#Echo has been adopted and he's just figuring this out

[archivewriter1ont]

I Know Your Name as My Brother: Adopting Echo

Sharing this again because it's been a while and it's my favorite!

Status: Complete Word Count: 25,972

Summary:

Echo didn't escape Skakko Minor unscathed, and his new limbs are the least of his problems. When he walked onto the Marauder, he had no idea how he was going to make a place among the four brothers who had rescued and then adopted him. Slowly he realizes that he might not have to. Maybe he just needs to accept the one they've already made for him.

Tech: Call Sign (The Bird Story) -- The Batch's resident genius asks Echo a strange question. The cyborg gets a lesson about birds and his new squad's way of doing things.

Crosshair: Silent Words (The Sketch) -- Echo is brooding and he thinks he'll find camaraderie in the other sulky Batcher. But Crosshair is more than meets the eye.

Wrecker: Midnight (Lula and the Cyborg) -- Echo can't sleep. He ends up getting a chat, a tooka doll, and some surprising revelations.

Hunter: A Quiet Morning (Tea and Terrors) -- The sergeant and the cyborg have a rough morning and tea is the fix, paired with plenty of cadethood stories about his brothers that Hunter is willing to share.

Broken Pieces (Somehow Fit Together) -- Echo thinks he's stable enough to sleep without his prosthetics. He isn't.

Reflection (Peace on Pabu) -- Home at last.

[zhelin-thames]

Bruce has another kid........but this one is not adopted

It started with a mission. Bruce had caught wind of strange paranormal disturbances in a small town called Amity Park. Reports of “ghost sightings” and a local teen hero known as “Danny Phantom” had reached the Batcomputer. Most dismissed it as urban legends or a publicity stunt, but Bruce wasn’t one to ignore a potential threat—especially when these sightings coincided with spikes in dimensional energy readings.

Taking Tim and Damian along, Bruce decided to investigate.

The Bat-plane landed under cover of night just outside Amity Park. The small, seemingly ordinary town was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the hum of streetlights and the occasional echo of a distant, unnatural wail.

“This place is giving me... weird vibes,” Tim muttered, adjusting his tech-enhanced goggles.

“Focus, Drake,” Damian snapped. “We are not here for your feelings.”

Tim rolled his eyes but stayed silent as they followed Bruce toward the FentonWorks lab, the epicenter of the disturbances according to their data.

As they approached the lab, the trio suddenly heard a commotion. A glowing, green figure phased through a wall, yelling back at someone inside.

“I told you, Skulker, I’m not in the mood for another ‘hunt’ today!” Danny Phantom shouted, blasting the air with an ectoplasmic beam that sent a mechanical ghost retreating through the night sky.

The Bat-family froze.

“That’s him,” Bruce said quietly, narrowing his eyes. “Danny Phantom.”

Tim activated his scanner. “Readings are off the charts. His energy signatures are unlike anything I’ve seen. Definitely not human... or entirely human.”

Danny turned mid-air, his glowing green eyes locking onto the trio of vigilantes below. His gaze lingered on Damian for a fraction of a second before he floated down, his posture wary but non-threatening.

“And you guys are...?” Danny asked, crossing his arms.

“Batman,” Bruce said, stepping forward. “We’re here to investigate the unusual phenomena in this town. That includes you.”

“Great. Another set of people thinking I’m some kind of freak,” Danny muttered under his breath before straightening up. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m just trying to keep the ghost attacks in check. So unless you’re here to help, maybe stay out of my way?”

As the conversation continued, Bruce noticed something odd about Danny. There was something familiar in his facial structure, his stance, even his voice. It was faint, but undeniable.

Later, under the guise of investigating the Fenton lab, Bruce covertly collected a sample of Danny’s DNA—left behind on a napkin when Danny had grabbed a snack.

Back at the Batcave, the results left him stunned.

Bruce returned to Amity Park and requested to speak with Danny privately. Intrigued—and maybe a little suspicious—Danny agreed, letting Bruce lead him to the Bat-plane.

When they arrived at Wayne Manor, Alfred greeted them with his usual calm demeanor. “Master Bruce, your guest?”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Fancy place. What is this, a billionaire’s bat-cave?”

Bruce didn’t respond, leading Danny to the Batcave below.

Once there, Bruce revealed the DNA results.

“Daniel,” he began, his tone as measured as ever, “you’re my son.”

Danny blinked. Then blinked again. “I’m sorry, what?”

Bruce explained how Talia had kept Damian a secret and revealed that she’d also been pregnant with twins. After Damian’s birth, Talia claimed Danny had been stillborn. In truth, the League of Assassins had stolen him for an experiment, intending to use him as a vessel for Ra’s al Ghul’s essence. When the experiment failed, they abandoned Danny, leaving him to be found by Jack and Maddie Fenton.

“I don’t even know where to start with that,” Danny said, pacing. “You’re telling me my entire life is some kind of League of Assassins soap opera?!”

Bruce didn’t respond, giving Danny space to process.

After a long silence, Danny turned to him. “Does Damian know?”

Bruce decided to bring Danny to the Manor to meet the rest of the family. The reactions were varied—Tim was skeptical, Jason was amused, and Alfred was quietly delighted to have another addition to the family.

But Damian’s reaction was the most intense.

[scififettuccine]

Homelander x SupeTeen!Reader

Idk ya'll Homie has really been getting on my nerves recently. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going with this one at first, but I LOVE the way it turned out. It was a doozy but it was SO FUN to write! This isn’t proof read just yet so please don’t yell at me💀

Summary: You meet your biological father for the first time at Vought Tower after your adoptive mother's unexpected passing...he's not exactly what you expected.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Homelander (Obviously), death of a parental figure, mentions of death, manipulation tactics, awkward parental conversations???

Being a Supe had never been easy for you, though, luckily you had never been forced to live in a lab. Soon after you were born, one of the Vought scientists had taken you in as her own, -due to the fact that your biological mother had died during childbirth- directly going against Vought's policies. She was found out eventually, to no one's surprise...but this breach in policy gave headway to a new experiment. So, she was allowed to keep you and raise you as her own. You were raised as any other child would be, but you were treated with extra caution...and being the only Supe in school wasn't exactly a cake walk. But the worst thing you had experienced was a little bullying, but your doting, caring, adoptive mother put an end to that rather quickly by talking with the school board. The first 15 years of your life were...tolerable, if not ideal. It was supposed to stay that way...until your mother was found dead at her place of work.

It had only been two weeks since your mother died. In those two weeks, you had been relocated and told, verbatim, that your father was one of the most iconic Supes in the world...Homelander. Now? You were sitting in The Seven's meeting room at Vought Tower, anxiously toying with the handle of the swivel chair you were sitting in. Part of you was still just...numb. Everything you had ever known had been ripped away from you seemingly overnight. Any other child would be over the moon...but you? You were just...detached. You were pulled out of the endless depths of your own thoughts when a voice echoed off the walls of the room.

"Hey there, kiddo!"

You looked up from your anxious fiddling, and were met with the blindingly white smile of your biological father. You did your best to give a convincing smile back, sitting up a bit straighter in your seat. His presence wasn't exactly the most comforting. He tilted his head to the side a bit when you didn't respond.

"You're Y/N...Right? Hopefully we didn't get the wrong kid...that would be awkward, wouldn't it?" Homelander asked with a laugh. He sort of stopped in the center of the room, looking you up and down, like he was trying to evaluate you...to decide your worth. You nod sheepishly.

"Yeah...yeah. That's me." It honestly didn't help that you were the age that you were...it made it more awkward somehow. Homelander didn't say anything for a moment, almost like he was waiting for you to say something else. When you didn't, he sort of chuckled.

"You're not very talkative, are you?" He asked. You had opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. "I guess that's understandable. Meeting your old man for the first time is no small feat..." He paused for a moment as he evaluated your expression. "I'm sorry to hear about your mom...tough stuff there, kiddo." You took a breath when he mentioned your mother. It was all so fresh...and there were so many things you had recently learned that she had never told you. You didn't even know she wasn't your biological mother until after she died.

"Mmm...Don't be sorry...not your fault."

Oh, the unknown irony of that statement.

Homelander let out a small scoff and frowned. Admittedly, the frown looked incredibly fake...almost like he was mocking you.

"Still...I can't imagine what you must be feeling. I mean, to find out that she was keeping so much from you...after she died...? That must pack an even worse punch." You sort of stiffened in your seat. You weren't exactly stupid...you could read his tone. He was hiding his insults towards your mother with a cruel, mock sympathy.

