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#a moment in time fic
itsmeevie01 · 1 year
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Hey y’all, I just want to throw a blanket statement out for right now - I am writing several long term things for school. Because of this, my own writing has taken a backseat. My academic writing style is very different, and I’m trying not to let it bleed over to my regular stuff. Unfortunately that mean probably until this upcoming December, I won’t have regular updates. I apologize, but my degree comes first, and I am desperately trying not to self sabotage.
If anyone is interested in my BS about pharmacology, counseling, or bullshit lit, please let me know…otherwise thank you for the patience, and I should have a new ch coming soon.
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frownyalfred · 11 months
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I cannot emphasize this enough: sometimes the draft sucks because you keep looking at it. It doesn’t actually suck. You just need to post it and stop beating yourself up.
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faeriekit · 28 days
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The Foster Mother
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Now on ao3 and VHS release
There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.
“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.
“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”
…Alright.
Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.
Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.
And then Tim walked into the room.
And then Jazzy was there.
*
Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.
She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.
She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.
Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.
(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)
Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.
The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.
She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.
Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.
She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.
Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.
She looked up when he came in.
Tim. Stopped in his tracks.
It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.
“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.
She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!
“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“
“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.
Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.
(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)
She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.
He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.
“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”
Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.
“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”
Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”
Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?
“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”
Which. Whiplash. What a statement.
“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.
Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”
“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”
“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”
Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.
Jazzy waited patiently.
“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.
Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”
It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—
—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.
She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.
“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.
He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.
Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.
It was for the best.
“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”
…Tim’s heart skipped.
He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…
Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?
And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!
“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”
She handed him the backpack by the handle.
…Tim peeked inside.
On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.
And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.
Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.
Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.
It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.
Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.
Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.
“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“
“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.
“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”
Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.
“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!
“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”
Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.
And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.
Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.
He swallowed.
Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.
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killjoy-prince · 2 months
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House M.D. but it's when Wilson says House's name
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zolanort · 21 days
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Inspired by chapter 6 of A Piece of Heart by @shearlin
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kitamars · 2 days
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lovey dovey (alt ver of the first one under the cut!)
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simplyavatrice · 10 months
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their relationship is very important to me
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beskarfrog · 5 months
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i didn't expect it to be someone like you, i didn't expect you to be like me
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layraket · 7 months
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In front of them, the sun sinks into the clouds, lighting up the sky in a blaze of reds, yellows, and oranges. Night insects start their buzzing and a cool breeze whisks away the day’s heat. The sweet taste of hydromelon lingers on Wild’s tongue. Surrounded by friends and family, he closes his eyes. Thank you, Hylia, for granting me this opportunity. I’m home.
what if i tell u that i cried
please go to check @breannasfluff's Linked moments series! this scene being from Hydromelons and Hope
im gonna miss this series so much, at least we got a happy ending!
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beescake · 2 months
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PLEASE PLEASE MEGADUMP THE ARASOL!!! PLEAAASEE MR BEESCAKE I AM ON MY KNEES BEGGING YOU
HFHGHD GLADLY aaa i’ve been adding notes to it here and there for months but just hesitant to post it bcs im 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂
also this is just my own takeaway of the events, it doesn’t necessarily comply to the Ultimate Truth of Canon-Alignment or represent the actual facts of what hussie intended! v sentimental smh but hopefully its still interesting to read
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i love when characters inform each other by proximity, it's one of my fave things to see in media :') it feels even more significant when two characters deliberately choose to stick together, so that when one operates, you can tell the other is similarly aligned in associative solidarity.
sollux is a keystone of this trope — whoever he aligns with is a wordless statement, a nod of approval. this stood out to me bcs the main four humans were alr friends by default, but once you reach hivebent you realize the trolls can actively choose who they want to hang out with.
and as we all know, after assessing every troll's biases/loyalties, sollux is the only one who maintains his selective preference for innately Good 👍 people.
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aradia is such a beautiful character honestly, she evokes such incredible feelings in me. she might not have been consistently written with care but the best parts of her character are truly stunning. i think it's easy to remember sollux as the self-sacrificing one bc he's so open about it (and his friends frequently react to his Moments) but when you compare him to aradia, it's always struck me
how much more. raw it is
to be so alone as an agent of time, having to orchestrate immeasurably harrowing events nobody understands or gives a fuck about
with your role painted in the story as one who must tend to the needs of the narrative, responsible to match every next note
because when you're given the capabilities, it becomes your duty to carry it out.
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it becomes expected of you to keep experimenting and arranging the machinations to work for everyone, dusting off hundreds of necessary failures to keep going
and having to be so unwavering in your drive knowing miserably that there's no one who can help you but yourself.
