were, clamoring your way through a breathing exercise as if it wasn’t the most painful thing in the world. As if your lungs weren’t burning with rage and your muscles weren’t aching with tension.

As if you couldn’t feel hands all over your body with each step back into awareness.

As if you couldn’t hear and see things just passed Damian’s silhouette.

“This isn’t working,” you bite out. Your head had sunk down to face the floor at some point. The carpet was a darker shade of beige than it was a moment ago. Maybe it was your shadow affecting it, but considering everything, you didn’t think so. “I need—” you choked.

You saw the way Damian’s hands twitched against his pants, fighting to do something to help you. “Tell me what you need.” He tried searching your eyes like before, that tether was one that could bring up to him from just about anywhere. But you were studying the carpet as if it had wronged you on a visceral level.

You closed your eyes, trying to think past the echoes of an old voice and the remnants of old touch. You were stuck in limbo, caught between two realities that somehow merged in a single moment. Another kick to the chest and your body caved inwards—the same way it had before.

You could feel your grip on Damian’s reality fading. It was the one you’d prefer any day and it was the one you should be in. Not this one. Yet here you were, taking the hits of hands long in the past.

But . . .

Damian.

“When did we meet?” you demanded more so than asked, the words coming in and out with your breaths.

Despite his shock—and extreme confusion—he didn’t hesitate to answer with a number of years that have passed you by. Questioning you, especially your needs, at this moment wasn’t going to help.

You shook your head, your legs twitching together and back apart, the muscles contracting at random. “What year?” you said, trying to keep your oxygen inside for just a second longer.

He responded simply, your ears catching the sound with ease. The outside chatter cut down to a buzz. You breathed out a little slower.

“How?” you breathed in, your inflection cut off just slightly.

Damian didn’t waver. “We met in high school. I transferred in late and you were assigned as my peer guide to the Academy. You gave me a tour around campus to help figure out my schedule,” he paused, gauging your reaction before adding on just a bit more. “We ended up having a few classes together that year.”

“How old—” you breathed in, “How old were we?”

Damian blinked, his eyes shifting to the side as he recalled, probably doing some kind of mental math in his brain. “I started school when I was fourteen. You were probably fourteen or fifteen at the time.”

You blinked your eyes open, your lungs expanding happily at the information. Realities were disconnecting slowly, each question cutting a strand of fate that had sewed them together. Since neither could coexist, this new information was proof that the voices were just that, the past. Damian didn’t exist in the same era of these voices—these hands—him being here was a testament in it of itself.

The carpet was tinted just so, but it was enough to make it lighter.

“What about now?” you asked.

“What about now?” Damian echoed you, his confusion still prevalent in his voice. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed down the fire. “What year is it?”

For someone so intelligent, he really was not catching on to what was happening. Knowing him, he was probably scanning your head for a concussion right about now. But he didn’t show it outwardly. As much as he was confused and incredibly concerned, this was helping. So even if he didn’t sign up for trivia night, he’d play along—and he was sure as hell gonna win.

He responded factually. The math not only aligned, but since it was late into the year, it wasn’t exactly hard to remember. The buzz got even softer than before. You were able to breath out shakily, the intake was sharp in return but the progress was showing.

“And the date?”

Your eyes had closed softly, a sense of calm starting to breach through the anxiety.

Damian’s response immediately shrouded that progress. Suddenly the voice was right next to your ear and a foot was on your chest, constructing any airflow from ever hoping to come to your lips. The same date. A stupid number that just so happened to align, an anniversary, was enough to derail everything.

Damian’s voice turned to nothing but a buzz, a low rumble with a worried inflection.

He had asked a question. That much you knew. But your eyes had opened to a shade of dark beige and dreary grays, completely at the mercy of a dissociative state.

Even your hands lay limp from where they were resting between your knees, your wrists balanced atop the bony joints. You let it happen. You let your breath get squished underneath calloused hands along the back of your neck and a knee to the spine. You let your fingers go numb and your skin go cold as the room around you soured.

Suddenly it was a different time and a different place entirely.

Just dark beige and dreary grays.

The thuds of footsteps were easily drowned out until it was a simple buzz, just a low static rumbling beneath your skin.

But then your hands lifted at the feeling of fur underneath them. It was soft to the touch, the small fibers splitting away underneath your fingers. The fur shifted, it nosed in-between your pointer and middle finger before sliding down your palm, leaving a slight trail of warmth along your skin.

Your fingers twitched, the ice around them thawing slowly with each press of warmth until you could interact with it yourself. The fur morphed from a body to a small head that could fit just along your palm. Whiskers pressed into your hand as it was used as a scratching post. A head bump and your palm raised with it, only to slide down the back automatically as if your hand had done it a thousand times before.

Just along the back and up to the tip of the tail, just for the head to return for more scratches. You felt the tail wrap loosely around your ankle, shifting and swishing, but always remaining against you.