"She only did it to protect me...I know she did. She wasn't a bad mom, she was amazing, actually." You respond, almost matter-of-factly, your eyes glowing red ever so slightly. "I know raising a Supe couldn't have been easy for her...she had her reasons." It was incredibly hard to talk about your mother in any way, considering she had only died two weeks ago. Homelander sensed your tone, and put his hands up as he noticed the flicker of light in your eyes. It suddenly became clear to him that you couldn't control your powers, which almost made him smirk.

"Hey now, of course she was...Absolutely no hard feelings towards your mom...But I know I would have never kept things from you like that. And registering you at a public school, knowing you're a Supe? That's just...cruel." You were going to continue defending your mother...until he mentioned school. That was something you couldn't exactly convince yourself was a great move on your mom's part.

"School was...a different story. It was rough." You said, pulling your legs up onto the swivel chair so you could hold your knees to your chest. Homelander nodded as he took a few steps closer to you, his hands now at rest behind his back.

"So I've heard...I spoke to your therapist." That comment turned your stomach a bit. Wasn't everything you spoke about with your therapist supposed to be confidential? Homelander noticed the slight change in your expression. "Don't worry, Y/N...I didn't dig into any of the gritty teenager things..." He chuckled, "I was just curious to learn about your school situation. You're a sophomore now, right?"

"Yeah...I will be. In the fall." You said quietly. Homelander smiled, where he now stood beside your chair at the point of the uniquely shaped table.

"Well that's fun, isn't it?" He asked as he pulled out one of the other swivel chairs and pulled it towards him. "One more year and then you're one of the big dogs." You nodded, watching his movements as he sat down, facing you. Everything about him just seemed so...strange. Even the way he moved. It looked almost calculated...and was mildly unsettling.

"I guess..." You said quietly. You sighed as you rested your chin on your knees, grabbing onto the table to reluctantly turn your chair to face his...it was only polite.

"You don't seem too thrilled..." He started, his blue eyes meeting the identical set that you possessed, "Was school really that bad?" That was more of a rhetorical question on his part, he knew everything about you.

"The teasing sucks...They call me 'Laser Eyes'..." Homelander stifled a laugh when you said that, to which you narrowed your eyes.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry!" He said with a chuckle, "That is the stupidest insult I've ever heard!" Homelander took a moment to stop laughing before he looked back to you. "Look. I'm not laughing at you, kiddo. I would never. But Laser Eyes...? Really? They couldn't come up with anything more original? I mean...Even I'd be hesitant to insult you considering you could just laser them in half." He said. His smile was almost manic looking.

"What?" You asked, almost dumbfounded. "I would never...I could never." You said. You pulled your chin off your knees, your eyes still narrowed.

"Why couldn't you? You're a Supe...aren't you? I mean...mommy swooping in and bribing administration to take disciplinary action against those little shit stains isn't exactly making you out to be the strongest person..." You almost immediately sat up correctly in your chair.

"She bribed the administration...?" You ask softly. Homelander gave a mock frown as he noticed your eyes become glossy.

"You didn't know? Gosh...How much was she keeping from you?" You swallowed as he spoke and tried your best not to cry. The last person you wanted to look pathetic in front of was Homelander...Especially considering his earlier comment about it not being a good look that your mom always had to swoop in and save you. "Awe..." He started, scooting his chair closer to yours. "Don't cry kiddo...It's not your fault that you're so lost...It's hers." Your eyes met his once again, a tear slipping down your cheek, which you quickly reached up to wipe away.

"Lost?" You ask. Homelander nodded.

"Well, most Supes your age, with your abilities usually already have a professional presence...Or at least know how to use their powers correctly." He said, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. "I mean, had I raised you? Had you not been wrongfully stolen from me after you were born? You'd already have a place in the Supe community, followers...maybe even a contract with Vought. You wouldn't just be floating in your own little bubble...You'd have a group. A family." Something in you broke when he spoke. Your mother had stolen you from your biological father? And had he raised you, you wouldn't be so...you? So lonely and misplaced? You couldn't help the tears that slid down your cheeks. It was as if your entire life had been flipped upsidedown.

"She...S-she really kept all that from me?" You asked. Homelander tutted softly, almost pitying you. He stood up and held out his arms.

"Come here, kiddo..." He said softly, with a tone of empty sympathy. You almost immediately stood up and buried your head in his chest. At this point....What else did you have? Who else did you have? He chuckled softly as he wrapped his arms around you, his hug firm, considering he was so much larger than you...yet comforting, despite the strange material of his suit.

'It's alright, Y/N...You're right where you need to be. We'll get you up and running with those powers of yours in no time..." He said softly, resting his chin on top of your blonde hair. He caught the reflection of the two of you in the large window that lit the room and his grip tightened, almost possessively. "You're not alone anymore...got it? You've got your dad to keep you company..." You nodded against his chest, sniffling.

"Got it." You responded softly, hugging him a bit tighter. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe Homelander, no, your father was what was best for you. How could you have been living in the dark for so long without realizing it...? You were truly lost. But everything was okay now. You were finally safe, in your fathers embrace.

Homelander smiled wickedly at his own reflection in the window before he rested his cheek on your head. Finally...he had you. His own child that he had been trying to get his bloody hands on for years...Losing another Vought scientist was a necessary sacrifice in the bigger picture of his perfect narrative...and it all started right here. With you. His child. He smiled as he pulled away from the hug, his hands gently squeezing your shoulders.

"How does a milkshake sound, huh? I know Planet Vought has a double chocolate one that's yummers." You smiled and nodded as he moved his thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"I love chocolate." You said with a small laugh. Homelander chuckled as he turned you towards the door of the meeting room and started walking, his firm hand on your shoulder urging you forward.

"I know."

————————————————————————

I hope ya’ll enjoyed! I left it open for more parts so totally let me know if you’d be interested in reading more. Writing for Homes is always a questionable adventure 💀 Until next time, Adieu!

[shallyouobeyme]

From the Outside

Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 (Coming soon)

Platonic!Yandere Batfam x Neglected Batsib!reader (GN)

Summary: You were living your life as a stranger in the house you were supposed to call home, an outsider in a group of people who were supposed to be your family. So you do your best to keep yourself distracted from your situation and go on with your life. But just how long will you be able to keep on with that?

! Minors Do Not Interact !

Requested by @sol565

TW: Not much in this one, neglect (obviously), loss of relatives, car crash (mentioned), cancer (mentioned), swearing, coming up to Yandereness in the next chapters. I'll try to proofread and edit once I finish the whole thing.

Last night you dreamed of your family again. It was a pleasant dream, one that had you wishing to keep on dreaming even after you were woken up by your alarm. All of you were sitting at the dinner table, enjoying Alfred’s excellent cooking. The room was filled with happiness and joy, the kind of atmosphere that has you reminiscing about that day for ages. In your dream you felt so weightless, Damian was sitting opposite you as he listened to you talk about your day, an anecdote of you leading to laughter filling the room. Your mother ruffled your hair from where she was sitting beside you and as you smiled up to her you felt filled with love. Around the table, the Waynes were actively interested in the conversation and Bruce was asking you a question leading to a cheeky comment from your left side. You knew what was said, but you couldn’t understand the voice. Confused you looked to where your father should be sitting but only a distorted shadow figure looked back at you. 

It opened whatever would be most akin to a mouth and a blaring sound echoed out of it. Your eyes flew open as you slapped your bedside table to grab your phone. 7 A.M, time to get up. This dream had been haunting you for a few weeks now, the idyllic family dinner turning into an unpleasant reminder of your situation. At first, you had woken up in a cold sweat and slightly fearful from the end, but by now you had grown very accustomed to it. Just another part of your day to get through. 

You accepted to pay the mental price for the opportunity to see your mother again, if only during the nights. 

Another look at your phone to check the notifications and you got up and got dressed. Given the time you knew that you still had enough time to join your adopted siblings for breakfast, but even Alfred's amazing pancakes and french toast could to move you into the kitchen. Deciding to just nap something from your friends during lunch break at school, you grabbed your bag and jacket before quickly making your way through the manor. Like almost every morning you silently prayed that you wouldn’t come across anyone on your way to the front door. Eighty per cent of the time you were lucky, fifteen per cent you were just ignored and the other five per cent you found yourself stuck in painfully awkward small talk with the people who lived on the same floor as you. People who were supposed to be your closest friends and confidants. People who weren’t that. People who were more akin to strangers.

