#(he's decay of trust and mutual help)

[monstersqueen]

anyway :

scurvy : death of the body

lead poisoning : death of the mind

tuunbaq : death of the soul

[lavenderspence]

an enduring, mighty warrior | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader  |  Word Count: 2.6K

Content warning: fluff, pregnant reader, mention of past death

Summary: you and spencer settle on a sentimental name for you baby

A/N: well hello, long time no see (literally i haven’t posted in over a month) and this is also the first thing i’ve finished in over a month. but i absolutely adore this, and i hope you do too. let me know if you figured out baby reid’s name before you finished reading.

masterlist

The drop in temperature was a usual occurrence for the tenth month of the year. Just when fall was slowly starting to reach its peak, almost in full swing, the all-Hallow’s Eve lovers were slowly putting up their decorations and getting ready to welcome the holiday. 

Despite the bite in the air, the sun was high up in the sky and gently warmed your skin. You inhaled, taking in the crisp autumn scent. Fresh and earthy, the smell of the fallen and slightly decaying leaves reached you on the third floor of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, and so did the enchanting view.

Streets and sidewalks alike were covered in an abundance of colorful leaves - from scarlet and burgundy to amber, carnelian, and gamboge yellow. Browns, like feuille morte and chocolate, and the softest shades of gold sprinkled in between. Trees, their crowns a beautiful array of hues in varying stages of change.

And as you looked on over the balcony banisher, you couldn’t help but feel like you were surrounded by pure magic - not just the scenic beauty, but the feel, the essence of the season itself. It was so peaceful and quiet at times, with a certain stillness present in the air. Was the world even awake, or was it just in a state of contentment?

That’s how Spencer found you a couple of minutes later - in a state of peacefulness as you took in the scene before you, curled up on the small nook you and your boyfriend had put together on your balcony. 

He pushed open the door, carrying a steaming cup of tea in each hand and a thick, colorful book under his arm. He passed you one of the cups and settled next to you, pulling a blanket across your lap. 

His long fingers pushed a piece of hair away from your face before he pulled you towards him and laid a soft kiss on the side of your head. As you cradled your cup, taking in the rich aroma of the tea he’d prepared for you, he reached over and cradled your bump, running his thumb around in different shapes.

It was rare to spend a whole day together in the comfort of your home. With a job where the wellbeing of people sat heavily on the team’s shoulders, where Spencer’s knowledge, his brain, and he himself was needed, you could sometimes go days without seeing each other. That had been the case when you’d started dating.

But you’d made it work - you’d managed to find a way to communicate clearly whenever the hardships of his job had gotten the best of you. A way that had allowed your relationship to build on a stable foundation of trust, love, and mutual understanding.

Late-night phone calls, separated by miles of land. Impromptu dates, minutes, and hours spent in each other’s presence, savoring what little time you had together. Declarations of love, small touches, and gentle talk - a relationship you’d only ever read about in books. 

But that’s exactly what it felt like to love him, to be loved by him - a love full of memories of waking up to the other’s warmth, savoring the feeling of them in your arms, their lips stealing the breath from your lungs - a fairytale love story you couldn’t wait to tell your kids about.

“Soon.” A little voice in your head chimed in to remind you. Very soon, you’d have a little someone to tell the story to. You’d hold a little precious someone, born out of the love you shared, a combination of your favorite things about the other. 

In your periphery, you watched as Spencer pulled the book into his lap. “A baby names book?” you asked, eyeing the cover - a colorful blend of blues and pinks, yellows and greens. 

He smiled your way before he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side. As you settled against him, you felt the pads of his fingers gently run over your bump again.

Ever since he’d taken hold of that stick and seen with his own eyes the future that awaited you some nine months later - the possibility, the reality of a family he’d longed for years to have - he'd started expressing his love for both you and your child with the smallest of touches and the gentlest of voices. 

A run of his fingers against your stomach, even when the roundness of the life you’d created together had yet to make an appearance. Gently holding onto the barely there bump a few weeks later when it had finally appeared. Talking in a soft, hushed voice to your baby boy every time he could - telling him about his day, the boring paperwork, or that new pastry shop you’d tried out together, and the sweets you’d loved.

He’d taken on being a father fabulously, even though he was technically still a dad-to-be. Even though he hadn’t had the faintest idea of what a dad should be, hadn’t been blessed with the experience of having a man like himself as a father, he’d jumped headfirst and hadn’t looked back. 

He’d read books, he’d searched the internet, and he’d talked with Will and Aaron for hours on end. He’d tried to prepare; he’d tried to show he’d be the father that he never got to have.

And even when the reality of the lack of a paternal figure in his life caught up with him, he’d taken it in stride. Just like with everything else in your relationship, you’d had an open conversation where he’d been able to share with you his biggest anxieties and fears. 

You’d reminded him of how involved he was already, how ecstatic and curious he was to learn everything possible, and how he knew so much already. How he’d far surpassed the man his father was and how there was no place for comparison between them. You’d calm his mind and praise his character - in your eyes, he was already the greatest man and father ever.

“He still doesn’t have a name.” He responded as he cracked open the book. 

“There’s still time.” You muttered as you ran your fingers up his arm, gently scratching at the skin. He gave you a funny look and shook his head before he flipped the pages. You knew he loved being prepared beforehand, especially when it came to your little one. 

Spencer had started buying him little things early on, even before you knew he was a “he” - plushies, blankets, socks, and small adorable shoes. He’d gotten him a variety of books; he’d even learned some of them by heart by now. 

The nursery had long ago been painted and put together, with the help of the abundance of aunts and uncles and a grandpa, waiting for the little ones’ arrival. 

But the one thing he still didn’t have was a name. And not for lack of trying to pick one. You’d thumbed through books, you’d browsed the internet, and you’d even asked Penelope to put together a list of names for you, yet you could never settle on one. 

“Okay, what have we got?” You mumbled, lacing your fingers together as they settled comfortably one over the other on your bump. 

“Noah? It’s Hebrew, and it means 'rest’ or even ‘peaceful’.” He suggested, turning to see what you thought about it. You could see on his face he wasn’t really into it, and neither were you. It was a beautiful name, but it didn’t feel like that was the right name for you. You simply shook your head and watched as he flipped a few more pages.

“How about Luca? It means ‘bringer of light’.”

“It’s also Italian if I’m not mistaken, and Rossi’s going to love that.” He’d even suggested a few Italian names the last few months, but none had stuck.

“Do you love it though?” You shook your head in response. He continued flipping the pages of the book as you sipped your tea. 

“Avery? It’s unisex, and it’s British.” You mulled it over, kind of liking the sound of it.

“Avery Reid, it’s not that bad. What does it mean though?” You asked

“Ruler of elves.” He mumbled, scratching at his brow.

“Absolutely not!” You started laughing as you shook your head. “We’re not naming him ‘ruler of elves’. Spencer, there’s a possibility he’s going to be born around Christmas anyway; we’re not putting our son through that.” You watched as he flashed you a cute little smile and shook his head at you.

He continued flipping the pages of the book, suggesting names and sharing their meaning and origin - Miles, Owen, Aspen, Wesley, and many more - but none of them seemed to fit. None screamed, baby Reid. 

You observed Spencer carefully as he flipped the pages, eyes running slower than they usually did. He looked overly preoccupied, borderline fixated on picking a name for your son, and not for the first time. It almost felt like he intentionally focused on any and all possibility, sans the one, or maybe even the few he held close to his heart. 

And you could see, you could tell he had a few ideas on his mind, but for whatever reason, he didn’t share them. It’s like a part of him was holding back, fighting with himself about the possibility of naming your child that. 

Deep down, a part of you knew what he was wrestling with - so you decided to spare him from having to voice it. 

“How about Gideon?” You whispered, and his head perked up instantly. His eyes and his whole face softened at your suggestion - a suggestion that was actually his own. He closed the book and turned to face you fully.

“Really?” His voice was small, the emotion evident underneath his soft timber. You watched as his eyes watered just a little, shining in the gentle sunlight. You never got to meet the infamous Jason Gideon, but you’ve heard the stories. You knew what he’d done for Spencer, how he’d taken him under his wing, and how he’d protected and cared about him in his own way. 

You remembered how hard he’d taken the heartbreak that settled upon the team last January. The many nights he’d woke up in cold sweat, unable to take a breath, as the scene played on a loop in his head - a body sprawled underneath a white sheet on the wooden flooring of a cabin meant to shield its owner from the horrors of his old job. Bathed in a cozy light, with the record player that had stopped playing a tune long ago and the unfinished chess game, your boyfriend had tried to play for weeks on end but been unable to. 

The many late-night tears he’d shed in the crook of your neck, the hiccups that had followed, and the gentle shushing of your voice trying to calm him down, trying to be his anchor. 

It was evident, without having met him, the monumental impact Jason Gideon had had on the person Spencer was today. There was no question about it; you were certain that if he wanted to honor the man who’s taken the role of a father figure when he hadn’t had one, you’d give him that. You’d want him to have it; you’d want him to wake up every day and be reminded of how far he’d made it and the person who’d made sure he had.

“Yes, really.” 

Before you knew it, he had pulled you into his arms and wrapped them around your body as much as your bump would allow. “Thank you.” He breathed into your neck on a shaky exhale. You turned and pressed a kiss against his head as you started gently running your fingers in his hair, playing with the curls. 

You stayed like that for a little while longer before he pulled you into the softest kiss. A kiss meant to express both his gratitude and love and the everpresent awe you left him in. A kiss, where both your emotions ran high - where he was coming down from the reminder of the past, and both of you were looking forward to the quick approaching future. 

“He still needs a second name.” You whispered against his lips when he pulled back. You watched as his whole face changed for just a second, as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “What?” You asked.

He shook his head before he pecked your lips again. “Nothing.” 

“Come on,” You pushed his hair back a little, “I could see the gears in your brain shifting just by the look on your face. Did you have a suggestion?” You rubbed your thumb against his forehead. 

He shook his head again. “It’s nothing. I want you to give him a name too.” 

“I already did, Spence. You can give him his second name if you let me name our future daughter.” You joked and watched as his entire face lit up at the mention of another child, a girl. You knew he’d be an amazing father to your son, you were certain, but a part of you couldn’t help but also imagine an early morning with a little girl whose pigtails he tied as she told him about her dreams. He nodded with a smile.

“What’s the name?” 

“Remember when I got shot in the neck two years ago?” You nodded as he started playing with your fingers. “I had this distinct memory - I was bleeding out, losing consciousness, and I guess Alex slipped and called me by another name. That night, when she dropped me off, the night she quit the BAU, I asked her about it.” He finally looked up and met your eyes.

“She had a son, Ethan. He passed away when he was nine - they told her it was neurological, but there’s never been a name for it. All these years, and she still doesn’t know, she never got an answer to the one question that impacted her life the most.” He shook his head at the injustice of the world. 

Even with the knowledge of the over 26 thousand diseases present in the world and the many more that have yet to be discovered, he couldn’t help but feel her pain, now more than ever when he was about to become a parent himself. 

Despite the fact that you never got to meet one of Spencer’s paternal figures, you got to meet his work mom - that’s what Alex was to him in your mind. You knew, deep down, that’s the way he saw her too. 

Even though he grew up with a loving mother in the form of Diana, you knew he missed on monumental things with her - talking about his first love, dates, his feelings, and sometimes even his future. 

But Alex had been there when he’d started loving you - she’d heard about your dates, and she’d listened as he gushed on and on about you and the future he wished to build with you. As a woman, whose marriage had withstanded some of the toughest battles, she’d offered her advice too. 

You knew she loved him like he was her own and loved you just as much.

“So, Ethan Gideon?” You asked softly, already in love with the name. It was perfect - it honored the person who shaped the person Spencer was today, who started him on this journey, that would later allow him to meet you. And the person who witnessed the start of the love between you both. 

And turns out, you weren’t the only one on board with the name - a series of strong kicks followed the moment you uttered his name out loud for the first time. 

You laughed as you grabbed your boyfriend’s hand, following the kicks together. 

“Ethan Gideon Reid.” He whispered before he pulled you in for another kiss. 

did you figure out the name?🥹

Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[cuffmeinblack]

Idk if you’re taking requests but I have one and I’ve loved you’re writing for Ominis so let’s go!!

⚠️spoilers ahead just in case⚠️

I was wondering if you’d be willing to write an Ominis x fem!hufflepuff! Reader where they’ve liked each other but it all comes out before the Scriptorium mission. Like he tells the story on why he won’t use crucio and everything but when Sebastian uses the curse on her Ominis is the one to rush to her and help her. I just want fluff and love for this boy he needs more of it!!

I trust you to write this amazingly and please make whatever changes you’d like I’d just want this boy to be loved ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hold me close

Ominis Gaunt x gn!reader

Tags: angst | hurt/comfort | torture curse

1k words

A/n: Thank you for the request! This is a short little one shot rewrite of the In the Shadow of the Study quest so ⚠️SPOILER WARNING⚠️. Hope you like!

Quite how you ended up in Salazar Slytherin's secret Scriptorium with a couple of Slytherin boys was a mystery in itself, almost as baffling as the one presented directly in front of you. You'd left the cosy Hufflepuff common room only an hour ago, and now here you were, staring at a huge, ornate door decorated with serpents. Salazar Slytherin really liked snakes.

"That must be the voice I hear," Ominis says beside you. " I don't believe I'm about to do this."

Your heart flutters in your chest as you watch him approach the door and take a deep breath before speaking, if it could be called that—a quiet hiss escapes his lips. You jump back in astonishment as the mechanism on the door jumps to life, the eerie green glow of the serpents' eyes illuminating the dim corridor.

"Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed," you say, marvelling at him.