You scratched at the chin, your chest feeling lighter when the gentle creature tilted their head back to accept more. Reality itself couldn’t deny the creature’s existence, even if they truly wanted your reality to morph into the past.

Yet here it was, defying Reality, with nothing to say aside from a purr. Your hands touched black and your fingers graced white until you could make out the cat yourself, perched contently between your legs.

“Alfie,” you sighed out, half out of astonishment and half out of relief.

“I always seem to find you two together after a hard time,” came Damian’s voice, cutting straight through the static with his deep timbre. “He can help you where I can’t.”

There was still a shake in your breath, your chest still rising and falling with great difficulty, more than Damian liked. He looked up at you briefly before looking back down at the precious cat, one that only seemed to like a few people on this earth. Even if he liked Damian, it was a hell of a taming. But with you, you two clicked instantly.

Damian would never forget the day he found you holding Alfred, hugging him close and the content kitten doing nothing but hugging back with its smaller limbs. Alfred’s little head perched on your shoulder, eyes closed in pure bliss. You were swaying slowly, humming in harmony with the soft purrs omitting from the shorthair.

You were waiting on him, that much he remembered. It was years after you two had met, just shortly after high school graduation and just before Damian started college. That was the blissful moment of limbo where it was just you two hanging out for the summer and getting his apartment together.

That was the day Damian Wayne fell in love with you.

So here you were, years later, yet all the same.

“Alfred gave him to me my senior year,” Damian started. He knew you already knew Alfred’s origin, you were there. But for some reason, exact details of dates were helping you, so he was happy to recall a core memory. “He called it a graduation gift even though the meeting was pure happenstance. He didn’t want to admit the cat reminded him of me, but I knew.”

You glanced up at Damian and he glanced back.

He stated the year easily, the fricative consonants adding to his timbre. “That was the year I fell in love with you. I was nineteen. It started with prom night, I should have known what that feeling was by then. But it wasn’t until late summer that I finally realized I could see no other future than one that was beside you.”

He pointed down at the fuzz ball that was now laying across your crossed legs. “It’s all because of him.”

Your hands pressed into the fur and massaged the skin underneath gently until the final strand of fate was snapped. You looked into the green, seeing each shade of bright emerald and late spring, eucalyptus and summer leaves.

You found your voice and it was among his, miles ahead of the distant voices of the past. You said the same year, finding that your consonants blended with his after being around him for so long. Your voices intertwined in some ways and diverged in others.

“That was the year I fell in love with you.” You responded. “We got bored and decided to paint your bedroom a different color.” You found yourself smiling at the memory, not even thinking twice about how your voice became steady against the mechanics of breath. “We were trying to figure out how to use the paint rollers and you learned the hard way that too much paint was in fact, not, more efficient. You had paint all in your hair after just one swipe.”

You laughed and Damian found himself smiling at the sound. “I managed to get some on your cheeks,” he recalled.

You nodded. “You did,” a slight chuckle shaking your shoulders. “I got you back though.”

“Please,” Damian rolled his eyes, “you were covered in far more paint than I was at the end of the night.”

“Was not!”

Damian hummed in absolute confidence. “As I recall, Alfred gave you a far more disproving look than he gave me.”

“Because he found me first!”

Sometime in the near future, you would retell the events that led you to this moment. From witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home to the police report that followed, you’d tell him everything.

But for now, you were happy just enjoying the moment with him.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #robin #robin x reader #robin x you #robin x y/n #dc #dc comics #batfamily #batman #batman comics #dcu #hurt/comfort #emotional whump

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mac-cheez · 7 months

Text

My Guide To Surviving The Waynes

This is inspired by an earlier post of mine and will be in an epistolary/Dracula style in the view of said uni student. I hope y'all like it!

Thxs @arrowheadedbitch for proofread and confidence.

Pt. 2 Pt. 3

--------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I'm not a diary person really. I was always told it helps you relax or work through your feelings, but it never seemed worth it...... well not till now. Not till a "normal" morning for me was eating cereal while shouting goes through the house and under threat of death if I finish the milk. This is what's currently happening as I write this on my laptop trying not to spill said cereal. As I listened to another argument between Tim and Damian about something inconsequential (something about galleries robbing banks?), I finally caved and started writing. I figure this could be useful for reference or advice or even study (these bitches are weird as hell). Maybe I should start with how I got here?

I grew up down South. The bible belt was a weird place, but I survived I guess. My parents are loving and as understanding as they can be with their own experiences and opinions. My father is Army so we were lucky to not be on wheels at all times. My only major move was my sophomore year of high school. I decided to apply for the exchange program and was picked due to my fluency in French. I was sent to Paris and, loved it so much I decided to stay. I was able to stay till graduation and still keep in touch with my friends. I know, picture perfect right?