Today you were in luck as you managed to slip out of the giant house you hated to call home without having to talk to anyone. Getting onto your scooter, you made your way to the school, enjoying the air in your face through the helmet and the feeling of freedom that only came to you on rare occasions. 

The school was still fairly empty when you arrived - as was expected - so you had the honour of walking through the empty halls like you owned the place. A sentiment that some of your schoolmates even believed. You wanted to tell them that you had no need for your Guardians money, no interest in his family’s name or his family’s reputation. Bitter thoughts filled your mind, leaving a taste of anger, of disappointment, of anguish on your tongue. They weren’t helped by what you saw when you stopped in front of the trophy showcase. There were pictures of some of the best former student-athletes that had attended the school, and the most recognizable was a picture that was proudly displayed right on eyesight. It was at a sporting event that had happened some twenty to thirty years earlier, one that was still held bi-annually. The winners of different disciplines were smiling proudly into the camera, arms around each other. 

Taking the spotlight was a man that every proud Gothamite would recognize as a young Bruce Wayne on one side, a different boy who people tended to overlook based on his less noticeable features and the lack of fame he had, and in the middle of both of them stood Bruce’s former best friend. Your mother. Your late mother. 

She had been a beautiful, stunning, talented woman. Everyone who had ever known her told you that. You tried to take some solace in the fact that they told you how alike the two of you were, both in looks and in personality. It did nothing to quell the underlying pain though, the pain still boiling inside you, pain that over the years had turned into anger. You weren’t angry with your mother, of course, you knew that she had not chosen to fall sick, that she had not chosen to succumb to cancer. She had loved you with all her heart and only ever wanted you to be happy. This is why, when your grandparents died in a shooting shortly after her diagnosis, she put it in her will that after her passing you were to be taken care of by her lifelong friend Bruce Wayne. After all, he already had kids and he was rich, just like she and her parents had been - money and estates that now waited on you to turn 18 to take charge of - and he’d be surely able to give you the life and the love she always wanted you to have. 

Sadly, your mother had not known Bruce quite as well as she had believed she did. She had no idea that he spent his nights as the infamous Batman, or that the kids he adopted had been turned into fighting machines - sometimes even killers. She had no idea that he was not the amazing, loving and attentive father figure she had wanted you to have. Not even close. 

You suppose he had tried at one point. When you were a young child, grieving the loss of your entire family and everything that you had known, he had taken you in like one of his own and assured you that from then on he’d protect you. Back then you had believed him. After all, your mother had told you so many great things about him, why should she lie. And with elder brothers and sisters, a Butler who made sure you had your favourite foods whenever you felt sad and a man who tried his best to be the father you never had. They did lots of work to spend time with you and to pay attention to you which would ensure you wouldn’t notice their weird habits and absences. But of course that couldn’t work forever. After a few months, you found out about their best (and somehow at the same time worst) kept secret and as you walked through the Batcave by Bruce’s side everything changed. He didn’t directly offer to train you, but he did insinuate that it was an option, though you declined. You couldn’t see yourself hurting others. You wanted to help like your mom had helped, by volunteering, bettering the world peacefully. Bruce had assured you that that was a completely acceptable decision and that it wouldn’t change anything. But he had lied. Perhaps knowingly, perhaps not. Maybe some of both. 

Once you were aware of their second life, they didn’t put in the effort to pay enough attention to you to make you unaware of their secret. At first, they still spent time with you, but over time it seemed like you were blending into obscurity like a special bottle of champagne that was planned to be open on a special occasion only. Just that the bottle was usually remembered after the occasion had passed in annoyance. You weren’t. And as you phased out of their minds and into oblivion, you made peace with your place in the family. An outsider, a stranger inside their house, just waiting until the time had come for you to finally live your own life. 

Of course, you knew you could have it worse. You had enough money to fulfil every wish you had as long as it was material, always had something to wear, something to eat, and somewhere to sleep. The only thing you didn’t have was love. But especially in Gotham you knew that you got away rather luckily with that, so while you were deeply angry towards the people who had promised to treat you like family, to love you, you also tried to just get on with your life. 

It would have been easier if it wasn’t just so hard to look at your so-called siblings as if you didn’t resent them for the way they treated you, compared to one another. Somehow showing any interest in you or attempting to spend any time with you was a chore, but somehow Jason and Cass could have a little book club, Jason and Dick could go out for lunch at a cat-cafe, Steph, Cass and Tim could have Spa-days and all of them could have an occasional movie night together. It wasn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t welcome, but you had seen how they acted when you were with them compared to how they acted when you were hiding behind the door listening in. They seemed so much happier without you. As if your mere presence ruined the mood. So you started rejecting their invitations to join and it only took one of two attempts of them to stop asking completely. 

You might have been able to cope better with the obvious dismissal of your existence if it had been because you hadn’t been part of the family when they had forged their close bond, but somehow, even when Damian joined, acting like a complete asshole to everyone around him, they managed to include him and when he warmed up to them he joined their close group. 

So your newness surely could not have been that big of an issue right? Even Damian, completely new to the family and surely aggressive towards all of his pseudo siblings, seemed to know you were less than the others since he didn’t even bother to insult you, instead opting to ignore you. Completely. A glance spared, looking you up and down, and he had decided you were not worth it and his opinion seemingly still hadn’t changed. Sure by now you had talked with him a few times, but you could say the same about the fucking mayor of Gotham so you were sure that did not really count. 

Sometimes, you lay in your bed at night, wide awake, wondering just why you were worth so much less in their eyes. What you had done wrong. Two answers usually presented themselves before you. Either it was because you weren’t a vigilante, something that you might even have been willing to accept, or it was… you. Just you. And for some reason, that was the answer that seemed more plausible to you. Maybe you were just unpleasant to be around, not fitting enough for their family. Not interesting enough, not Wayne enough. 

And so you were cursed to live your life like a ghost in what is supposed to be your home. Going in and out every day, just waiting for the day to come when you could move into the penthouse your grandparents had bought you before they died, which would become your legal property in just a few years. You’d start anew. Maybe one day, after a long time and probably a lot of therapy, you’ll be able to start your own family. One that you’d promise not to fuck up like Bruce had. Until then though, you’d go on like always, spend as little time in that Manor as possible and try to distract yourself from your reality. 

You really did spend very little time at the manor. For one, no one in that house cared when you left or when you came back except maybe Alfred, but even he either knew that you could properly use the freedom or he was too busy to care. Probably a mix of both. And along with that, you had started a very active life outside of your family. You had a lot of friends, though you were not ready to call any of them close friends, always knowing about how many of them were after the publicity of your actual and current family name and the money and fame connected to it. But they were nice enough and they distracted you so you didn’t mind. Especially because you used said popularity to help the people in town. You managed to get a lot of your friends to volunteer alongside you in different homeless shelters, though a lot of them tended to post dozens of pictures which made you feel a bit icky about them trying to profit from helping others, but you knew you couldn’t complain because it did help the shelters. The shelters told you so themselves. 

Most of your ‘pocket money’ was donated and the rest of the time was spent doing different activities, be it arts, sports, parties or just wasting the day away. You did your best to cram as much into your day-to-day life as you could to keep you from thinking too much. To stop you from thinking too much about how messed up you were now, how you couldn’t even confide in any of your friends, how you didn’t even really manage to call them your friends, because you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone close to you anymore, because you knew you weren’t worth it, because you knew you’d be disappointed and hurt again. 

These dark thoughts were kept inside, slowly eating at you like termites, while on the outside you kept on being the happy-go-lucky Gotham personality that people loved to follow. Though you didn’t post a lot on your own social media, your friends and people around you did, which the public loved for some reason. And so you kept up the act, because what else could you do? Let people know you’re hurting? So they could ridicule you for your rich people's problems? Or keep out of the public eye? And have to face the lonely darkness that was your life? No, you’d rather keep on pretending like you had been for years now. Even if it meant being a piece of entertainment for other people who could turn on you at any second. 

The day at school was mostly uneventful, only a short moment of passing by Damian ruined your mood as your classmates did their usual shtick of asking if that wasn’t your brother and you trying to shrug them off, after all, how do you explain that your brother treated you like air not worth breathing? So you changed the topic by announcing that you’d go help out at a local shelter after school and asked if anyone wanted to join. Some excused themselves but a few agreed, which led to a group of five of you coming into the shelter a few hours later after some mandatory selfies so keep your friends placated. There was a bit more traffic inside than usual - a few people definitely not in need of help - which was probably because one of your friends posted your plans on their socials. That was something that you had to begrudgingly accept. You couldn’t afford their anger, so you made a compromise with them that they could post stuff like that, but that they couldn’t post the exact location (which in your opinion was just common sense, but it seemed not a lot of people shared that).