"Between the two of you, I'm starting to feel left out," Sebastian says from behind you.

"Between the two of us?" Ominis asks. If it weren't so dark, you'd swear he'd be blushing.

"I…never mind," Sebastian mutters.

You know what your friend means, but you squirm uncomfortably anyway. It's true, you both seem to have rare abilities that others might envy. You make quite the pair, though Sebastian was none the wiser of your mutual affection.

It isn't long before you encounter yet another locked door in this infernal maze. The floor is wet, the room smells dusky and damp, and you quickly notice the reason why. Following the scurrying of a rat in the corner, your illuminated wand shines on a skeleton in the corner of the room. You fight to hold back the bile rising in your throat. A scrap of paper draws your eye, slightly nibbled but still more or less intact, laying next to the long-decayed corpse. You reach down and pick it up with two fingers, your face twisting in disgust as you try to read the scrawled words.

"Ominis...your aunt Noctua…she mentions being trapped here. Blocked by an unforgivable curse," you say shakily.

Your gut twists with guilt, knowing that having agreed to talk to Ominis for Sebastian had doomed you all. You had wanted to help your friend, but you should never have agreed to it, and the pain on Ominis' face is more than you can bear.

"Ominis, I know this is the last thing you want to do…," Sebastian started.

"Yes, it is! I thought you knew me better!" Ominis shouted back.

Your immediate reaction is to go to him. You wish you could hold him, comfort him, instead you move slowly to his side, your hand reaching for his but falling short under Sebastian's watchful eye.

"Ominis," you whisper.

"I won't do it," Ominis says, shaking his head and beginning to pace nervously. "You shouldn't either."

"I understand, but it's our only way out of here. I can take it," you say, trying to keep the quavering from your voice. You muster the courage to reach out and grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Are you going to use the curse on Sebastian?" he asks in a small voice.

"I don't think I can."

Ominis grimaces as you leave his side, walking over to Sebastian by the door, steeling yourself for what's to come. You trust your friend not to prolong it longer than necessary. Balling up your fists, you nod and Sebastian readies himself, raising his wand and hesitating only for a second before expelling the dreaded incantation.

"Crucio."

A crackle of electricity ripples through your body and you see only a red haze before forcing your eyes shut and falling to the floor, gasping for breath. Your nerves are on fire, your very flesh feels as if it's burning as you try to scream but nothing comes out.

"Please, please," a faint voice enters your ears as the pain subsides and you open your eyes, staring at the floor as your vision readjusts to the assault on your retinas, the stones beneath you swimming back into focus. You take a deep breath and fill your lungs, desperately reaching out in front of you, clutching the first thing you feel.

You look up and Ominis is kneeling in front of you, holding your arm and feeling his way to find where you are. You start breathing shakily, trying desperately to catch your breath and feel wet, hot tears pooling in your eyes. Ominis' hands are shaking as they glide up your arms, over your shoulders and brushing your neck, finding your face. He cups your face in his hands, pausing as the tears roll over his fingers, then wipes them away gently. His face is contorted in pain as he asks, "Are you okay? Please, be okay."

"I'm okay," you manage to stutter.

Sebastian seems to be in shock, standing dumbly by the now open door, watching the interaction between his friends.

"I'm so sorry," he groans, leaning back against the wall.

"It's fine, you did what you had to do," you say weakly, attempting to get up off of the floor.

Ominis clutches your arms again, firmly, standing with you and steadying you as you wobble on your aching legs and stumble into him. He doesn't loosen his grip, only pulls you closer, looping an arm around your back and holding your weight.

"I've got you," the soft voice says in your ear.

You rest your head against his shoulder, his hand finding its way to the nape of your neck and gently stroking your hair.

"I…there's a room here…," Sebastian says feebly before retreating behind the door.

Ominis doesn't let you go, the shaking in his hands subsided, now replaced with a tender and assuredly comforting touch. You look up at him, his hands still tangled in your hair, and watch his closely knitted brows relax.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," he says.

"I'd do it again, for you."

[geeks-universe]

The Fallen pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Cooper Howard x F!Angel!Reader

A/N: The rating is going to go up after this chapter. This one doesn’t include any smut, but the next chapter definitely will.

The journey to finding the head was relatively uneventful.

Or, as uneventful as traveling through the Wasteland could be.

The group picked up a dog on the way, though somehow you were the only one surprised, and delighted. Among all of your father’s vast creations, they happened to be your favorite.

The feeling was apparently mutual, considering the dog had taken to sleeping on your chest every night and following close by during the day. You’d lovingly named her “Maze” after your favorite, albeit grumpy, demon.

It fit, if you were being honest, even though you knew the aforementioned demon would skin you alive if she ever found out. (Even if she’d secretly find it endearing.)

It was a nice distraction from Cooper too. When you’d first met him a few years ago, you’d been reminded of something so very human in his hesitation. It was buried deep, heavily denied, but there. Every meeting since then you’d been determined to find it, to find the man in the monster.

“Have you slept?”

Maximus had been a nice addition. At first, you’d been hesitant to trust him. Many, many factions had risen since the fall of humanity, and almost every single one of them became twisted, corrupted versions of what they were meant to be. The Brotherhood of Steel was certainly no exception, but Maximus was.

Maybe you’d been too quick to judge others before too.

“Was just thinking,” you murmured, absently petting Maze when she nuzzled further into your lap.

“About anything in particular?”

It was a kind question, and while you could see the darkness in him, the kind that came with growing in a world hell bent on destruction, there was a good heart in his chest. You only hoped he didn’t lose it.

“Nah,” you shrugged the question off, letting your mind wander through the twists and turns of your memory.

He studied you for a moment, before gesturing towards the other two sleeping bodies.

“Get some sleep, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Initially, you were going to object. You didn’t want to rest, didn’t have any desire to revisit the pain of the past that you were forced to witness in your dreams, but there was an exhaustion deep in your soul. Rest wouldn’t fix it, but it would help.

You muttered a thanks, not missing the way his eyes lingered on Lucy’s unconscious form. There was certainly something happening there, and the thought of a blossoming romance in a decaying world warmed your heart.

Sleep, like always, slipped through your fingers like sand. Even with the warm presence of Maze and the friends around you, it didn’t come easy. It hadn’t in a long time, and you doubted it ever would again.

Eventually, however, the lures of slumber found you, and instead of falling into a peaceful embrace, you woke to lungs full of ash.

You tried to call out, to yell to your friends, but the burning in your chest crawled up your throat, forcing you to your knees.

Before you, the world burned.

Not the Wasteland you’d been traversing, the endless desert and bloody terrain, but the world as it was before. Skyscrapers reached for the clouds, cars were like so many dots in the city, and there was so much life. Birds singing in the sky, the breeze swaying leaves, a smell so fresh it brought tears to your eyes.

Then the flames licked it, consumed it, swallowed it whole.

And you were left there to watch, your knees planted to the ground.

“Dad.”

A desperate, wretched sob. A wish. A cry torn from your throat, wrenched free by your heart.

“Dad, please.”

You were screaming now, begging, heart pounding with anguish.

“Don’t do this. Don’t let this happen.”

Each word shredded your soul, hopelessness bitter on your tongue. The brightness of your heart, the very essence of your being, dimmed to an ember. Your fists pounded against the Earth, the horizon disappearing in a cloud of smoke and ash.

A scream of rage, of agony, of desolation erupted from you, like the bombs that fell to the Earth around you.

Horror sliced through your back like a knife- blinding, hot pain coated your tongue like blood. You reached back, clawing at the pain despairingly, ignoring the splashes of blood as you tried to just make it stop.

But it wouldn’t.

Your nails provided no relief, the desperate slashing growing fiercer with the tears in your eyes, grasping with the last of your strength at the pieces of yourself.

It didn’t matter.

Made no difference, really.

The bond was severed.

Minutes turned to hours turned to days before you had the courage to move, to assess the damage. The fires still raged around you, days after the initial blasts, and the hollowness in your gut deepened.

Your hands shook as you reached out, first hesitantly, then madly, at the remnants of your once beautiful wings.

Golden Child.

Hope.

Growth.

Life.

Your father had called you all so lovingly, murmured into the ear of a child desperate for her father’s pride. It was all a lie, one that poisoned the air in your lungs.

Bloodied feathers and snapped bones lay behind you, the golden dulled with the death of an entire population. A crack formed in you then, one that would never heal.

“I hate you.”

A gloved hand pulled you from the clutches of unconsciousness, dragging you back to your prison.

The way you moved was instinctual- swiping your leg out and pressing Maze’s knife into the neck of your would-be attacker. It was fast, precise, a move taught over and over again by the demon until you’d been able to do it in your sleep.

Only, by the time the tears in your eyes cleared, you realized it was very much not an attacker.

It was Cooper.

And he looked far too smug for a man you’d just put on his ass.

“It ain’t good form, sneakin’ up on a restin’ man.”

Your words were an exact echo of the first time you’d ever heard his voice.

“It most certainly ain’t.”

There was an almost playful twinkle in his gaze as he pressed a little deeper into your knife. Your hand shook then, a reminder of what you were.

More importantly, a reminder of what you could never be.

Before he noticed that particular quirk, you sheathed the dagger, but didn’t move from your perch above him. He didn’t seem too keen on moving you off him either.

“You were squirmin’ in your sleep, sweetheart.” He explained, resting his top half on his forearms. That man surely did look too comfortable with you on top of him. “Makin’ a lot of noise.”

“Just… memories.”

You puffed a breath, nearly leaning your forehead against his. It was easy, natural, the way your body sought his out, like a moment of rest after a hard day.

Instead, your gaze zeroed in on an unassuming glint, a sparkle in a sea of sand. It was more than just glitter though, and upon the realization of exactly what it was, your heart dropped.

There, sitting inconspicuously in the sand, was a small, golden feather.

Your feather.

Cooper followed your stare, looking curiously at the object that was causing such a reaction. He didn’t understand though, couldn’t possibly.

Your feathers hadn’t shined like that since the day the bombs dropped. The few that remained were dull, bloodied and broken like the rest of your wings.

“Are we interrupting?”

Lucy approached, Maximus directly behind her with a curious look. Why in all the world were you on top of the ghoul?

While Max was shocked, Lucy wasn’t bothered. She was more astonished that she’d yet to walk back to the two of you fucking the absolute hell out of each other.

“Yes.”

“No.”

You and Cooper spoke at the same time, your movements quick as you disengaged. You didn’t see him grab the feather you seemed so mesmerized with and tuck it into his chest pocket, but after giving the two others a smile, you definitely did notice it missing.

“Okey-dokey,” Lucy drawled, another suspicious glance casted between you both.

“Are you okay?” It was Maximus who asked, and from the tenseness of his body, you guessed he’d probably heard more of your nightmare than anyone else.

“I’m okay,” you lied, standing closer to Cooper absentmindedly.

Maze trotted up to you, pressing her wet nose into your hand like she understood your pain. Maybe she did, in a way. Not the exact pain you felt, but the loss of something so fundamental to your person.

Animals had an easier time realizing what you were. Besides Chloe and Linda, you’d never actually told another human being. A few had found out through one way or another, but it was hard to trust that part of yourself with others.

“We’re close,” Lucy announced, gesturing towards the wide open desert.

Less than half a day, you’d all agreed on yesterday before you stopped for the night. Then, as soon as you retrieved what remained of Dr. Wilzig, off to Lucy’s dad and the mysterious Moldaver.

“Thaddeus had the head last,” Maximus explained, stepping up with Lucy as she led the way.

You hung back with Cooper, glancing over at him every few minutes.

The two at the front continued to talk, explaining something or another, but you were too focused on Coop. He’d been there when the world went to shit.

You’d known it for a while, that he was old enough to have witnessed the end. He hadn’t said it explicitly, but the pieces clicked together when he properly introduced himself. Lucifer had a week-long bender involving a piñata of drugs, a couple of Swedish models, and a whole lot of old cowboy films.

You’d passed on the drugs and sex, but he’d trapped you in his penthouse and forced you to marathon the greatest hits of one Mr. Cooper Howard.

Time hadn’t been kind to him.

That man had been good, altruistic. He, like so many others, had lost so much of themselves to the world.

“Any particular reason you’re starin’ at me like I’m the last piece of pie?”

You hummed a small laugh, more thoughtful than entertained.

“The world before…”

He held a hand up, stopping you before you could even start down that line of questioning.

“Whatever you think you know of the world before, you don’t.”

“I think you made a better cowboy hero than a cowboy villain,” you joked, a genuine chuckle sounding as he nearly tripped over his feet, shock on his face.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, darlin’?”

“Whatever you want it to, cowboy.”

The mischief in your eyes was rivaled only by the guilt. You’d never be able to let go of it, to not have it haunt you every moment of every day, but perhaps you could live with it.

Perhaps there was a future for you.

Not the kind of future Lucy wanted, with romance and children, but the kind of future you did- freedom and a person to share it with.

“Got jokes, do you?”

His smile was wry, not quite amused, but certainly interested.

“Just for you.”

He cut you a hard stare, one that saw far more than you wanted him to, and yet not enough. The relationship you’d built up was founded upon a mutual understanding of letting the past die, and yet you found yourself wanting to tell him everything.

Gazes locked together, longing mingling in the air, interrupted only by the sound of a growing melody. You snapped your head forward, surprised by the sudden appearance of an entire radio tower.

Perhaps Cooper had distracted you more than you cared to admit.

“Thaddeus,” Maximus called, drawing attention to your group.

Maze held back, sticking close by your side as you approached the tower. As unsuspecting as it looked at a distance, it grew more ominous up close. Bodies and debris littered the ground, blood speckled in the warm sand.

You frowned.

