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#and that's why i don't have kids

emcant · 7 months

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Pigeon metaphor II

Big realization in therapy... I think. Prepare to be traumadumped.

At one of my first doctor's appointments after I moved out, they asked me how I was treating my asthma. I said ???? I don't have asthma. They said ???? yes you do, at least take a rescue inhaler. I did, and didn't really know what to do with it, but found it made climbing hills easier.

A decade and a daily prescription later, my boyfriend and I went on a hike with another friend in the parks service. I spent the entire time waiting for it to suck, knowing inherently that I hate hiking. It never did; it was, in fact, the best hike I've ever been on. Some weeks later, I realized that I was actually expecting to have trouble breathing. I was waiting to rotate between feeling winded, chemically burned, and as though I'd been stabbed... which sucks. Many of my friends have invited me on hikes over the years, and I've always turned them down. I texted all of them to apologize. I was mistaken: asthma sucks. Hiking is awesome.

One of the last conversations I had with my mother was after that first diagnosis. I asked her if she knew, and she confirmed that she found out when I was five, "but your dad didn't want an asthmatic child", and immediately changed the subject. First of all, my dad is more asthmatic than I am; I can see him saying not that verbatim, but something similar in the vein of "I wouldn't want my child to go through what I went through". Second, that's just too goddamn bad: he got one. They both did. I think there was an implied "and that's why he left" in there, which is hilarious in its own way. She was the one to move out of state, and thought I'd buy that at 20.

My mother doesn't like children. They're generally too loud for her, and she raised me more like a doll instead: virtually never heard and only seen on her terms. She kept me out of sports and blamed the expense, and would bark at me if she ever caught me running, skipping, jumping rope, etc. I used to assume that those were all too noisy, but now I'm thinking she was keeping me from overexerting myself into an asthma attack. She didn't have to worry too much. Until that rescue inhaler, I was unable to take more than ten running steps without feeling like my insides had been dipped in chlorine. I assumed that this was normal, and that something was wrong with me for being unable to work through it.

I have no idea why my dad and stepmom also seemed to believe this at face value, with my mother already having a track record of medical neglect. Middle school was a particular kind of hell for me because the presidential fitness tests came around, along with the mile run that I didn't know was actively endangering me. Naturally I failed it a lot but eventually managed to pass despite the searing pain through my chest, generally needing to lie down for ages afterward to fully regain my breath. My dad and stepmom were proud to "finally" see me getting active. (Every time I tell this story in real life, I catch myself raising my voice right about here.)

Point being, I think my mom's position was to keep me in the dark about things that would hurt me... but hurt is inevitable. If I came to her injured in some way, she'd punish me, frustrated, I think, that I made her look bad. If you didn't know what fire was, of course you'd want to touch it, and she resented having to treat me for burns after switching to a fully electric kitchen, if you will. But life demands that adults learn to feed themselves, and hot food satisfies like nothing else.

Anyway, the pigeon. We hadn't seen it for about a month. My boss has had something similar happen before: occasionally, he says, they decide that a building is theirs now. It came in three times in two days last month and made its triumphant return yesterday. No one saw it get in, but I was the one to get it back out, again.

Picture me on top of a ladder trying to corner a frightened bird with a broom on one side and a shopping basket on the other, thinking pretty extensively about whether I could rescue it instead. Suppose I brought it home and released it here? Seven miles away, next to a different shopping center with all the trash it could eat. Maybe it would be disoriented for a while, but surely it couldn't be worse than the sporadic bouts of head trauma from flying squarely at the store windows. Best of all, I'd be assured that animal control wouldn't hurt it, which is my biggest concern.

Boyfriend said that would be sort of cruel: that seven mile trip would be pretty awful for it. I said surely it wouldn't know the difference? - and felt a chill up my spine.

I've handled this bird more than once now, and can recognize it at a fair distance. (Its wings have a pretty even black/white feather distribution, except for a big black spot on the right.) Today it was hanging out across the street from the store with five or six friends, feathers all cleaned up after the mess it made of them yesterday. Seeing it in a new environment felt great. It doesn't do so well alone, and has a particularly bad time when it feels trapped, but it blends in seamlessly, painlessly, among its peers.

That's all that any of us could hope for, I think.