Ignoring the people only there to see you or be near a Wayne, you focused on helping those who needed your help, though aware of the effect you could have on the shelter business, you helped out in the kitchen where people couldn’t see you. You didn’t mind, you liked cooking and you and the fellow kitchen staff had a sort of harmonized rhythm. It even helped you get lost in thoughts that didn’t make you wanna cry, so when you got interrupted in your flow, you almost jumped in shock. One of the organizers had tapped on your shoulder. 

“Y/N, there’s a man outside that wants to talk to you,” Marcus told you and nodded towards the door to the front.

“They still haven’t left? I’m really sorry Marc, if you think it’s better if I leave, then I will,” you sighed, annoyed by the turn of events. 

“No, it’s not a fan. At least I think, he’s- well, he claims to have something really important to talk to you about. He gave me this to show to you, said it’ll show you he’s serious,” Marcus shrugged and held a picture out to you. It was an old Polaroid of a young couple smiling into the camera. Your breath hitched. 

“Is he the guy in the picture?” you asked with a newly found seriousness.

“Yes, at least he looks like it. Is the woman-”

“Yeah, could we use the office? Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

“Sure, no problem, go ahead, I’ll bring him to you in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you earnestly smiled at Marcus as you made your way to the door that led to the office. You were used to being nervous, but not quite as nervous as you were then. This could change a lot of things, everything if it was what you imagined it to be. You looked at the picture in your hand again before sitting down behind the desk and putting it down on the desk. There were steps behind the door coming closer, so you took a deep breath as you wiped your hands on your pant legs. The door opened and in came a man who looked just like the guy from the Polaroid. He seemed familiar, not just from that snapshot of the past, but something in his face rang a bell in your memories. You mustered him, trying to keep a stern exterior as you didn’t know if this was going to be what you thought it would be. 

Marcus gestured the man to sit down on the other side of the desk, before giving you an encouraging nod and closing the door as he left. 

“Hello,” you greeted the man, hands intertwined before you on the desk.

“Hello,” he responded alike and you could feel his curiosity burning through you. Had you misinterpreted this? Was this just another weird fan?

“This picture,” you looked at it again before sliding it towards him, “how do you know my mom?”

A/N: So, what do y'all think? Let me know in the comments or in my inbox ❤️ Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the title as well, not sure if I should change it or keep it.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 48

Part 1 Part 47

The nostalgia of the morning cannot be overstated for Steve. Sure, the fight over the bathroom is more cramped than it used to be, and Eddie’s much grumpier in the mornings than Tommy’s ever been. And yeah, Eddie doesn’t have enough spare toothbrushes, so Steve has to fake disgust when Carol snatches his out of his hand and starts brushing her own teeth with nary a rinse-off.

Carol digs through Eddie’s drawers until she finds a shirt ripped up enough that tucking it into yesterday’s jeans looks like a purposeful statement instead of a walk-of-shame look, ignoring Eddie’s squawking. Steve does the same, and by the time they stumble into the morning dressed and ready, Eddie looks like he’s adopted a couple preps he’s converted to his demonic metal ways. It’s Carol’s hair – too perky by halves. 

And yeah, Uncle Wayne is sitting at the table, eyebrows raised like he’s trying to figure out the minutiae of the three of them coming out of his nephew’s room bright and early on a random Tuesday morning. Sleepovers at Steve or Tommy’s never involved any sort of parental oversight, and one’s at Carol’s involved everyone sneaking out of the window to avoid the breakfast table all together.

“Didn’t make enough toast,” Uncle Wayne mutters tiredly, even as his eyes vertifiably twinkle over his mug as he looks between the three of them before settling onto his nephew.

Eddie, never a morning person even on the best of days, slumps down in his customary chair, thumping his forehead down on the table with a groan. 

Carol scoffs, scooping up a piece of toast and eggs onto one of the two empty plates laid out, glaring at Eddie as she takes a ferocious bite. Then, seemingly remembering her manners, she smiles over at Uncle Wayne like butter wouldn’t melt and sweetly says, “thank you, Uncle Wayne.”

Steve goes to the counter, shoving two more pieces of bread in the toaster and waiting impatiently for them to pop back up. 

Behind him, Eddie’s near-snoring into his eggs, snuffling. Steve turns around, smiling as Uncle Wayne elbows him in the ribs. “Introduce me to your friend, boy.”

“Not my friend,” Eddie mutters. Steve turns back force the half-baked toas up and out of the toaster impatiently just as Eddie hurriedly continues, “but this is Carol Perkins! Steve’s–”

“Best friend,” Carol says. Steve slides back over to them, leaning against the fridge to watch the show, unwilling to slink off into the living room when there’s a show to be had. He eats both pieces dry, choking it down with a glass of orange juice he pours from the fridge.

He downs the cup, wiping his juice-mustache, before meeting Uncle Wayne’s judgemental eyes. “Don’t have room for another stow-away.”

Carol chokes on her eggs as Steve laughs. “This one will be leaving,” he says.

Everyone ignores Eddie grumbling quietly under his breath. “Aww, Stevie,” she says, pouting up at him and lowering one of her eyelids mockingly. “You trying to get rid of little old me?”

Steve rolls his eyes, turning his back to rinse out his juice cup before putting it carefully on the rack to dry. “Whatever,” he mutters, walking past the table to go snag their backpacks from Eddie’s room, stomping out of the trailer with a called, “bye, Uncle Wayne!” to wait for the other two by the van.

Eddie comes stumbling out, clearly being pushed along by an unmerciful Carol. He slides into the driver’s seat just as Steve’s buckling his seatbelt. Instead of settling down in the back, Carol sits between them on the floor, bickering with Eddie over what cassette they should play.

When they park, Carol barely waits for the van to come to a complete stop before jumping out and skipping off, blowing a kiss over her shoulder just before she melds into the mob that is the student body at large.

Steve and Eddie sit in silence for a moment, reveling in the silence, like the echoing quiet after a bomb has gone off. Or when the cops come, and someone cuts the music at a party.

“What a freak,” Eddie says. He sounds like he can’t decide between being impressed or disgusted by her, unsure where he’s going to land.

Steve laughs, sliding out of the car himself, following in Carol’s wake. The day passes, Steve rides the wave of it, a buoy on the waves that never quiet settles into one spot.

It’s not Carol who sits at their table at lunch, but a Nancy-less Jonathan. Steve smiles absently at him as he squeezes between Steve and Eddie, eyes shifting over to his old table. Carol’s already there, whispering heatedly into Tommy’s ear. He looks sullen, eyebrows pinched and mouth sneering the way it always does when someone tells him something he doesn’t want to hear. Carol smack him with the back of her hand, hard in the arm until he leans away, full-on scowling as she continues to scold him.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess the topic of their conversation, especially after Tommy’s eyes lock with Steve’s across the busy lunchroom. Their gazes hold. Tommy looks serious, sad in a way he rarely is, even more rarely lets show in public. Steve’s heart shudders, the long-buried desire for the past rearing its head.

But then Jonathan leans into him, whispers, “I think we should tell someone,” and Steve glances his way.

When he looks back, Tommy’s turned away entirely, slamming the contents of his tray into the trash as he stalks out of the cafeteria entirely. Steve looks back to Carol, who meets his eyes with a snarl on her face, shrugging, like she’s indifferent to Tommy’s reaction. Steve sighs, looking away.

“Tell someone what?” Steve asks quietly.

Jonathan leans closer, lowering his voice even further. “About your weird powers,” Jonathan replies, the “duh” silent but heavily implied by his tone.

Steve scrunches his nose up, looking over Jonathan’s head at Eddie, who looks just as baffled as he is. “…who?” Eddie asks, just as Steve says, “why?”

Jonathan looks back and forth between them, his eyes just as intense as usual. “The lab people contacted Mom,” he says, mouth barely moving. “They wanted to check up on Will, see how he’s doing.”

Steve looks at Eddie over Jonathan’s hunched shoulders. For once, he can’t tell what Eddie’s thinking. Can’t even tell what he’s thinking himself besides a visceral reaction of wrong wrong wrong that makes him want to curl up in a ball somewhere dark and small.