Death, in this world, was nearly constant. You’d never seen the uglier side of it before coming to Earth. Even knowing the eternal resting place for these souls didn’t make it any easier to see them strung up and displayed this way.

The brutality of man hurt almost as much as the abandonment of your own family.

“Maximus?” The man, Thaddeus, you assumed, approached with a look of surprise. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Just give us the head,” Max bargained.

The mention of an ‘us’ seemed to garner a response. The squire finally looked at the group, a cursory glance to each of you.

When he saw you, a smile tugged at his lips. He blinked once, then twice.

“Hi,” he greeted, solely focused on you.

You sucked a breath in, not missing the clench of Cooper’s jaw.

“Hey,” you replied kindly, taking a step towards him. “Thaddeus, was it?”

“Oh fuck,” he rubbed his empty hand against his pants nervously. “I ain’t ever seen someone as pretty as you.”

You breathed out a laugh, holding both hands out in front of you as you approached.

“Flirting is definitely not a part of the Brotherhood’s curriculum, huh?” Lucy mused.

“We really need that head,” you told him cautiously, slowly, ignoring the vault dwellers' merriment.

His eyes were wide, following your every move with something a little too close to reverence for your liking. The divinity that ran through your veins certainly made you more appealing, but the look he was giving you was a bit deeper than that.

A bit hungrier.

“It’s too late,” he responded, and as if on queue, the distant sound of spinning blades cut through the air.

“It’s not,” you argued, another step as you very carefully maneuvered around a trap. “Bring it here and we can leave together, before they land. But we have to go. Now.”

For a brief second, you didn’t think he’d follow. His eyes flicked up to the sky, where the Brotherhood would be any minute, and then back down to you.

Then, he took a step.

A cry rang out in alarm, torn from your throat as you jumped forward, trying to push him out of the path of a well-placed arrow. It didn’t matter, though. You were too late, pinning his body to the ground after he’d already been wounded.

Guilt gnawed at your stomach as you gazed down at him, wide eyes staring right back up at you. He’d been struck in the neck, a fatal wound by all accounts.

“Are we having sex?”

You tilted your head to the side, confusion bubbling around you. He definitely wasn’t dying, if the appendage pressing insistently into your thigh was any indication.

“You’re not dead?”

It was a question, one echoed by Maximus somewhere behind you.

“He’s gonna be,” Cooper growled, his voice hardly registering in your confusion.

“Just, sit still.” You ordered, reaching a hand towards his neck.

The arrow went clean through one side, remaining embedded into the throat. How he was alive was a mystery for another day, your current concern revolving around removing his new necklace.

You grabbed one end of it, tingles splintering up your arm, that ancient warning rearing it’s ugly head.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You grit your teeth, tugging as his hands came to rest on your hips. You’d wanted to comment on it, to tell him to take his hands off you, but Cooper beat you to it.

“Keep those hands there and you’re losin’ them.”

It was a vicious threat, spoken from his chest with anger, the hammer of his gun clicking for emphasis.

A pounding started in your head, a chant repeating itself.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You wanted to shout in frustration, the tremors working their way through your entire body. They came to a crashing halt the second the arrow was through, the wound healing on its own only seconds later.

You slumped forward, catching yourself with your hands on either side of Thaddeus. The man beneath you noticed, the sound of a bullet echoing through the air when he reached a hand up, almost grazing the side of your face.

“Watch those hands.”

It was a final warning, the patience of the ghoul gone.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

His voice was dazed, staring at you with awe. It made you fidget uncomfortably before you rolled off him, leaving the space Cooper needed to stand above him.

Rage burned in his eyes as he pointed his pistol at the young man.

“Coop,” you warned, stepping in front of him.

Your warning meant very little to him at the moment. Murder was in his eyes, the kind that promised to see it through to the end.

The sky grew louder, the Brotherhood closing in on your position faster than you’d like.

“We don’t have the time for this.”

Reason seemed to win out for the moment, the need to survive beating back the need to prove a point. He holstered his gun, a withering glare pointed at Thaddeus.

You paid it no mind, jumping into action before any more ground was lost. You tossed the head to Lucy, shuddering at the lifeless object. It was gory, unnecessarily so, and holding it felt unnatural.

“Get out of here,” you yelled to the others, finding your footing relatively quickly.

Cooper was close by, following your every footstep. Thaddeus, however, decided to take his own route. It was probably for the best, lest Cooper ever see him ogling you again. Maze, initially unsure of where to go, obeyed your queue, running alongside Coop.

You’d only made it a hundred feet or so before you realized Lucy and Max were not with you. Your abrupt stop was interrupted, the ghoul tugging the back of your jumpsuit before you could even try to turn around.

You caught a quick glimpse. A passionate kiss was exchanged, and a sorrowful goodbye. The moment wasn’t for you to witness.

Before long, Lucy caught up to your little group again.

She didn’t bother to greet you, her hand gripping the head for dear life. It was the only thing she’d managed to salvage from the radio tower.

It was clear Max’s departure bothered her deeply, but you knew some wounds couldn’t heal with anything but time.

Maybe one day they would find one another again.

Until then, you’d look out for her, make sure she was able to grow on her own terms.

God only knew she’d need it in the upcoming future.

[kolyasupremanxy]

Fyodor with a s/o like makima please?? <33 like incredibly high intelligence, sly manipulations, detailed plans, etccc

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐚

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 + 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Idfk

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Mentions of manipulation.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.5k

𝐀/𝐧: Sorry for the wait—

Fyodor is intrigued by s/o's intelligence and finds their sly manipulations impressive. He enjoys watching them plan and strategize, and often asks for their input in his own criminal activities.

Fyodor sees s/o as a valuable asset to the Decay of Angels, and often uses their intelligence to further the organization's goals.

S/o's manipulative tactics sometimes clash with Fyodor's straightforward approach, but he trusts them enough to let them work their magic.

Fyodor is often the face of the Decay of Angels while s/o works behind the scenes, pulling strings and making calculated moves to further their agenda.

Fyodor and s/o's relationship is based on mutual respect for each other's intellect and abilities, and they often have intellectual discussions about their plans.

Fyodor sometimes worries that s/o's intelligence and manipulations may be too powerful, but he cannot deny their effectiveness.

S/o often tests Fyodor's patience with their schemes, but he can't help but be drawn to their brilliance and cunning.

Fyodor finds it fascinating to watch s/o work, and often observes them with a sense of awe and admiration.

Despite their shared criminal affiliations, Fyodor and s/o often have philosophical debates about morality and the nature of power.

Fyodor is aware of s/o's manipulations and is not afraid to call them out when necessary, but he ultimately trusts them to further their shared goals.

S/o's intelligence and strategic thinking often help Fyodor avoid dangerous situations and come out on top in their criminal dealings.

Fyodor and s/o's relationship is built on a foundation of power and mutual respect, and they work together to create a world where they can rule supreme.

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 :

You and Fyodor were seated in his dimly-lit office, discussing the latest developments in your criminal organization's plan for world domination. Fyodor's piercing gaze was fixed on you as he listened to your detailed report, nodding occasionally in approval.

"Your plans are impressively cunning, my dear," Fyodor said, his lips curling into a cold smile. "You truly are a master manipulator."

You smirked in response, pleased by his praise. "I learned from the best," you replied, your voice laced with seductive undertones.

Fyodor leaned in closer, his eyes glinting with a dangerous intensity. "And what do you plan to do with this newfound power, my love?" he asked, his voice low and menacing.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs and adopting a nonchalant expression. "Rule the world, of course," you said with a shrug. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Fyodor chuckled darkly, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. "Indeed I did," he said. "And with you by my side, I have no doubt that we will succeed."

The atmosphere in the room was charged with an intense energy, the air thick with the scent of power and desire. As Fyodor leaned in to kiss you, you knew that together, you and your sinister partner would stop at nothing to achieve your goals.

Do Not Copy or Plagiarize Any of My Works. Reblogs Are Very Appreciated.

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title: Mercy in the Apocalypse

(Daryl x Reader)

---

The world as you knew it had crumbled into a grotesque version of itself. The air was thick with the stench of decay and desperation. The relentless sun beat down on the abandoned streets, highlighting the eerie silence that replaced the once bustling city. In this post-apocalyptic world, mercy was a scarce commodity, and survival was a brutal game.

You stumbled through the deserted alleys, your feet dragging against the cracked asphalt. Your thoughts were a tangled mess of fear, exhaustion, and a fierce will to live. It had been weeks since you had seen another living soul, and your heart ached with the loneliness that gnawed at your spirit. The world had gone dark, and with it, the light in your soul seemed to flicker.

As you turned a corner, you heard the faint sound of footsteps behind you. Panic surged through you, and you quickly ducked into the shadows, pressing yourself against the cold, rough wall of an old building. Your breathing was shallow, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You strained to listen, hoping the footsteps would pass and leave you in peace.

But instead of fading away, they grew louder, more deliberate. A figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a purposeful grace that spoke of skill and confidence. Your eyes widened as the figure stepped into the dim light, revealing a tall, lean man with dark hair and piercing eyes. His clothes were worn and dirty, but he moved with an air of authority that made your stomach twist in knots.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice carrying a mix of weariness and resolve. "I'm not here to hurt you."

You stayed silent, your hand inching toward the knife strapped to your belt. Trust was a luxury you couldn't afford.

The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "My name's Daryl. Daryl Dixon. I saw you from a distance and figured you could use some help."

You studied him, your eyes narrowing. "Why should I trust you?"

Daryl sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You don't have to. But being out here alone is a death sentence. I've got a group. We're good people. We look out for each other."

The mention of a group piqued your interest, but the memories of past betrayals made you wary. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Daryl took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Because I know what it's like to be alone. To lose everyone you care about. I'm just trying to survive, same as you."

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. The loneliness you felt, the constant fear—it was mirrored in his eyes. Slowly, you lowered your hand from your knife and nodded. "Okay. But if you try anything..."

"I won't," Daryl assured, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, let's get you to safety."

You followed him through the labyrinth of abandoned buildings and overgrown streets, your senses on high alert. As you walked, Daryl spoke softly, telling you about his group—a tight-knit family of survivors who had carved out a small sanctuary in the chaos. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the madness.

When you finally reached their camp, nestled in the ruins of an old school, you were greeted by wary but kind faces. They offered you food, water, and a place to rest. The relief was overwhelming, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to hope.

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself becoming part of their makeshift family. You worked together, scavenging for supplies, fortifying your defenses, and sharing stories around the campfire. Each day was a battle, but you faced it together, drawing strength from one another.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the camp, you found yourself sitting beside Daryl. The two of you had formed a quiet bond, built on mutual respect and shared experiences. You looked at him, your heart heavy with unspoken words.

"Daryl," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. For finding me. For giving me a chance."

Daryl turned to you, his eyes reflecting the fading light. "You don't have to thank me. We're in this together."

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. "I know. But still, I... I don't know what I would have done without you."

Daryl reached out, his rough hand gently covering yours. "You would've survived. You're stronger than you think."

His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world outside. You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, embarrassed. But Daryl's hand tightened around yours, grounding you in the moment.

"You deserve mercy," he said softly. "We all do."

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a broken world, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. Daryl was right. You deserved mercy, and so did everyone fighting to survive. It was a fragile, precious thing, but it was enough to keep you going.

As the stars began to dot the night sky, you leaned into Daryl, finding comfort in his presence. The world was still a brutal, unforgiving place, but together, you could face whatever came next. Mercy might be hard to come by, but as long as you had each other, you had a chance.

And sometimes, a chance was all you needed.

[freakinator]

i think the thing about kab that frustrates me the most is that she seems to think shes a lot more helpless than she actually is, always looking for someone to help solve her problems for her even when shes fully capable of doing things on her own but she just doesnt believe she does

first and foremost is clown: why is her go to solution always clown?? mfer hasnt even logged on in months and most likely will not log on until he finishes elden ring which will surely take a while and thats not even mentioning the fact that they arent teammates -- seemingly a moot point considering how close they are but a declaration of intent to team is important on lifesteal cause it essentially signals to the other person "i'll be there for you" and is a big reason why betrayals hurt so damn much because trust is a rare commodity that essentially got stomped on, the fact that clown wont even do that tells me that he feels no obligation to her and its fair to assume that he'll act accordingly. kab seems to think hes reliable and will always be there for her which is fair cause he has been in the past but the thing is he isnt right now, she cant rely on him cause he just simply wont be there for her -- if he was then he wouldve killed mane by now

second is hannah: i'll admit that out of everyone on the server hannah is probably who kab can rely on the most right now and yet despite that hannah 1. has not logged on in a while and 2. prioritizes her own safety over kab's, to the point of essentially abandoning her and taking red's side when team mice had a fallout so despite being one of the two if not the only person who would throw everything away to help kab out, at the end of the day shes only as reliable as her survival instincts would let her be

third is zam: to put it as bluntly as possible, zam has never and will never prioritize kab. his main and only priority is the server itself esp spawn, the only reason he goes out of his way to assist helpless players is cause he wants to keep the server functional and leaving the weaker players who arent willing or arent able to fight back for dead basically ensures that all conflict will eventually stagnate and therefore leaving the server in a state of decay. his oath is not and has never been an arbiter of morality, its more akin to stewardship rather than justice therefore regular conflict such as grudge kills are far too trivial and most importantly normal and necessary for the server to keep functioning and will never make him go out of his way for her. sure she can ask for gear, thats something that he prides himself on and he can be rather generous esp if hes got a surplus of material, but he will never solve her problems for her unless the source of her conflict affects the server itself such as when mane escalated from hunting kab down repeatedly to becoming the main spawn griefer

she needs to learn to be more independent, to take responsibility, to not rely on other ppl so much esp if there isnt mutual trust and willingness to defend each other between them. she can ask for help of course but she cant solely rely on assistance to help solve her conflicts on the server and with her karma thing going on, how does she expect to fulfill all that if she cant even stand on her own feet without a crutch? like its one thing if it was a whole team but shes the sole arbiter, how is she meant to enact revenge for the whole server if she cant even solve her own problems? how is she meant to face off against some of the best pvpers on the server (who dont hesitate to kill weaker players btw) if she cant even spill blood on her own? she can make traps but is she willing to? over and over again? can she deal with the consequences of being a hunter? cause shes not getting off of this scot-free regardless of how morally good her actions are

[ambiguouslady42]

Hi steph!! Congrats on 100 followers!! 🩵 I wanted to join with my capitano selfship (capitira).

