tw: ptsd, injuries,, crashing out, self-deprecating jokes, near death experiences, and many more to come with the next parts.
you've never been this physically close to someone in your family.
not ever.
not even with alfred, the butler you've come to acknowledge as more-so your father figure than bruce ever was. but his hugs and affectionate pats on your head were limited to a timeframe, the hunger for affection always lingering in the corner of your chest. but he functioned in quick successions because his attention could never fall too long on you— his business with your other siblings and father far too important to be ignored.
even in times when you need him the most, the solace he'd provide you was his silence and an open ear as you spill every thought cornering you that day. it's only when your problems weighed too deeply that he'd finally wrap his aging limbs around your body like a cocoon; or when you're in the last steps of the manor before entirely moving out, a small suitcase packed with essentials and your clothes, that alfred has come rushing down the stairs, giving you the tightest, warmest hug he could muster. the closest thing to comfort from someone you considered family.
but even if you think yourself closest to him, someone like you still falls into the lowest category of his responsibilities.
you're just that expendable.
so a man like jason couldn't possibly provide you with the deep-seated desire to feel what it's like to be comfortable enough to press your head on his shoulders, let alone be willing enough to have you wear his jacket, or have you be snuggled right behind him on his motorcycle; one gloved hand of his occasionally pulls your knees back, have it pressed tightly on the sides of his legs when he'd hasten the speed too quickly, to the point you could feel some of his artilleries hidden deep into his pockets press right on the thin fabric of your pants. sometimes, he checks you through the mirrors, head shifting slightly to look at you staring ahead the distance: discreet enough to keep you from knowing, yet noticable enough with every gentle nod of his after.
it's what makes you realize his worries over you still, despite his promises.
despite his promises.
and in these times where you can feel the leaking affection, every moment where another speed bump approaches your route and his knuckles would tighten on the brakes to decelerate the speed, where even when the air cuts too deep through the sound, you'd hear a sigh of relief from him when he feels you safely tucked behind him— you'd think to yourself that he's pretending your hour long fight never once happened and that this was just another day of him guiding you back to your apartment, that he was just simply doing his rightful duty as a brother but no.
a spare helmet sits on your head, heavy and grounding, its tinted visors swiped up, allowing gotham's familiar, dusty winds to hit your face, allowing you to flinch, because truthfully, you haven't had the time to clean your tear-stricken cheeks, your dry, cracked eyes as you lick your chapped lips, try to gulp and ignore your saliva scratching against your parched throat.
you'd never believed someone like him cared for you, more than anything else. in these little small declarations through his actions, when he'd pretend to not worry over you despite the tautness in his body jolting throughout your fingertips hovering over his shoulders— you'd never believe a man hardened through years of training with the bat would prioritize his nightly missions right now and leave you to go home by yourself, you'd never think he cared enough about you anymore, especially not when you haven't seen each other for months.
but it's actually happening right now.
and quite frankly, you don't know what to feel about it all.
you don't know whether or not you should be happy that despite him promising to treat you like a stranger, he still showed an ounce of care for you, someone like you, or disappointment because he'd already broken the promise the moment he winced at himself when propping you up his motorcycle moments ago, asking you gently, so irritatingly forbearing if you were alright, apologizing afterwards— everything was a conundrum on your drive to your way home, and every time your mouth opens to pass him the directions, you find yourself in the lines between wants and obligations.
want, because you know it in your deepest desires that you're finally experiencing the closest thing to affection with your brother. obligations, because you've long since detached yourself from them, long since reminded yourself that you were hurt for far too long, you've always been last to be seen. sometimes, you were never seen at all. and that reminder was enough, just enough, to make you pull your body farther away from the red hood.
not your brother, never your brother.
you look away from the motor's mirrors, you pull yourself back from remembering everything that's ever occurred between you two, between the family.
and you pull away, just enough for you to ignore the lingering stares of the man you'll soon relinquish from your life.
the trip back home was like a blur of nostalgia.
the flutter of the cold breeze thrumming against the oversized jacket jason had allowed you to borrow protected you from the cold. every so often, you'd wince when the dull pain beats louder and when your heart rate would spike. to which jason would try, but fail, to subtly adjust his position so you could lean in closer to the warmth of his body.
your fingers dig on his shoulders for stability through the rockier pavements of the streets as he drives at a safer speed than he knows he usually does — and when people find themselves breathless at the sight of you, the infamous, unwanted child of bruce wayne, who rarely leaves their apartment, they instead turn their backs, in fear, conditioned to mind their business when the glint of a heavy, red helmet snaps into their visions — making it possible for you to just gaze in true spectacle the view of this city in every corner you pass.
you were five when you were taken away, when she was taken from you. and thirteen years have passed where you've lived your whole life shielded from gotham's crime, under the gothic rooftop of the manor. safe, yes, from the dirtier streets where villains fester and vigilantes patrol; but content with that life of luxury? no.
you've missed the feeling of pollution clogging your nose, or when your mother would come home, the smell of pastries from a bakery across your old apartment clinging to her clothes, when neighbors would scream from below your crumbling balcony, when she'd cover your ears at night as you cuddle in the same, rickety bed, and when you used to share your laughter with your mother, sketchbook in hand as you write another entry of your past happiness spent with her.
she was your everything.
from the skyline's peak, you find yourself staring longingly at wayne enterprises, the emboldened letters glinting ominously in the dark.
your mother often made a big deal of it every time the both of you would walk past the overwhelming huge building towering over your bodies. you did so, too.
because it was her awe that led you to believe all things great and grand about the building.
god, it was always about her.
this corruption of your city was your childhood, the home you wished to never have been born in, yet she made every little thing better for you, she made every known flaw of this city so loved whenever she'd describe it like she's known every corner from her heart.
and you remember her pointing at wayne enterprises every time on one of your walks, you remember her whispering on your ticklish ears, hands cupped, drowning out the sound of speeding cars and cursing vendors, how one day—
"one day, my love, one day your life would be so much better. and your father will love you, i know he will, he'll love you so much, my sweet baby."