After graduation, I applied to many different Universities and programs hoping for a good criminal justice program to learn in. Forensics was the main interest I was looking for. It just so happened that Gotham University's Forensics and Criminal Justice Facilities just got updated by the Wayne Foundation (probably to deal with the crime problem). I saw that it met all of my criteria and applied not thinking about it. A couple of my picks fell through, but most came back as acceptances. I was about to accept one of my local Universities when I got the Gotham U acceptance letter. It said the usual spiel of "we'd love to have you, blah, blah, blah", I was about to throw it in the pile when I saw one specific detail, "We boast a 95% employment rate of our Science-based graduates."

After some research, I found out that it was true. Most GU grads get hired straight out of school if they have a scientific degree. That paired with the brand new facilities made me reconsider. I talked with my parents, and they agreed that it was likely the best option, but they were concerned about me living in the dorms or an apartment in a place like Gotham. I was about to suggest living in a city nearby and just commuting when my dad asked us to wait for a minute. He made some calls while I talked with my mom about other things concerning the move. When he came back he said he had a friend from work who I could stay with. He told me he had a couple kids my age and plenty of room. It wasn't till I was in the limo with a very nice elderly man on my way to said friend's house that I realized he meant The Bruce Wayne. Once he parked (his name is Alfred btw) I got my luggage out and kinda just stared. He asked to take my bags but I just said no thank you. He hummed and led me to the door. It was quiet when he opened the door which I thought would be normal, but the worry on his face told me otherwise.

Suddenly from the hall, two boys ran by one yelling "MERCY" while the other smaller boy chased him with a sword and........ pink hair? I was concerned, but Alfred seemed more at ease so I tried not to think about it too much. Behind them, a guy came from the same hallway snickering at his phone.

"Master Duke, would you mind filling me in on the situation at hand?" Alfred asked him.

"Oh yeah Alfred, it was hilarious," 'Duke' said laughing, "so Tim put pink dye in the shampoo for Dick and then-," he stopped looking at me. "Uhhhhhhhh, Who's the girl?" He asked.

"A guest of Master Bruce," said Alfred.

"Oh! Oh. Uh, You're not......... ya know..... a guest," he asked.

"No god no I'm not that broke yet," I explained hoping the humor would land.

It seemed to because he immediately brightened and started introducing himself as Duke Thomas, one of Mr. Waynes Wards. I introduced myself and why I was there. It seemed like he was going to ask something when there was a crash and he said he should "make sure no one gets stabbed again".

"Well that was eventful," I said looking towards the hall he exited through.

"I'm sure you'll get used to it," said Afred, worrying me a little. This wasn't an occasional thing?

He started leading me-;skjfbsgdpibzebERROR++vbvnjkm;n;mxcvz;'anrvbA:----

#bruce wayne #tim drake #bat family #damian wayne #dick grayson #dc comics #richard grayson #robin dc #dc batman #alfred pennyworth #duke thomas #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #my posts #My Guide to Surviving the Waynes

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steddieasitgoes · 9 months

Text

1.3K Words | Teen and Up | ao3 link

Eddie’s not much of a cook.

It’s not that he can’t cook — he can whip up a mean grilled cheese and has some pretty epic pancake-flipping skills; it’s just that he thinks it’s a colossal waste of time.

But between the prep time and the clean-up time, plus the fact that he ends up scarfing it down in less than five minutes alone because Wayne is at work, it’s just not worth the trouble. Besides, homemade dinners don’t even reheat as well as frozen dinners do!

Most days, Eddie would rather work on a new song or D&D campaign than spend the day stuck in the kitchen. But today isn’t like most days. Today is Steve and his six-month anniversary.

And yeah, okay, maybe it’s lame and conformist to celebrate such an arbitrary anniversary, but after surviving the literal depths of hell only to end up dating the most attractive bachelor in all of Hawkins, well, it’s a reason to fucking celebrate!

So, yeah, he’s going to cook a romantic dinner for his boyfriend; sue him.

Thankfully, Eddie knows the perfect dish: lasagna.

If he’s being totally straight with himself, it’s the only “fancy” dish he knows how to make, but Steve doesn’t need to know that. He also doesn’t need to know that he only knows how to make it because of a certain cartoon orange cat. That’s a tidbit for their one-year anniversary, Eddie thinks, even if Steve’s keenly aware of Eddie’s mild Garfield obsession.

While Steve’s stuck working a double shift on their anniversary, Eddie runs around town getting everything he needs to make tonight perfect. If he’s going to celebrate something so corny, he’s going to give it all he’s got.

Eddie picks up some candles from Melvald’s and spends way too long zigzagging across the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy, getting all the ingredients he needs. On his way home, he stops by the Sinclairs to pick up a heart-shaped bundt cake tin because Eddie never can say no to a good bit — especially one he’s willing to bet will pay off for him in big ways.

