ATLA! Avatar Au Ramblings, Cause I Need Them Out Of My Skull:

This look like the kind of post that should have someone add on in a reblog... unfortunately that's not me.

Rebloging this in hope someone add on it.

Rowdyruff Boys On The Spectrum? [THEORY/HEADCANON]

his is such a stupid theory/headcanon but I just get the vibe for numerous reasons. Yes I know they’re four year olds and four year olds can do random things +most disorders like autism aren’t figured out until the kid is older. But screw it im projecting a tad being autistic myself so I’m putting it out there. 

We all know the RRB definitely have PTSD so I’m not going to get into that one. I’m more gonna focus on autism and adhd. 

Off the bat a big thing I can mention is stimming. The boys stim quite a bit. Mainly Butch and Boomer. And it’s usually triggered when they’re excited and can’t stay still or control said excitement. Biggest examples being The Boys Are Back In Town. Lots of stimming there. 

Ways of speech and miswording. -  People can stretch this to the boys being super young and that’s valid. It’s common in young kids. Show examples would be Bubble Boy, when Brick writes his graffiti. “BRIK WUZ HER”. But the main spots I’ve seen this happen is the comics. For example, CN Action Pack #6, Butch mixing up “invisible” with “invincible.” Certain ways they talk as well can be seen on the spectrum. Or at least that’s how I see it. Like when Brick mentions a bus to help their heist in CN Action Pack #4. Instead of Butch adding to the convo. he speaks on how much he likes buses and why. Or Brick stating he likes eggs randomly in CN Action Pack #6. Again kid stuff too, so see it how you like. 

MANY examples here.

Distractions - Kid thing again but could be spectrum as well. The boys have sort attention spans and get bored super easily. An example here from CN Action Pack #1. Which also makes me think they would get distracted by their fixations a crazy amount. 

Fixations - Ok this is cheating cuz I spotted this in Multiversus but since it’s Ruff media I’m adding it. The boys definitely fixate to specific things. Like Butch with his constant ticks and urge to fight, while Brick fixates on The Joker. Wanna see what I mean? Watch these two videos. 

Brick - https://youtu.be/paA3XZ0-Feg?si=PTaho72oYo18ZTVS

Butch - https://youtu.be/s92Ksrdk5aw?si=JvOlCBrV5yUIgf

Sleep Issues - Also Multiversus but it’s something I found interesting. The boys HATE getting up early and constantly have the urge to sleep. Perhaps from sleep issues or staying up late being mischievous. This one hit personal for me. Wanna see for yourself? Check this video out. 

Triggers - Comic based this time, and this can line up to PTSD a bit more. But autistic people including myself can and do have triggers so I’m adding this too. The boys have a huge trigger to the idea of being kissed. As shown in CN Action Pack #6, when the girls defeat them with cooties. The boys don’t even try to fight, and fly away in tears. I count this up to PTSD, but I can definitely see the boys getting overstimulated in their own ways. 

Repetitive behaviors - I feel this one speaks for itself. If you watched any RRB episodes you’ll see what I mean. 

Honestly I’m out of topics so imma end this here. If you disagree that’s cool, I just like exploring characters' heads. 

Oh Strange Striped Boy, Where Do You Call Home? ─ Adventures of Rebirth; A visit from Tsahik (Chapter 1)

After six years of growing and patience, Spider can finally fit into an exopack, and, for the first time in his life, he will step out into Pandora, into Eywa.

Spider's entry into Eywa is like a rebirth, and a rebirth is cause for celebration, so Mo'at comes to spruce him up for the day and bring him some gifts.

Set six years after Spider's birth/"The Birth of a Strange Boy". Spider is being somewhat communally raised between Max, Norm, and Mo'at. Mo'at is the one who's nearly adopted him, but Max and Norm take care of him while he's at Hellsgate.

It took five long years of waiting, six, in the long run, for Spider to take his first steps out onto Pandora. Days and days of pouting at the airlock, begging to be let out. Far too many sleepless nights spent staring out windows at the stars and asking when when when? He wanted out. He wanted to be free. He wanted to dig his toes into Eywa’s earth and feel Her winds in his curls.

He wanted to feel the sun on his skin, and not through a window. Norm had told him it burned, that it was different than just feeling it through the windows. He wanted to know what that felt like. Wanted to feel warm after being stuck in the cold metal of Hellsgate for so so so, very very, super duper long.

Norm also told him he was dramatic. He didn't agree. Had huffed and puffed about it. Many, many times.

But today was the day. He was going outside. He had practiced and practiced and practiced putting on his exopack and changing the canisters and the battery and they made sure it fit snugly. So he was going to be let outside. Tsahik had even come to see him just after Eclipse fully broke and the sky lost its golden tinge, shifting to soft blue, her smile old and wise as soon as she entered the airlock, despite her distaste for Hellsgate, and she scooped him up and placed him on her hip when he came running to greet her, feet padding against the hollow sounding metal tiles.

“I see you, ma’yawntutsyìp,” she smiled, dropping a satchel off of her shoulder, letting it fall to the floor carefully, so her now free hand, one nearly as large as his torso, could tuck his wild golden curls back, her thumb tracing his forehead stripes affectionately.

She still remembers the day she had first set eyes on him all those years ago, having heard whispers of him from Jake after the war’s end. She insisted on seeing the infant immediately. She could not believe a human born in this prison could have been so deeply altered by Eywa, but the tales had been true. She remembers how tiny he had been, at least compared to her, many told her he was good-sized for a human baby. Sometimes she still can’t believe it though, not until she traces the stripes of the flat curve of his nose or sees those telltale fangs in his smiles.