“Uh, they experimented on a kid, dude,” Eddie says, scoffing. “No way in hell should we trust them with any further weirdness.”

“They what?” Steve demands.

Eddie waves his hand placatingly. “Later, Stevie,” he says, not taking his eyes away from Jonathan. “If Mama Byers wants to trust shady government goons, you shouldn’t tell her either.”

Jonathan looks down at the table. Steve notices he hadn’t even bothered to grab lunch before sitting down. He scoots his own food closer to Jonathan, feels relieved when he immediately steals a couple fries.

“But what if she makes him go?” Jonathan whispers around the fry in his mouth. “What if there’s something actually wrong with Will?” Left unsaid, is that if something’s wrong with Will, there’s something wrong with all three of them.

The tight ball of Steve’s emotions curls up tighter, constricting his throat until it’s hard to choke out, “we’ll go with him.”

Eddie squawks, “what?” incredulously, leaning over Jonathan like he wants to shake Steve where he sits. Their friends quiet around the table, staring over at them, attention caught from Eddie’s shocked outburst. Eddie smiles nervously around the table before murmuring from the side of his mouth, “fucking fine!”

Steve slumps, relieved. Disappointed. Stressed enough that his organs are eating themselves inside him.

He eats a fry, like a normal boy on a normal Tuesday lunchtime would do. “Let us know what she decides to do,” he demands.

Jonathan nods. He spends the rest of lunch taking up space between them. A Byers is a Byers is a Byers, but Steve can’t help spending the rest of lunch tugging at the tie between him and Will, hoping the kid is okay.

Part 49

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for K; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!

Lynn stares blankly at him. Billy tries not to look awkward. It’s . . . awkward. 

Definitely awkward. 

“Am I not allowed to say no?” Lynn asks, his expression flat and empty and the question coming out perfectly toneless. If Billy hadn’t already been braced for the possibility of hearing it, he would actually flinch. He’s pretty sure Tawky does flinch. 

“You can say no whenever you want,” he answers, firm and immediate. “But you need to mean it, or else I won’t know what’s really a problem or not, or what you really need from me.” 

Lynn keeps staring blankly at him. Billy bites back the urge to ramble. He doesn’t need to over-explain it. He just needs to be clear and easy to understand and answer any questions Lynn asks. 

That’s–what he’d want. That’s how his dad was. So that’s just all he needs to do and be, and hopefully it’ll work for Lynn as well as it worked for . . . him, before. 

He can do that, he tells himself. He can figure it out. One way or another. 

Lynn stays quiet. Keeps blankly staring. Billy tries not to fidget or worry, and also resists the urge to maybe nudge Tawky a little. Tawky’s more huggable than him right now, and Lynn kind looks like he could use one. He doesn’t wanna assume or anything, just . . . 

He would, if it were him. Most people would, he’s pretty sure. 

He’s not even sure if anybody’s ever hugged Lynn at all, actually, he realizes abruptly. Like–ever. 

Wow. Uh, okay. That’s . . . a totally horrible and horrifying thought. 

Crap. 

“Uh,” Lynn says, finally, glancing down at the table. “What I . . . need . . . from you?” 

“Um, yeah,” Billy says, still feeling awkward, but . . . but it’s important to be clear with little kids, and make sure they know what you mean and that you really mean it. “I’m your dad now, Lynn. I’m here to help you with things you need. Like, to make sure you have food and clothes and a roof over your head and all. And, um, the Justice League’s covering the money-related stuff, obviously, but I’m gonna be, like . . . the one who's taking care of the house and you and making sure stuff’s working for you and all. So, um, I need to know you feel safe telling me ‘no’ or aren’t just saying ‘yes’ because you think it’s what I wanna hear or, you know, anything like that.” 

Lynn goes quiet again. Keeps his eyes fixed down on the table. Billy bites his tongue before he can start rambling again. Tawky is polite, and leaves Lynn the space to talk if he wants. Tawky’s really good at that, Billy’s always thought. Like–really good. 

“. . . stuff you just want, too,” Billy blurts after a moment, then has to repress a wince, because that’s not being patient and not-rambling. Lynn looks up, looking–weird, a little. 

“Stuff I–want,” he echoes.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ortho, Jade: Three Heads are better than Two

Once again, Ortho is a fashion icon 🫶 dbdvwksns His Duo Magic line with Jade is hilarious (they’re so giddy about exploiting their enemies’ weaknesses). In this fic, I wanted it to have more of a wholesome (?) feel. Maybe I’m just too tired right now to write feral, hahah…

Just one more birthday (Riddle, whose duo partner will probably be Rook) before the new rotation with Jamil 👀

A Tale as Old as Time.

Heroes in action poses aplenty decorated the interior of the art museum. Swords and shields in hand, they stood defiant against an onslaught of beasts, beings of shadow and primordial evil. A being half bull and half man, a monster with several serpentine heads, a one-eyes giant, and more.

But what Ortho was drawn to was the painting of two figures on a short marble column. There sat the hero and a squat satyr, locked in a conversation. The former, leaning forward and listening. The latter, mouth ajar—talking.

Strategizing for an upcoming battle, Ortho surmised. One last hope, and they’re seizing the opportunity.

The painting was a simple masterpiece, a work of heart.

Beside him, Jade piped up. “Oya, have you taken an interest in this work, Ortho-san?”

“Yes, this is the hero and mentor that inspired Star Rogue,” Ortho chirped. “The Son of the Thunder God must demonstrate that he is a ‘true’ hero in order to claim his heritage. He seeks the wisdom of a hero trainer.”

“Oh dear.” Jade’s faint chuckle echoed eerily in the room. “It sounds like quite the ordeal. How cruel to force one to labor to acknowledge their birthright.“

“It’s not so strange. There are families in similar circumstances of blood and bond. One does not necessarily guarantee the other. For example, children can be abandoned as well as adopted. Relatives can be shunned or estranged.” Ortho’s eyes drifted shut. “Human relationships are complex. There is no solution that can be applied to them all.”

“Indeed.” Jade tucked a finger under his chin. “Within my own year, there are a number of unique families.

“Ruggie-san is without parents, but was raised by his grandmother. He also maintains close ties with the local neighborhood rascals. For the winter break, he brought them scraps and leftovers from the NRC cafeteria.

“Silver-san is adopted and well-loved by his father. It must be difficult to raise a child as a single guardian, but he manages. I believe Silver’s father has a background as a veteran, so childrearing is a relatively new venture for him.”

“You know so much about your classmates, Jade Leech-san!” Ortho giggled as if he had just been told a funny joke. “And here I thought I was the only student capable of digging up information to that detail.”

Jade smiled sardonically. His answer, intentionally vague. “You’d be surprised what one can glean from a quick social medial investigation.”

“I know! Nothing much gets by me.”

The eel’s glinting eyes cut to Ortho, silently searching him.

“If memory serves, the Shroud family is a sort of unusual as well. It is the mother, the father, Idia-san, and…”

He held his breath, letting the sentence trail off.

“Ortho and Ortho,” the android recited, filling in the open space. He lifted one hand and then the other, as if he were a scale balancing out the weight of the souls. “Three Shroud sons.”

“Of course,” Jade said tactfully. “Having a brother of my own, I’ve learned that they can be a great source of both joy and sorrow. Floyd’s antics are as much trouble to clean up after as they are amusing.”

“Nii-san is the same. He’s the smartest person I know. I just wish he would get out more. They say that touching grass is good for stimulation, but nii-san would rather hole up in his room… Once he made a hissing noise like an angry cat when I tried to open the curtains to let some natural light in.”

“That certainly sounds like Idia-san.” Jade inclined his head. “Ah, but for as much of a handful as they may be… family is family,and we love them as they are.”

“I’m glad I chose you,” he had once said to his twin all those years ago. Again, again, those words rung true in his mind.

Ortho nodded. “Running the simulations and accounting for the changing variables in every possible iteration, it’s entirely possible that other routes result in happier endings. Even then, I don’t think I would give up this reality for any of them. It’s only here where I have two cool big brothers, a mom and dad that love me for being me, and the chance to go to Night Raven College with everyone!

“We struggled… shed our blood, sweat, and tears… survived and rose from battle victorious, just like heroes. It’s inefficient and perhaps improbable, but it’s something we can call our own.”

The young boy happily floated in circles around Jade. So jubilant, like dandelion fluff dancing on a breeze—it was difficult to think he was anything but living, anything but human.