Our ship is an arranged marriage au. I am the goddaughter of the tsarista and she arranged my marriage to him bc he’s the 1st harbinger and the only one worthy enough in her eyes.

The beginning of our marriage starts off awkward. I’m a very well loved citizen of Snezhnaya and he is typically feared. He also has self image issues bc his skin is decaying due to his immortality curse. So he is afraid of showing me his face in case I show disgust towards him. But slowly we work on gaining each others trust and I help him see how beautiful he is to me.

At the same time, he is a little intimidating to me but when I see how gentle, caring, and protective of me he is, I learn to trust him. It’s a she fell first he fell harder situation.

Our dynamic starts as awkward strangers forced to be together and transforms in a sweet relationship between two lovers who are learning together. We tell and trust each other with our secrets and insecurities and work on them together. He becomes my best friend and I, his. Except we are also married lovers ᰔ

Amira! Thank you for participating in my event! These are the songs that I think perfectly fit the picture that you painted. Save A Prayer by Duran Duran felt appropriate because there's a lyric that stood out to me: Don't ask me why I'll keep my promise, melt the ice. I decided to follow this and write this little drabble for you. I hope it's to your liking <3

There’s a softness to you that is welcoming, that’s why the people look up to you. The people also know that you married the terrifying Capitano. Why would someone as kind and beautiful, marry the likes of him?

However, what people don’t know is how there is mutual respect and tenderness within your marriage. At first, you weren’t sure how this was going to work. He remained distant at first, and you thought it was because he didn’t want to get to know you. The truth was that he was afraid to get close to you because someone as beautiful as you that you would find him ugly due to his disfigurement. His anxieties about being around something so beautiful made him cold and aloof, to your dismay. Then the day came when he had to take off his helmet. 

It was dark in his quarters and he was looking into a shattered mirror. You heard him struggling to remove it as it had gotten tangled with his long, black hair. It ached your heart to watch him struggle. You stood at a distance as you quietly asked him, “Do you need help?” 

At this moment, Capitano froze; he wanted to yell into the heavens at why you had to see him in a vulnerable state. He resisted the urge to raise his voice and sighed in defeat. He nodded to you. The smell that lingered in the air as you approached him disoriented him, making his heart beat like a drum. He always admired how beautiful you were, but he only wanted to keep you away because of what you would think about him. As your hands approach to touch the helmet, he stops to hold onto your hands. You feel nervous as his hands make contact with yours. This had not occurred since you both made a promise to one another. He desired to let you that he was ready to let you in. He sees the kindness in your eyes as you gently try to remove his helmet. He sees a smile appear on your face, which signals that he is safe with you. As you caress his raven hair to untangle parts of it, you feel your heart beating faster. There’s an intimacy that you did not anticipate with this moment; he trusted you to help him and you were allowed to see what he looked like. There is something beautiful about Capitano; as you gaze into his eyes, there’s a yearning behind them. He wants to know you and be close to you. Your hand gently caresses his face as the other brushes the long lock of hair out of his face. Before anything else can be said, you bid him good night and walk away. 

The thrill of having made direct contact with him made it harder for you to breathe. You didn’t sleep that night, anticipating the next time you’ll be able to touch him. Unbeknownst to you, he also didn’t sleep. He lied awake thinking of all the ways he could show his affection for you. 

The following morning, he decided to ask you if you wanted to go through the gardens with him. It was a warm, sunny day and he knew you liked going outside on walks within the premises. You took this as a sign that he does want to be in your presence. He was eager to offer his arm as you both stepped outside together. 

You felt nervous, but you wanted to test the waters. “I’d like a Bulle Fruit”, you said playfully. You know that this fruit is somewhere in this garden, and you were curious to see what he would do with this information. He immediately began walking in the direction of where the tree for the fruit was. When you reached the treat, you were about to attempt to reach for the one at the highest point, but he gently placed his hand on your shoulder. “May I?” he said politely. He was able to pull on the branch to lower the fruit into your hand. “Thank you”, you said with a smile on your face. You were prepared to peel this fruit on your own, but before you could do so, he gently placed his hand on your wrist. “Can I peel it for you?”

It was at this moment that you knew that he cared about you. It wasn’t something that seemed obvious at first, but it’s the little actions that told you that there was devotion in his heart for you. The heart you thought was made of ice was made of gold. “Would you like to share this with me?” you asked. He nodded. You decided to sit beneath the tree to share this sweet fruit. He takes a moment to look at his surroundings and observes that you two are alone and will not be disturbed. He removes his helmet for you, allowing you to look at his lips curling upwards. He can smell the sweetness in your hands as he plants a gentle kiss on it. He knows that he found bliss with you. 

[randomly--accessed--memories]

@storm-ismyusername

Making a new post so the other one doesn't get too long

24 - Accurate.

25 - In the normal verse, they think she's just a little creature. In the RAM verse, Sarah is so grateful to her for being her dad's friend. Tom's more withdrawn, but he really wants to figure out who she used to be.

26 - Yes, something like that would probably happen at some point given how volatile Vox's powers are. It'd definitely be a turning point in how the four of them approach the situation.

27 - Not as bad since he'd have more than one person left in his life, but still pretty bad. Sarah just straight up moves into his quarters in order to support him in the aftermath. She might even manage to convince Velvette to let Vox stay in contact with Niffty for his own mental wellbeing, although it'd be one hell of an uphill battle.

27.5 - Velvette is still top dog, but she starts letting him manage certain things for her. All the contracts are in her name, but she can't be everywhere at once and he's actually pretty good at his job. He never becomes an Overlord, but he's an important asset to Velvette after Val's gone.

27.6 - Sarah's trying her absolute best to keep Vox from completely withdrawing into himself. It takes up all her mental and emotional energy, but she never complains, instead feeling like she's never doing a good enough job. Tom just watches in silent horror. He starts trying to avoid going to see Vox whenever he can– it's just too much for him, watching his father identity decay a bit more every day.

28 & 28.5 - Yes. They're not Overlords, they don't have the power to stave off Velvette's enemies. There's a good chance that they might be killed during the takeover unless they get the hell out of dodge as soon as possible. They'd probably be the ones to flee to the hotel with Vox in tow (assuming they can keep him from going into the grid) in search of protection. Velvette follows after once she figures out where they are, regardless of how little she wants to go there.

29 - They're fine with it. They don't blame the hotel for Val's death like Velvette does, so it's basically just a safe house to them. They might even get impatient with Velvette's attitude about the whole thing. Valentino got himself killed by refusing to stop stalking Angel Dust; none of that is Charlie and Vaggie's fault and Velvette's stupid vendetta against the place has actively contributed to Vox's worsening mental state.

30 - Of course. Sarah's always wanted redemption and she can't just leave her dad alone up there– he might still need her help! Thomas has never considered himself an irredeemable person and since there's nothing left for him in Hell (other than Velvette), he'd be fully willing to try to move on to Heaven.

30.5 - Yeah. She thought the hotel sounded like a pretty good idea when it was first announced, but after Vox went missing and Alastor's return was discovered, any thought of staying there went out the window. After they got him back, it stayed on her radar, but she never seriously considered going there since, like you said, she couldn't abandon her family.

31 - sdfghfdfgh thank you, I'm flattered.

32 - "Friends" is a strong word, but yes, they are brought closer by the whole thing. They're all able to appreciate how hard the others work to keep this whole thing from falling apart and a deep mutual respect forms. Any lingering resentment Tom may have still had for Velvette dies, Vel learns she can trust the two of them to handle themselves, and Sarah clings on even harder to the few people she left in her life.

[im-a-chunky-potato]

Sigma has been stressed about casino work and Nikolai is here to cheer him up/ distract him from his anxiety?

This was a really fun idea, thank you Sol! I will say I'm not entirely sure what I think of how I did, but hopefully you enjoy it!

@caffeiiine I'll tag you too so you can see my attempt at writing Siglai as the official siglai mutual

Sigma sighed at his desk and stared at all the papers he had. With the recent rumors of the Decay of Angels spreading around, more and more people started to arrive at the casino to relax.

Now don't get him wrong, he was very happy that his casino was getting this much attention. But now he had to memorize all the new customer's databases and keep this place from bursting into chaos.

And Sigma's just an average man. This task was impossible to do on his own, and he was well aware of that. However, he doesn't trust anyone else to do this job. Nobody else understands the casino like him... nobody else will see his dreams, his hopes for this place.

Sigma gripped the edge of his desk tighter. He would do this. No matter what, he will not dissapoint his customers. He wants this place to feel like a home to them.

His heart stops at that word. Home. The place he doesn't have. He wants one. He wants one so bad. And he was promised one, by Fyodor.

Fyodor. Yes. The leader of the Decay of Angels, who asked him to join. In exchange for this sky casino, he promised to help him out. If the sky casino gets bad reviews, he will fail fyodors mission. He will lose the sky casino and everything he has. He'll lose the chance at a home.

Sigma shakes his head. He needed to focus before he spiraled out of control. So, he glanced at the paperwork again. But... he just couldn't focus. His mind was filled with fear and desperation. He couldn't lose this place. He wouldn't.

Suddenly, a loud slam interrupted his thoughts for a moment. He looked up and saw a familiar face.

"Hello, Sigma! I see this is quite a nice establishment you have here." The man gave a dramatic bow and laughed.

Sigma widened his eyes. "Nikolai, what are you doing here?"

Nikolai smiled. "What, I can't see a friend?" He waved a cane around playfully with his hand.

"Do you remember what happened last time you were here?" Sigma asked. "You nearly committed arson, threatened to murder at least five people, and was banned for life?"

Nikolai smirked. "See! I never did anything wrong. I merely threatened to do bad things. And nobody can control me."

Sigma was suprised... and yet a small smile appeared on his face. This was the Nikolai he knew. The clown of the Decay of Angels. The most completely insanely sane person he's ever met.

Nikolai walked over to his desk and glanced at the paperwork. "How positively boring of you!" He swiped the paperwork off of the table and grabbed his hand. "Come on! Let's do something else and teach you what fun is."

A yellow flash surrounded them both as they appeared in a empty street on Yokohama. Sigma immediately stepped away from him. "Why did you do that? Unlike you, I have better things to do then mess around with people."

Nikolai giggled. "My friend, you forget you are also a member of the Decay of Angels. His voice softened. "Plus I've been keeping an eye on rumors about the sky Casino. You haven't had a break in days!"

Sigma frowned. "So you've been stalking me is what you're saying." But a slight blush appeared on his face. He was flattered that someone cared about him like this.

Nikolai thankfully ignored it and pointed to a building nearby. "Absolutely. Now let's go over there, they have delicious drinks and deserts." Once again, he was grabbed by Nikolai and dragged over to the bakery.

Sigma's lips turned upward. With Nikolai, he never knew what to expect. It was quite entertaining and just what he needed today.

As soon as they walked into the bakery the a sweet aroma wafted through the air. Nikolai ran up excitedly to the counter and looked at all of the desserts. Sigma wasn't far behind, admittedly he needed a sugar boost.

"Hmm I want everything here. Maybe I can just threaten to blow up the shop and get everything for free" Nikolai said excitedly.

Sigma stared at him in shock before shaking his head furiously. "Don't you dare Nikolai. We'll pay for this properly and not cause any damage."

Nikolai sighed. "Fine, but only since you insist. You're paying though, and I want chocolate cake."

Sigma considered fighting back but decided not to. This was the best case scenario after all. "I guess I will. I want a cookie."

After getting their cookie and chocolate cake, Sigma got a great idea. "I know the perfect place to eat this Nikolai."

Nikolai tilted his head curiously and grinned. "Well well, look whos getting into this now. Lead the way, Sigma."

Sigma ignored him and started to walk away from the busy streets of Yokohama. Oddly enough, he felt a swirl of excitement in his chest as he led Nikolai to a small garden.

Nikolai looked around in wonder. The garden was full of blooming flowers and small cherry blossom trees. This placewas beautiful to say the least. "You know, this is quite the romantic spot. Are you implying something?"

Sigma froze before answering in a rush. "No, not at all! Can you not just enjoy a peaceful garden without having thoughts like that?" His face was flushed red.

Nikolai laughed and almost responded, but a small bird interrupted him by chirping a small tune. They watched as it perched on a tree and another bird joined the first one. Together, they created a melody that vertebrates through the hearts of both of the men.

It wasn't until then that Sigma realized he was happier than he had felt in a while. He hadn't even thought about work since this morning, and he didn't want to. He wanted this moment to last forever, just the two of them.

While he was thinking this a hand gently reached out towards his. It was Nikolai's. No words were said, but they both understood each other perfectly. They stayed like this until the birds finished their song and flew off together.