He never hid his blessings, far from it instead he reveled in them. Besides his numerous accessories, he only wore a loincloth, which normally matched with the two boys he considered brothers, Neteyam and Lo’ak, her grandsons, and occasionally a simple top he would either steal from Kiri, her granddaughter, when she outgrew them or ones he made with her when someone had gathered the supplies for them, which put his stripes on full display. And he wore his braid proudly, always playing with it or rebraiding it. Even with his eyes and his fangs, he was always wide-eyed and excited, smiling for all to see, as if to cast their bright light on the world.

She was happy to know Spider was not alone in this world, he had siblings, even if they were not bound by blood or parentage, but by spirit. Especially considering those children were her own grandchildren. It felt right. She trusted Eywa’s intentions.

“Hi Tsahik,” the child giggled back, ears perked up, rosy with the blush blossoming from his fanged smile, his baby teeth still somewhat blunt, before touching his fingers to his forehead, and fanning them back towards her, “I see you too,” he imitated, wiggling a little in the elder’s arms.

Mo’at, as usual, was beyond amused by his excitement. He was such a cheerful child considering he had been locked in this box for years and years, even if for his own safety, she marveled at his bright spirit. She doubts many could burn so brightly after years of being smothered in this cold, unliving, person. But he still was. He was bright and golden and warm and full of life.

“You will meet your Mother today, are you ready, ma’evang?” She looked at him with a serious but soft look on her face. She was far from worried for him, she trusted him to hold his own and had no fear, just as she trusted Eywa to protect the boy, but she knew she should ask. It would be proper with any other child.

He just nodded, “want out,” he whined, throwing himself against her, sagging into her hold, quite dramatically, continuing to whine, “I’m soooooooo bored,” and squirming for a few moments, before settling, “Can you braid my hair first? Don’t want it to be messy… wanna look nice,” he got quiet, looking away, as if he felt foolish.

“Of course child,” she hushed, moving to sit by the window, not wishing to be far from Eywa and her land, kneeling on the floor while she sat Spider on the windowsill. “Why else would I meet you here, other than to pretty you up, hmmm?” her fingers started to run through his curls, taking out the tangles, huffing a laugh as his ears twitched as his hair tickled them. “I brought you something I think you will like, but they are a surprise, you have to be patient while I braid.”

The boy just giggled out a little “ok”, wiggling a little, but staying still enough for her to work on his hair. It had gotten quite long; his curls went well past his shoulders, while the thick black hair that sprouted from the large black birthmark on the nape of his neck, had grown to touch his hips.

She worked his curls till she could part his hair level with his temples, separating the top layer from the thicker bottom layer, with the strands just beside his ears included so they didn’t hang over them. She then halved that section down the middle, and French braided either side till about halfway down, before bringing the loose ends together and tying them tight with a leather cord. The boy liked his hair free but not unruly and in his eyes, the volume of curls suited him.

She worked carefully and meticulously. It was hard with her large hands, but after years of doing this, she had gotten quite good. She rarely pulled or snagged, and each intricate style or technique became easier with time. Now, it was truly no problem; she could do it with her eyes closed, but she was careful nonetheless.

They chattered all the while. Spider told her about his past few days since her last visit, about the lessons he had to sit through with Max and Norm, about Jake bringing her grandbabies to visit and the antics they got up to—

“‘Teyam forgot that we aren’t supposed to run into the lab when people are in there, so I jumped super duper far and tagged him right on his tail before he could get in trouble, so he turned around and chased me,” he boasted cheerfully, “and then to make him feel better, cause he’s a little bit of a sore loser, I let him tag me back, but told him to stay away from the lab so Norm doesn’t come and scold us.”

“That’s very kind of you, little one, I’m sure Norm and Neteyam were very appreciative,” she smiled.

The boy shrugged a little, “maybe,” he replied, pausing for a moment, “I can’t wait to play tag with him outside, it’s going to be great. We can run wherever we want, as long as we stay in the village, and he told me there’s this creek we can go to, and we can go fishing!”

“Yes you will, ma’yawntutsyìp, you will, very soon.”

—and he asked questions, ones he had asked dozens of times before, about the forest and the village, and she gladly answered just as thoroughly as she had the first, second, and hundredth times. She told him about the trail from Hellsgate to the village. She talked about all the animals they might see. She told him about all the important people he might meet. She told him anything she could think of.

As she worked, she placed an assortment of beads and feathers from a case in her satchel in front of the boy, allowing him to hand them back to her when he pleased, and added them in. He had some he kept in more permanently, but she thought this was enough of an occasion to spruce it up. And in the end, his hair was full of orange and red beads, and plenty of feathers of similar colors.

“Red is my favorite color, just like yours right?,” he asked, playing with the crimons beads of her shawl while she braided his overgrown baby hairs into little loopy braids and tied them up into his larger braids, using red feathers to hide the twine.

“That it is, ma’evang, that it is,” she smiled, “I’ve always liked it, it’s very bright and and mighty, like you, tsamsiyutsyìp.”

The boy giggled, hiding his face in his hands, “thank you Tsahik.”

She had long stopped trying to get him to call her by her name or some other less formal term. It seemed like ‘Tsahik’ felt like a term of affection in his young mind, and it is what he preferred to call her, and she wouldn’t force him to stop. And it was, quite frankly, adorable, anyway, so she was even less insistent on that front.

When she finished with his curls, she braided his ‘kuru’, gathering the thick black hair in her fingers and smoothing it so it looked nice and sleek, just like how Spider liked it. He didn’t have a true queue, but on instinct, she was immensely gentle, as if there was something to snag there outside of hair.

“Not too tight?” she asks periodically. He always says no, because she was careful. But she checks in again and again every time anyway. And with that, a final piece of cord, his hair was finished, and she was quite pleased with her work. “I think you look quite stylish, ma’yawntutsyìp,” she murmurs, “very proper for your big day.”