"he'll love you because you're everything to be loved, sweetie."
she spoke to you about greatness, about legacy, about how you'll be the pride and joy of the family name.
then she'll whisk you away to a restaurant you regularly ate at, the one where they serve cheap soda in a big glass full of tube ice and dollar prized sandwiches, where the workers would take a glance at you and immediately light up at the sight of you two, they'd take you to the far booth filled with checkered seats, near the windows where you could beam at the highrise buildings before you, daydream what it's like to be working beside your father in the near future as your mother would hear you frantically babble about your fantasies.
it's your favorite place in the world, but you can't find it anywhere anymore, not in any remote corners, not even when you'd shyly request jason to round up the areas before you could continue to head towards your apartment.
yet naught a memory of past infrastructures have ever retained in your hazy memories, not of a single, nostalgic bakery, comic store, even the old flower shops you've used to frequent with her has long since faded away from the background. maybe they've been long demolished, replaced by new signs and forgotten by the crowd.
it's the way life works here.
it's the way your mother's death was treated by the world: unacknowledged, dishonored, obscured by the public's perception that she was a mere, undeserving vixen who'd manipulated your father for her own gain, who trapped him with an obligation to care for a child he never wanted.
when you're crowded by the spotlight, you're seen lesser as a human and more-so an item inside a display case. ogled at, awed at, but never talked to, never known internally, seen only through glass. passed by few, mocked by many.
for she was a spectacle for drama, and her child was just another accessory.
they don't see her as human like them, they don't see the sacrifices she'd made, how she died for you, how this world became just a bleak noise without her and how you got the short stick of it all.
and you were now there, you were in that manor, an unfamiliar space.
you were forced to gloss over her death too quickly.
the suburban neighborhood was too silent, too safe, too clinical, and you were too sheltered to even make friends outside of school. the kids from nextdoor despise you, views you lesser than them since your entire adoption was broadcast in live tv — a bastard child, they say. a bastard child with a bitch for a mother who stole from the rich, who lived in the slums despite it all. who would want that? it was no wonder why someone as pure and loved as bruce wouldn't acknowledge you, they say — and most laugh at you, speak the daunting truth of you being unwanted by your father.
some kids would only befriend you out of the sheer desire to become close enough to obtain your father's richness for themselves, encouraged by their dirty parents, most would leave after they realize you basically amounted to nothing to him.
in the eyes of most, you were untouchable.
untouchable in a sense where you were treated more like a wisp of cool air in an autumn evening.
always there, never appreciated.
your elementary days were no better.
but it was a hazy recollection, memories you've long since buried and locked in some abandoned treasure chest, the key thrown elsewhere, somewhere you couldn't reach. memories you don't ever want to remember were just like a faint flicker of blurry movie scenes: of cold hallways and empty rooms and bleeding knees and unheard cries.
like you told yourself before, and reminded yourself all over again: past is past.
the present waits anew.
right now, the dip of the sun below the horizon bathes both you and jason in a halo of fading, golden hues, and the rising depths of blues and purples in the skies draped over like curtains, like a painter had just swept colorful, intended strokes in a canvas. buildings, old and new, all of unknown ages stood proudly amongst its people, casting long shadows, blanketing the city, the criminals, and the citizens.
rich in history, poor in legacy, you stare at the far distance of the gargoyles perched atop every antique buildings, the copper long since oxidized. this is where the batman and his sidekicks would often hang out. you'd seen it before, clever as you are, all the nights of sneaking out when alfred would be too busy to find you, you'll always find yourself watching them from afar, burgers in their hands, spilled milkshake, as they talk during patrol break, whilst envy claws its way to your taut throat.
somehow, you'd always find yourself staring at them perched on top of building railings in the past, stalking through shadows when the silence of the manor became too loud.
somehow, they never reciprocated your burning stares.
as you always were, just a silhouette in the corner of their eyes. you'd only return back to the manor with a heavier heart and regret of ever coming out of your comfort zone brewing within your empty stomach.
you look away, the faint throb within your chest still reminds you of how you could never truly move on from the ache of a lost family, or the lack of one.
the faint twinkling of the stars, like distant dreams, were the only distractions necessary to dismiss the insistent twinge of pain on the side of your stomach every time you shift in your seat, the crack of your barely noticeable voice which had jason leaning back to hear your words spilling directions towards a grocery store nearby, but not close, to your apartment—
when you both find yourselves staring at the blinking lights of a cracked, dimly lit sign of a store, with the name you told jason to find, the motorcycle eventually slowed to a stop in front of the sidewalk.
"this is it," you whisper to yourself, eyes closed in resignation. after this, you're cutting off all contact with jason, and then leaving alfred with a goodbye message, essentially throwing away the only communication, the only connection you have with the family. you'll sort through websites to find a new apartment to move out to, then transfer to another college after your current term ends and once you've paid all your debts.
you'd hopefully move to a brand new city. then change your identity, maybe? yeah, your plans of changing your last name to your mother's is the only silver lining amongst all the stress already inducing within your cluttered thoughts.
jason gets off of the motorcycle first, dragging your crutch down to the rocky pavements.
"you- you know how to operate these things, right, angel?" despite looking away from you, his mechanical voice distorted from the helmet sounds out through the tense silence. you stare at him, defeated, eyes squinted. he still keeps calling you his angel.
but, yes, this isn't the first time you'd use a crutch — being the single most hated target in prep school meant for a lot of rough play. lots of pushing you down playground stairs, lots of throwing balls too hard right in front of your face, causing you to slip down monkey bars and sprain your legs. crutches were more of the common things you'd hold in your hands than toys (stolen from you by your bullies) were.
it's only when alfred transferred you to a public school, where children weren't aware of your reputation and when the thought of playing only mattered in their young minds, did the incidents of hospital related visits reduce to a near zero.
after an eventual sigh, you spoke, "i know how to, red hood. i'm not as fragile and stupid as you think."
despite how biting your words sounded, you're just... too tired to seem considerate of his feelings, the tears have yet to fully dry, and emotions were still too sensitive from between you two.
he carefully nods, a singular grunt the only noise grumbling from his throat, and gestures for you to hike your legs up to one side so he could help you get off the ride. you did so, not another word from you. you can still smell the disgusting mix of ash and blood clinging on his jacket when he propped you down from the motorcycle, gently propping the crutches in your armpits so you could stabilize—
your loud wincing and pained expressions from the weight of pressure from your stomach do not go unnoticed by the man, as you'd almost, if not for your sore limbs, punched him in surprise when he hushed you and brought you far too close to his chest for your liking, the scent of blood now stronger; the boundaries you've set a nonexistent thing in his dictionary.
yet you could only throw a pointed glare at jason, which was enough to have him back away.
you shake your head, draw out an offensive tsk, and turn around from him. not even once looking back. if he follows you inside the grocery store, or not, is his decision. maybe if he sees you prosper without him, he'd finally get the memo that you're your own person now and leave you alone. if he doesn't, it doesn't matter.
as far as you know, the moment you were stabbed and left to nearly bleed out in the alleyway with hopes as unanswered by the very people who's sworn to protect you was the moment the sheer glow of the moon captured by your once naive eyes have now dulled and unresponsive.
that very same day is when the child-like spark in you has died.
crutch heavy in your hands, you don't turn back as you limp forwards the bright white lights of the store. even as you hear jason's heavy boots crunching against the gravel sidewalk and have him politely open the glass doors, a bell resonating above you both; not a single exchange of thank you's breaks the thickened silence.
his hopeless actions to capture your attention simply reminds you of yourself, silently and listlessly doing your all to to be noticed by the people you love.
in the end, a wretched feeling invades you whole by his display of tender care.