He spends the rest of the day in the kitchen. Grating cheeses, chopping vegetables, cooking meats. Layering and layering and layering. When it comes time to finally pop the lasagna in the oven, Eddie’s exhausted, covered in sweat, and three seconds away from chucking his favorite mixtape out the window because he’s tired of having to rewind it.

An hour later, Eddie is showered, the table is set with flickering candles, and the entire trailer smells like Enzos. In hindsight, going to Enzos might have been a better option, now that he thinks about it. Less work, for sure. But the thought passes when Steve steps through the door, exhausted but sporting the softest smile Eddie’s ever seen on him and a beautiful bouquet of deep red peonies.

“Smells good, baby,” Steve says, setting the bouquet down on top of the television . He closes the distance between them and threads his arms around Eddie’s waist, tugging once until they’re hugging. “Bet it tastes even better.”

“It fucking better,” Eddie huffs. “Been stuck in the kitchen all day. M’starving.”

“Well, come on then, let’s eat.”

Laying on the gentleman act thick, Eddie guides Steve with a hand on the small of his back, to his chair at the small kitchen table and pulls it out for him. He waits for Steve to situate himself before pushing the chair in, and then he reaches for the bottle of wine Hopper stopped by to drop off. After filling Steve’s glass, he pours some out for himself and then heads over to the oven to grab his masterpiece.

“And here we have my world-famous Munson Lasagna,” Eddie says, donning his version of a fancy accent. Carefully, he sets the heart-shaped tin down in the middle of the table and goes to take his seat. “Made with the finest ingredients Bradley’s Big Buy has to offer and a shit tone of love and maybe some sweat, but mostly love.”

“S’that the secret ingredient?” Steve asks, pressing his elbows onto the table before leaning forward to get a better look at the ooey-gooey lasagna.

“Psh, if I told you the real secret ingredient, I’d have to kill you, sweetheart.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head, and Eddie soaks it all in. A happy, smiling Steve Harrington is a sight to behold; it’s even more mind-blowing when he’s the reason why Steve looks so good.

But the spell is quickly broken when Steve reaches for the serving spoon he also borrowed from the Sinclairs and drives it into the center of the lasagna without a moment of hesitation.

Eddie gasps, clutches a hand over his heart, and tips his chair back. The theatrics are a bit over-the-top, even for him, as he loses his balance and topples out of the chair. Thankfully it’s his ass that breaks the fall instead of his head. Unfortunately, his ass is far too boney to provide any cushion. Maybe, he should do squats like Steve suggested.

“You just cut a hole in my heart!” He wails from the cold linoleum floor. “How could you do this to me, Stevie? And on our anniversary!”

Steve peers down at him from his seat. For a second, his hazel eyes are wide and full of concern, but he must catch the subtle twitch of Eddie’s lip. The tell-tale sign that Eddie’s being mischievous for the hell of it. Fucking narc, Eddie curses himself.

“Eddie, it’s dinner,” Steve says, exasperated but oh so fond. “Was I not supposed to cut it? I thought you were hungry.”

“You could have given me a moment to admire my work of art!”

“Or,” Steve says, offering a hand out to Eddie. He begrudgingly takes it, and a second later, Eddie’s being hoisted to his feet by a still seated Steve. Stupid jock arms. “We could eat the dinner you worked hard on and go make a different kind of art later.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as Steve wags his brows at him. “Yeah, okay, that sounds like a better plan. Serve me up a slice, big boy.”

Steve shakes his head but does as he’s told, digging the serving spoon back into the dish. The lasagna is so loaded and heavy Eddie has to come to Steve’s aid with his own fork to keep the slice from falling onto the floor. They repeat the lifesaving methods with Steve’s slice, and then they dive in.

Later, when they’re full and satisfied, in more ways than one, Steve rolls over onto his side. Eddie watches as he props himself on his elbow before reaching towards Eddie to tuck a sweaty strand of hair behind his ear.

“Be honest with me,” Steve muses, trailing a featherlight touch up and down Eddie’s bicep. “Did you learn to make lasagna because of that damn cat?”

Eddie jolts into a seated position, retching his arm away from Steve’s sincere touch. “How dare you insult the wondrous beast that is Garfield. You put some respect on his name right now.”

Steve just laughs before scootching over until his head rests on Eddie’s bare chest. “You and your Garfield obsession.” He bites his lip to keep from smiling too wild. “I mean, it’s cute and all, but it hurts to know I’m always going to be second in your heart to a cartoon cat.”

“If I can get over being second in your heart to Robin, you can get over this,” Eddie fires back, but there’s no heat in his voice. Just the playful banter they’ve come to call flirting. It’s weird, but it works for them.

“Alright, fine,” Steve snorts. He stirs in Eddie’s arms and kisses the spot where Eddie’s nipple used to be. “Happy anniversary, Eds.”

“Happy anniversary, Stevie.”