Spider jumped up at that, springing to crouch close to the window on all fours, something that looked both odd and overly natural on his tall, lithe, lanky frame. He crouched like a Na’vi would, but at first glance, he looked ever so slightly too human for that to look right. It still caught Mo’at off guard despite all her time with him.

She watched as he inspected his hazy reflection with a pleased look. “Perfect!” he cheered after a few moments, jumping off the sill and wrapping around her legs, “thank you,” he murmured against her.

She patted his head gently, careful of the beads, not wanting them to hurt his scalp, “you are very welcome my child, now, are you ready for your gifts?” she smirked, watching as he popped up and down excitedly.

“Yes yes yes yes!” he cheered, his golden hair bouncing, the feathers fluttering and beads clicking.

“Ok ok, ma’yawntutsyìp, ok,” she steadied him, a hand on his shoulder, “sit, and I will bring it to you,” she spoke softly but firmly, waiting for Spider to obey, still wiggling, something that seemed like a permanent state of being for the rowdy six-year-old, before reaching for the satchel she had left by the airlock doors. “I believed you needed some simple things before you ran out into Eywa’evang,” she said softly, kneeling beside him once more.

She opened the sachet and pulled out a few items; a folded fabric bundle, a small knife, a smaller bag, and a small bow accompanied by a small quiver of wooden arrows.

Spider watched on with curious awe, his head bobbing and weaving to try and see everything up close, but he was patient, hands kept in his lap, fiddling with the little songchord on his belt to keep from touching the other items before he had permission.

“You will train with this bow, it’s simple, and you are allowed to make mistakes with it, so you can learn how it can become damaged, so you don’t make the same mistakes with your proper bow, and when you are ready, you will carve your own from the remains of our Hometree, and make your own arrows,” she explained, handing the bow to him. It was small, made of common wood and string, a head shorter than Spider. A good introduction to the tool.

But Spider looked at it as if it was made of pure gold from Eywa herself. He marveled at it, even though there was truly nothing to look at. It was plain, not even painted or mounted with a grip. His fingers traced the wood, over smooth edges and hard knots, over the lacing, and down the taught edge of the string.

“Pretty,” he whispered.

“Very,” she agreed, even if she did not see the same beauty he did, “when we get to the village, you can practice with Neteyam, he got his bow a few days ago, and maybe you two could convince Kiri to help you gather some supplies to decorate them, yes?”

The boy nodded, “I can’t wait, it’s going to the best, ‘m gonna get to spend all day with them, and we’re gonna go on so many adventures. And I’ll get really good with my bow, so I can keep them safe. Better than ‘teyam even! Cause he’s my baby brother, and I have to be better so he’s safe,” he rambled, hugging the bow tight, “but he can be second best, I just need to be this much better,” he pinched his fingers tight, holding them close to his eye to show just how much better he needed to be, “not a lot, just a little.”

“I’m sure you will, child,” she nearly cooed, heart swelling at the sight of his determination, “and what about Kiri or Lo’ak, when they get their own?”

“That’s up to ‘teyam how much better he thinks he needs to be, but maybe this much” he shrugged and held his fingers just a little apart like it was obvious. Children were so sweetly simple. Especially this one. It endeared her to no end.

“I think that is a good amount,” she agreed, smoothing his cheek with a soft huff of laughter, before turning back to the items she had set out, picking up the tiny little hooked knife– the blade made of an opaque amber, intricate red lacing holding the red-dyed hide and bright tan and black braided sinew grip to the handle, a little orange feather hanging off the end –placing it in his tiny little palm, “this is very sharp, you can use it to forage and hunt, but also to protect yourself, as long as you use it very carefully, ok?”

“Ok Tsahik,” he nodded, inspecting it carefully, pressing his finger to the edge of the blade, careful not to cut himself, but rather feel the blade’s edge, to feel its strength and thinness, before feeling over the rest of the blade, at the little curves and edges made from carving.

“And you will need somewhere to carry it,” Mo’at murmurs, opening the bundle of cloth, “I had Norm give me this strap,” she presented an exopack strap, it was mostly plain, outside of a leather hilt fixed to the chest half of the strap, “it needs more work, but this is a start, so you can wear your blade at all times.”

“cool, thank you Tsahik” he murmured, his attention having moved from inspecting the knife to inspecting the strap and hilt, placing the blade in it and then taking it out several times, little fingers feeling every detail, before he began thinking, “it needs beads, and stain, this color is icky,” he commented to himself, “Norm said I could paint my exopack if I’m careful around the filters,” he looks to her, “can you show me how to make them?” he asked with a smile, scooting closer.

“Of course, ma’yawntutsyìp,” she replied, patting his back “What colors should it be?”

“Mmmmm….. Blue!” he shouted after a moment of thinking, “I can make it all stripey, like you and Kiri and ‘teyam and Lo’ak!” he giggled, cutting off his ramble of what might be the name of every Na’vi he knew.

“Blue is a very nice color,” she agreed, shaking her head at the boy's antics fondly.

“Mhm mhm,” he hummed, eyes tracking towards the rest of the cloth bundle.

She smirked, placing it in his lap to look through. He pulled out a new loincloth, one made of a finer deep brown, almost black, hide than his other loincloths, this one as much less meant for play and roughhousing, though it would likely see it anyway, but for formality, celebration. The main belt, made from the same hide, just braided into a thick band, wrapped around his waist, while thinner belts held back and front flaps together lower down his hips, and dripped in beads of amber and turquoise, and little feathers of yellow and blue. Long braided fibers that were more tufted near the end lined the sides of either flap, the fibers ranging from red to orange to a light tan color, more saturated at the top, and duller near the bottom.