the shuttering, white, clinical light spilling over every crevice of the grocery aisle could never combat the all-consuming darkness that is the merciless gotham night. almost as if cursed to run into bankruptcy, not many folks frequent this store branch. known for its shabby air-conditioning, malfunctioning cctv's and electric outlets, and barely lukewarm, bordering on cold, hotdogs, alongside no-name energy drinks tasting like sparkly acid for its signature beverage; it's no doubt that the store was as solemn as the weeping statues scattered about the neighborhood.
but despite the misfortune of having to land a job here and dealing with cranky customers who only know vulgar words as language of gratitude, you're glad it's situated in some isolated corner of the place near your apartment, because it meant privacy from knowing eyes who'd easily spot the light reflecting from a shiny red helmet and discover the red hood visiting the block, possibly reporting the involvement of an (ex) wayne associated with the vigilante.
though that's not the most harrowing part of it.
the charm of the store lies mainly in whoever is operating the cash register right now.
when a tired, unenthusiastic greeting paired with their typical, "welcome to buddy's grocery... urgh... how may i help you?" follows the mechanical churn of the bell after jason, in his red hood suit, pushes past the door, you intake the scent of unwashed mops lazily thrown to the corner masked by fabric detergent and arguing employees over the staff room; reminded that you're finally home.
home to the life of the great mundane and the jaded young adults backing the counters like never before.
where the voice which greets you with the enthusiasm of a call center agent was none other than your friend forced to cover your shift after two consecutive days of absences: the first day spent from getting shit faced all over the dance floor and flirting with a... cute boy with piercings and a bomb-ass jacket with spikes— and the next spent trapped in some nostalgia-induced nightmare with your dead mom after getting your personal piercing from some stranger's boot spikes...
yeah, you may as well have been singlehandedly the luckiest person on earth, considering you're more afraid of being chewed out by your boss for missing calls than you are of the looming threat of a mob boss standing right behind you like a bodyguard, who's also your ex-brother who just loves to unknowingly mess with you and call you his angel despite the countless corrections and side glares.
which is why you're not surprised when the worker behind the counter scoffs momentarily when she sits up to stare at the newcomers and returns to watching short reels in full volume, unable to recognize your face despite your friendship together stretching for about almost a year.
which is alright because right now, you look just like a hot mess.
and not the hot mess akin people with effortless curls after a blowout or mismatched, layered pants hugging model-like bodies comfortably.
but you're rather the mess of swollen, downturn eyes fleeting towards the cash register, the bags under it heavier than the burden of being born related to bruce, tear burns ever-so present from the amount of crying you've been doing (because ding ding! nearly dying really has its perks on the state of your crumbling sanity).
your knotted, matted hair looks like it hasn't seen the rays of the bathroom light for days; you won't be surprised if there's a crows of silverfish deciding to lay a nest inside of it at this point.
and a face so pallid, lips drained of life and blood, you'd put the first elizabethan queen to shame.
limping with your crutches, you glare at your side when you notice jason about to mistakenly help aid you. although the helmet masks his expression, you're sure from the way his fingers twitch, before dropping down, was enough of an indicator that he's hurt and hesitating, but still respects the boundaries you've set.
that is if you ignore the earlier blunders where he got way too close for your liking.
but seeing how he's hurt by your bluntness—a satisfying ache burrows inside your tired heart. that's good. maybe even better.
maybe you're so tired of everything right now that you just want to treat him— them — the same way they treated you. dismissive eyes and a noncommittal wave of their hand pushing you away to a corner. truly a child of a wayne taking after their father.
ahah.
when you've finally stopped by close enough to gaze down at your friend hidden beneath the counter, dressed in her signature crocheted blazer on top of a black tube top and worn-down jeans, wired earphones dangling off her pierced ears, a leg hiked up the stolen swivel chair from your boss' office, scrolling through tiktok, not a day of rest sitting in between her mindless eyes, you sigh.
jason turns to shift right behind you, the sound of his leather jacket crumpling louder than the shabby ac units ventilating the store. you turn behind, take in his clearly confused, but still silent form, and shove your fingers deep inside your pockets, deadpan.
tired.
"not a word, red hood—" is all you said, not giving him the time of your day to rebut, turning back to the distracted girl in front of you.
"hey." your voice cuts through the silent air. when your friend doesn't reply, you speak, just a bit louder this time, words still sounding scratchy from the lack of use.
"hey."
"oh... ughhh" she finally whispered, exasperated, head still glued to the screen of her chipped phone, "why's it always when i'm about to watch something interesting? i swear, nothing eventful ever happens in these parts of gotham—" until she slowly looked up to the sight of a beaten up, worn down you... and the enormous, very much infamous crime lord known to rule the crime alley, his name muttered in fear or awe by the very locals living there, shadowing above her like wisps of stormy clouds.
and she jumps up from her seat, the swivel chair hastily kicked down to the sides, clattering against the dirty tiles as her hands shoot up to her chest.
"SWEET BABY JESUS!" mary backs away, eyes hastily turning back and forth to both you and jason, until recognition lights up in her colored contacts when she notices it's her friend, you, right in front of her. all beaten up and battered like no tomorrow.
you give her a peace sign in return, teeth bared in a lifeless grin showing off the bloody gums, thick crimson reflected by the silver glow of the fluorescent light bulbs illuminating your form; like you're some death angel ready to take her to the afterlife with you.
which is really no different to what you nearly experienced yesterday.
the volume of her gasp rivals the sound of engines revving right outside of the grocery store. jason doesn't move an inch, but you feel his burning glare right at your friend. you, meanwhile, decided to freak her out even more with:
"back from the dead, babe," the humor doesn't reach your deadpan stare, but you still wriggle your eyebrows, voice a static tremor. you ask, sarcastically, "miss me?"
"miss you?! heaven knows you're dead but you're here right now and— what happened to you—?!" she whisper-shouts in a quick succession of words, eyes still snapped wide, leaning towards the cluttered counter, hands propped diligently on your shoulders as she takes in the form of your barely recognizable face. "you're all messed up... oh my god, you reek of blood, baby... you- you're not okay— like, genuinely, we can't- i can't even—"
"hey. hey," this is when you turn serious, slightly shifting to your right so the sight of jason would obscure her vision. the faint wobble of her lips is enough to signal you of her fear. you continue, gently, leaning towards the warmth when her fingers reach to wipe off the soot from your face. "i'm fine— wait no, not really... it's a long story, i'm so sorry for randomly disappearing, but i really, really need you to call off from work right now, please...?"
it doesn't even take a second for her to hear your favor that she hastily nods, sympathy evident in her glinting eyes.