#tw mommy issues #tw child abuse mention #cw mom mention #cw child abuse mention #and that's why i don't have kids

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inkskinned · 11 months

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one of the things about being an educator is that you hear what parents want their kids to be able to do a lot. they want their kid to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a politician. they want them to get off that damn phone. be better about socializing. stop spending so much time indoors. learn to control their own temper. to just "fucking listen", which means to be obedient.

one of the things i learned in my pedagogy classes is that it's almost always easier to roleplay how you want someone to act. it's almost always easier to explain why a rule exists, rather than simply setting the rule and demanding adherence.

i want my kids to be kind. i want them to ask me what book they should read next, and i want to read that book with them so we can discuss it. i want my kid to be able to tell me hey that hurt my feelings without worrying i'll punish them. i want my kid to be proud of small things and come running up to me to tell me about them. i want them to say "nah, i get why this rule exists, but i get to hate it" and know that i don't need them to be grateful-for-the-roof-overhead while washing the dishes. i want them to teach me things. i want them to say - this isn't safe. i'm calling my mom and getting out of this. i want them to hear me apologize when i do fuck up; and i want them to want to come home.

the other day a parent was telling me she didn't understand why her kid "just got so angry." this woman had flown off the handle at me.

my dad - traditional catholic that he is - resents my sentiment of "gentle parenting". he says they'll grow up spoiled, horrible, pretentious. granola, he spits.

i am going to be kind to them. i am going to set the example, i think. and whatever they choose become in the meantime - i'm going to love them for it.

#writeblr #i was doing a lot with high school students. over and over again #other teachers kept asking me what i was doing differently - why the kids listened to me. i am not particularly foreboding #and i have a pretty firm personal policy of never reacting in anger #godhelpme.#i was always kind of taken aback #because in general the kids were pretty easy. i explained i needed to keep everything “PG-13” because this was my workplace #and it was kind of their workplace #too. besides #i love swearing #and since i couldn't swear #neither could they - so if they were going to say “fuck” or become violent #they needed to choose a really specific time #because we only get “the one”.. sure enough - nobody wanted to waste the one very specific “fuck” utterance. kids listened.#i think just because - that rule makes sense. the kids understand that i don't want to be unfair to them #that censorship is stupid #but that i'm under these rules too so like let's ride it out together #also i look young and tbh between me and u nobody wants to make the nice english teacher cry #the way these kids defended me to their friends was really genuinely so heartwarming bc the Grouchy Frat Boy #would be like MISS RAQUEL DOESN'T DESERVE THAT KIND OF AN ATTITUDE BRO DON'T TALK BACK TO HER

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bloggingboutburgers · 5 months

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Had a bit of a "community heartbreak" last week, yet another one in a life-long series (though it'd been a while), so I malfunctioned for some days, took exactly one painkiller, and then finally tried to make sense of stuff that hurt me over the years and that I kept being clueless to for a ridiculous amount of time, so that maybe, hopefully, it could save some people in cases similar to mine some confusion and hurt

#no one can know i don't like sex #vent art #sex repulsed #romance repulsed #aroace #my art #nonburger #other reasons why i can't function in fandom spaces for shit include me being 30+ and me having been bullied as a kid #which confirms i'm not made to fit in groups©#maybe? idk #anyway

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spacedace · 1 month

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Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

#batman #batman au #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #dc penguin #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #dick grayson robin #bruce wayne #the joker #tim drake #dc robin #gotham city #open season au #i don't go in for Jason being the 'angry' robin or the 'violent' robin #he was the lil chainsmoking ball of sunshin robin that made sure to do his homework first before going out to fight crime #dick was the scariest robin because he was BOTH incredibly violent & full of rage AND a ball of sunshine & unrelenting hope #Jason was a Gotham kid (an Alley Kid) and I think a lot of the rogues would have respected that #dick got his respect by teaching them how many of their bones a tiny 9 year old could break in a single kick #feel like there's a scene in the extended au in which Tim gets kidnapped but instead of being held for ransom or threatened #it's just the Rogues aggressively mother-henning him and trying to make sure he's alright #Dick gets a call from Harley later that the newest Robin is fine he and Riddler are coming up with deadly traps together #No she doesn't see anything wrong with that - it's just some enrichment activities for them - why do you ask?