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or alternatively: to make things fun! so other people won't think twice about letting you go off on your own.
sure she's had some very good buds, notably thanks to Team Charge v Team Scourge antics.
and yet, at the end of the day, the one friend that kept choosing her time and time again was the friend with the highest standards.
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i can see why people like to define arasol as moirails/matesprits but surprisingly i find the nondescript, unlabeled aspect of their relationship more straightforward to understand.
there's no shortage of people who would accommodate sollux. most of the surviving trolls are his oldest friends bcs he’d chosen them well. his transparency with his feelings had built him strong friendships that won’t falter or break, regardless of how much of a dick he can be. they’ve already seen and accepted him at his worst, and they still like him for who he is.
contrast that with aradia, who'd been so approachable, friendly and reliable in her exchanges it was super fun to talk to her. but the moment she became depressed, all her connections broke down.
her friends became hesitant to interact with her (until she became god tier, “happy” and amicable again) because her gloom and resignation didn’t serve them. she dealt with it alone.
there’s def something of note here abt the disparity between the way male & female characters are written+perceived in homestuck (esp parallel arasol with davejade) but i won’t go into that lmaoo
with this in mind i like to think of sollux as a gift to her, a loyal companion given to complement and commend her resolve. she's capable of doing so much alone but hussie took the time to build her and sollux's relationship as one of a unit; a set.
the ambiguity of their status does complicate things, but i do believe it makes sense with their characters. aradia's relationship with romance is a rocky one, the dubious stringalong equius had with her is a pointed reminder that her feelings of attraction are ultimately controlled by the author writing her.
unlike the other trolls who can openly address and own up to their crushes, aradia had romantic emotions forced upon her (especially when hussie implies 'she kissed equius back on her own volition'). and it seems like her character is so intrinsically neutral abt attraction that even when forced by the almighty powers above, she's unable to retain it wholly.
however, looking back to pre-game when she could actually "choose" her own feelings, she did have a crush on sollux.
their soft spots for each other were so obvious to the point where other people could see it.
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taunting aside, when vriska comments on their unit as bf/gf it actually informs the audience that arasol's relationship is romantic in nature despite not aligning with the quadrant system.
even while dead, aradia could still describe her care for sollux, expressing that she would like to see him happy. if they had more time to explore their relationship on alternia, it's possible they could've settled in a quadrant once they grew older.
but going back to the lack of labels, their dynamic was affected once more when aradia became god tier.
to me, her ascension was both the perfect culmination and possible closure of her character. it's the light at the end of her journey toiling through countless of timelines where she had to actively assess and participate. that's why it's cool to see her being silly and having fun giving guidance, passively exploring and watching other people do their parts.
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and yet the joy of her freedom makes it hard to explore further introspection. if we take her by her word, she'd already come to terms with the hurt she's been through and forgiven those involved.
i can't help feeling attuned to how impersonal and detached it can be, to devote and meld your identity so completely with your designated position as Maid of Time until you've become hard for your old friends (and even some readers!) to personally connect to.
idk post-canon but i assume there’s some degree of similarity to be bridged here with aradia's god tier and how the hs2 humans' Ultimate forms was described as a consolidation of all their possibilities. since aradia's classpect is inherently of service to Time, going god-tier may have elevated her beyond personhood with the "game construct" possessing her entirely. sollux doesn't realize the extent of it bcs he's still mortal, but a part of him may have subconsciously understood this.
i think there is a core aspect to aradia that was lost to the dehumanizing glory of god tier — a core aspect that may have contained an element of why sollux enjoyed talking to her in the first place.
to him, aradia hadn't just been a nice girl, she was a cool girl. despite not having much in common, he's still willing to chill next to her so she's not alone while she does what needs to get done.
back on alternia, they held a mutual and equal-level regard for each other that could've definitely settled into something permanent. but now, he's placed himself in a position where he can be kept around or left behind at will. the parameters of the relationship are largely in aradia's court, so any label she suggests to identify their relationship with he's likely to accept.
but that's why it's so difficult to label it. because god tier aradia may not necessarily Want quadrants or relationship labels. rather than the initial romantic attachment, their commitment to each other had evolved into one fundamentally of companionship.
no label? ok fine. no matter what, he still thinks she's a good soul worth latching on to. the best, actually. aradia > everyone else.
even if it gets stilted at times. there's an unexpected struggle to connect when sollux's go-to default for talking points is his feelings about things, and aradia may not want to talk about emotions all the time.
not to mention god tier aradia became an observer, especially of chaos. but sollux's avoidance of involvement comes partially from his innate pressure to get involved if something goes wrong. and he can't always tell when something goes wrong, because aradia doesn't mind if things go wrong anymore.
it's a non-negotiable preference that causes them to take the occasional time apart, a new boundary that wouldn't have existed before the game and aradia's god tier.
but just like how his friends tolerated his moods, sollux accepts aradia as she is. with no quadrants, their connection doesn't break down because there's no implicit romantic expectations to be disappointed by or resentful over.