His eyes went wide, his voice a soft whisper, like there were no words on his mind, just pure glee. He leaned close, piling into her lap as a ‘thank you’, hugging her arm for a moment, not even reacting when her tail came to wrap around him instinctually, eyes still fixed on the intricate item, before he broke into thank yous, jittering with excitement, “thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you Tsahik!!!” he bellowed, “did you make this?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Of course I did, ma’yawntutsyìp,” she smiled, patting his cheek, “who else could make such art?”

He shrugged, “you and Mrs. Sully are both really good,” he replied, before focusing back on the loincloth, “It’s so cool and fancy, I love it.”

She smiled at the fond comment he made towards her and her daughter. The boy held love for her Neytiri, even when she struggled to hold much fondness for him. She would come around one day, she was trying to anyway, and Spider was so good about it, even though he was young. He loved her despite the distance between them.

“Good. now keep looking, there’s more,” she prompted.

Spider nodded, keeping to his spot in her lap, eyes hesitantly leaving the loincloth he still held in his lap, before picking up a matching top. It was simple, and much more decorative than functional. It was a simple braided choker with beaded strands that hung down to armbands for either arm, both lined with little teeth and claws she had collected over the years, fitting for the little boy full of spunk. He showed it the same level of awe and care as the previous article of clothing.

“Kiri helped me with this one,” Mo’at informs, showing him the bicep cuffs, “she braided in beads left over from those friendship bracelets you all made together, see,” she pointed to the multicolored beads; Kiri had chosen soft green beads, Neteyam had pick jagged stormy blue ones, and Lo’ak had chosen rough black ones, while Spider had chosen shiny brown and orange beads that glowed when the light shifted over them.

“I like it,” he smiled, “they look pretty together.”

“She knew you would,” she assured, “was quite insistent she add her own touch.”

Then there was a braided shawl, a thick piece of hide was where his shoulders would be, while the rest was made of a thin but sturdy twine in a net-like fashion, and the edges were lined with little beads and feathers as well. Mo’at had gone all out for him, this was a big day, nearly the same as if it was his birth, which she had missed by many months. This was a rebirth. An entry into Eywa’s world. She had to spoil him rotten, she couldn’t help it.

“This is to protect your shoulders, the sun will be very harsh on your young skin,” she murmured softly, pulling a braided case made from old shell pods, opening it to expose a thick white cream, “make sure you apply this, all over, but mostly on your face and shoulders, every day, at every meal you spend outside, to protect your skin, yes?”

“Yes Tsahik,” he grumbled, already unhappy with it, because, for some odd reason Mo’at doubts she will ever find the reason for, children loathe suncream, even those who only need it sparingly.

“And wear your shawl when the sun is high, you will regret it if you burn down to the bone,” she warned.

“Yes Tsahik” he continued to grumble even more dramatically.

“Now, last thing,” she pulled a small bead from the bag, it was bright blue and intricately carved with braided patterns, “for your songschord, for your first journey into Eywa.” That got her an ‘oooooooh’ as he felt the pattern. “I want you to find something else to attach with this, and place it in this pouch, along with anything else you may want or need,” she handed him a simple pouch to tie onto his belt, “and when you find it, when you know it’s the one, I will help you tie them on.”

He nodded still transfixed, spinning the bead in between his fingers, leaning back against her chest, swallowed up into her arms, her beaded shawl hanging over him, and her braid hanging in her lap, close to his own.

“Now, go get changed, call if you need help, though I have no doubt that you are smart enough to figure it out. Be quick, Jake is bringing your siblings, they will meet us soon, they’re quite excited.”

He smiled at that, “I can’t wait, they have to show me everything!” he shouts, popping out of her lap, taking the clothing and the pouch with him, tucking the bead safely inside of the latter, “I’ll be right back,” he called out to her, running towards his room.

She could only smile, the boy was something else, so wild and free and loud, but in a way that was more charming than all else. Hellsgate could not hope to contain him much longer. The elder knew that well enough.

Spider was quick, he’d gotten very good with the workings of a loincloth, this one just had extra steps, and the top went on easily enough. He unfastened his songchord off of his now piled-on-the-floor loincloth, and tied it to the belt of the one he was currently wearing, before dumping out all his little trinket jewelry his siblings had made for and with him from his keepsakes box, tying on layers of bracelets and anklets, made from anything they could get their little hands on, even a few necklaces that hung just beneath the choker. Lastly, he put on his mama’s dog tags–

He used to feel ashamed of wearing them, but Mo’at said it was good to remember her, even if she wasn’t a good guy. She was always gonna be his mama, and she just wanted the best for him. He was allowed to love her. So he did

–before stuffing some trinkets and other little supplies in his pouch, grabbing his mask, the one he had decorated with beads and feathers to hang down from the straps, and bringing it back to his Tsahik.

She smiled at the sight of him, the pieces she– and Kiri, she couldn’t dismiss her efforts –made suited him well. He jingled slightly as he ran, sliding through the halls expertly, no doubt having done it dozens upon dozens of times a day just to keep entertained. She had gotten the proportions just right, and he looked like a true little warrior. A stylish one at that. She was proud. Of him and her work.

The tans and browns in the pieces brought out his stripes, and the yellows complimented his eyes. He was sliding the exopack over his face, which pulled his hair even further from his ears, making their fluttering to get comfortable within the straps of the mask obvious. The added feathers framed his features nicely.

“I say you look quite ready to go exploring, hmmm?” she asked, standing, groaning slightly as her wearing joints protested the move, and he was by her side before she could realize it. He was too tiny to help her up but tried anyway. Because that’s the type of boy he was. “Thank you, ma’yawntutsyìp,” she murmured, “I’m ok, it just takes a moment.”