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system-of-a-feather · 1 month

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BTW if you think calming corners, sensory rooms, and other forms of dedicated spaces to handling overload, anxiety, or intense emotions in your house is something only for kids - or even worse - only neurodivergent kids, you are largely denying yourself a very helpful resource based on social norms.

Having a space dedicated to being safe and with easy access to things to help lower overstimulation and calm intense internal experiences is something that everyone can benefit from having

Not just kids

Not just neurodivergent kids

Not just neurodivergent adults

Not just mentally ill adults

Everyone - even the hypothetical person with no mental illness or physical disability

There is nothing "immature" about having spaces organized to make your difficult times easier to handle and I think everyone should consider dedicating maybe even just a shelf or corner in their place to having an abundance of self care resources

Self care is not a limited resource and not something that you have to be "bad enough to have"

If you think its a good thing for parents to provide their kids with rooms / spaces dedicated to different ways they can self regulate, then you should agree that if you are also dealing with any levels of difficulty self regulating, that it should be a good idea and good thing to provide yourslef with rooms / spaces dedicated to ways to help you self regulate

Children and adults both have emotions and life experiences that are hard to regulate / handle and both need ways to relax and calm down

Self care, sensory rooms, and coping / calming corners are resources that can help both children and adults with those difficult moments

#alter: fei #alter: riku #as someone who just realized that I don't need an office (ie the socially normal safe space that I used to have)#and instead could just have what all my neurodivergent kids have #and even just young kids have had in their classrooms and theraputic spaces had #and that it worked much better and there was no reason - other than the implications of mental illness and thus social stigma of having one #as to why I didnt just have one #and i am zero percent regretting it this is so much better for my mental health #actuallyautistic #autism #adhd #actuallyneurodivergent #actually neurodivergent #actually did #actuallydid #dissociative identity disorder #ptsd #self care

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brucewaynehater101 · 21 days

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Tim can't escape Robin. It's a self-inflicted curse brought about by his self-sacrificing tendencies, his need to feel useful, his continuous labor to Bruce, and the cycle of abuse.

He could be so much more than the mantle he chained himself to. Unfortunately, he hasn't healed enough to find self-worth outside of vigilantism and his ties to the Waynes. He also may not recognize that he's stuck in a cycle of abuse when he's (as far as I'm aware) only been hit by Bruce once. All abuse is horrid and has their own perils. Emotional abuse can be much harder to spot or acknowledge (especially when compounded by their situation as crime-fighter leading to easier excuses for drastic measures ["he psychologically tortured me to make me a better hero"]). Tim will need to willingly set boundaries and build his self-worth in order to flee the clutches of Robin. His love for Bruce makes this process extremely difficult.

Batman needs a Robin. Bruce needs Tim. Until Bruce can function without a child-made crutch, Tim will always be Robin (Red or not).

#dc comics #dc universe #tim drake #bruce wayne #do you think (besides tim's poor self esteem) that he continues as robin to share the burden with damian #maybe tim didn't want to condemn his kid brother to the role tim grew up in (despite bruce being healthier and damian having more support)#i don't want tim to be red robin but he'll have to work through some serious trauma to let any form of robin go #this is the angst reason why tim is red robin still #the joke reason is that tim is waiting for jason to drop another vigilante idenitity for tim to steal

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carlyraejepsans · 2 months

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hibiscia!!! Sorry if youve explained before but is there something specific about reset-remember fics that you hate? I don't really like them either but for me it's just because I feel like a lot of authors type sans in very ooc ways

They're completely antithetical to Sans' character arc for the sake of cheap and easy angst. The nature of his brand of cosmic horror isn't in reliving his life again and again, that's Flowey's. Sans knows OF the anomaly, knows that it's manipulating time and knows it's a threat to the entire universe, but he doesn't know how or why, because he doesn't remember.

And that's crucial! him being mostly in the dark in spite of the MANY warning signs about us... because it's in that doubt that he remains hopeful. YES we could potentially end the world... but what if we don't? yes we have unimaginable power over everyone else and we can bring back time, but what if we're just.... sad? he needs that gap in his knowledge so he can take a leap of faith across it, it's his entire character arc in the pacifist run. sans THINKS he's given up, he wants to have given up, he chose to do it because there's a comfort in that. in contenting yourself with good food and bad laughs. there's peace. but he hasn't given up, not really. on himself? maybe. but not in us.

there's no way to have that arc if he remembers resets.