"oh, my poor summer child..." still breathless, she pouts. her expert fingers massage the aching muscles between your shoulder blades before it detaches, the lack of warmth radiating from your shoulders. the girl's already halfway done pulling her phone out from her pants pocket, typing in a quick message to (hopefully) your boss. you're lucky you've caught her just an hour into her night shift, when customers are a rare species and the only thing scarier than ghosts are the threats of occasional shoplifters— you can't deal another second of jason's constantly brooding from right behind you.
as mary types, you note the faint tremble of her breathing while she rocks herself on the balls of her feet, as if afraid of the outcome of her next words. looking up from her phone, she mouths something she hopes only you two could hear.
"did he...?"
"did he do this to you?"
at her question, you pause. not out of shock, not even from worry. you simply stare at her, your mouth formed in a straight line. when mary nods a second time, trying to discern your reaction, you just slowly shake your head, unsure.
she immediately notices the hesitation and nods again, then she gestures to the staff room by the back, trying, but failing, to carefully eye the vigilante behind, biting her cheeks hard enough to shut her mouth. clearly weary for your safety, but obviously anxious to deal with a behemoth of a powerhouse, lest she pisses him off and he snaps her neck out of her body clean— you understand the prior hesitation of entertaining you. but mary, bless her soul, is possibly one of the only people who could try to stand up against people stronger than her, even if she'd trembles behind the weight of fear, she'd try. that's the only reason why you came to her in the first place, trusting her enough to hopefully assist you home.
you shake your head again, pointing your thumb right behind your head, right to the exit of the one-way door.
"i... need you to help me come home." you flutter your eyelashes, not exactly hiding your disdain for jason when you adjusted your crutches to move away from him. like your actions alone is telling her, "i don't have a choice right now, not unless you're the one who tells him off and offer to bring me home instead."
yes, you're well-versed in the art of nonverbal instructions. especially if it involves the risk of danger.
and jason todd— no, red hood, is every bit of a magnet for danger there is. if news spreads across your small neighborhood that the infamous vigilante came to visit your area with you in tow, then it'd make you and all your other friends an easy target for money. especially if they see just how desperate the man is trying to keep you close.
being associated with heroes and villains just means dirty business. and you can't run the risk of losing the only people who'd you call close enough to be considered family.
no. you can't lose them.
so as much you're drawn to the familiar yet dizzying scent of florals and medicinal herbs wafting from the back, reminded that mary loves to keep a secret stash of crisps in the crevices of the worn loveseat you'd both occasionally chill in, you've a lot to relay to the girl after you've ominously sent a message to your group chat, all asking the obvious question, "where is (name)?"
but... you chose to be a piece of shit (and to at least give yourself something to humor you after a long day) by sending a very simple thumbs up, sending all your other friends panicking and spamming your notifications after they were all convinced of your untimely death.
"ohhh— you're in for a lot of trouble, babe." mary scoffs playfully, her long, box-dyed bangs framing her face doesn't hide the disbelief, nor does it cover the awkward grin creeping up her face, as if the gesture alone would reassure you that it'll be fine (when it's not). but it's enough to have you crack up slightly, a tiny giggle spilling out your chapped lips.
you tease, "so what are you waiting for? get me out of here, my knight-in-shining-armor."
"ooo-kay, your highness," she gestures for you to wait for her, pulling up the knocked up swivel chair and wheeling it to the back of the staff room. the jingle of her keys were the only indication of movement from right behind, as you stay stationery and purposely ignoring of the individual accompanying you— jason, who shifts uncomfortably in his jacket, arms probably crossed; you don't know, you don't want to care, so you don't turn around and kept to yourself.
conversation just meant forming connections. connections meant becoming closer. being closer to jason means being closer to danger. it's all synonymous to one another.
when you hear the collective snap! of the ac's and lights being shut down, you raise your brow at the girl who stumbles her way out of the door, shutting it without looking. she nods, looping the key ring around her fingers, walking past you to the entrance. you follow after her, side glaring at jason who, once again, hesitates just the slightest bit when you drag your limp sides to walk to where mary is waiting, hands already on the handle of the rolling shutter.
she hastily moves away when jason, the red hood, neared her and followed right behind you, forming a huge space between them. when she shared eye-contact with you, her face is shaped to an awkward, wide-eyed frown. rightfully afraid. the red hood reminds silent.
and right now, you don't want stillness. it just reminds you of the quiet of the manor, so you talked.
"you closing down the store early?" at your question, mary briefly looks up at you, like you've just asked the most diabolical thing on earth.
you deadpan at her, "what? i'm just asking 'cause— someone else could cover for us."
she replies to you, pulling down the handle of the rolling shutter, careful to keep a safe distance from jason, you've noticed.
"oh please—! you sound like you don't work here. we're the only ones desperate enough to take night shifts and no one else buys shit here anyways, save for some desperate folks. but i'm pretty sure they could just, like, go buy at the somewhere else where better things are sold anyways. i mean, i really mean it when i say this place is probably just a cover up for some cartel." she shrugs, you roll your eyes playfully.
after she finishes, she claps her hand of soot and debris, finally facing you, hands placed on her waist. her confident smile doesn't match up with the tragic news she'd decided to drop on you.
"oh yeah! they're actually closin' down the entire shop soon. so we might as well find new ones while we still have the chance, ahah."
"what."
"oh—!" she cups her mouth, "wait, i shouldn't've told you that right now— you just, like, came back from the dead, shit..."
"uhm, mary, calm down, it's... not a big deal." you ignore the way jason moves closer, as if listening to the entire conversation. but you continue, shrugging.
"even if it was— it is — that's the least of my concerns right now." because the big, hulking mass of muscle and flesh still refuses to leave your side, watching both you and mary intensely like he's dissecting every word from your conversation.
"right," she gazes at your crutches for a second, then smiles gently, walking over to your side, despite the fear of being near the red hood, and offering her elbows, warm and toasty from the crocheted sweater. "so... let's go home?"
"yeah... let us."
you take it with your free hand, reciprocating her grin, even if it's less enthusiastic than hers. you don't even have to turn back to tell jason to back off. you'd just know he will. even as mary kept taking obvious, weary glances behind her, you just usher her to keep moving forward, resting your head on her shoulder, the two of you trudging the gravel path towards your apartment.
except, halfway from the sidewalk, you hear a stealthy jog, and jason's immediate, "wait," cut through the cozy, polluted air. blunt enough that mary doesn't notice the attachment he has to you, but hasty enough that she knows there's something that runs far deeper than her label of 'weird protector who follows my beloved highness'.
you just sigh, staring at him in disbelief.
"yeah...?"
"you forgot this." he shoved the box of your favorite takeout into mary's free hands, your friend gawks, finally gaining the balls to look up at the significantly taller male.
"t- thank you—?" she says, waiting for you to say something. but you only gaze briefly at the eye-holes of his helmet, whispering your own "thanks," under your breath, looking down and away before you gesture mary to just keep accompanying you.
and that was it.
when you've turned behind just slightly after walking past a few blocks, jason was gone in an instant like he was never there. if not for the faint smell of cigarette smoke and motor oil clinging on to your crumpled clothes, you'd be convinced that the entire time spent in his apartment was just a mere hallucination.
after a few minutes of walking, making occasional stops when your sides would throb a bit too much, mary finally mustered the courage to ask you the looming question hanging over her head.