(hstshhb Sorry I am by no means a good writer. Hopefully whoever reads this enjoys it though! BTW no worries, the desserts get eaten<3)

[wingsandarrow]

muse: Daryl Dixon limit: 18+ only please, mutuals and non-mutuals set: TWD-verse, semi-recently settled at the prison open to: other TWD/TLOU/horror muses, multifandom crossovers, ocs, whatever! triggers: death/dead body, guns, self-loathing

Was it weird that Daryl was doing better after the world ended than he ever had before the walkers? There was probably some metaphor in there about death and things that thrived on decay, but he didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the absence of Merle from his life, as guilty as he felt thinking something like that. He owed everything to his asshole older brother, probably wouldn't even be alive right now if it weren't for him, but the sorry truth of it was that he could breathe easier out from under his shadow. He still hoped--in the way people hoped for things that weren't very likely--that he was alive out there somewhere, but he didn't see how he would ever know for sure. Even before the dead started walking, it was too easy for people like them to disappear between the cracks. If Merle didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be, and it was just as true now as it had been before.

The group had tentatively settled in the prison after the farm had been overrun. Fuckin' ironic, was what it was. He'd managed to avoid prison, narrowly at times, all his life. Then the world ended, and guess where he found himself? He wavered back and forth on feeling safe and feeling trapped there, but that was Daryl all over. Safety always felt a little like a trap to him, and things with his friends(?) were new enough that he didn't fully trust any of it. In his experience, people always turned on you. It was just a matter of when. He'd be ready to bolt when that happened, but he didn't kid himself that it wouldn't hurt this time. He liked them; they were good. There were moments he'd started to believe they liked him too, but he wasn't. Good. Trying to be wasn't the same thing.

There was talk of turning some of the surrounding space into farmland, but it was still a long while before it would turn out anything edible, and Daryl was always one of the first to volunteer for scavenging missions. It wasn't just food they needed, since the prison storage had been well-stocked, but medicine and other supplies too. He was a couple days out, everything close by already picked over, and more or less enjoying the quiet. He didn't have to remind himself that he could survive out here alone fairly easily. He'd been doing it since well before the apocalypse and, away from all the eyes and voices, it was more like being able to draw a full breath for the first time in a while. This was his natural habitat, walkers or not.

The neighborhood was small, and as far as he could tell, nothing living had passed through recently. That didn't mean it was empty, and he didn't much want to get shot breaking into houses looking for canned goods and Tylenol. Better to find some sort of gas station or corner store. The sound of a gunshot broke the silence, not near enough to make him duck for cover, but loud enough to get the attention of every walker on the street. More shots narrowed it down to a specific house, the sounds erratically spaced like the shooter had been caught off guard--or didn't know what the hell they were doing. Running toward the noise was nothing short of idiotic, since he'd have to deal with both the shooter and the dead now stumbling in the same direction, but…

But. It was a person on the other end of that gun. He was learning that there were two kinds of people: ones who ran away from trouble to save their own skin, and ones who ran toward it and tried to help. Daryl was trying to be the kind of person who helped. He ran toward the noise. The time for subtlety had passed, so kicking the door in barely slowed him down. One walker dead on the living room floor. His head swiveled toward the stairs at the sound of something moving on the second floor. "Hello?" He was already moving toward them, but better to announce his presence. Whoever it was might have bullets left.

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

Have you watched Emesis Blue? What did you think of it?

(I LOVED IT)

I have! I’ve also written some stuff about it!

Cw: spoilers, obvious dark subject matter

Okay, I wanna talk about the beginning and how well they portrayed true relationship between Jeremy and Fritz. It’s clear they’ve got a mutual trust in one another and it hurts all the more when Fritz finds him dead. I’m still 100% devastated by the ugly ass smile Medic gives in the respawn. That hurts me so bad man. The way they portray Fritz’s mental state decaying is chilling but it sheds him in a light that this was bred from necessity. He clearly cares about Jeremy, there would be no reason for him to go to the slaughterhouse otherwise. And while plagued with these visions he doesn’t want to worry Jeremy with trivial detail.

The setup of all of it was amazing and the amount of Kubrick references absolutely had be absorbed. It’s nice to feel a story flesh out certain properties to something entirely it’s own. The looping sequences sent chills down my spine but my favorite mindfuck were the conaghers.

Zed has to be one of my favorite renditions of Engie because of how they portray him as an active threat rather than passive danger. While he appears cool and sadistic, that coolness is out the window the second he gets a chance to play with someone he deems a threat (ie) Fritz. The moment he said “I’da got you.” and starts giggling showed me just how fucked up he was if he wasn’t already. He’s got a childish ass outlook on this, and him stuck inside a place like Teufort is absolutely NOT GOOD. (Love Teufort but it’s the shittiest map. Also my favorite though.)

Maynards design had me frothing at the mouth, I’m just gonna say that straight up. He didn’t even do nothin outwardly he just kind of went along, which- yeah I guess let your creepy younger brother tourture that poor twink. He really does give off the vibe of a man disconnected, Medics whole bit about strangling him was out of left field but necessity. That scene in particular made me feral.

It showed us what I imagine to be an anomaly in the loop correcting itself, but therefore making the entity more aggressive, the entity in question Fritz. That whole scenes cinematography is brilliant.

Now I get on to my absolute favorite character ever.

Fucking soldier.

Never thought that someone could do such a damn good job emulating Rick may but FUCK did they. The lower, and more stark tone to the character made his wacky lines way funnier: it shows someone who seems incompetent being truly skilled at what they do. Surviving. While his methods are ridiculous it’s his leaps of faith that save him.

With bat out of fucking hell sniper he showed that he doesn’t like to give mercy. He shows a side that would make him antagonistic. But throughout the whole film he shows nothing aside from compassion, even towards the people he barley knows. That elevator scene says it all to me. He has reason to be suspicious but through that he chooses to be kind. It sunk my heart seeing the warfeild scene, it was quiet in a way. It was bleak and chaotic but he seemed perfectly fine to be there for just a moment.

Jane lost… a lot. In this film. He lost his coworker to the pits of an evil fucking loop. He lost a friend in Demo when Demo froze. (That scene broke me btw.) He lost dignity and connection and hope. And afterwards he looked so… dead? He won.

He escaped but what was the cost in the end? The loop continued on. His blank stare shared with medic and the attempt to blow him and the venue itself up over spies inaccurate details really shows his need for the truth. This film helped me out a lot with characterizing Solly in the future he’s honestly a darling.

On the topic of the loop and the way they constructed it holy shit. Those beginning shots were so so affective at building the atmosphere. I thought it’d be found footage till the end but NO, it just set up the mood and shit RAGGH

[livingfictionsystem]

Contemplative Asks, Sparrow Edition

1. cosmos: what's one thing you wish you could say to someone you are no longer friends with?

You based your entire identity around the stigmatized illness you stand up for but make fun of systems? You're a fucking clown lol

2. galaxies: what are three things you want to do before you die?

-Marry my partner

-Stop SHing for good

-Enter/win a cocktail contest.

3. waxing: what is your proudest accomplishment?

I've uh

Never been arrested.

4. waning: what is your biggest regret?

That I didn't fight harder against dormancy. Or believe that the crush I had on them was mutual.

5. full moon: what type of person do you hope to be?

All around more stable. I feel like my friends are always kind of scared they're going to get a grim announcement over FB or something and I want to stop being that. And I want to help other people do the same.

6. contemplation: if you could wake up one morning and everything in your life was perfect, what would that look like?

My spouse would be the first person I'd see. We would watch movies or play video games, then we'd explore some abandoned building to make out in. And. Yknow. Do that. Then I'd go skating with my besties and then everyone would meet at my bar and have a good party time where we all over-share and show each other bizarre music. Somehow my inworld bestie and outerworld bestie could interact outside of me and get along great lol I'd go to sleep way too late, probably after dawn or something, and my partner and I would be dozing off on each other.

7. night light: who/what makes you feel safe?

My partner and my dads.

8. ponder: what do you want to do with your life?

I think just kind of party and be there for my friends. I'd love to finish and publish Decay Ultra. I do want a kid but I doubt I'm stable enough tbh. Or if my partner is.

9. sunset: who is someone you thought would be in your life forever, but you no longer talk to?

P much my entire high school friend circle but especially Kara.

10. midnight: are you a different person late at night than in the early morning?

Well at night I'm usually uh

altered

in some way lol

11. candle light: are you an indecisive person?

Naw. Once I form an opinion or plan of attack, you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

12. reflection: have you ever changed something you liked about yourself to satisfy someone else?

I don't *think* so? I'm kind of self-conscious that I might be doing it on accident because, yknow, BPD, but I do have proof of having a lot of my interests and aesthetics way before I met my circle.

13. sweet dreams: are you happy?

No lol

14. nightmare: what are you most afraid of?

Losing my partner.

15. constellations: who is someone you could talk to for hours and never stop?

My partner, my dads, my besties, probably Jason Pargin if I don't unsettle him lol

16. reminder: who is someone you will never forget?

I don't forget people.

17. 11-11: what's something you want, but feel like you will never have?

A kid. Both myself and my partner are probably way too unstable and I'm not sure how we can heal in time.

18. shooting star: who is someone you trust to help you make the right decisions?

My dads tbh.

19. earth: where do you feel most at home?

My bar.

20. soothe: what's one thing that always makes you feel better when you're upset?

Lately it's CreepCast. And Isaiah's 7-foot girlfriend Jakoby. Also Trevor Phillips and that clip where he goes 'NO I DIDN'T KILL HIM. BUT I DID KIDNAP HIS WIFE.'

21. slumber: what's one thing that helps you fall asleep when it feels impossible?

Sleeping pills that have had their tolerance worn off.

-Sparrow Hemlock Harvey

[clown-demon]

"I could make one of my MANY rooms into a cat room~! I can build shelves and rooms and all kinds of stuff for them to run around on and burn their energy on~!" It could be a new project. With the Decay of Angels being quiet, he had a lot of free time. Even if the cats didn't get with the birds quite well. His birds COULD fly and they weren't dumb. They could probably easily get away from kittens.

The man nodded his head, "I'd be happy for you to come over whenever you feel like it~! I can even give you some spare keys so you can let yourself in if I am asleep or away. I wouldn't mind at all~! I trust you~." It'd be the first steps of moving in. PLUS it'd mean she'd come over more often-- even better. The clown was definitely a clingy person when he liked someone. So if he could, he would spend every waking hour with Nimue. He wasn't joking when he wanted to spend as much time as he could with her.

The jester couldn't help but laugh. "You MUST have seen all the things about extroverts adopting introverts~? I feel like this is the case here~! But for me-- I like crowds. I like talking to others. But I do NOT have any friends really. Dostoy is my only friend~! And MAYBE Sigma, but the feeling is NOT mutual there--." Sigma hated Nikolai, he was his least favorite member of the Decay of Angels.

"Oh, you don't~? I don't either! A clown does NOT cry~. But clowns can make others cry~!" Ah crap she's catching up. He's gonna be a menace and block her from getting in front of himself. When she pushes ahead of him, he attempts to bash her off the road...

"I know they like high spots too... I've heard of people making cat rooms but I don't think my apartment would allow something like that..." There's a sigh, it kind of sucks, though she does perk up a bit at his offer. "Are you sure? I mean I'd obviously pay for everything they need too, and training them at an early age to be okay with birds would be nice as well." It didn't even register to her that this could be a way for her to eventually consider moving in, not yet anyway... "That's actually not a bad idea though. But are you okay with me being over all the time?" If so, it'd all work out, plus he did say he'd be happy if she came over...

"I guess we're a little opposite there. I'm an introvert, I don't like crowds at all but it's usually because I get pushed around a lot, or in other cases just ignored like I'm not there. Maybe if experiences weren't so bad, I'd be okay with it." It was hard to say though, she never really got a chance to have a decent time out and about without getting treated like she was in the way.

"Hey! Of course I'm not. I don't cry easy you know. Just because you got me once doesn't mean you'll get me again!" Sure enough she manages to get past the banana, but of course with her being so ahead, all she can really get is boosters. That's okay though, because she'll use them to try and get past him.

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter One

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate. 

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 1 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Trope: ‘Enemies to Lovers’; mainly angst, mutual pining, fluff, and eventual smut

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Word Count: 4000+

A/N: Ooo, let’s hope this does numbers! I love myself some ‘enemies to lovers’ tropes. It’s been a while since I’ve written Steve fanfics. :)

~

Wakanda, 2018, 4:04 pm.

     The flash of bright white light temporarily blinded you, sending you back to the ground and cupping your face in self-defense. But as quickly as the initial crack, it was over. Eerily silent and loud at the same time. The birds whistled their same tune, some higher-pitched than others. The wind seemed to blow louder, rustling the leaves from the trees and landing all around you and your teammates. 

“Thor?”

You lifted your head at the sound of Steve’s voice and checked if the coast was clear. All that remained of the evil was a new blood-stained hammer - a hammer that Thor was watching intensely, as if the answer lay hidden there. It was the only remnant left and your mind was already wondering how to use it to bring that evil back to finish a fair fight. 

“Where’d he go?”

The birds stopped singing. 

“Steve?”

You whipped your head around at the sound of Bucky’s confused voice, watching as one of your best friends dropped his gun and looked up at Steve as his hands began to disappear. In a matter of seconds, Bucky - or what became of him - fell to the dirt below. No one spoke, and you watched as Steve tried to control his breathing as he took a knee to place his shaking hand over his best friend’s ashes. A life and mind brought out of the darkness to finally amend those knots he had twisted, now ceasing to exist. In the distance you could hear Okoye shout in turmoil and Rocket begin begging. 

“What’s happening?” you finally choked out, turning just in time to see Wanda lift her head to the sky, defeated and out of will, and succumb to the same fate. “No!”

You ran and fell beside Vision’s now gray and decaying body, reaching over and palming through Wanda’s ashes. You rubbed them between your fingers, inspecting them, and brought your hand to your chest. The pit of your stomach churned as you sat there, immobile and numb. 