#this is silly and dumb but the idea woke me up so i had to write it #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson ficlet #stranger things fic #stranger things ficlet #dani writes

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marvelsimp · 11 months

Text

Hope

Green and Red Masterlist

My Masterlist

INCOMPLETE

Story is no longer self-insert, go to the masterlist to read the new reworked story!

Genre: action, angst, fluff, comfort

Pairing: platonic!Jason Todd x reader, platonic!batfam x reader, secondary!Kara Danvers x reader

Warnings: offensive language, descriptions of violence, blood, dead bodies, and a panic attack

Description: Y/n Wayne, is dealing with her past and spending time with her girlfriend when she sees a mysterious figure that feels hauntingly familiar.

Y/n’s Abilities: Trained in hand-to-hand combat and is trained to use most weapons.

Y/n’s pronouns: she/her

Word Count: 1642

It wasn’t like this was the first time that this had happened. Someone finds you on the bathroom floor gasping for air, wishing you were dead. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time either.

“Y/n, look at me.”

You only ever saw flashes when you were awake, the blood, the crowbar, the body. Sometimes it would just be the sound, of screaming. Almost always screaming. The type that makes you nauseous. Sometimes yours. Sometimes your fathers. And sometimes his. God your chest hurts, you try to breathe but you’re met with fire in your lungs.

“Sis, I need… focus…at me.”

You blink hard, trying to dig yourself out of the hole you were in, you see dark hair which doesn’t do much in helping figure out who this is. But you can’t breathe, this shouldn’t matter. It’s hard to grasp what’s real, the sound of metal hitting concrete or calming whispers. They’re both fuzzy and feel wrong, this shouldn’t be happening. A hand on your face, its thumb attempting to soothe you. Dick. Dad would be rubbing your back, if you allowed him to be near you. It’s not like you want to remember but sometimes you feel like you deserve it. You get what you earn, right? You’re the one that survived.

“Start noting things in the room, to ground you.” His voice is shaking a little but it’s soothing nonetheless.

You see his face, Jason’s face, so clearly for a second. It’s covered in blood and you can’t help but stare. His dead eyes stare back. A hand guides yours, drifting over what feels like smooth ice, tile. You’re not there, it’s not the concrete of the warehouse. You’re not looking at your dead best friend, it’s just Dick. You grab his hand that's on yours and count his fingers. He’s real and that all you need to know for now.

That’s when you shoved him away.

***

You are sitting in the study with your head bowed down as your father paces across the floor. He’s fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket.

“We have to talk about this, it's been months.” You’ve only ever heard him this desperate once before. “At this point, you don't have to talk to me. Talk to Dick or Alfred, I can see if I can get into contact with your mom. I’ll get you a therapist or a priest, just tell someone. You’ve shut everyone out and you know that I’ve been here. You know what I’ve lost and been through, you’re old enough to know and understand all of it now!”

You were on the verge of tears. You couldn’t look at him. His pain just increased yours. You wish you could just be done with this.

“Jesus, Y/n, let me help you,” he almost screamed. A sob escaped your throat. One that had been building up in your months-long silence. Bruce put his hand on your shoulder. “Please,” his voice broke and you wrapped your arms around his body.

***

“He needs this.” You looked down at a boy, four years younger than you. Who is currently studying a Batarang.

“I can’t. I can’t do this again.”

You turned to your father. “He’ll just go out on his own… He’ll die. You know it. Do you want that?”

“Will you be okay with this?” You could hear the sob bubbling in his throat. One that will never come out.

“Will you?” you breathe.

You both stood in silence. Afraid of what would come next.

“He would hate this.” You laughed. “He would think that we’re replacing him. But we both know we’ll never be able to do that.” You start to walk away as your father just stands there. You pause. “Do it,” you command and he starts to descend the staircase.

*****

“Babe, we’re gonna be late!” you yelled to your girlfriend in the apartment you shared.

“Ready!”

God, couldn’t you have super speed? “I hate when you do that.”

“I know.” she grinned, tucking back one of your loose hairs. “But you love me anyways.”

You gave her an unimpressed smile. “There may be another reason.” You lunged your body out to stare obviously at her ass.

“Oh stop that!” She slapped your arm. You loved when that happened. When she gets frustrated and her accent comes out. God, what you’d do to give her everything she deserves?

She doesn’t talk about it much, her home, Krypton. So you never ask, you know it’s painful. Or that it can be but the days she does talk about it, you allow yourself to continue the conversation but you never push. She’s told you stories about various gardens her parents would take her to, school, going to her parents' work, her friends, the birth of her baby cousin, and she’s shared some about the death of Krypton. She’s as healed as one could expect.

Some days she’s just angry, you’ve seen the footage of her. She feels alone she lost everyone she ever knew. But she finds hope in Clark, Connor, and Jon. Sometimes even Krypto. She finds hope in you and you see it in her too that maybe your days will shine brighter. She struggles but she’s strong in more ways than one.