"so..." hands on your back to help you from wobbling. the girl blows raspberries, pretending to be nonchalant and clearly not awaiting your response, but you could see it deep behind her colored contacts that she'd probe a bit harder if you don't give her a direct answer.
when you hum in acknowledgement, falling to the rhythm of your slow, steady paces together, she asks:
"... just who is the red hood to you?"
'oh, mary. you don't want to know,' is what you would've said, but you've opted for a different reply: a gentle smile, a defeated quirk of the lips, and your head bobbing to the beat of her phone playing music through the silent, ghostly streets.
"... he's just a stranger to me. just nothing more than a soldier."
"tell me, did you... find them?"
dick couldn't possibly find any word to describe how he feels. breathing down alfred's neck, his own glistens with perspiration. teeth bared, chattering through the shivers wracking throughout his body. even with his layered tshirts distributing warmth, there's no telling if dick could feel sheer inferno, sweat prickling every exposed skin, from his blazing forehead dripping all the way down to his clammy fingers; or freezing cold, from the passing air of the moist cave running daintily on his tense muscles.
"jason...?" he inhales, then exhales, all in panicked intervals, like the dotted beeps echoing inside the batcave, flickering from the huge screen in front of him. it displays jason's location across the radar, unmoving, unrelenting, like he's watching something, someone— you, hopefully you. the sound of barbara's keyboard works in the background, its ominous typing as quick as the heartbeats wracking inside his taut body.
he was the first to drop by the batcave, followed by a pouting damian and a tense bruce, none of them uttering a word to one another. it's the first time in a while to listen to batman's orders without complaints, without a joking remark, running to the monitors to beg alfred to give updates. and it's been the first time everyone could bare witness to the extraordinary scene of dick's eye twitching and his free leg bouncing up and down, like a man possessed by the ghost of gotham's gargoyles.
the others remain silent. cassandra and stephanie were on a stakeout mission before they'd be ultimately led back to the cave, assisted by barbara's voice guiding them through possible entry routes before she'd pause, a long silence equipped the background, right before she snapped out of her trance and told them to return to the batcave asap.
stephanie remembers the undertone of distress in barbara's normally composed voice like it just happened a second ago.
"whu— what is it bab— oracle?" hiding right behind a pillar, steph's words cuts through the stillness in gotham's air. cassandra peaked right beside her, furrowed brows shaping the usually impassive cowl. still obviously in stealth mode, aware of the penguin's lackeys right below the floor they're watching, cass brings a single index finger right in front of her mouth, signalling them to remain quiet, and calm.
but it's barbara who sounded lesser than calm after her momentary pause, urgency clear in her words.
"batman's orders. return to the batcave. now."
and that was the end of the conversation, as an abrupt, resolute beep perforated the comm's audio, a hiss escapes steph's mouth at the high pitched sound, but it didn't even take less a second before cass grabs her by wrist, the pair making a quick run opposite to the stakeout location, right towards the batcave.
which is what led them here. the blonde of the pair sweeps a side stare at her black-haired friend, her fingers running through her tangled hair, undoing knots. typically, steph's normally sleek, conditioned hair wouldn't have been in such a state of disarray, but now it's frazzled around the edges, a result of rushing through the night and cutting past rooftop buildings with cassandra. even when they were parkouring through side railings, grappling hooks readily prepared in their hands, not a single word was exchanged.
cass' bob is no better. strands of black hair sticks to the side, there's no telling which side is which when one side has more hair piling up than the other, resembling more like a bird's nest than a bob cut.
typically, during times like these, steph would throw in a biting, yet playful remark at the dick first. for ruining the girl's night out, figuring he's the reason why babs felt coerced to bring them back here, with no one else left to patrol the night.
she'd walk up behind him, slap his back, loud enough for the sound of skin on latex to resonate within the batcave. and he'd just grin at her, reply with a sarcastic, "ow!" then continue with a sassy comment, and the entire room would just light up because it's not everyday that the entire batcave is surrounded by a complete set of heroes.
heroes regarding themselves akin to a family. even if steph doesn't want to call bruce her dad (ew), and babs and duke themselves have their own set of families to call their own— it's no denying that they're closer than coworkers, closer to home when together.
but today isn't that joyful day. dick is in his civilian outfit, clothes crumpled like he's been gripping the unfortunate fabric for stability, and a desperate air chokes anybody who'd enter the batcave. steph nudges her dear friend at the side, a worried glance wrecking her sweat-drenched face.
cassandra turns to her, nodding. not a single voice breaks the thickening tension as dick mutters incoherently in front of the glaring screens, but a single understood agreement plagues their gnawing thoughts.
something is terribly wrong.
something bad enough that has gotten dick acting unlike his typical, bright self. as the man before them seems possessed by something.
when the sound of duke's boots clicks from right behind them, followed by a tired yawn and a quiet, irritated, "what happened?", the day hero's sleep disrupted by the sudden buzz of notifications he's received from his phone, steph could only distract herself by turning behind to face the equally puzzled boy approaching the pair, and point her thumb at dick, mouthing loud enough:
"he's gone mental." the joke alone could've administered a gentle laugh from cass and a louder one from babs, an exasperated sigh from alfred, a snivel from duke, who'd hide his wide grin with his fist. the bat at the corner would release a brief groan, and jason would just heavily agree and trail with another biting remark. then dick would have to defend himself from a pile of teasing comments, playfully begging damian to take his side, to which the young robin would ignore the athlete, focused on the batarangs tim would aim his way—
but right now.
right now, a tense air fills the room. akin to the way you'd feel when a venomous snake sliter across your spine. close to biting, close to snapping its fanged teeth into your plump flesh and trapping you in its firm jaws. so you could only stay put, skin on fire, fingers frozen in place, hoping it wouldn't bite.
hoping dick wouldn't snap his jaws at whoever, or whatever pissed him off.
dick exhales once more, a sharp pain in his right side jostles him out of his sheer focus. at this sound, the others' focus on the way his back crumples forward, hands shooting to his sides, palms squeezing the injured spot. alfred looks up from the monitor, up the wide-eyed athlete, and raises his brow, clearly exasperated from the man above him, no less acting like a boy.
dick doesn't reciprocate the worried, yet spent stare in alfred's glare, even as the butler rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he returns to staring at the screen.
"please, calm down, master dick," alfred mutters as politely as his tired voice could draw, continuing with his typing. "heaven forbid your wounds reopen again."
the butler's condescending "tsk-tsk,'" and a shake of his head has dick's brows knit in a small, rebellious scowl. he's just like the small kid he was before, hanging off of chandeliers, stubborn and implacable, missing his parents. lost and helpless, that's how he feels without you by his side, unaware of where you are, if you're safe without him.