“I know…” he admitted glumly, “just wanna help anyway.”

She patted his hair at that, before moving to scoop him up, “of course you do, with that heart of gold of yours,” she wiggled a finger at his chest, tickling him slightly, “isn’t that right?”

That wiped the glum look off of his face and he looked smitten once more, “I just like being helpful!” he argued, as if there were anything to defend.

“And there is nothing wrong with that, child, not ever, it is a good thing,” she assures, watching out the window as a gaggle of small blue figures start to appear from the forest line, “now, I believe your siblings are nearly here, see,” she points out the window, “why don’t you gather your things, we will be off shortly.”

The boy hesitated at first, still clinging close, his head rested on her collar, legs curled around her waist. Spider got…. anxious…. when those in his life gave him any inkling that they would leave. Whether it be her age, or when Norm or Jake left the lab for too long, or even when Neytiri went unmentioned for too long. It worried him. It was understandable, considering how much he had lost so young, but broke her heart nonetheless.

“I am not going anywhere, ma’evang, I promise,” she soothed, rubbing his back, “my bones are just stiff, do not fret.”

“... Promise?”

“I promise,” she moves to put him down, “now go, fetch your bow, and bring that cream over here, I will not have you cooked your first day out,” she has a cheeky smile on her face, knowing that being mad about suncream will distract him from his anxieties more than anything else.

And she is right, he scurries away from her grumbling “Noooooooooooo!”, hiding the bowl behind his back the second he gets his hands on it, a smile on his face, daring her to try and get it back from him.

She stalks him like a nantang would stalk a yerik, getting low, arms around ready to grab him. He’s pressed into a corner, waiting for the right chance to run. It takes a minute before he decides to try and make a break for it, sliding between her legs, but she catches him, picking up the wiggling child with ease.

“You aren’t quite fast enough yet, child, do not underestimate me just because I am an elder, my reflexes are still sharp,” she scolds playfully, holding out in front of her till his limbs sag and he gives up.

“Don’t want it, it feels yucky,” he pouts, the shell pod still in his little hand.

“You will live, I assure you,” she says finally, before sitting him on the sill, taking the pod from him, and scooping some of the off-white paste onto her fingers. The boy sniffs it, his almost feline-like nose twitching before he turns it away.

“Gross.”

“You are gross, ma’yawntutsyìp,” she refutes, “I have seen you take mud baths in the greenhouse.”

“That’s different!”

“Sure it is, that was mud, this is suncream. One of them has a benefit, and one was a mess that took hours to clean.”

The boy crosses his arms and huffs. She smeared her fingers down his shoulders and arms, and then over his ears, which he was trying to fold back so she could not reach them, but it was no yes.

“You have to take your mask off, it will not protect you from the sun.”

“I just got it on right,” he whined, leaning back against the window as if that was out of reach for her long arms.

“And you knew you needed to put this on first, I told you that, now come on, off with it, or your siblings will come in here and watch you be a baby about suncream,” she knows that’ll get his attention, “you want to be a brave boy for them, yes?”

He stares at her for a moment, then out the window at his approaching siblings, and then pulls off the mask. “Fine,” he relents, sitting up so she can easily reach his face, and she smears her palm down his face, rubbing the cream down his face gently enough to not hurt but harshly enough to make him splutter a bit.

“All done, see how easy that was?” she asks pointedly, watching the boy recover.

“Yucky,” was all he said, blowing a raspberry.

The elder shakes her head and stands, “get your stuff and put your mask back on, I doubt your siblings will have any patience to keep them from dragging you straight out that door.”

He complies with general ease, pulling his bow and quiver strap over his shoulder, gingerly easing them to hang across his chest and onto his back, and double-checks that his knife is in his hilt and his pouch is secured to his belt correctly, before scrambling across the room for the exopack component that was currently charging.

She watched as he, near expertly from all his practice, putting the different pieces together, clicking battery packs and canisters and tubes into their place, checking them over, ensuring all was well, before fixing the mask back onto his face, and strapping that too over his chest, the hilt level to his heart.

“All done!” he declared, standing proud.

She inspects him. He was clothed and his hair was tamed. He had his new bow and knife. His exopack was, seemingly, in order, though she would have Jake check it before he even stepped towards the airlock. He did seem quite ready to go.

“You have been fed today, correct?” she enquires.

The boy nods. “Max made pancakes! I even got to use real syrup, not the icky stuff we normally use.”

She only vaguely knew what he was talking about, but she nodded anyway. He had eaten, that was all that mattered, and it even seemed like he was happy with his meal this morning, instead of grumbling about mush or the like.

After a few more moments of Spider continuing to ramble on about his morning and breakfast, he stopped. His ears perked up, and he heard the outer door opening, the airlock hissing, and the giggles of his siblings.

He waited right at the door, bouncing on the pads of his toes. Sometimes Mo’at finds herself imagining what it would be like if Eywa had managed to give him a tail. She believes it would manage to become a weapon when he was this excited. It brings a laugh to her lips.

And before she thinks he can fidget out of his own skin, hands finding his songchord once more, running over the beads, a habit of his, the inner door opens, and he is all but tackled to the floor by three little blue bodies, their tails high, and voices even louder.

Her eyes meet Jake's as they share an exasperated smile and a deep breath as they prepare for what's to come.

First meeting

I had this idea of a Aonung x human oc in the back of my headfor a while but I didn’t have a clue how to begin writing it. I made some montage with pinterest picture and then I made something with those two images.

And something just clicked so here is how my oc met Aonung.