“Sam!”

So many names were being called but soon everyone who remained fell silent. The trees were still guiding the wind, leaves falling into the ashes of your friends, a sign of a new and unwanted chapter. You felt Steve drop beside you, turning Vision around to see the damage to his body. You winced when you saw the gaping hole in his forehead. 

“What is this? What’s happening?”

Natasha ran to where you were seated, hand over her stomach as if she was ready to vomit. And once she took one look at Vision, that’s exactly what she did. 

You removed your hands from your chest to look at them, the ashes still there and practically mocking you into finally believing this as reality. “Did we just lose?”

Steve was moments away from a full-blown panic attack. He simply looked up at the trees, watching the way the sunlight still burst through with no disruption. “Oh god.”

You caught Steve as he tipped his upper body toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding onto something real. He had to believe you were real. Anyone. And you were the closest person to him. You shut your eyes and held him, running your hands through his hair, wincing when you realized Wanda’s ashes were now on him.

You held him tight, praying to any God you chose to believe in at that moment, that Steve wouldn’t disappear too. 

Unknown Location, 2025, 1:07 pm.

     The air was incredibly musty, as if each person who struggled for breath in this room at one point or another left a piece of their soul floating in search of last minute penance for their sins. And the man in front of you was no different, choking on the purple blood that dripped down his neck and onto his now unbuttoned, white dress shirt. His chest was rising and falling, his breathing becoming less labored with each blink of the eye. His hands were tied behind his back and to the chair he sat on, a flickering light in the corner of the dark, concrete room somehow mocking this man’s last remaining seconds of life. 

“I’m not an evil person,” you started, kicking one of the legs of the chair to startle the poor man. But your guilt was minimal - it’s not like you wanted to do this - but knowing this man did exactly what everyone said he did, hands red and dripping with young blood, you selfishly took pleasure knowing this man would look at you when he died. “It’s just my job as third in command.”

You gave the man a small smile as you bent down to his level, head hanging in shame, slow breaths now pausing in between each intake. You looked to the other party in the room, handing them the gun in your holster, and walked out the room as the sound of two gunshots rang out. 

Left twist. Sting. Breathe. 

You washed away any smell from that godforsaken room, giving extra attention to the roots of your hair and under your fingertips. 

Scrub. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

The crack of your neck frightened even you, and you stood under the burning shower for a few more minutes before deciding the sting was enough. You changed into the most comfortable sweats you owned, surprisingly calm for such a gruesome morning you had, and took your time with your skin care routine. 

Circle. Wash. Dry.

Soft music played in the overhead speakers, the classical sounds vibrating from one wall to another and surrounding you with something tranquil - something still. There was nothing to expect from such a sound, only the next repeated chorus, no words or drops - just tranquility. You could barely hear yourself breathe but you were at peace - or mostly - and ready to sooth your growing headache behind the eyeballs with more than just music. You slipped on a pair of comfy, forest green socks and bent them at the ankle to achieve an even fluffier look. You applied your favorite perfume, lotioned up your hands, and donned your tacky friendship bracelet. 

One for you. One for Bucky. One for Peter. And one for Wanda. 

You hummed the whole way to the common room, waving at the morning staff as they fixed lightbulbs, covered holes in the walls, and swept the floors. One muffin and a cup of coffee later, you were resting with your head in Wanda’s lap as she filled your thoughts with your chosen sceneries.

      “I can make you see anything you have already seen, so yes.”

“A miniature golf course, Peter’s high school graduation, a field of all kinds of flowers, and Natasha.”

Wanda stilled her floating hand, smile faltering for a moment before she nodded. “Okay… okay, I can do that.”

     They were images well-drawn out, slow and steady to make the atmosphere similar to when you were actually there. They seemed to float across your vision, comfortable in their positions and radiating the same warmth you had felt the first time around. A moving picture. Wanda really had excellent control of this. 

     “I won!” Sam leapt into the air, pointing at a disgruntled Bucky, who stepped off to the side to not throw Sam over his own head. “I won!”

“How is it possible for you to get a hole-in-one each fucking turn?” Bucky groaned, moping in Wanda’s shoulder as she held him and struggled to keep herself standing from her own intense laughs. 

“I think we got a cheater on the loose,” Steve grinned, pointing at the ring Sam was trying to discreetly tuck back into his pocket. A friendly gift from T’Challa, no doubt. 

“Nuh-uh, give me the fucking proof, Wilson!” Bucky roared, wrapping his arm around Sam’s neck and tugging him forward. “I will not admit defeat if there was foul play involved!”

Sam escaped the hold, climbing onto the rock located to the side of the flag and a sign that read ‘do not climb on rocks’. 

“It just helped me calculate all things geometry, Barnes. We’re good.”

Bucky looked as if he was going to leap on him again, but before he could even finish that thought, Sam slipped on the wet surface and plummeted into the rushing little river. 

Laughter erupted and did not cease until you were escorted out of the fairgrounds by four security guards. 

     A flick of Wanda’s wrist and a new memory began forming, colors blending like an oil painting, dried and covered with a glossy varnish, ready to hang. 

     “Don’t trip on your way up, kid.”

Peter swatted Steve in the side as the super soldier left the room, leaving Peter alone in front of the full-length mirror. He adjusted his tie and tried to lay that pesky dangling strand of hair over the top of his head.

You got up from the couch and made your way over, wrapping your arms around Peter and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’ll do great. We’re all so proud.”

“It’s just high school…”

You frowned and turned him to face you. “No, you should already be in your second year of college. This is seven years in the making. We are all so proud.”

Peter could feel the slight burn at the corner of his eyes but he swallowed it down, giving you a small smile and a hug. 

“And can you trip? Don’t you stick to all surfaces?”

Peter scoffed and pushed you away, his tiny smile never faltering.

     You could feel Wanda shift her legs underneath you, searching for the most comfortable position as she continued her work. You sighed, already feeling the therapeutic effects. 

     “They’re all so pretty!” you yelled cheerfully, running through the field with your arms extended to the sky. Bucky and Steve followed close behind, leaning down every so often to pluck the flower of their choosing and adding to the bouquet in their hand. 

“Which did Tony prefer?” Steve asked, snapping you from your pollen-filled, ecstatic state. 

“Aesthetic beauty, Rogers! Natasha was a sucker for anything pink and sunflowers.”

Bucky nodded, seeming to take that information into consideration as he plucked the yellow and pink flowers only. Steve chose the most healthy looking flowers, his hand struggling to hold them together as he reached the two dozen mark. 

“I think we’re good. These are good.”

You smiled at both super soldiers and admired their bouquets, leaning over to sniff their masterpieces. “Awesome.”

     Wanda sighed as she neared your last vision, debating on showing you your chosen moment instead of another one. This moment always hurt Wanda as she wasn’t there to witness it, but it was special to you. There were so many others to choose from, but you insisted this was the one you always wanted to see. And Wanda was always hesitant at first - but when she lifted her hand slowly and dropped the memory back into the front of your brain, she couldn’t help but smile. 

     “Are we ready?”

Everyone was practically bouncing on their heels, both excited and terrified. Time travel was new to humanity and you were to be one of the first to experience such a thrill. You were going to get everyone back. 

You squeezed Natasha’s hand once more before you walked back over to Thor and Rocket. You all nodded to each other, saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘good luck’ with your childlike expressions. 

“See you in a minute,” Natasha grinned, her cheeks reddening with a friendly blush as she looked over at Steve. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a braid you had helped her make, and she was carrying an extra pair of socks in case of a long hike. 

Then a blast of color surrounded your body and the smell of peaches as you landed on Asgard filled your overstimulated senses. 

     You opened your eyes and smiled up at Wanda. You didn’t want to see old memories with your friend, but the most recent. It was like you were grasping onto that last memory of her, not wanting to change anything about her last smile, her last laugh, her last shred of existence. It was oddly calming, and so you hoped Wanda would understand. 

You thanked her again and proceeded to the kitchen. It was bigger than the one before, the soft forest green color of the walls a nice contrast from the blue ones before. You laughed to yourself and your conscience as you silently thanked the explosion that obliterated the horrid blue walls, quickly backtracking at your dumb thoughts. Still, you chose to joke about everything that happened before to avoid falling deeper into yourself. The kettle started howling, smoke circling around the tip. You poured your tea, dropped two cubes of sugar in, and added a little milk. 

It was quite bizarre how quickly you could bounce back from the morning you had. A very bloody, order-filled morning. When one order was given, you had to come up with a plan on how to not disregard the other. You had to listen to Fury and your father, gaining a few feet on each side without toppling the other. Still, it took a physical toll on you. But with Wanda’s help in easing your mind and the very sweet tea you nursed, your emotional baggage was pretty minimal. It sometimes scared you how easy it all was. 

Your morning carried on quietly as you sat on the concrete curb, happily sipping your tea in your sweatpants. You could hear Sam and Scott arguing about something a few feet away from you and Bucky taking his afternoon jog around the track. Quite distracted, the sudden ‘thwip’ and superhero landing of a certain teenager scared you enough to spill a little of your tea. 

“Goddamn, dude!” you whined, looking up at Peter as he tried to control his laughter. 

 “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me!”

“Excuse me for being distracted by the hot super soldier just over there,” you joked, pointing over at Bucky. 

Peter rolled his eyes and sat next to you, immediately reaching over to take the tea from you and take a sip himself. You let him, as you had no other choice, rolling your eyes anyway. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had classes today?”

Peter handed back your cup, “Nah, I’ve only got classes every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Ugh, that sounds great. I remember I scheduled my classes for every day of the week just to have more units,” you sighed, taking another sip of tea. 

 “Stupid.”

You pushed Peter’s shoulder playfully, both your laughter catching the attention of Sam and Scott. But as quickly as you had distracted them, they ignored you and went back to bickering. 

“I’m just here to see my friends, sue me!”

“Nope, you’re always welcome,” you smiled, holding out your wrist and bumping your bracelet with his. “How was your week otherwise?”

“Eh, nothing major. Just trying to navigate the world now that they know who's behind the mask.”

You gave Peter a look of sympathy, still mad at the sudden manipulation of the kid after such traumatic events. You had promised him you would protect him by any means possible, as did the rest of the team, but he seemed to be navigating the situation just fine. Staying away from reporters, scheduling his classes during the most isolated gaps of the day, and signing dozens of forms that promised to protect him, give him royalties, etc. After you had brought everyone back, it seemed the least the new management/orders could provide for you all. 

“We all have our days,” you muttered, handing your tea back to Peter. You two sat there for a while longer, enjoying the slight breeze and taste of sugar. 

An agent rounded the corner and spotted you, jogging up and handing you a yellow folder that was sealed in plastic. “For you, from Fury, from whoever before that.”

“Um, thank you?” you said as the agent walked away. You inspected the folder, turning it over in your hands and playing with the thin plastic. 

You lifted it up to Peter’s face, “Here, smell it and tell me if there’s poison.”

Peter scoffed, “I can’t do that!”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

Peter muttered to himself as he took the folder from you, sniffing it awkwardly. “Smells like paper, dude.”

“Cool, thanks.” 

You ripped the plastic off and unhooked the folder, dropping the single item onto your lap. Peter just sipped your tea and watched you open it. 

It was another envelope, but this one was white with custom-printed indents that swirled across the front and a big, red blob of wax smushed- with your initials- sealing it. You ripped it open and pulled the invitation from inside. You must have read it a thousand times, eyes rapidly scanning the small page with secret meanings. 

“You got invited to a wedding?” Peter asked, taking it from you and reading it himself. 

“Yeah, but this is so much more than that,” you said, snatching it back and standing up from the curb. You quickly went back into the compound, searching for the one person who needed to read it also.

You seemed to find everyone before you found the super soldier who wasn’t out for a jog, a line of somewhat concerned superheroes following behind you from room to room. Eager minds and yet, inflexible rib cages full of anxiety and worry, all ready (and quite not) to tackle the new evils of this new world. And whether they followed you blindly or with functioning minds, they were prepared. 

With the rest of the team behind you, you burst through the second floor with the invitation held over your head. Steve stopped mid-bite, milk dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at everyone in confusion. “Um…”

“It’s time-” you started, pulling the stool from next to him and sitting down. 

“Time for what?” Steve interrupted, his mouth still full of cereal.

“Time for this,” you motioned to the envelope you were handing him. “-to finally end.”

Steve read the invitation word for word, the wrinkles in his forehead becoming deeper as his mind worked. You couldn’t quite discern the feeling in the pit of your stomach, twisting and spinning into a tight coil, seeming to spread to the others as it grew in pressure within you. 

“All three?”

“All three,” you confirmed. 

Peter pushed through Bruce and Rhodey, “What’s happening? What’s gonna end?”

You looked over at Steve, his bowl of cereal now forgotten and soggy. 

His eyes were distant and rather cold, hands extended on his knees as if he was drying the accumulating sweat, shoulders building tension. 

“Steve, we can finally end this. We have to tell everyone. It won’t be enough if it’s just you and me.”

He wanted to explode, in both anger and anguish, to stumble over his intact persona and leave it behind - someone he hasn’t known for a long time. It ate away at him each day since Fury notified him of your selfish choice, burrowing into his now tarnished soul in the most sadistic way. But the prospect of finishing this chapter - a chapter that was unexpectedly halted when half the world disappeared - was considerably euphoric. A chance to move on. 

“Okay.”

Rhodey already had knowledge of your background, recruitment, and family but Steve’s initial involvement - the start of it - was still a mystery. You sat everyone down in the living room, making room for the others who arrived later, and clapped your hands together. “Story time!”