'calm down? calm down?!' alfred, this is serious—!' the unspoken words loom uselessly over everyone's thoughts. dick is nothing but calm, unlike the leader he usually presents himself as, stripped bare to nothing but want. but need. but desire aching to be steadied once you're actually in his arms.
but you're not in his arms, you're not even in the fucking manor! crime never sleeps in gotham's streets, and nobody else is left to patrol the night; so how could he calm down, let alone relax when the only non-vigilante member of his family is out there somewhere?!
and the only known person to be closest to you, alfred, is clearly hiding something!
"god damn it—!" an inaudible swear escapes his dry mouth, his sides still aching. everything is aching.
right. the injury he sports from a prior villain attack in bludhaven isn't fully healed yet. his teeth clenches, eyes furrowed. when jason's heavy breathing is the only sound cutting through the occasional flapping of bats flying and hanging upside down on glittering stalagmites, dick leans forward the bat-panels, one palm still flat on the expanse of his stomach, taking the microphone connected to the comms harshly.
"jason, i swear to god," words laced with venom and fervent desperation, dick's gaze in the monitor is enough to burn the screen if he had even a second of superman's power. he continues after a gulp, "if i hear news that something bad happened to my (name), i'm going to—"
"fucking hell—! shut. up. dick! fucking listen to me before you run your mouth off!"
from across the comms, dick could hear jason's gritted teeth. like he's there, he could picture jason's clenched fists and the crumpled fabric of his gloves. dick's eyes widen in disbelief. his heart thumps, rage filling in between the gaps of demise and frenzy.
he exhales, louder this time.
his fists slam on top of the panel, shaking off the items laid atop it. barbara stops typing once she felt the vibration of his fists rippling from her corner, she turns her head to dick, her glasses reflecting the maddening expression, a frown plastered on hers.
dick doesn't even flinch from the people's reactions behind him: duke whispers something to steph, which earned him a rightful "shh!", or how tim finally arrives, his careful footsteps nearing the trio. dick doesn't even care when he hears damian's calculated walk towards the athlete, muscles only tautening.
what he cares about is jason refusing to give him a solid answer. and time wasted wondering your whereabouts means time lost on retrieving you.
dick doesn't do clumsy operations. the last time it happened, jason and steph died. then tim and damian almost died. a freak accident with duke caused him to be out of commission for a long while— dick can handle the stress of that, but he couldn't handle the idea of your bleeding body right on top of a hospital bed; all because he's let you roam around the streets for far too long.
it's a known fact that you're the only non-vigilante member of the family. you'll die out there.
you'll die and dick will never be able to see that bright-eyed smile again.
no.
"i'm clearly—" mouth shoved entirely close to the mic, quivering fingers latched tightly on its body, nearly snapping it in half, "— listening, jason."
"... so where the hell is (name)?!"
"—or are you bluffing right now, yeah? jay, please, if it's something else, then i don't care about it right now. if whatever your mouth will run off doesn't concern my baby bird, forget about it—" he laughs, it's laced with crazed energy, but not a single ounce of humor weighs in his breathless sneer, "but god help me, if it's about them then tell me right now or i'll—"
"enough!" batman's voice booms across the entire cave, rendering every noise silent.
a hand suddenly clasps the tense muscles of dick's shoulders. it grounds him, even if just for a while, but he returns to his restless state. glancing behind bruce, he isn't afraid to spit out the venom laced in his word.
"bruce, you must be kidding me—"
"no, sit down, dick. a matter like this shouldn't be dealt through anger—" domineering, his fists takes the front hem of dick's shirt and balls it up, towards him, forcing the raven-haired boy to look directly at the man. batman's commands could easily subdue even the greatest warriors to their knees. but to someone like dick, bruce's once lifelong sidekick, it merely sends waves of brandished rage flooding through his thoughts.
he brings his sweat-drenched palms to bruce's balled-up fist and pries the fingers away, throwing the man's arms to the side with the force of a seasoned fighter. he leans up, teetering on his toes. pupils diluted, he stares at bruce's own in abject mockery towards his father-figure.
he whispers, with all the ill-intentions laced in every word.
"oh, bruce... let's not forget about the way you dealt with jason's death..."
to the untrained eye, bruce's squint and his silent grunt could only mean a challenge accepted against the athlete. but to cassandra, who watches intently and wordlessly the entire argument ready to detonate into one huge physical fight, she'd notice how bruce leans back, clearly affected, hurt, by the sting of dick's truths:
nobody would even dare think rationally in this situation.
even if cassandra doesn't know you well, she knows you well enough to see how easily you could disappear from under anyone's watch. even quieter than her, your presence like a sheer black blindfold draped across someone's eyes. foreboding, like you've never seen light.
just as cassandra was about to defuse the fight, her body in a running stance, she was quickly cut off by both tim blocking her path with his bo staff, an insistent shake of his head, and the crack of jason's voice projecting through the speakers, almost sounding disappointed.
"so..."
the charged air dispersed into something cynical. all eyes traced to the speaker, awaiting finally, for jason's reply.
"... does anybody want to tell me when's the last time any of you actually talked to (name)?"
silence. pure, undulated silence.
like the calm before a storm, even the droplets falling from stalagmites and the flaps of bat wings became motionless silence.
dick's breath hitches, flinching from the question, and bruce lets out a long, defeated exhale.
it was all the answer jason needed.
he sneered.
it was strained, released through gritted teeth, and sounded like a stretched band about to snap. there was nothing comical about the way his fingers were nearly crushing the small device in his hand, the gadget's sound outputs now turning into a fracture harmony.
"i can't—" his voice breaks at the seams, like he'd just cry earlier and haven't nearly recovered, "i can't fucking believe it all..."
"all these years, and NONE of you fucking noticed a child living under our rooftop?!"
jason continues, drowning out all the sinking grief everyone was feeling.
"where were you all?!"
"FUCK— bruce?!" jason scowls at the microphone, like he's in the batcave with bruce, pointing heavy, accusing fingers at the man. like he couldn't believe everything. like the silence throughout his entire spiel wasn't enough of an evidence to realize just why was his angel so desperate to run away from the family.
"you think you deserve the damn right to know where they were?! you never even—"
he seethes, a loud thump echoes through the batcave, jason's head leaning restless against a stone wall in some alley. he lets out a series of agitated swears, cracking his calloused knuckles, stained with the blood of your aggressors.
"bruce..."