Aonung needed to clear his head. The villagewas celebrationg the new young warriors. He would lie if he said he didn’t feel jealous of them. He had failed once again. He didn’t understand why his father found him unworthy of becoming a warrior. Right now his parents were tending to his little sibbling. The boy was only a few months old and he was receiving more praise from his parents that Aonung ever heard of. His little brother had fetch them a piece of food and presented it to them. His eyes shine, eagerly waiting for their praise and approval and he got it immediatly.

His parents looked proud of him, his father pat his hair affectionnely and his mother took him in her embrac3. Did they ever treated Aonung like that? Were they ever proud of him for simply existing or was it that their first child would forever be a disapointment in their eyes?

He shook his head and dived under the water, away from the crownd and toward a place he liked to go to when he needed to be alone. A cave, not too far from the village but hidden enough so that he was the only one aware of it’s existence. It was a peacefull place. There was a small waterfall in it that made a sweet sound that helped him relax.

He made his way through out of the water and followed his usual path. He was reaching the netry of the cave when he heard a voice humming. It was soft and playful... and sad strangely.

He entered the cave. A girl was bathing under the swall waterfall. The glowing algea in the cave lake aloud him to see her clearly. He knew what a human was, he had heard stories about them, he met some of them and onewas even living among them. But this one was different. It was a female human, he had never saw a female human before. She was as small as a child but she obviously was not. She might have been about his age even a bit older but he wasn’t sure.

By default he was warry of human, they were demons in his eyes, even the one he knew. Maybe some of them had good intention but he was sure they would eventually succumb to their nature. They were evil.

That’s why a vrrtep, as innocent as she looked had nothing to do so close to his village.

"Hey!"

He screamed. When he’ll tell this memory, he’ll say he doesn’t remember what he said afterward. Just that he approached, splashing the water around and startling the girl. He reached her and she looked up at him. Her eyes were dark, it was like staring at the night sky without the stars. He remember stoping himself. Her hair lifted up from her soulder. They were like anemone, moving like waves around her face.

The both of them were froze in place. He wanted to chase her away or make her a prisonner but it was like his brain stoped working. He was hypnotised by the way her hair moved. Subconsciously he run his hand in the strand of her hair. Was tawtute’s hair suppose to move like that? Spider’s hair didn’t... why wasn’t she running away?

They snap ed out of their trance when an explosion was heard. It came from his village but... their were attacked. It was the human, those vrrtep found them.

The girl an away before he could stop her, and he ran back to the village to help them...

I had the pleasure of creating a very adorable piece for byeolhsh57 on x/twitter this round! 🥺💕✨️ thank you for letting me be included in polinxcare4gaza 💛💚💙 We were able to raise 2.6k to help those in need and that makes me so overjoyed and thankful! Happy #polinweek2024!

Is there a fanfic about it?! Can someone make a fanfic about this please!!!

sometimes I go a little crazy and imagine the complex grief Neteyam would have gone through had Spider died in place of him.

the grief that comes with losing your best friend and big brother—

because that's what he was. long ago, when you were little kids, and he still was now, even though you pushed him away, the bond never died, you just abandoned it, and it would be hard, but if you walked up to him he would have taken you back in a heartbeat, arms wide and open and warm, burying his own hurt to keep you close. and you know that. you know he would have, but you never did. you never went back, because it would sting, it would press on old wounds, and it would have upset your parents and your clan and... and you weren't brave enough for that.

—but you couldn't call him that.

he was different than you. a human. a demon. an outcast. quietly removed from you and your home and the forest and your family and your siblings and your clan and even the other humans.

because he was different.

he was unloved by your people. and now a foreign stranger in your new home. they hold no love or memory or any sympathy for him that went past basic compassion and sadness for a child, if even that. he was nothing to them. they did not know he was good. that he was kind. that he was strong. that he would have done anything for his siblings, even you, with all your faults. they did not know.

and you're the perfect eldest child in their eyes, not a boy who would have curled up in the protection of that human boy's arms in an instant if you weren't afraid of being judged. they don't know the conflict that lives in your heart and mind. they don't understand you the way he did, even in his silent watch over you, for all those years you wouldn't call him brother, but he still loved you like one. they don't understand anything about you and what you keep under your facade of a young warrior, eldest son of the Sully's, mature and wise for your age. they don't know that you needed him, you just didn't know how to get him back.

and now no one around you— not even your siblings who will long hold a degree of animosity towards you, no matter how small or subconscious, for all the years they watched you ditch them in favor of duties and push Spider away instead of being their brother, making them a quartet and not a quintet, forcing that awkward tension on them that they'll always have to remember —understands your loss.

not your parents or your new clan, not even your old one will. not your friends or your siblings. not even you.

none of them will understand that he mattered to you. that under the illusion of not needing him or wanting him or considering him family like your siblings did. of seeing him as your mother did, a demon who belonged with his own kind. or passively letting him float in and out of your life because you had bigger, better, more important duties to fulfill, and settling on in or out was too hard. or that when you saw him play and goof off and mess around with your siblings, you wanted to join. or that this entire time in this new home, with things ever so slightly getting better with Lo'ak, you wished he was there too, so maybe things would finally be good.

the friend, the brother, the protector, the shield, the warm smile and golden hair and barking laugh and ever beckoning hand, begging you to join him on an adventure you once knew, is dead. he is dead and gone, and with him died every chance you might have had to fix it. and you will live with your guilt for life, and the fear that comes when you don't have your big brother to look out for you anymore.

and no one understands his grief. he is alone in it. he will feel like a stranger, overstepping a boundary he placed. and he is scared because his big brother is gone. everything he has to face, he has to face scared and alone.

he will be shut out of his siblings grief, just out of how their relationship with one another and Spider was, because their bond is too strained, and he missed out on so much time with them and with Spider and them as a whole. he doesn't fit with their grief.

his parents will want to support him and love him, but Spider mattered very little to them. they were the reason Neteyam pulled away to begin with. Spider wasn't his brother in their minds. they could never support him the way he needed.

the Metkayina, no matter their love or care or sympathy for Neteyam, can't help either.

he is alone. living with his grief. with his regrets. with his pain. it's overwhelming and all consuming. and he will continue to try and act like everything is fine, because he doesn't know what else to do.

they make me fucking insane

THE MIND OF A WEIRD BLACK GIRL

CHAPTER 3: "I HATE COLD FOOD"

Platonic yandere!batfamily x Deathstroke!reader

SYNOPSIS: He's been visiting me once a week like I'm his child in college, BUT THE FUCKER PUT ME IN HERE!!! And if there wasn't a thick glass between us, the old man would be DEAD.