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sometimes when i see hs content that deliberately distances sollux from aradia, i assume this is the dissonance people might have felt. people might find it "easier" to be cynical about them bcs of this strange tension.
but idc lmao. grab that shit by the neck
lack of easy resolutions and cleanly tied ribbons is pretty standard of homestuck and imo it doesn't make arasol's dynamic any less incredible. with the right affection and consideration, there's still so much potential to develop the nuance of their relationship outside of the popular quadrant-based depictions.
hs has a lot of really great character compatibilities but the way aradia and sollux are in their own special orbit is why i can write this much about them in the first place. it's that frail innocence between first loves that makes it so sweet to me, two kids who grew up too fast playing guesswork without being clear where they're going.
ultimately i do think you're meant to feel a little tragedy for just how much they care for each other, even if they can't quite establish it in simple terms.
maybe they keep taking breaks to progress their own paths. maybe they remain as anchor partners while seeing other people. but even if you decide to separate them, they're still (awkwardly) texting each other updates all the while. and when they reunite it feels like coming home.
and well. more than anything, i like to believe that they do want to be exclusive.
they're just afraid. after all, they're still learning how to love, beyond the projections of the foursquare quadrant system they had inadvertently distanced themselves from since young.
they might not have everything figured out, but they'll get there eventually if you just hold them together and write them there.
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optional post-canon segment:
one of the limitations of main hs is that (monogamous) relationships are often written as the go-to solution to wrap up character growth; it's an easy "patch" to imagine characters getting their happy ending because they have a partner, and those who don't end up with someone don't get that closure (most notably jade).
hs2 reaffirms this by suggesting that aradia's character cannot progress without letting sollux go, because happily settling in a relationship automatically locks your potential.
that pathetic panel of sollux staring emptily into the sky is still my fave hs2 spoiler ngl i find the impact of their parting so emotionally provoking precisely bcs they were written in original hs to be each other's forever, coming back together again and again
but now, they're subject to the decisions of the post-canon authors who might choose to deviate from that.
it's not new for them to part, but now there's an underlying worry that her dropping him off this time might be the last time. while i think the prospect of shattering their stability to make them grow separately sounds fun on paper, no amount of me desperately hoping for a good execution is gonna guarantee it
idk. i guess prediction-wise im expecting sollux in classic dramatic-hs2 fashion to tell dave to back off aradia LMAO. otherwise it's just gon be sollux and karkat pathetically watching aradia and dave from a distance swimming in their unresolved feelings for narratively-powerful time players smh obvs it sounds corny as hell but who knows its still plausible
srsly tho i hope they take the opportunity to develop arasol's relationship in a fresh direction that doesn't hurt me too badly...... and i hope they force sollux out of his comfort zone. i like watching him struggle :-)
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jestroer · 3 months
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It's finally my time to post one of the pieces i did for @hermitshippingbigbang! This one goes to an amazing piece of fanfiction by @violet-fire-cat, Spring Blossoms! :D
It's an amazing Ethubs fic, inspired by Stardew valley, and it was as fun to read as it was to work with! Totally go check it out! :DDD
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itsmeevie01 · 2 years
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Listen.
I have started a new job.
Again.
Shocker.
Anyways.
I’ll get around to updating my fics eventually, but I still have another month and a half of training. And I need to be full time this summer to save for school. And gas is fucking ridiculous.
So this summer I am sorry, but I won’t be that active. You may see me around, and I’ll try and pump out a ch a month.
See y’all soon
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berrygoji · 24 days
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HABIT YOU SAY??
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faeriekit · 25 days
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Snowdrift Sanctuary
a phic phight fill for sapphireshield (who isn't on tumblr)
“Is this alright?” Phantom asked quietly, blunt human face pressed into the ruff of his new coat.
There was nothing wrong, but that wasn’t the issue; the human needed reassurance, and reassurance Frostbite could provide.
“Of course,” Frostbite agreed easily, if gently. “Neuschnee made it for you. It was always intended to be yours.”
Humans tended to be sensory-seeking. With no fur of their own, and sensitive skin and hands, they had the ability to physically feel more through touch than his people could. The paw of Frostbite’s remaining arm was tough, callused from work and combat; but the human could swab his face across the ruff and sleeves of his coat and receive textural information that was entirely alien to the yeti mind.