You kiss her lovingly, grab your purse, and lead her out the door of your shared apartment.

***

Kara giggles when you arrive at the Daily Planet, taking your hand and you go into the building. She puts her hand on your back as the elevator doors open to the top floor. Clark makes eye contact with you and smiles. He makes his way over and gives you both a hug.

“Hiya, kid!” God, he’s so much but he doesn’t suck the life out of you at the very least. He invited you both because Kara wanted to see about talking to someone for an interview and you wanted to make a few deals with CEOs.

“How’s Jon?” she smiles.

His smile grows. Is he glowing? Is that one of his abilities? “He’s doing great, since he started middle school he’s really enjoyed anything art…”

You see Lois walking that way, thank god. Clark’s great but is too nice for your taste.

“…I’m really proud of him. He really seems to just want to help people.” Lois taps him on his shoulder. His face softens to something closer to admiration rather than pride. “Hi.” Her face reflects his, softening a little. You look at Kara and she looks at you. Her face is as soft as Clark’s and you know you are in bliss.

“So,” Lois starts, she grabs Kara’s arm, “I can start to introduce you to everyone.”

Lois leads Kara away and you turn to Clark. “Wanye Enterprises has a Banquet in two weeks. I would love to see both of you there. Either as friends or journalists, whichever you prefer.”

“I’m sure we could both find good stories to pursue there.” He pats the side of your arm, his face is showing pride again.

He did see you grow up, you were what? Two or three when Bruce decided he need some extra help with you and Dick. You of course don't remember meeting him so he’s just always been there, your Uncle Clark. You were seven when you figured out he was Superman, you were the one that told Dick. You thought it was obvious and that he should’ve figured it out.

“Send us the details for it and we’ll be there.”

You excuse yourself and find a few CEOs to chat with, you tell them of the Banquet and how it will help both Gotham and Metropolis. You convince some to attend, some to donate, and some to reach out to Kara for an interview.

After the incident, you decided to take a break from being a superhero and you focused on your studies. You climbed the ladder at Wayne Enterprises faster than anyone could expect. People like to say it is because you’re Bruce’s daughter but you quickly prove to them that you are worthy of your position. It took a little while for people to even consider calling you charming but once they did it never stopped. When you stopped being angry all the time was when you perfected your skills and began to excel at manipulating million and billionaires.

At some point during the night, your hair started to stand on end. You weren’t sure what it was but you were going to trust your instincts, it had saved your life more times than you could count. You could feel it in your bones something was wrong.

People started to trickle out. By eleven everyone has left, it’s just four of you now.

You all start to clean up, most things go in the trash but anything salvageable you pack up to donate. Once everything is cleaned and put away, Lois and Clark grab their things from their offices as Kara takes you by your arm and walks you to the elevator. She presses the button causing it to light up. Something is wrong, you look around while you wait. Nothing is different, nothing looks off. You’ve been here a million times and nothing has changed. You would know. That’s when you look out the window.

A figure outside on a rooftop. Your pulse is racing and you feel your body start to shake. Something is familiar about it. You let go of Kara’s arm, walking closer to the window. Each step is slow like you’re trying not to scare it away. Your instincts kick in and you couch down a little.

“What’s wrong?” Kara’s voice is deeper than usual. Serious.

A figure stands on a rooftop, he’s staring at you. Most of his body is obscured by the darkness but you do see a red helmet. No. This is wrong, he shouldn’t be there. This isn’t right. You blink hard and in the next moment, he’s gone.

Next Chapter:

Series Rewritten with Helena Wayne as the main character

Taglist:

Let me know if you want to be added!

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namichanth · 1 year

Text

❤ = favorite

Go to dc/dp masterlist

Twins AU

Batman's Cape

Dead By Starlight

Endless Road to Rediscover

Ghosts of the Past

Green never looked so sad before I lost you ❤

King Daniel Aidan Phantom of the Infinite Realms

Schrodinger's Danny ❤

Surprise, it's twins

The Bat Trap ❤

The Lost One

The Ghost of a Shadow Heir

We Don't Have To Dance

1(800) Adoption Papers NOT needed! Its a two for one special! ❤

Jason adopts Danny

A ghost and a vigilante walk into a bar...well actually it's an alley

Don't Leave Me in the Dark

Imprint

The Son of the Red Hood

The Boy King and the Dark Knights ❤

Wayward spirits are better together

Danny adopts into batfam

The Strange Case of Danny Fenton-Wayne

Dead on Main

Danny Fenton: Dead and Loving It

going batty

I Don't? Work Alone

Like Betta Fish Do ❤

Phantom's Robin

Rooftop Express ❤

There Are Two Kinds of Eldritch Beings, Those Who Are DTF And Those Who Aren't

The Heart of the Matter

The Ghost King's To-Do List

Dead Serious

Artificial Wingman

Press Heart to Subscribe ❤

Their second chance

Dick x Danny

Holding Me Now in Hand

Brain Dead

and the universe said

Against All Odds I've Made It Far Enough To Become A Nuisance

Batman, Meet Team Phantom

Bureaucracy is not exclusive to the living

Don’t Leave Me Behind, (Like I Have Been Before)

Ghosts Don't go to High School ❤

Ghosting

GLXY:PSSNGR

Is it a bad idea to work with your (unknowing) father in law?