People say that living in Arkham sucks fucking ass, but it's not that bad, really. Well, okay, it is that bad. There's rats chewing on electric wires, and the "villains" keep trying to break out but get hauled back in here like groceries. The psychologist keeps asking stupid questions that make you go more insane than the Sesame Street that keeps playing on those busted TVs. They won't show anything else but kid stuff or the news—something about not showing the patients violence. But let's be real here, this isn't some regular insane asylum; this place is more like a fucking prison. Your room got switched out for something that looks like you're locked up in Alcatraz. You have a collar on your neck that lets out calming mist that knocks you out or makes you fall asleep when pressed, but because the electrocuting one was too "inhuman," like this place wasn't completely inhuman. But it's not too bad. You've been through worse training with Slade. It makes you laugh. One time he left you on an island with only a knife and dreams: "If you survive, you become my prodigy." Now that was worse. It made you laugh because the old man had left food and supplies lying around because he cared, unlike, well, he who shall not be named. And by he who shall not be named, he's visiting you today. And let's be honest, he's been visiting you every Friday at 3, every single damn time—not a second late. He's not tired of your face; he's not tired of the scowl you give. He's not scared when you punch the windows or yell that you'll kill him because the reason why you're here is because you tried to kill him, but you failed, getting caught by his dusty sons before you could stab him right between the eyes. You were so close, yet so far—so fucking far. And now you're here. Pretty ironic you'd tried to get locked up for hours so that you wouldn't see him, but you get dragged out of your room. It doesn't matter how hard you thrash or how many nurses and doctors you slam against the walls; they roll your ass into that meeting room whether you like it or not. You tried to run out once before he could start talking, but the guards activated your collar, leaving you motionless in the chair for two minutes. They do it a lot now, and now he has a remote to activate it when you get out of hand. How fucking perfect is that?"[Name Wayne]," said a voice on the intercom. It made you shake, knowing what was to come of this. The nurses were getting tired of fighting with you just to see your dad, and you knew he was tired of pressing that button, but you seriously didn't want to talk to him at all. "[Name Wayne], come to the visiting room, please. You have a visitor; he has a gift for you." A gift? Does he think I'm a baby? Jesus Christ. A nurse came around but stayed six feet away from you.

"Uhmm, [Ms. Wayne]?" asked a timid nurse. "I have ears; I'll go," you groaned, getting off the couch in the place they call the entertainment room, which was just three boxes, a TV, card games, and board games. Entertainment, my ass. The nurses tried to touch you, but you slapped their hands away. "I can go there on my own; I need this over with." You walked down the corridors. The hallways felt longer than they did before. Were you walking slow just because you didn't want to see him? Get a grip, [Name]. He's just an old man—an old man who abandoned you twice, choked you out, and broke your rib. You aren't afraid of him. You refuse to be. He should be afraid of you and what you're going to do to him when you get out, and when you get out, he's going to wish he had better security in this place.

You entered the visiting room, and there he was, his face shaved, lemon-pepper hair gracing his black locs. He had a small scar above his eyebrow, and it made you feel proud—you had done this to him. So proud, you placed your feet in front of him, picked up the phone beside you, and held it to your ear.

"Afternoon," you mumbled.

"Afternoon," he answered.

Then silence. He spoke after a moment.

"No nurses?"

"Nah, I wanted to give them a break this week."

He laughed; it was a short, raspy laugh, one you were used to. He shouldn't be laughing, not at all. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk."

We're talking right now," you said,

I'm already feeling a migraine coming on.

"You used to talk more. You'd tell me everything, and more."

Oh God, he's reminiscing. "I was twelve, Bruce. I didn't know how to shut up."

"And now you do." He smiled, and it was that warm, dad smile that made you want to puke. You felt your collar beep.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing, just tired."

Tired of you, but he really wasn't here just to talk—he's a detective with questions, and you're someone with answers.

"I took Slade to prison."

Great, imprisoning another father figure. How beautiful.

"God, you can't be serious."

You sighed.

"I am."

"Is that my gift imprisoning my mentor. "

"Yes." This has to be a joke. Taking the person who cares most about me and putting them in prison? Great, just terrific, Father of the damn Year.

"I'm going to kill you, you know that, right?"

"No, you're not." You hate how confident he sounds.

"You couldn't do it the first time, so how are you going to do it now? You still care for me, [Nickname]."

"Don't fucking call me that! You have no right to call me that!" My collar beeped, and I let out a deep breath.

"And as for caring, I don't."

"But you do."

"No, I don't."

He gave me that sickly sweet smile that could make your heart melt, but I wasn't falling for his tricks. I'm better than that, and I'm better than him.

"When I get out of here, you're dead. I have three months left in here, and when I'm free, ha, you'll have a sweet little bullet right between your skull."

"I'd like to see you try, dear." Oh, you'll see.