“The Son of the Thunder God wished to be acknowledged by his own family,” Ortho said longingly as he gazed at the painting. “To that end, he went the distance and proved he belonged among them.”

Jade’s lips quirked. “It’s amazing what he accomplished. The Thunder God must be thrilled to claim him as his own.”

As for you, Ortho-san… You’ve achieved that and more.

“It’s a story with a happy ending.” The boy’s face was bright. “I want to earn that for myself one day—a future for me, for nii-san…”

Ortho folded both hands over his core. The flame there pulsated like a heartbeat.

For him, too.

Three, a lucky number. Three, the heads of Cerberus. Three Fates.

Three brothers entangled in their threads.

And he, the guardian of them all.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 20.

Summary: The evening of the Arts Collective dinner somehow gets even worse for you as Farleigh gives you some unfortunate news about Oliver and Venetia and their moonlight exploits. The worst part is having to figure out a way to break the news to Felix.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: angst, mentions of childhood/ongoing parental neglect.

A/N: 3729 words. I finally cracked it!! Figured out the ending!! Sorry for the delay I was busy writing 20k about Jacob Elordi being hot and mean which I will never publish (Euphoria, a show I STILL have not watched beyond like 20 minutes of clips on YouTube lol). Anyways I've missed you and these characters and hopefully 21 won't be too far away xx (also I started my new job so that's been exciting but also Ooft ouch my bones hurt)

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

For a day that was already pretty damn shit, Oliver's cruelty was like salt in the wound. Hand still on the doorknob after you close it, you listen to him retreating over the ringing in your ears. If you let go, you'll see your hands shake, so you're frozen, heart in your throat, the house growing quiet around you. It's familiar, but unwelcome in this moment.

Tears well in your eyes as you sit back at the desk, computer humming pleasantly, bathing you in a cool glow. Part of you was desperate to run after him, to oblige him, to reveal every inch of your past and soul to him, hoping he was true to his word. That he could actually care about you in a way that very few have ever bothered to. That he could love you the way Felix did.

I don't know you.

An even stronger part of you wanted to run right across the hall, to bury yourself beneath the covers of your bed, safe and waiting for Felix. Surely he'd be back soon, if Oliver's return indicated anything. You hadn't heard him return, but it wouldn't be long. But how were you meant to look at him, lie next to him, even touch him, after all of that. It had been easy to bite your tongue on your disappointment so far, knowing that like so many others, Oliver's love for you thus far had been merely as a proxy for Felix himself. You knew Felix was vaguely aware that that was how others sometimes viewed you, but you'd always been eager to assure him that as long as he genuinely cared about you, and the others were good to you, you'd be more than happy.

And that used to be true. But none of the others were Oliver. Felix knew you loved the boy just as genuinely as he was coming to, you could never tell him that your affections were not as genuinely returned.

Your pride held you hostage in this room on both accounts.

When you finally raise your head from your hands, scrubbing unspilled tears from your eyes, you try and focus yourself once more on rereading the email that had already put you in a foul mood before Oliver had made it worse. It had taken all afternoon to detach yourself from it's contents, especially knowing your mother was waltzing about the grounds, spoiling your sanctuary.

The details of an official nondisclosure agreement, sent from your parents' team of lawyers. The paperwork was to arrive in the next few days, but you were being warned ahead of time. Before Oliver had interrupted, you were finally getting to the point of finding it all funny, that they were that insistent on cutting social ties with you that they'd go to almost any lengths that remained discrete, and out of the general public's reach. Now it just... ached.

Felix's heavy footsteps echo through the long gallery outside your study door, but he heads straight into bed. You wonder if it's even worth it to head to bed that night, you can't see yourself getting much sleep.

Now mostly, tragically, sober after you'd spent the afternoon trying to get out of your mind to cope with the day, you wonder if a drink would help put you to sleep, put an end to this abysmal day you'd endured. Which is how Farleigh finds you in the Blue Room, frowning at the bottle of liquor you'd left in the broken piano.

"You're up late," you mused flatly, still trying to decide if it was worth it to drink until you pass out in your study, "how was the -"

"We need to talk," Farleigh's tone is even more irate than you'd expected. Neither he nor the Catton siblings were ever in a particularly bright mood after being forced into any kind of proximity with your mother, and you were always touched by their loyalty, but this was something else.

You lower the piano lid, leaving the liquor for the time being. Turning to look at Farleigh, it's almost shocking to see how dark the look in his eyes was.

"What... happened?" You asked slowly. Farleigh's gaze flicks to the door behind you, to the long gallery and to the entrance to both yours and Oliver's bedrooms. Prying eyes, listening ears, though you were almost certain you'd heard Oliver leave not too long ago. A muscle in Farleigh's jaw twitches, and you instead offer your study for some privacy.

"You're not going to like it," is the first thing Farleigh tells you once the study door is closed. He sounds furious. Turning off your computer monitor, you choose to sit yourself on the sofa by the window, looking at him expectantly.

"This day's been a fucking nightmare already, I'm sure I can handle it," you rolled your eyes. Farleigh, however, chooses to sit at your desk, sideways on the chair, rather than joining you.

"You told Oliver not to fuck around with Venetia, didn't you?" It's unsettling to see Farleigh so serious. Still, his words have something twisting in your gut, even as you tried to play it off.

"Of course I did."

"Then tell me why I saw them practically eating each other on the front fucking lawn."

It's like you can feel the moment your blood turns to ice in your veins.

"This isn't funny," your lip curls, but Farleigh's severity remains, "this is a sick fucking joke, Farleigh, and a shitty thing to try and pull today of all goddamn days," your voice is rising, but he lets your fury build, uninterrupted.

"It would be an awful joke," he agreed, "if I was joking." All of the hopelessness that had plagued you since Oliver had left began to crystalise, calcifying into rage as his words settled in, "I don't care about Oliver," Farleigh's gaze shifted for a moment, still tense and furious, but there was something very nearly apologetic in his next words, "but unfortunately for me and for you right now, I care about you and Felix."

"Felix." Oh God. This couldn't be happening again. You'd told Oliver; you'd warned him. The fucking nerve!

"Yeah," Farleigh mutters quietly, "and you're going to be the one to tell him." When you try and protest, you're met with a sharp glare, and a stern reminder of how this exact situation had been reversed only twelve months ago over Eddie, "I'm not doing that again," Farleigh warned, "you owe me."

"Fine," you spit, "fuck, I'll tell him," hands shaking, you light up a cigarette. Farleigh stands, but hovers by your desk for a moment.

"He really knows how to pick them," He muses flatly.

"Shocking taste in men," scowling our of the window, your agreement is nonetheless irate, "fucking unbelievable," you hissed under your breath, "and he thinks there's something wrong with me?"

"There is," Farleigh's words surprise you, stinging a little, all things considered, "you fell for that stupid, little boy too," he reminds with a particularly vicious look.

"So it's my fault I have to break Felix's heart?"

"I'm saying that you've given me a lot of attitude for not liking him, but Oliver wouldn't even be here without both of you."

"Get the fuck out of my study, Farleigh," you order, pointing at the door, cigarette in hand and fury in your eyes.

The anger bubbling in your gut is beginning to burn. A thousand things are racing through your mind; top of the list is wondering just how quickly you make sure he's never welcomed back at Oxford. All you'd need was your computer and an hour to ruin Oliver Quick's entire life; you'd done it before. But if you turned that monitor on, if you had to once again look at that fucking email from your family - not even your family, their lawyers! - you think you might throw up. Tomorrow, with a clear head, you'd make your move.

And you'd tell Felix. No need to wake him now, give him a few hours to still live in the fantasy where the boy he was falling in love with wasn't once again going after his sister. Fuck- Venetia.

The more you thought about it all the more frenzied your outrage became. She wasn't innocent in this either, she never was. Venetia Catton was more than adept at finding both yours and her brother's exact pressure points and pressing with vehemence. So desperate to be loved yet so unable to come across as anything but insatiable, she'd always taken what she could get. You were good, but clearly you weren't enough to distract her from new, shiny Oliver.

The taste of smoke sticks to your teeth, as does your sour contemplation on how little the people you tried to love respected you. Or Felix. Christ, how were you meant to tell Felix?

Except you can't even really begin to contemplate how you'll break the news when you hear footsteps across the gallery.