Lay Low and Graduate

Pearls and Pomegranates

Tim Drake's I.E.F (Invisible Eldritch Friend)

To Love and Be Loved

Project "GH05T" ❤

Project Cardinal

---------------------------------

Ah, Sunflower ❤

BatCat Spectre

Batman, Meet Team Phantom

Be careful what you lie about ❤

Childhood... Friend?

Concession to Realism

Crash Course

“Crime, Love, and Ghosts. AU”

death echoes

Ghost Kings and Gotham Bats

Ghost in the Morgue

How (Not) to Get Adopted by Bruce Wayne: An Incomplete Guide

i found him, he's mine now

If You Give a Bat a Burger

Insomniacs Anonymous ❤

Knight of the Boyking

Life on the Farm

Like and Survive- Phantom’s Guide to Young Hero Survival

My Best Friend, Danny

Of Kindness and Empathy

Robin's Egg ❤

Secrets The Grave Holds

Shrodinger’s Bat ❤

soul bound

Team phantom and the trip to Gotham

The curious case of D. Grayson

The Ghost King just wants to sleep (but he's too workaholic)

The Ghost King (of Miscommunication)

The Ghost of a Shadow Heir

There Are Two Kinds of Eldritch Beings, Those Who Are DTF And Those Who Aren't

Vertical Limit

Voices That They Left ❤

Wayne's Haunted Mansion

We're Longing for Daylight

What was lost, found again ❤

When the Ghost King moves to Gotham City

Who's Old Now? ❤

You Look Like You’ve Seen A Ghost

30 Days of Kidnappings

#Namichanm.list #dp x dc #dc x dp #DPxDC

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sadisticmountainking · 1 year

Text

"Damian I... I'm sorry..."

Jon muttered, chin resting on his friend's shoulder as the younger's arms wrapped him in a tight hug. As tight as someone can hold a Kryptonian, at least.

"Why are you apologizing?"

Damian was quick to question, narrow eyes siding to the teenager, even if he couldn't see his face.

"I shouldn't... I shouldn't be the one in this position. I- You- I mean... I'm older now and... And it's not-"

"That's not true."

Jonathan lifted his head, taking some distance to face the young Wayne. How old was he now? Was he still 13? 14? 15? His sense of timing had been severely damaged after spending so much time travelling between time and space.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not older."

A confused face, followed by a chuckle from the light skinned boy let Damian know his friend still had no idea what he was talking about. He stopped himself from eye rolling, putting into practice his patience.

"Jonathan. For how long were you gone?"

Jon's body tensed up. Fact which did not escape Damian's attention.

"I... Uhm. I'm not sure. I'm 17 now so I guess... 5 years?"

Damian took a moment to continue, focusing his senses into Jonathan's expressions. His body language; curved, head down, avoiding eye contact, playing with his own hands. Bitten lips and fingers. His voice; slightly shaky, but enough for him to notice, soft, shy. Uncomfortable, with no doubt. And rightfully so.

"And during those 5 years, when did you shut down?"

"Excuse me?"

Damian's eyes narrowed once again.

"You were on the verge of death for years. You were isolated, and tortured. I know you were. Your parents might feel guilty enough to look for a fake sense of relief by ignoring the plot holes of your story, but I'm not. I'm the world's greatest detective. I know you didn't tell everything."

Jon's eyes moved to the floor, shamefully scratching the back of his neck.

"When you go through something like that, your brain is forced to prioritize your survival by shutting down mechanisms which, during childhood and teenagehood, a person would have the chance to explore and nourish. Trust me, I know about it."

The Arabic young man explained, making an effort to simplify the explanation for his friend to understand every word he said.

"During my whole life, all my brain knew was survival. I know how that looks like. I wasn't a child, Jonathan. I was a weapon. And my brain made sure I'd survive as such. It was you, Grayson and Brown who helped me become a child. Who allowed me to claim which had been forbidden to me."

A strong, decided hand reached the kryptonian's, forcing him to focus. Damian made sure to make his breathing sound slow and steady, guiding Jon's, which had already started to become quick and erratic. He could only begin to imagine the hell his beloved friend had gone through.

"I know things haven't gotten much better. I know you haven't had a chance to stop. And that you don't want to, because stopping means thinking. And thinking means remembering. Thinking means being there again. But you're not. You're not there. You're here, with me."