"you don't even fucking know how old they are, huh?"
he just wasn't as smart as he thought he was, he wasn't smart enough to see how all your deep-seated trauma rooted from... from their ignorance. he deserved every swear you threw at him, every action that led you to pushing him away until there was a permanent rift dividing the two of you. but still... jason couldn't throw away the love he felt for his angel. he just couldn't let it slide and pretend like nothing ever happened.
if that meant revealing the fact that the knows where you live, that he shoved a micro tracker deep inside the hems of your shirt when you accidentally got a little too close to him after he's propped you down his ride, and betraying his personal promise of keeping your heartfelt confession secret between the two of you...
the anger he felt towards bruce was comparable to the rage he felt when his vegetative state was forced to dip into that pit. having to crawl up mossy stones, delirious, betrayed, with only the memories of that explosion flashing in his mind, over and over again, wondering why, why was he plucked from heaven just to witness the wreckless fruition of joker being alive.
why you, still breathing, were treated more dead than he ever was.
jason doesn't have any answers. but he knows it's all their fault, it's all his fault.
"so... just what was their father doing all those years ago...?"
and bruce? he doesn't know. nobody knows. too caught up in their lives to truly notice you slowly diverging away. like you never existed in the first place.
dick interrupts, all the blood-borne anger simmered to guilt, "i—"
"they... they fucking told me everything, dick"
the athlete pauses, mouth left slightly ajar. he looks away then, to duke, who'd look far too ashamed, staring off the distant space like he'd just remember something important, brows knitted, as he suddenly brings his face to his palms.
steph, holding cass' shoulders, share a gaze with the younger girl, the looking far too pale and shaken. she leans down on cass' shoulder for stabilty. even from afar, dick could spot the tremors from steph's fingers and hear her faint whispers. has she met you before? has both of them talked to you without ever truly seeing you? cass doesn't look well herself, eyes downturned, deep in guilt-ridden thought.
although tim seems like he's holding it better than the others, the boy couldn't hide the flicker of emotions brewing in his eyes. after all, you were the most distant to him, despite being closest in age— you two just never had a spark of interest relayed between the two of you, or maybe it's because tim never reciprocated that potential spark, but... he still falters every time he hears jason bracing before he speaks another word.
the same could be said for barbara, always locking herself up in the batcave, only ever seeing your silhouette within the flickering screens of the cctv camera's scattered around the manor, she looks down on her keyboard, gazing at the letters like it would give the answers to the universe, begging for reprieve when she discovers how often she'd actually watched you without ever truly knowing it was you.
and damian... takes it in the worse. silent all throughout, you can never truly read him like an open book. but his fingers are clenched oh-so tightly into your old sketchbook, as if letting go meant releasing fragments of you into the wind for him to never catch. his sword hangs limp from his back, the weapon a heavy reminder of your first meeting with him. he shuts his eyes, and pictures your confused, but panicked face. the clutter of baked treats in the steel tray you carried, and the blank stare accompanying your teary eyes...
when dick returns to the microphone, he hesitates giving jason a reply. shaken himself, his knees crumples until his head hits the panels of the desk, burying himself into his arms.
"what— what is it, jay?" he stutters, words muffled by glistening skin. almost like he didn't want to hear the answer, dick gnaws on his cheeks, legs returning to thumping up and down.
jason whispers, "it's all out fault— i can't believe it..."
"no," barbara's voice rings out, quivering, but resolute, as she stops typing, her chair spun towards dick, hands buried under the jacket she laid on her lap for warmth— hiding the way it shivers.
"we know what we did, we have to believe our audacity, it's been—"
"thirteen years." steph cuts them off through her sniffling, wiping away the tears falling down uselessly with the sleeves of her sweater (the same sweater she wore that night— when you and her were...)
"more than thirteen years," jason corrected. this time, gusts of winds were disrupting the sound output. he must've walked somewhere along the border of the neighborhood he's in, but he doesn't enter the boundary of apartment, like he's afraid, like he's hiding something, and only the radar could show bruce the truth.
barbara continued with a sigh, still motionless in her seat. "listen... the only way we could own up to our actions right now is to admit we all did more than mess up."
she looked away, words inflicted with the wisdom only experience could gibe you, "... we can't turn time back, no matter how much we want it to."
barbara knows that feeling, of regret and denial and everything mournful. she knows the regret of never being quick enough to dodge that bullet shot by the joker, that denial of knowing she'd never return to ballet anymore and enjoy the glory of the stage, and mourning the woman she once was before she retired as batgirl, only used as a foil for her father and bruce's suffering. she knows what it's like to lay listlessly and hopelessly, but she also knows how rise above the ashes of her past, and she wished she wasn't naive enough to ignore the same burden you carried— maybe then she could've helped you, the same way she helped cass overcome her struggles.
it's just that they were never enough.
"so what now...?" this time, it's duke who speaks carefully, expression still laced with vague shame. "we can't just stand here and do nothing, right? i mean, i still—" he ceases his sentence, coughing into his mouth.
"... nevermind." cass turns to look at him curiously, but his mouth is already snapped shut and he's returned to his distant thinking, kicking invisible dust with the soles of his shoes.
it doesn't take long before the quietest of the bunch, who'd never spoken a single word throughout the entire ordeal, finally rose above the thickened tension.
"alfred." he says. not a question, but a call to the butler's name.
the squeak of the swivel chair pierces the air cleanly, the aged man lets out a calm, "hm?" as he faces the young robin.
"it is you who's closest to (name)... but it seems like you've never once spoken a word about them to..." me, he almost said, but corrected just in time.
"—us..."
dick finally straightens up from his slouched position. while bruce turns to face his butler, still quiet, awaiting for his reply. all the others follow in tow.
"ah..." alfred closes his eyes, deep in thought. there's a tranquil calm that never wavers within his foggy, blue orbs. when he opens them, there was naught an ounce of panic, but a steadfast refute already ready to be spoken expertly like threads he so easily weaved from his fingers.
"it seems you may be mistaken, master damian. i have collected myself countless records, even letters from dearest master (name) themselves, of their request for each and every one you to attend to their events, whether major or minor." he tuts, shaking his head, disappointed. it sends a painful throb to bruce's heart, carefully listening to alfred talk.
"but every invitation of theirs were rejected... i could only go so far as to relay the message to them. all the other times they've requested for your companies were done so by their own accord— i've no involvement in ceasing their operations."
"... anymore question, master damian?" it wasn't meant to even be an accusing stare towards the young boy, for the butler maintained a neutral expression the entire time he sat peacefully, watching from an objective distance.
damian's silence was enough of a reply. the sound of air within jason's comms, too, counted as an answer to alfred.
he took it as a sign to stand up once, nodding to bruce and taking in the empty tray displayed on top of the desk. everyone simply watches, tongues tied and lips pressed together, because they all know everything is their fault.
"now if you will excuse me, master bruce. i shall brew all of you tea and coffee to... maybe lighten up the tension." he says, sarcastically, the clank of his polished shoes across the reinforced concrete bounces off the walls of the cave. but right before he could enter the makeshift elevator, back turned away from everyone, dick calls out to him, desperate.