Felix doesn't even knock - not that he ever has - before he lets himself in. You thought you'd have more time; the anger still burns white-hot inside of you, but despair and guilt flickers at the edges. He looks about as rough as you feel, concern and ebbing irritation in his expression. Of course, he'd spent the evening in the presence of your mother; none of the others ever felt nearly as much ire in her presence as he did.

Without a word, he strides across the room, all but pouting, and throws himself onto the sofa beside you. Drawing his legs up onto the sofa, he makes himself as small as possible - quite a task considering his size compared to the small, squashy sofa - and leans against you, head on your shoulder.

"Hate that woman," he hisses under his breath. You know he means your mother, but your mind is on his deceitful sister. All you can think about is Venetia and Oliver, but you can't very well tell Felix now. You don't have the words to not make everything so much worse if you tried. Already you'd decided to tell him in the morning, but right now you had to keep him from figuring out what was bothering you. Or that you were bothered at all.

So you decide to take a leaf out of Felix's own book, keep him happy and distracted in the way you knew best.

"Bad night?" Your voice is low as you move your arm back, fingers carding through his hair. The way Felix hums is still dark, but he shifts closer to you. After another moment of quiet, he huffs an irate breath out through his nose and begins to pluck at the hem of your shorts.

"Can I maim your mum the next time I see her?"

"She's not worth going to jail over," you tell him, leg shifting into his touch. Felix's hand stops fussing with your shorts to grip your thigh.

"You are," he huffs resolutely, and even despite your own anger you smile.

"My knight in shining armour," you laugh softly, lips against his forehead, "but do you really want to be so far away?" Leaning back against him, your hand moves from his hair to graze your nails down his bare arm, hoping he takes the hint. Thankfully, he does. The warm grip on your thigh tightens, and when he turns to look at you, there's something hungry in his eyes, "she's not worth your time, Fi," it comes out almost as a snarl, a truth you believe even in the depths of your own, otherwise mostly unrelated anger, but you turn your tone teasing, smirking at him, "I just choose to think about how I was apparently on your mind all night."

"I'm always thinking about you," he almost sounds a little breathless as he says it, managing to sit up more properly without moving away. You let your gaze flick to his lips before going back to look him in the eyes. Tongue darting out to wet your lips, you tilt your head very slightly, beginning to smile.

"And what are you think about me now?"

You'd always quietly loved whenever Felix was feeling possessive, and now moreso than ever. It made distracting him easy and fun, and Felix himself, his hands as he pulled you over to straddle his lap, to hold you close, to cradle your face as he kissed you so furiously, it was almost enough to distract you too. In all honesty, it was the only good thing to have happened all day, though even this was coloured by guilt, knowing what you still had to tell him when you found the right words.

However suddenly, Felix pulls back wearing a frown. For a few moments you find yourself catching your breath, confused, arms still around his neck.

"Something's wrong," it's not a question.

"Nothing's wrong," you lie, and hope it's more convincing them his usually are, "nothing at all," you hum, and move back in to press kisses to his jaw, hoping it's enough of a distraction to trail those kisses down his neck.

"You're angry about something," damn it. Of course Felix knows you too well.

"Am I?" You want to keep the ruse up for as long as you can manage, "and what would that be?" You murmured before you're sucking a beautiful, bruising hickey against his neck.

"I don't -" but his breath catches, grip on you tightening. It almost works; he swears faintly under his breath, losing himself in the moment and leaning into you, but then he actually seems to shake himself out of it, "come off it," he sighs, and you sit up, trying your best to appear both confused, and still in the mood, "if I'm not allowed to do this, neither are you." He says pointedly. Even though you're fighting a losing battle, you still lean in, still try and distract him with your mouth on his.

"Do what?" You murmur, nose to nose as you peck him quickly, desperately trying to keep your tone light and teasing. But you can see it in his eyes before he even says it; he knows exactly what you're doing.

"Distracting me because you know how fucking hot I think you are."

"And if I was," you murmured, pressing yourself against him, "why would that be such a bad thing?"

"Because you're being evasive," Felix pushed you back, held you at arm's length as your expression began to drop, fury beginning to creep back in as you remembered what exactly it is you didn't want to tell him, "you're not evasive with me;" he insists, "everyone else, sure, but this - whatever this is - is.. it's- it feels weird. This isn't you!"

"What am I then, Felix?"

"Mine!" He answered far too quickly, frustration sling out of him, but appears to catch himself, correcting to, "my best mate, alright? You don't not tell me things."

"So if there is something I'm not telling you, can you not trust that I might have a reason?" Finally your anger bursts from you, furious in the evening light. Felix has gone quiet, shocked; it's been a long time since you'd yelled at him like this. He looks wounded, apologetic, something you're not used to. Climbing off of him, you stand, you have to give yourself some distance from him, "there's a lot I don't tell you, Fi," you sighed, expression pinching as you tried to force yourself to calm down.

"You can tell me anything," Felix's voice has softened, leaning forward on the sofa. It aches to look at him, to see him so beautiful and vulnerable in these moments, "you know that."

"I know," you agreed, "it's not that I can't tell you, it's that I don't want to," you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, groaning; you can't look him in the eyes, can't even look at him right now, "and I will, that's the thing; I'm going to tell you, you're right, I always do, I just -" in a moment of weakness, your voice comes out almost sounding pitiful, defeated and frustrated, "I thought I had more time."

"What's wrong?" Felix asks softly. When you laugh, there's no humour in it. The more the reality of your situation sinks in, the more the fight leaves you.

"It's going to make you angry, or upset, or probably both," you sound rather helpless when you say it, but it seems like you no longer have a choice in when you get to tell him.

"Is it your mum?"

"I wish it was my mum," you shook your head, finally moving your hands to shake them out as you stepped back, leaning back against your desk with defeat. With every moment that passes you can feel Felix's gaze upon you, burning into you. When you are upset, he will never relent until he finds the source; usually it would be a gift, make you feel wanted and special and like you actually mattered for once. But this knowledge feels like a curse.

"We could run away," it's a last resort, barely more than a mutter as you look at your hands.

"What?"

"Just us," you continue, fidgeting, unable to look at Felix and the concern you knew you'd see in his eyes, "I could get us a little apartment in some artsy, London suburb," it's not going to work, not going to distract him, to keep him from prying the information from you that you know will hurt him, but it's all you have left, "you know nan would help us out, she'd kill for me. We could do whatever we wanted, never have to work a day in our lives. We could be whoever we wanted, wouldn't have to live in a house where they'd rather we die of heat stroke than ruin the wood panelling with an air conditioner," all you can think about is how you fell for a boy who didn't love you the way you hoped he would, and turned out couldn't even really respect you, "never have to go back to Oxford."

"What happened?" Standing, Felix crosses the short distance to your desk. There's so much sweetness in his voice as he sits in the desk chair beside you, looking up at you with his damn perfect brown eyes.

"I can't let this happen again, Fi," you hadn't even realised you were close to tears until it becomes harder to speak, "I tried, I fucking tried, I told him -"

"Who?"

"Ollie," you sniffled, face growing hot as you couldn't stop your tears from beginning to fall, "I warned him not to go near Venetia- I just- I can't believe she'd do this again, that Ollie couldn't respect when I ask him this one thing -"

"Ollie and Venetia?" There's an unsettling, blank quality to Felix's voice. The look in his eyes is far away and ice cold.

"Apparently hooking up on the front lawn," you clarified, voice weak, trying to wipe the tears from your eyes, derision edging it's way back into your voice as some of the anger returns, "for God, and Farleigh to bare witness," you took in a deep, shaking breath, attempting to pull yourself together, "I tried, Fi -"

"Fucking unbelievable," Felix snarls furiously, getting to his feet, "both of them- fuck, was Farleigh sure? He wasn't making some sick joke?"

"Even Farleigh wouldn't fuck with us like that," you muttered darkly, before adding, quiet, sounding actually pained with frustration, "I've been nothing but good to them, Fi, I thought -"

"You are never touching my sister again," Felix cuts you off firmly, voice forcibly calm. Surprised both by his tone and his words, you look up; he's so much closer than you'd realised The look in your best friend's eyes almost overwhelms you; protective, possessive, "I'm not watching her treat you like that anymore," he braces himself against the desk either side of you, crowding you against it.

"Fi," your barely manage a whisper, heartbeat racing in your chest, "I..." for just a moment he looks almost pained, and he hangs his head, faint, humourless laugh escaping him.