Jonathan's lilac eyes were watering. Damian wasn't sure at what point it started, but seeing his friend's eyes shining, not for hope or cheer, but for tears, broke his heart. He began wondering if he had crossed a line he shouldn't have. But there was no going back now. It was his the responsibility to bring some sense into the new «Superman» for once and for all. His the responsibility to attend a traumatized child. The chance to pay him back for the bliss the young superpowered child had gifted him not so long ago.

"It is over, Jonathan. You can be a child again. It's okay, I promise. You don't need to survive now. Not as long as I'm here."

#Jon Kent #Jonathan Kent #Damian Wayne #DamiJon #maybe #or not #JonDami #Jonathan Samuel Kent #Earth 3 aftermath #aged up Jon #Damian Wayne is a good friend #or boyfriend #it's up to you #Also #Jon has purple eyes #because I say so

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addicted-to-dc · 1 year

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Damian Wayne/Robin X Reader-The Next Bruce Lee (Part 9)

It’s almost done! The next post will be the last part of the series! I really want to finish up all of my series and then move on to newer stuff.

Warning: angst, nudity (nothing graphic), mentions of trauma & healing.

Pushing yourself back, you hold up one of your hands and try to make sense of what happened. You run your fingers along the skin, relief flooding through you when you realize it’s just ash. Scrubbing the ash off you, you don’t even realize a blanket is thrown over you until someone picks you up. You yelp but relax as soon as you realize it’s Damian. He silently takes you to the showers and turns on one of them.

Shakily pushing yourself up, you use the wall to balance yourself as you reach out for the water. The cold instantly soothes you, a sigh escaping from your mouth. Damian turns away, clearing his throat when the blanket falls.

“Your clothes did not survive,” he says quietly, shuffling awkwardly.

You grab a random bar of soap and just nod to his statement, furiously scrubbing at the ash. It takes some effort, but soon enough you’re able to scrub it all off. Your skin feels completely raw, but it’s better than ashy.

“I don’t think I can stay here, Damian,” you admit, moving onto your hair.

“I’m not losing you again,” he replies, frustration seeping into his tone. “Father will-”

You interrupt him, “He will what, Damian? I just turned that cell into liquid. How will he help me if I just burn everything?”

He just sighs, his frustration overpowering his embarrassment as he turns to face you, “We will figure it out. You can’t run away from this anymore, you can’t run away from me.”

Damian closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you in for a hug. He pays no mind to the water as he holds you close, squeezing you so tightly that you’re afraid he’ll break a few ribs. You finally give in, wrapping your arms around him.

“What if I hurt you?”

The question lingers in the air. He knows that it’s possible and that it would be ridiculous to deny it.

“You’ve hurt me since the day we met,” he finally replies, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Still have the scars to prove it.”

“So do I,” you whisper, tears beginning to form in your eyes. “I’m scared.”

The warm tears fall down your face, but he quickly moves to wipe them away.

“Tell me about your dreams.”

That catches you off guard, your thoughts going a million miles per hour as you scramble to think of something. You always had a goal to leave the fighting ring behind. Despite being good at it, they never let you rise to the higher-profile fights. They knew that you were saving up and left you to pick up the scraps.

“I’m not sure if I know if I have any,” you admit, looking away from him. “It was just… saving up enough to get away.”

“You’ve gotten away, now it’s time to think of a new dream,” Damian says, squeezing your hand. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to be a part of that.”

“What about Black Mask?”

“Everyone else will handle it,” he simply replies. “You and I will need to leave for some time, possibly taking refuge with the Justice League.”

“The Justice League?!” you ask, your nerves getting the better of you. “Is that really necessary?”

“I have already arranged it,” he reveals, his eyes softening. “We can see if this can be reversed. If it can’t, then we can understand them.”

You nod, “Okay, but I don’t want it to be like before. I can’t be a lab rat again.”

You shiver at the thought of being stuck in a lab again, attached to machines as they pumped poison into you. A cloth makes its way over your shoulders, snapping you out of your thoughts. It’s a robe. Damian helps you guide your arms into the sleeves before tying it shut.

“I know. When we were trying to find you, the needle marks…”

His voice trails off as he guides you out of the showers. Damian doesn’t finish the sentence. Your hand travels to your neck, remembering the needle that Black Mask used to repress your free will. He turned you into something you weren’t. You could barely even remember anything from that time. Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t.

“Are we going now?” you ask, not surprised to see packed bags waiting for you both.

“It’s for the best.”

“I’m tired, Damian,” you sigh, snatching one of the bags. “I’m sick of having all of my choices taken away. After Black Mask… If we’re going to leave Gotham, I’m not coming back.”

He remains still, his back facing toward you as he takes in your words. He knows what you’re asking him. You’re asking him to stay away from his home, his family. This is his only warning, to either let you leave and figure your shit out together… or alone.

#damian wayne x reader #robin x reader #dc imagine

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