"You're fucking dead."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˚ ⋆⠀⠀⠀ィ⠀⠀⠀⠀after last night⠀⠀⠀ ࿐ ⠀⠀⠀

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imagine having a war criminal psychopathic genocidal baby killer who met you three months ago for a dad and he's still a better parent then people who knew you since you were a baby

For baker!Reader, I'm just imagining Tim hiding the fact he found where Y/N was.

Erasing all evidence that he found Reader. Making sure Barbara can't see that he found them and purposely makes sure the recognition software doesn't pick up Y/N. But he still watches. Still searches. Even starts planning on going to Europe and 'end up' in Paris.

Only for one of the other's to grow suspicious and take Tim's back up phone he's suddenly using more frequently. Revealing that Tim damn well knew where their missing sibling ran off to. Tim is dragged off his bed and through the halls, probably by Dick. Dick screaming and hollering "How could you not tell us!" and "We're all so worried and you're keeping secrets?!?!"

Only for Tim to start shouting back about how none of them deserved the Reader. How he didn't deserve them, either. How it'd be unfair to drag them back and ruin their life. Again!

"Y/N is happy! They're happy- and it's because we're not in their life anymore! We'll ruin them if we drag them back! I knew you'd over react! And I knew you'd want to make a mad dash over and tear apart everything they built for themselves, not even caring if it hurts Y/N!!! You're too focused on your guilt that you still don't see them as a person! Just a way to force things to go back to how they were. Because you think Y/N will be happy to do so if you just pay attention this time! That's not how people react- nor is it how they think!"

Tim being the only Yandere there that's aware that dragging the Reader back could make it easy to hate the Bat Family. Mind you, he's still planning on how to bring the Reader back; just trying to get it to be of their own free will. Or, at least, with the understanding that things have changed on a larger scale and it's less to do with guilt (only for Tim at the moment) and more to do with how he actually wants to get to know his sibling now.

Tim’s Secret, and the Night Everything Fell Apart

The Batcave was dark, silent except for the rhythmic clicking of keys. Screens flickered low blue light over Tim’s face, eyes red from too many sleepless nights, too many tabs open.

And in the corner of the screen—minimized, encrypted, and hidden behind five layers of false protocols—was a livestream of a quaint little Parisian bakery.

You stood behind the counter, apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed from the heat of the ovens. Smiling. Talking to customers. Alive. Happy.

Tim watched you every night.

He’d found you six months ago. A lucky glimpse on a tourist’s Instagram, face nearly turned from the camera. The bakery’s name blurred in the background. But he had known it was you.

His fingers had trembled on the keyboard that night.

He’d disabled every facial recognition alert. Set up firewalls Barbara wouldn’t notice. Even rerouted signals so no GPS pings would appear. He had a second phone now. One that only ever showed you.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not Bruce. Not Dick. Not even Alfred.

They didn’t deserve it.

But Tim still watched.

He knew your morning routine. The way you'd open the shop with headphones in, humming along to music. The way you’d place tiny chocolate hearts on your cakes—like the ones you used to make back at the Manor, the ones they never appreciated.

And he planned. He planned carefully. If he ever ran into you, it would be accidental. Casual. Maybe at a café across the street. Maybe he'd ask for a menu, pretending not to know who you were.

Maybe you'd talk. Maybe you'd smile at him again. Maybe you’d forgive him.

But his plan shattered the moment Dick burst into his room.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

Tim blinked, sitting up too slowly. His backup phone was gone—ripped right off the desk while he had been in the shower minutes ago.

Dick stood there, shaking with rage, backup phone gripped in his hand.

“You knew, Tim. You knew where she was this whole damn time?!”

Tim’s heart dropped. He lunged for the phone. “Give that back!”

But Dick shoved him back, dragging him out of his room by the collar.

"BRUCE!" Dick shouted, voice booming through the halls. "JASON! DAMIAN! Get down here—Tim KNEW! He knew where Y/N is!"

Jason was the first down, yanking out an earbud. “He what?”

Damian’s boots slammed down the stairs, face dark with something unreadable. Bruce emerged from the study, all calm tension and silence.

“Explain,” Bruce said sharply.

But Dick didn’t wait. He shoved Tim in front of them all, shoving the phone into Bruce’s chest. The livestream was paused, frozen on your smiling face in the bakery.

Tim yanked away from Dick’s grip, chest heaving.

“I had to hide it!” he snapped. “Because look at you! You’re all doing it again! Treating Y/N like she’s an object you’re entitled to just because you missed her!”

“We could’ve gone to her—” Jason began.

“Exactly!” Tim yelled. “You would’ve rushed to her! Torn through her life like a wrecking ball and expected her to just be okay with it! That’s what you always do!”

The room fell deadly silent.

Tim’s voice cracked now, raw and real: “Y/N is happy. She’s finally living without trying to earn love that should’ve been given to her. She’s smiling. She has friends. She has a life. And you—we—we’d destroy that if we tried to drag her back.”

Damian's fists were clenched. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry…”

“Sorry? You called her a cockroach,” Tim spat, eyes blazing. “You all laughed when she tried to bake for us. You all left her out and then acted surprised when she vanished.”

Bruce looked like stone, unmoving—but his fingers tightened around the phone.

Tim turned slowly, bitter exhaustion in every word now.

“You want to find her because you feel guilty. I want to find her because I miss her. Because I want to know her again. Not the version we ignored. The real her. But dragging her back here would kill everything she built.”

He looked at the screen. At your smile.

“I’m not ready to do that to her. Not again.”

They all stood there, stunned. Guilty. Silent.

And none of them—not a single one of them—could argue with what he said.

Not because they disagreed.

But because it was true.

OP hiding a whole poem in the tags

Eywa's fleecy little lamb — the blood sacrifice of Her chosen one

How we weigh an octopus!