Steve groaned, face already pressed against a throw pillow. “Just tell them.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“You know whose spawn I’m from,” you began, snickers from your amused friends encouraging you. “To better transport their product, they sent me over to the states to attend college like the good little girl they think I am.”

Sam cracked open a beer and lifted his legs up onto the couch, sitting back with a massive smile on his face as he got comfortable for your story. He handed another beer to Scott. 

“Wait, product?” Scott asked, taking a sip from his drink. 

You smirked at him and tapped your nose twice, amused by his ‘O’ reaction. “Anyway, by then I already knew that I wanted out of the game. I didn’t like that life, I didn’t like the violence, I didn’t like my family.”

Steve knew that was an understatement, a cruel and restrained statement from your part, and he wanted to tell everyone just how justified you were in your words, how real you were being, and how much help you would certainly need for this. But like always, he remained silent. 

“But Fury got to me before I could leave. So, we made a deal. I would train as a field agent and he would promote me every other year to lessen suspicion on this whole ordeal. The deal being I would play both teams.”

By now, your whole team was intrigued. 

“I would do what I could for my father and still have my family’s trust, while feeding the information to SHIELD and our lovely star-spangled man over here,” you pointed over at Steve. He gave you a tiny but forced smile. 

“But after the collapse of SHIELD, my father only became more violent, more hard-headed, more suspicious. He- uh-” you stuttered, flashbacks suddenly filling your head. Wanda watched your eyes dart rapidly, sensing the rush of blood to your legs and tips of your fingers.

“He was power hungry,” Wanda said, immediately feeling your heart rate lower. Although you never actually said it, she could tell you were grateful for her intrusion. 

“Yeah, exactly,” you cleared your throat. “But Steve’s involvement all started when Fury asked me who would be the best front - the most reliable front.”

“So, with only Fury and the bad guys knowing - Y/N named me as her partner in crime,” Steve explained, head hanging low as if it was such a disgrace to do what you openly did. You knew his troubles with coming to terms with such an offensive role were multiplying daily, but you were now this close to stopping  every bad force involved. 

 “So, Captain America is the ultimate drug smuggler,” Scott spoke, somehow trying to comprehend the information all at once. You and Steve both nodded in confirmation and avoided the wide and questioning eyes looking back at you. 

“Yeah, he’s essentially the top boss.”

“Y/N-,” Steve interjected, but you beat him to  it. 

“And here we are! Him and I both invited to the wedding.”

Wanda stretched out her words, “The wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding - where three of the most famous and powerful drug lords south of the border will be attending and ready for our taking - including my father.”

Steve stood from his seat, posture straightening as he spoke to the group. “The invitation reads like a threat. No cameras, no plus-ones besides those listed specifically on the card, no speaking to reporters before or after. The trust Y/N has gained would unknowingly make us the contraband of the party.”

After going through more specifics about the whole situation, Bucky finally raised the question eating away at his mind this whole time. “Whose wedding is it, anyway?”

You grinned that stupid little grin Steve always prepared himself for. It was the grin you would display whenever you were going to make a serious matter a joke, or brush something serious off your shoulder as if it didn’t bother you. The sarcastic grin he always wanted to wipe off your face as you defied orders. 

“My lovely little sister’s.”

Rhodey stepped forward to take the invitation for personal inspection, “When is it?”

“A week from tomorrow,” you beamed. “Which means I got to get shopping for a wonderful little, red number!”

“Please, be more excited about this,” Steve groaned, sarcasm dripping off each syllable. 

You flicked your right hand up and in position to flash your charming little middle finger at him, a river of fluffed ego and delight flowing to your cheeks as he huffed and left the room in a stumbled march.

“So…” Scott’s voice ripped through the awkward silence. “We’ve been secret drug smugglers this whole time?”

~

Please let me know what you think! I listened “The Archer” by Taylor Swift and I was like... yes, I see this, lmao. Tell me if you would like to be tagged in later updates! xxMoni

[bluegarners]

hiya @viceturtle! I finally got it done! Here is your Bad Things Happen Bingo request with Dick and Jason; you can also read it on ao3

What Have I Done?

It’s a lot. He’s not going to lie.

Dick was dead for eight months. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. It was a fact that they were all forced to deal with, all forced to live with. Dick was dead and there was nothing any of them could do about it. And for a time, Jason had held onto the small belief, he’s not going to call it hope, that Dick had somehow managed to pull through. That even despite the beatings, the torture, everything before and after it, Dick had managed to pull through and come out of it all alive.

But he hadn’t. That was the thing, at its core. Dick died. 

Jason knows what it is to be dead. To be beaten and left to die. To struggle and still search for a way out of the shit hole you’re suddenly in and cling to that light, that stupid, stupid promise in the back of your head that screams, Help is coming, just hold on a little longer, that forces you to keep struggling, keep surviving, keep hoping for a way out despite the circumstances. Jason knows and it absolutely sucked. 

He died and then clawed his way out of his own coffin. One of his fingers is permanently misshapen, wood chips and metal piercing through his stiff and cold skin. He’s got scars all over his body to prove that he died, to prove that he was beaten with a crowbar, messed around with like he was just some dummy, some thing that could take a beating and then some. Up and down and across and lined; the scars are all over him and he died.

And Dick died too. 

In those eight months, Jason felt more connected to his deceased older brother than he ever had before. A deep and twisted connection over a shared death, a similar fate so convoluted it makes Jason sick to think about sometimes. His murderer is still out there. Jason has to live with that fact and even though it’s not fine and things would be so much easier without that psychopath, Jason gets it. Sometimes. Gets the moral code, the compass, that shrouds Batman and his little followers.

And he’s trying. He is. He made an effort to try and do the right thing when Dick died because suddenly, the role of older brother had fallen onto him and even though he doesn’t have a good relationship with Tim or the recently resurrected Damian, or anyone for that matter, there was still that recognition that it was all on him now. He was the eldest. He was the one to look towards. Not look up to, no, he will never claim the title of a role model, but now he’s the oldest, the most experienced, the next in line when one just can’t go to Bruce about shit going on.

The point being is that he did try, put in more effort than he probably should have, to stepping up to the plate and taking a swing at being better. At being the eldest of the entire brood and not fucking it up horribly. He switches to rubber bullets and smoke pellets. He keeps his excessive violence reserved for only the worst scum and even then still attempts to steer clear from Batman’s territories. He takes care of the Narrows, rekindles a sort of friendship with Tim, doesn���t fight the literal child that lurks in the Cave, and avoids confrontations with Bruce altogether.

It works and it’s good. He steps up, frankly owns being the eldest, and he’s fine. He’s fine with it. He’s still got his reputation intact, Red Robin isn’t terrified of his presence any longer, and Robin doesn’t pull a sword every time they spot one another. So what if he slips up occasionally and gets carried away? They’re just rubber bullets, weapons all the same, and they’re no different from getting hit with Batman’s fist (which Jason knows, from experience, hurts like hell) or getting swung at with a large knife. 

He had a thing going on, is what Jason’s trying to get at, and then Dick showed up.

Dick. Richard Grayson. Who died eight months ago after he was tortured by the Syndicate and had his heart stopped by Lex Luthor. Who they had a funeral for. Who they mourned for. Who Jason had attempted to fill the gaping hole he had left behind.

Who Jason thought had died.

Betrayal is a word Jason feels like he could apply to a majority of his life. Betrayal from his parents, his poor, poor mother who just couldn’t muster up enough fucks. Bruce, Batman, for getting him into the vigilante life, for letting him wear that damn costume and get himself blown up for all his efforts. Talia, for restoring his mind after he was supposed to be dead. Bruce, Batman, again, for letting his murderer walk around like it was another Sunday, any other day, just a nice, normal day for a stroll like he didn’t just kill Bruce’s own son-

Yeah, Jason feels like he has liberal use of betrayal. It’s just an old song he hums sometimes and lets others join in occasionally.

But there was an unspoken code, a silent right-of-passage, when it came to being Robin. A mutual understanding of sorts. You don’t back-stab another Robin. Ever. You don’t lie, cheat out, betray a fellow Robin. There were too many shared experiences when it came to being Batman’s, Bruce’s, Robin and that ultimately revolved all back to trust and knowing that things were still the same despite all these years. Being Robin was both the best thing to ever happen to someone and also the ultimate death sentence. You don’t just get to be Robin either. You’ve got to earn it, to prove yourself, to show that you can take it all on, to keep up with Batman and the ever changing and violent Gotham.

So, when Dick shows up with an apology on his lips and the expectation of being welcomed home after all this time, Jason punches him square in the jaw. It’s surreal, a part of him thinking his fist will just phase right through the man’s face, but his knuckles connect and if the sound of his fist against Dick’s jaw isn’t the most satisfying and cruel thing he’s ever heard, Jason doesn’t know what is. 

It’s agony, nearly, to see the red blossom on his older brother’s cheek because, holy hell, that means it’s all real. That Dick is really alive and not still buried in that weed covered yard with decaying roses scattered on top of it. Dick is alive and Jason is furious because he’s supposed to be dead and Jason already tried so hard to fill the other man’s impossibly huge shoes and he was doing a damn good job at it. He likes to think so, at least.

But who cares, right? Who gives a shit when Dick is back now and it was all for nothing? Everyone can just go back to their normal routines now that the star player is back and they don’t need a fill-in like Jason to stick around. All that effort, all that time, all that trying all summing up into one big, Surprise, I’m not dead, from the man of the hour himself.

Jason avoids Dick after that. The man said he wasn’t staying long, just “checking in” with everyone like he was just on some business call for a few months and not dead. 

And that’s the root of it, Jason thinks. That’s what really gnaws at him because Dick is treating the whole situation exactly like he was on some extended vacation and just forgot to tell anyone where he was going. Not like his absence literally turned their entire world upside down. Not like the loss, the emptiness, that literally echoed everywhere Jason went was consuming and terrifying. In those eight months, Jason had to toe the line between being the eldest and maintaining his identity as Red Hood, and that’s where Jason truly felt close to Dick. Felt like he finally got what Dick and Bruce’s arguments were about so many years ago, this constant war of wanting to be better, wanting to have freedom, wanting to stay yourself when there was a constant war of others trying to get you to fill a role that you don’t want. 

Finally, Jason felt like he had some other important connection to his elusive older brother that had nothing to do with the man that housed them, only for it all to be thrown across the room and into the trash. 

To keep it simple, bare-bones, really dumbed down, Dick lied. About being dead, of all things. Jason can get behind needing to lay low after all that, being stripped of your identity on live television wasn’t exactly great for their kind of lifestyle, but to just leave? To go out on some mission and leave the rest of them out to dry like that? No warning, no hints, no notes, nothing? God, at least Jason made an appearance. Granted, not the best sort of re-introduction, but at least he wasn’t trying to hide.

To say the least, Jason is hurting. The anger faded along with any sort of need to prove to Dick that he had stepped up when he left. Now, he just feels… shitty. In a way, this is what he had been half-way expecting. No one stays dead in this business. There is always someone with a back-up or ex-machina to save the day and bring back a fallen hero, villain, whatever. But there had just been something so final, so human in Dick’s death. In that moment, seeing the mask ripped off, seeing his brother’s face on T.V out of context, away from the normal flashiness that was being related to a billionaire, it had scared Jason because that was his brother, Dick Grayson, world’s most annoying man in the universe, on T.V; beaten, bloodied, bruised, and humiliated for everyone to see.

He’s always been jealous of how clean and clear Dick’s eyes looked. Just a simple and rare shade of blue, obnoxiously bright and searching. Jason’s mother used to say he had his father’s eyes, a muddy mix of blue and green. He’s never liked his eyes, but there was always something so attention grabbing with Dick’s. Seeing them on T.V, wide and blood-shot and bruised to hell; the blue was out of place and humanizing in a way that Jason just couldn't describe because it was simply Dick Grayson there. Not Nightwing. Not a hero. It was just Dick Grayson, world’s worst older brother ever, looking lost, defiant, and defeated all at once.

And that hurt.

The man is like some nasty disease that won’t leave him alone though. Their first meeting was two days ago and Jason is trying his best to ignore the knife in his chest, not literally, when Dick shows up. Just outside the Narrows on the roof of a bodega, Dick appears from where ever the fuck he’s been and walks over to Jason. It’s a cue, Jason knows, when thunder rumbles in the distance and if he were a bit more into literature, feeling a bit more melancholy for his freshman year of high school, Jason would say that a storm is coming for the both of them, not just Gotham.

Dick walks with his hands in his pockets, stuffed inside an old brown jacket that looks well-used and well-loved. Jason’s never seen the jacket before. Must’ve gotten it on his extended vacation. A part of Jason knows that Bruce was in on it too, that Bruce probably deserves just as much anger he’s dishing out towards Dick, maybe even more, but Jason’s tired of trying to play nice and get along. Dick is the one in front of him now, right here on a Wednesday night with the glowing, neon advertisement for Coke singing behind their heads and a run down, twenty year old convenience shop beneath their feet. 

Dick is here and now when he should be dead.

Just like Jason should be.

“What do you want?” he asks, the metallic tin of his voice modulator diminishing some of the threat. It’s a known fact that Red Hood guards his territory with a viciousness rivaling a rabid dog. Outsiders aren’t welcome. Never welcome.

In contrast, Dick is mask-less. Civilian. Same clear blue eyes from eight months ago that were sealed shut the last time Jason saw them. A dark bruise stains Dick’s right cheekbone, the shape of knuckles and betrayal. It’s a good contrast.

“I came to say goodbye,” the other man answers, stopping just short of six feet in front of Jason, “and that I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. I really am,” he insists when Jason remains silent. “Things just… happened too fast. It killed me to be away from you all for so long. I wanted to tell you, I did-”

“Really?” Jason interrupts lowly. “It killed you, huh?”