#this is also why i don't like post pacifist sans angst where he worries about resets. unless there's like a Reason for frisk to reset #kinda like sam did in UG with the incident with the blasters #because ppl take his lines during the NM fight as a given without considering that... it's the fucking NM run? lol #he's talking about reaching the surface from the point of view of a sans who's only ever been antagonized by the anomaly #ie reaching the surface meant through asgore's plan being successful #pacifist achieves that in a scenario where he actively befriends and loves and cares about the anomaly. he trusts us!!#it would feel unfair to his friend if he were convinced they were going to shit on their happy ending. that's a really shitty thing to thin #it's actually sth i wanted to handle in dv. having a kid REALLY fucks with his paranoia. it's irrational but understandable #that doesn't stop him from feeling guilty towards frisk for worrying about it. or feeling worried at all #undertale #sans #answered asks #metanalysis

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imthursdaysyme · 2 months

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While I love Steve having a kid that's a nerd, my favorite is if his kid is just like him. He's popular even at 7, he's extroverted, funny, and charming albeit a little strange. He loves sports and struggles in math and doesn't really get english and gets scolded when he laughs in history—sue him he thought it was funny—and has a tendency to get detention but also is somehow a teachers pet all at once.

He has a tendency for feminine things, makes it his own with earrings and the occasional pink flower print shirt.

He begs steve to not work on the car until he gets home from school, cause even at 5, he would rather climb over the fence and run home by himself then learn his dad worked on the cool car without him.

He loves driving and cooking and dancing and loves swimming—aunt Robbie calls him a variety of aquatic animals instead of his name; minnow, fish, stingray, tigershark. Anything went.

They look alike and act alike to the point robin laughs and claims Steve just cloned himself, Eddie says that the kid is actually just Steve brought to the future through time travel. Steve laughs, he loves it ofc but he's never pushed or forced it, it just happened that way.

But there's also times, where Steve sees his son, so like him with big tears in his eyes trying to be tough. Or when all he wants is to sleep in the bed with Steve when he has a nightmare, wants his dad to kiss everything better, when he so easily seeks affection or struggles with school to the point he's getting stress migraines at 9, sees him try so hard to do his best and do what he does well. Sees him fail.

And when Steve sees this, he wonders if maybe he wasn't a bad kid. Didn't need to be tougher, manlier, smarter—better—to deserve love.

Just. Like. Steve seeing that he didn't need to be anything other than what he was. That he has no idea how his parents didn't love him bc how could he ever not love his kid? Just like its okay for him to be how he is and have a kid that a like him as well bc he's pretty great

And like. Its just that idea that Steve could only “heal his inner child” with a kid that's different then him or a girl is kind of sad that it's only that what if him and his son go to every game and constantly have grease on them what then.

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #dad steve harrington #i just think it would be so nice #I am going to draw this kid I hope y'all know #his name is going to be Jimeno #bc Steves Cuban and wants to give his son a Cuban name too #his nickname will be meno and that's why robin thought calling him minnow was hilarious #he is now part of my st universe #I have three main ones #the steddie one the stali one and now this one #single dad Steve #I also have a very set past stancy universe that I don't delve into where they're divorced and have a kid and Nancys with robin #that one is fun and I will draw it someday #but anyway #let Steve have a kid that's like him bc why tf can he only have a kid that's different #like what's so wrong about Steve #why can't his kid like all the typical jock stuff #and be sensitive and shit #and Steves like oh my god I wasn't a horrible kid who could never do anything right my parents were assholrs #and Steves like I will give my kid ANYTHING he desires and what are YOU gonna do about it #him and robin living together practically coparenting #jimeno starts calling robin roberto bc Steve does #and imagine robin HAS to learn Spanish fluently bc Steve only speaks Spanish in the house #jimenos first language will be spanish if Steve has anything to say about it #robin learns so fast #but imagine Nancy having a hard time learning it and like every ones so co fused bc Steve and jimeno will talk to her in Spanish and she'll #talk back in English and every ones confused but they understand each other so it's fine

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