"alfred—! i– wait..." the butler turns his head back to look at his young master. hair still a mess, arms limp on his side, he asks:
"... how was (name) when they were— when they were still new here...?"
alfred brow raise, but his once neutral expression softens just the slightest when he hears the name of his favorite kid. the old man nods, and faintly smiles, as he replies, with all the truth in the world:
"... they were good, master dick."
"a good kid born into misfortune."
and with that, he simply leaves, stepping into the elevator and never looking back to the family, all laden with individual thoughts and conflicted feelings about the entire situation.
whether alfred speaks the truth or not doesn't matter right now.
because as long as you're out there, free from the manor, free from their eyes, then they won't stop seeking you in every corner of the world until you're eventually dragged back to where you rightfully belong.
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: 10.5k words+ teehee. wow! that was such a long wait guys. but don't worry, i'm trying to go back to a consistent schedule and i finally settled with all my insecurities about writing. again, comments and interactions are the only thing that gets me going. especially when you all comment on your favorite parts? or notice the parallelisms (if that's even a word)? that gets me so motivated like no other. so really, what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? any burning theories? new characters you're excited to meet? 'cause despite the countless delays, y'all know i tried :((( so please do comment and send in inboxes but NOT criticism/hate comments. i write for fun, not as a job. second part will be posted soon.
my wife bought me one of these for my birthday last year and 1) it is so fucking comfortable 2) my actual dog also thinks this and gets so excited when i bring in my pillow and blanket to nap w her
mostly because she likes to sleep on my pillow when i get up.
hey so it’s march now aka the beginning of endometriosis awareness month and i feel obligated to remind you that debilitatingly painful periods are not normal. if you or someone you know is ending up sick or bedridden every month, you are not crazy and deserve medical attention from someone who will take you seriously
Discord server for fans of Hoyoverse games [Ages 21+]
(What started out as a Genshin Server now turned into a gacha prison)
If you're a fan of Hoyoverse games [Genshin Impact, Honkai: Star Rail, Zenless Zone Zero, Wuthering Waves (yes I know it's not hyvs but it's there too), etc], and you are the age of 21 or over, I welcome you to join this server.
I made the server because I enjoy talking about the games and sharing occasional brainrot. I also wanted to talk to people in my own age group.
-This server is discourse free.
I do not allow fighting over nonsensical issues or toxic behavior. We all have our own opinions about the game, characters, ships, etc. Fandom is a fun pastime and shouldn't be treated so seriously
-This is a private server. So the link only lasts for a limited time. If you come across this post and the link no longer works either: Send me a DM asking for an invite or like this post and I will come to you.
Feel free to ask me any questions you may have about the server if you'd like to know more :)
If you are under the age of 21, please do not join. It is my personal preference to only engage with people my own age. Please respect my boundaries
It's a small server and it's relatively quiet. Talkative members are really welcomed and desperately needed
Check out the Hoyoverse Prisoners community on Discord - hang out with 36 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard
Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.
Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.
Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.
Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.
SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.
SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.
Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.
Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.
Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.
Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.
Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.
I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard
Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.
Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.
Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.
Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.
SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.
SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.
Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.
Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.
Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.
Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.
Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.
The intimacy of it? The frantic tugging and pulling between bodies? The desperation? The muffled moans between kisses? Finding the perfect moment to pull away from a kiss to hear your partner whimper below you?? The physical closeness?? Mutual grinding which turns into clothes being removed which turns into a complete loss of control between both people? I could go on for hours about this.
hey netizens! i'm not sure how many people are aware, but youtube's been slowly rolling out a new anti-adblock policy that can't be bypassed with the usual software like uBlock Origin and Pi-Hole out of the gate
BUT, if you're a uBlock Origin user (or use an adblocker with a similar cosmetics modifier), you can add these commands in the uBlock dashboard (under My Filters) to get rid of it!
there are several posts going around about how to best help if you witness an ICE raid/arrest as a (white) citizen. many of them are filled with extremely bad, LARP-y advice such as screaming at agents and getting physically close to them. in most cases, this is just going to make things worse for everyone at risk (including yourself). you need to stay calm, and avoid getting someone accused of resisting arrest.
to be clear: most of these fascists dont care about the law. “illegal” is not a magic word you can say to make them stop. and, being a white citizen is not an impenetrable shield. you can still be arrested, so be prepared for that. you are, however, less likely to be arrested, and MUCH less likely to be killed or held extralegally.
here is what you should actually do to help:
record, and make sure your phone auto-backups to a cloud. streaming can be problematic because its best to have lawyers look over the footage first. be aware they might also grab your phone, even without a warrant. if they’re grabbing it out of your hands, try to lock it. make sure you have a pin lock, not pattern or fingerprint. here’s some other ways to protect your phone from cops.
if you are able to film, and have determined it won’t escalate the situation, make it obvious you are doing so, because secretly recording is illegal in several states. narrate any violation of rights you see. here is a Q&A about filming ICE.
stay several feet back from agents, because they can claim you’re impeding them. if you’re recording and they claim this, take several steps back, and announce it as you’re doing so, if you’re filming.
ask if they are free to go, if someone is being approached. if ICE insists on the person asking for themself, and they speak spanish*, tell them “por favor repita: ‘am i free to go?’” (this just means “please repeat”) if the agent says yes, tell them “usted puede dejar”. if not..
calmly inform people of their rights if they are being arrested. they do not have to speak at all to agents, answer any questions without a lawyer, or sign anything. they do have to show their paperwork if they have it, but do NOT have to hand over the paperwork/passport, or consent to a search of themselves/belongings, without a judicial warrant (not administrative! here’s the difference). it is crucial that they give as little information as possible to ICE.
if you speak spanish, list their rights in spanish as well, and translate what the agents are saying. if not, keep the google translate app on your phone – it’s not perfect, but it’s quick/accessible and can download languages for offline use. you can also memorize this sentence: “no tiene que responder/dar su consentimiento” - “you dont have to respond/consent”
get their lawyer’s contact info, if they have one and are being taken away by ICE. many people carry a card with emergency contact info on it, including childcare info and loved ones, so you can offer to call those numbers for them.
call for legal help. do not call the ACLU or other big organizations for immediate help, call your local immigration help center (for New York State, contact IDP at 212-725-6422. for California, call the TRUST hotline at 844-878-7801). United We Dream is an immigrant-lead organization that provides aid nationwide, and can be reached at 844-363-1423. please save these numbers in your phone!
know the ICE rapid response network in your town, and keep their number on hand. if there isn’t one close to you, here’s how to make one.
finally, here are some useful toolkits:
comprehensive ICE response guide
know your rights posters for in-home raid readiness, community flyers, and informative videos
ACLU videos explaining what to do in various situations with ICE
*of course not every immigrant speaks spanish; people from south america are being targeted en masse right now, but may speak many indigenous languages as well as portuguese. so ask if you dont know what language someone speaks, and see if google translate can help.
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