Dick sighs, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. You know it’s not.”

“I don’t know, Dicky. Times are changing, you know. One minute, you’re the star pupil, and the next I’m your backup. And now,” Jason shrugs, letting his hand come up to rest on the holster he keeps on his hip, “I’m not so sure about that.”

Dick is eyeing Jason like he’s looking at something he doesn’t like. Something that’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. But that’s just something he’s going to have to deal with, isn’t it? Suck it up buttercup, and all that.

A laugh erupts from Jason as he truly takes it all in. “You know,” he chuckles, nothing humorous causing his mirth, “you really had me there for awhile. I bought you flowers, went to your funeral, dealt with all that shit, and yet here you are. In the flesh.” He laughs again, fingers curving steadily around the grip of his gun. “I think I liked you better dead, Dick.”

The older man frowns, brow dipping into a neat crease. Not a single wrinkle on his perfect, tan, not dead face. “The situation was unavoidable,” he says, like he actually believes a word he utters. “Batman needed a guy on the inside. The, hm, circumstances leading up to that set it up so that I could be that guy. It wasn’t exactly my choice to stay dead, Jay.”

“Names,” Jason snarks, that same anger he felt two days ago rearing its ugly head again. “You know, you say you didn’t have a choice, but I think there’s a clear distinction between dead and alive, don’t you? It might just be me, who knows because fuck if I do, but I think a warning woud’ve sufficed. A fucking warning. ”

Something must click in Dick’s head as his frown deepens. His hands are out of his jacket pockets now. They’re both tense.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “Maybe another month. Two at most. When I get back, I’ll try and…” Dick trails off there, as if searching for the right words, but Jason doesn’t have the patience for him to find the right way to say the same bullshit he’s already heard before. 

He’s so tired. So, so tired.

“We were fine without you,” he snarls, relishing in the way Dick’s eyes widen at the claim. “The world doesn’t stop turning just because you decide to go off on a little adventure. Newsflash, asshole: None of us need you. You can’t come back here and expect everything to fall back to the way things were just because you decide it’s time to show your face again.”

“I was doing what I thought was right,” Dick snaps back. “Look, I’m sorry you had to step up and be a decent person for once-”

“And there it is,” Jason growls, unholstering his gun. “You think you’re so much better than me. You’re just so goddamn smug you can’t even see your own mistakes. What, is my being here just too inconvenient for you? Can’t make all the little hero-worshipers fall back into line like they used to?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I did what I thought was best for everyone and I paid the price for it.”

Jason lunges, cutting the feet between them into inches. “What was best?” he yells, swinging with one fist and aiming with the other. “Who the hell are you to decide that?”

Dick retaliates, pushing away Jason with a kick that connects to his armored chest. It’s barely a glancing blow though and he’s charging forwards again, squeezing the trigger as a shot rings off into the air, missing Dick’s foot by a few centimetres. Another crack of thunder resounds in the distance and a bolt of lightning cracks open the dark sky. Dick rolls away from Jason’s tackle, on the balls of his feet and ready to jump away again.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” Dick tries, widening his stance. “I just came to, god, I don’t know, Jay. I didn’t ask for this!”

“Cut the bull,” Jason says, raising his gun again. He’s got it trained on Dick’s mid-section and even though a part of him knows he’s not going to take the shot, another part of him has his finger itching towards the trigger. “None of us asked for any of the fuckery that comes our way, but we deal with it, right? I’m dead, you’re dead, the brat’s dead, we’re all dead!”

There’s another crack of thunder, one that brings the rain with it. It pours, instantly drenching the pair, and a sheet of gray divides them. There’s surely something poetic about it, the divide that surrounds them both, but Jason’s not one to dwell long.

“Well, I’m not dead anymore!” Dick screams through the rain. “I am alive! I’ve been dead for eight months and I don’t want to fucking be anymore! I want to come home, Jay. I am alive. Goddamnit, I am alive!”

“So why didn’t you tell us that? Tell any of us that? All of this, that’s on you , Dick. You want to know why there wasn’t a big fucking parade for you? Why no one was fighting over the chance to be the first one to get to shake your hand? It’s because we don’t trust you anymore. No one fucking wants you near them because that’s how badly you fucked up.”

He must strike a nerve because Jason sees something crumple on Dick’s face. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t want to leave you guys, Jay. God, you’ve got to believe me on that. I had no choice. It was either I leave and do this for Batman or-”

That same anger rises up again. Anger from different directions, different thoughts, but ultimately because it’s about Batman. Always, always about Batman. What he wants. What he needs you to do. Because if you don’t do it, and someone dies, it’s your fault. And Dick has always been the suck-up, the one to come when called, because even after all their spats and all these years of silence between them, Dick was still a Robin first and goddamnit if Jason doesn’t understand that. He hates that he understands that need to please Batman, to do what he asks in the hope of just some tiny ounce of praise or acknowledgment, but Dick is a grown adult. He’s not Robin anymore.

None of them are.

Dick takes a step forward and Jason squeezes the trigger, feeling the recoil in his wrist as Dick freezes, the bullet breezing right past his armpit. His eyes are wide, finally taking the weapon in as it is, and there must be some realization going off inside Dick’s head because now he’s the one charging in, stance low and shifty, and Jason’s on the defense now. His finger is still on the trigger, just barely, and he’s raising it to aim again when a flying round-house knocks the gun from his hand and fist drives under his chin. It disorients him a bit because, damn, he didn’t actually expect Dick to fight back, Jason was trying to get him to go away, but now they’re both serious. They’re both dangerous.

It’s a no-weapons brawl, just fists and dirty kicks and the rain is still pounding away against the bodega. The rain has plastered Dick’s hair to his skull and Jason is grateful for his helmet because it’s clear the water is making it difficult for the older man to see. He takes advantage of this, striking down with his elbow on Dick’s trapezius and quickly hooking his left foot around his ankle. It works for a split second, Dick thrown off and unbalanced, before Dick is tumbling down and using his own momentum to pull Jason down with him. 

They’re on their backs now, rough and cold cement bleeding through their jackets, and the neon Coke sign flickers in and out as thunder continues to roll and shake the world.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” Jason snarls, taking a jab at his older brother’s face. “You should’ve never come back.”

Dick frees one of his hands from underneath the massive bulk of Jason’s suit, palm striking the sides of his helmet. “Take off the godamn hood and say that to my face,” Dick pants, shoving one of his knees into Jason’s side. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me dead, Jay. Tell me you want me dead. ”

Another bolt of lightning splits the dark and its image refracts against the many puddles, and for a moment, the light sears into Jason’s eyes. He flinches against the burn and it’s enough hesitation for Dick to take the unguarded moment and flip Jason, crouching with one knee on his chest and the other digging into Jason’s forearm. They’re both breathing heavily, exhausted both physically and mentally, and he doesn’t bother to stop his brother as Dick reaches down and shoves the helmet off of his face.

Their eyes meet and Jason squints up at clear blue. Yeah, he hates that color. Hates it so much it feels like something ugly in his stomach, coiling and clenching. They’re both frowning but Dick just looks resigned. Jason hates that too. Now that he has the chance, he can see new scars on his brother’s face. New, finer lines and white and pink discoloration. 

Funny how eight months can make someone look so much older.

“I wish you had stayed dead,” Jason finally says, hating himself all the more for it. “I wish you had never come back.”

Dick stumbles off of him and there’s a thin trail of red leaking from one of his eyebrows that keeps getting washed away. Jason doesn’t even remember hitting him there, but he must’ve been excessive. Must’ve over-done it. Just another thing he’s managed to fuck up. Check it off the list. 

He sits up, feeling the ache of a sore back and numerous bruises, and watches as his brother leans heavily against the poles of the advertisement. The rain only seems to come down harder, bouncing off the yellow stained bodega roof. He gets to his feet slowly, careful to keep an eye on the slouching man, and treads over to pick up his helmet. His gun is closer to the bright neon sign and when he gets near enough, Dick looks up, something horribly heavy and sad, settling into his face.

“Okay,” is all he says, nodding once. “Okay, Jay.”

Dick reaches into his jacket pocket once more, fiddling with something, but Jason’s too preoccupied putting his helmet back on to really pay attention to it. They’re done fighting. Done with whatever all of that was. His hair is soaked, his jacket is going to have a layer of mildew on it in the morning, and Jason is tired. Beat. He can’t find the will-power to truly be bothered with anything else. 

This is his territory so he’s not technically fleeing, but that’s what it looks like. Tail between his legs, off to lick his wounds, Jason’s sure that’s what Dick is thinking (he knows that’s not true, he knows this, and he’s got a little secret screaming, pounding away in the back of his skull, but Jason’s too burned out to deal with it, to address it). He walks to the edge of the roof with his back turned on his older brother, his alive and breathing, long lost brother, and jumps off, sliding down the fire escape and landing on the grimy streets below. His boots squelch in the rain, and there’s water logged into his socks, but Jason ignores it in favor of staring ahead. Refusing to look back.

Here’s the thing about being a Robin that everyone who’s been one before knows. 

You rely on each other. There’s no codependency, not really, but there is a certain degree of reliance on past and current Robins. Robin is the inspiration. Not Batman. Batman doesn’t inspire little kids to go out in the night and get punched in the face and witness cruelty so awful you have nightmares for years after. Batman doesn’t inspire light and forgiveness and mercy; that’s all Robin’s doing. The bright colors, the chatter, the youth. That’s all on Robin, the little child weapons they are, and the shared experience of being that for Batman is a bond that runs so much deeper than blood. Thick and interwoven and relied upon so much more heavily than a simple crest or uniform.

And here’s that screaming secret that vibrates inside Jason’s skull: he’s happy Dick’s back. That Dick’s alive. At the end of the day, Dick was the first Robin, the first light, and having him snuffed out was a world that got three shades darker, bleaker. It was Dick’s Robin that truly gave it the twinge of hope all the Robins after carry with them; he was the model, the mold, they shaped themselves after. Him being dead changed that perspective for the worse because the first Robin made it. That’s what was so important, what tips the scales for the confidence of all Robins after. Dick made it. Survived being Robin, survived past Robin, and became his own hero. 

Dick outlived being Robin and that was the ultimate goal. To survive. 

So him dying was the last straw but now that he’s back, alive, everything was going to be okay again. Yeah, they’re all still messed up from it, there’s going to be a lot of trust built back up again, but they’re Robins for Christ's sake. Thicker than blood, stronger than a crest, relied on more than Batman. And maybe Jason’s being sentimental, still trying to be more eloquent than his sophomore English education allowed him to be, but God, he’s trying. He’s trying so hard despite the ache that wears down his bones and the fire that consumes his brain.

That’s why he gives in. Turns around. Looks back. Does what he thought he was too stubborn to do, but things change and-

The neon sign is brighter. No, that’s not right. There’s another source of that eerie, glowing light and Jason’s eyes widen as he sees a person step through it. Another figure, broad, muscular, unfamiliar, and they’re heading straight for Dick. His brother. Who is still leaning against the advertisement poles. Who’s not doing a damn thing to avoid the stranger that’s fast approaching. 

Soreness and fatigue forgotten, Jason starts sprinting, boots pounding against the pavement as he cranes his neck upwards to watch the stranger continue to advance.

“Dick!” he yells in warning, drowned out with the rain. “Dick, move!”

He slams into the fire escape, hands scraping up the ladder as he hauls himself three steps at a time, chest heaving and heart beating wildly. He slips, losing his footing, and Jason grunts as he feels the pull on his shoulder and his knees bang into the sides of the bodega. He pushes on though, gripping the metal tightly and finally reaching the top.

He’s pulling himself over, gasping and searching, and he sees the man tugging Dick closer to the strange light, what Jason thinks must be some sort of portal, and before he’s even gotten a leg over the edge, his right hand is scrambling for purchase on his gun. He takes aim and fires without a second thought and curses aloud when it jams.

“Dick!” he yells again, throwing the useless weapon away and falling over onto the roof. “Stop! Stop! What’re you doing?”

His brother just trudges on though, bicep gripped by the stranger that continues to drag him closer and closer to the pulsating light, ghoulishly pink and saturating the air with an ominous buzz. Another flash of lightning illuminates the sky and Jason trips over himself in his haste, crashing into the slick cement. He whips his head up, too far away, too late, as the stranger disappears fully into the portal, Dick just a few inches away.

“Wait!” Jason cries, still attempting to rise off of his knees. Damn the rain. Damn the weight of his grief. Damn it all, get up. Get up. “Dick, stop! Stop!”

The rain is loud though and there’s a divide between the two of them, mixes of gray, pink, and red light. His brother half turns, watching as the younger stumbles towards him, and Jason can’t hear anything, can hardly process what’s even happening now, but Dick’s lips move in what Jason thinks is, Goodbye, and Jason screams, lunging as his brother fades into the light.

He falls, smashing into the cement once again as he fails to reach for his brother’s hand, and lands where the portal had just been. He lays there on his chest, heaving and attempting to breathe through his helmet, but it’s too hard, too suffocating, and Jason rips it off and flings it as far away from him as he can. His hands clench into fists and he fights back the urge to cry as he slams his fists into the roof. Bam-Bam-Bam.

Something cracks in his knuckles and Jason stops at the pain, shifting back and hanging his head between his knees. There’s a vicious burn in his eyes, his ugly, muddy green eyes, and Jason swipes at them furiously.

“We just got you back,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “We just got you back, Dick, and you, you just-”

A clap of thunder rattles the thin poles of the Coke advertisement as its lights finally flicker out. The night is dark without its glow and Jason is left in obscurity. 

“What have I done?"