Frostbite would have to ensure that the boy had gloves. It would be a shame if his hypersensitive hands were made damaged by the cold.
“...But,” the boy tried, and to his credit, his concern was sympathetic. “Wouldn’t someone else need the fur? Like, even if you have your own fur…wouldn’ it make a good blanket? Or…something…?”
Petting, for humans, thankfully, seemed to work exactly as it did for his kin. Sure, Frostbite had to be more gentle with his claws, but combing through and smoothing down the human’s black spot of hair was more than enough for the endorphins to kick in. Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin would require further study, but the base understanding of hormones were easy to understand: skin on skin contact equalled a well-adjusted human adolescent.
Phantom’s eyes drooped. Frostbite smiled to himself. The sight was identical to Salju’s cubs settling down before a nap.
“We are not low on resources,” Frostbite soothed, half-purring. It was an immature noise, but conducive to soothing distressed young. “We are not hungry. We are prosperous, and require little; as an adept living with our people, we would be remiss not to provide for you.”
…The human’s nose crinkled.
“It is our job to give you things so that you do not fade,” Frostbite clarified.
Phantom’s face flushed a warm red. The adolescent’s half-human biology was fascinating.
And, true, it would probably be easier to care for Phantom if he remained in his ghostly form all the time, but it would be unfair and dangerous for his long-term development to force him to do so. Phantom was a half-human, and deserved to spend time adjusting to all of his forms. Neuschnee had already begun working on the human’s boots; soon he would no longer be confined only to Frostbite’s warmed residence. With a thick hood and gloves to cover his extremities, Frostbite had little doubt that the human would soon be wrestling with (gentle) age-mates, practicing his English with his sister’s pilfered human texts, and learning how to control his snow.
Phantom was very small. He was very delicate, and there was an instinct in Frostbite that continued to worry that handling him wrong might snap the human in half. A yeti at Phantom’s height would still be a very young cub, and yet twice as sturdy and twice as broad.
Still, he was a bright, kind being, and… Frostbite sighed. And he had no understanding of why the human’s parents had rejected him for his current state.
And, certainly, his human sister had tried to explain it to him, bundled in three coats and her red nose weeping in the cold as she begged for his sanctuary. The prospect was merely mind-boggling to him. Young were rare and precious. Their natures were never guaranteed. What was the use of rejecting a cub you had spent a decade raising?
…Frostbite exhaled carefully out his nose. It was not his job to understand their attitude. It was only his role to act in their place until the half-human came of age.
“You don’t have to,” Phantom muttered, face a curious shade of red. Having red internal fluids made for interesting displays of emotion. “I…I can work it off, or…”
Frostbite continued petting the human. The human did not continue speaking.
“Or,” Frostbite continued kindly, “You may join Pritla, Nieve and I, and assist us in devouring a nice, cold, glacier shark. We buried it last season, so it is no longer toxic to digest outright.”
Phantom snorted out a laugh. Yes, there would be human-appropriate food available for him, but Frostbite was not joking about the shark. Now that the toxins had drained into the soil for months, he was happy to take his turn ripping huge chunks of flesh with his teeth for an evening meal. And, who knows; perhaps the enrichment value of consuming a fermented shark with one's bare hand would pique Phantom’s interest in other traditional foods?
“Will there be silverware?” Phantom asked, teasing. He accepted Frostbite’s proffered hug, engaging in sensory-seeking activity in the same way he had with his new coat. Frostbite was ecstatic.
“Of course not,” Frostbite rumbled, more than pleased. “Use of weaponry during mealtimes is explicitly cheating. Now, are you comfortable defending your plate from younger cubs, or should I shield you with my body?”
Frostbite might not have felt prepared to care for Phantom, but raising a half-human would undoubtedly be a fascinating experience.
Besides; unlike mortal parents, the burden of keeping Phantom alive was already largely moot.
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drawnfamiliarfaces · 1 month
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i... wrote a smol fic (っ´▽`*)っ
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also!!!!! If you haven't seen it - shoutout to first ever published fic in Ninja Showdown/My Immortal Soul tags - Lustrous Red by @missadmyre !!!
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pftones3482 · 2 years
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Listen, I hear y'all and your Touch Averse Autistic Donnie headcanons. But may I take a moment to present you with the option of: Physical Comfort Autistic Donnie, who is very comfortable touching his family and friends and with them touching him? And who uses physical touch as a way to show love without words?
Bc once you start looking for it, he is CONSTANTLY in physical contact with someone, and it's almost always in an affectionate way
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