"I have to watch you fuck around with people who would barely give you the time of day; you're so fucking good it kills me sometimes," he bites out; you can't tell him that you know they're just using you, that so many people simply entertain the idea of you as a way to stay in Felix's life. Even if he'd never admit it, Felix knows. There's very little in his life that he's ever felt the need to reflect on, and even less that he feels any particular guilt about. You used to think he was fine with this arrangement, that he knew you could find the fun in these one-sided dynamics, "they're fucking using you," he grits out, but you're surprised by the way his fury almost sounds like despair, "I watch them and they're fucking using you like you're not even a person, Y/N."

Felix looks up; the looks in his eyes is more serious than you think you've ever seen from him. Deliberately, firmly, he takes your face in his hands.

"You're not my shadow, you know that, right?"

For a very long moment, you think you feel your heartbeat stop in your chest. On the surface it's a completely ridiculous question, except...

Feeling your face grow hot, you know he can see you tearing up; Felix has always known you better than anyone, always known exactly what you seem to need to hear. Nodding weakly, caught, pinned by his intense gaze, his focus on you, your lip trembles. Already fraught with emotions from the day, and the evening that had just passed, you have no fucking idea what to say. Felix has never spoken this out loud, never let himself properly wrestle with the subtext that coloured so much of your dynamic; it flickers across his face, the surprise and guilt and realisation as it hits him what he'd just said.

You are so much more to him than anyone else will ever give you credit for.

You are not his shadow, but you are unequivocally his.

So you kiss him.

[timdrakescoffeecup]

(Updated !!) Tim Drake Fanfic Masterlist

cw's will not be included, so make sure to check the tags. also might include some general batfics as well.

Bang, bang by Ididloveyou_once

Tim asks Jason to teach him how to use a gun. (One shot, funny)

The Long Way Home by itsnatalie

Tim and Jason get trapped in a labyrinth that shows their worst nightmares. (Multi, angst, hurt/comfort)

like falling water by naheka

Dick crashes at Jason's place, hopped up on fear gas. (One shot, funny)

Bet on it by Lysical

Damian needs Jason's help to hide something from Bruce. (One shot, funny)

Deliver Yourself by forestgreen

Jason adopts his younger self. (Multi, angst)

Banshee In A Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee)

Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion.

When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn.

But most of all, Tim is alone. (Multi, angst)

Home by sElkieNight60

Tim forgets who he is. (Multi, angst)

Late Night Langoustining by whaleofatime

Jason adopts a lobster. (One shot, funny)

two against the world by carolinaa

While following Batman and Robin, Tim finds a puppy. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by Ultrageekatlarge

Tim blackmails Batman into helping him arrest his murderous uncle. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

See Life As a Worthy Opponent by TriviasGhost

Tim goes to a universe where he never existed. (Multi, incomplete)

The Return by lurkinglurkerwholurks

What the comics neglected to cover after Bruce returns from being lost in time. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Obedience by Sohotthateveryonedied

Something is seriously wrong with Tim—Jason just knows it. Ever since the Mad Hatter incident, Tim has been acting completely different, and the worst part is that no one believes Jason when he tells them so.

But when the truth is eventually revealed, the whole family comes to realize that the situation is far worse than anyone could have ever predicted. (One shot, angst)

To an Athlete Dying Young by SonoSvegliato

A series detailing Tim’s ascension to Robinhood, with angsty Red Hood vigilantes in the background. (Multi, angst)

Matters of the Heart by DM (Nyerus), Nyerus

Kon need's Tim's help with an investigation in Metropolis. Feelings ensue. (Multi, Timkon)

It Wasn't Real (But We Were Happy) by lurkinglurkerwholurks

“Everyone’s fine. You don’t need me anymore. I told you, Bruce. I told you I’d stay until you didn’t need me anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I stayed too long. I should have... I shouldn’t have waited so long." (Multi, angst)

occam's razor by Beatrice eagle

An in-universe reddit thread about Jason's death. (One shot, funny)

To Try, To Err, To Try Again by theLiterator

Tim knits Damian a present. (One shot, wholesome?)

let's get mischievous by CreamofTomatoSoup

Tim's friend gets possessed by Dionysius. (One shot, angst)

Whoopsie by MichaBerry

Tim forgets to tell that he lost his spleen. Oops. (One shot, angst?)

Latchkey by goldkirk

Tim Drake is thirteen, runs the famous BatWatch blog that has spiraled hilariously out of control, has absentee parents that suit his purposes just fine, is training himself to run the streets at night, and is doing absolutely peachy, thank you.

Alfred and Jason disagree, and get Dick and Bruce involved in figuring out their weird nextdoor neighbor kid’s life. Everything goes uphill from there. (Multi, hurt/comfort, this is a MUST READ for timfics)

Trouble Magnet by strikeyoucolors

"It's like you've been synchronized into passively hostile acts against Tim. Did he do something? Were you brainwashed? Because I now have a son who has been crushed, had his face broken, and been shot. All incidences of friendly fire. " (One shot, funny)

Echoes of You by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

Milk white skin beneath the mud, black hair hanging in muddy clumps around his ears. Blue eyes staring back at him, animal-bright and dilated in the brief moment before he flinches back from the light with a cry of pain that stabs through Jason to the soul. (One shot, angst)

A Simple Life by RenaRoo

Tim Drake is living a simple life in one of the worst parts of Gotham. He makes the best of it, though. He makes for himself the only life he's ever known...

He thinks. (One shot, angst)

The Wound Begins to Bleed by audreycritter

Now that Tim’s moved back to the manor, he just wants a few afternoons a week without Damian around.

Funny how getting that was the catalyst for him becoming a better big brother. (One shot, brotherly bonding)

Hey, Lawman! by dinolaur

Tim goes MIA during lunch. (One shot, funny)

Gotham Banksy by LananiA3O

After finding out that he remains unavenged, Jason returns to Gotham, but instead of deciding to kill Bruce, he decides to channel his rage into a more creative endeavor: spray-painting Gotham until the message is loud and clear to everyone: fuck Batman. (Multi, angst)

Breaking News: Local Teen Given Intervention For Normal Behaviour by yellowrooster

Tim ends up in an alternate dimension where he's considered a drug addict. (One shot, funny)

Bay Through Hell by GordandV

Tim is mermaid. (Multi, AU)

Hot Dog, French Fries by eggmacguffin

Damian tries to hide that he's been hit with a truth serum. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

What happens in Vegas by Ididloveyou_once

Tim and Kon get married in Vegas, while drunk. (Multi, timkon)

Quarter past midnight by Aaren

Instead of being found by Talia after crawling out of his grave, Jason becomes a nurse. (Multi, canon divergence)

(Un)Wanted by Mika-chan (mikarin)

Tim gets kidnapped. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

A Midafternoon Beetdown by whaleofatime

Jason cosplays as a organic farmer. (One shot, funny)

Liminal Space by Calamityjim

Bruce's habit of collecting strays isn't limited by dimension. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Can't Stay Down (a Documentary) by SonoSvegliato

Tim gets his tonsils removed. (Multi, funny)

Surveillance by smilebackwards

Tim is a civilian who contributes to crime fighting by taking surveillance photos and leaving them on the desktop of the Batcomputer. (Multi, found family)

Chemistry of a Car Crash by anthologia

Tim gets into a car crash. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

Bet It all On Red by centreoftheselights

Instead of becoming enemies, Robin and Red Hood form an alliance. (One shot series, canon divergence)

False Dichotomy by heartslogos

Red Hood calls Red Robin's bandoliers "super convenient idiot handles". (One shot)

don't take you guns to town by kreestar

batman comes home from a night patrolling to find a 10 year old jason todd waiting for him in his kitchen. across gotham, at the same time, red hood is stopped by a 25 year old bruce wayne. (One shot, angst)

Stubborn by audreycritter

When your butler mom calls and says, "Go check on your brother," you don't argue. You just do it. (Multi, sickfic)

I'm Just Fine by girlgeekjf

After rescuing a group of kidnapped children, Tim reflects on what he could’ve done better. (One shot, hurt/comfort)

A Christmas Miracle by Mithen

Damian and Dick go undercover to bust a child-kidnapping ring whose members dress up as Santa Claus. (One shot, funny)

Confidence Lost by C_R_Scott

Everything about Neal Caffrey’s past prior to his 18th birthday is a mystery, even to him. However, when someone unexpectedly recognizes him by a name that he has never used as an alias before, he learns that the biggest con of his life is literally his life. (or, tim is neal caffrey from white collar) (multi, crossover)

Exit Wounds by incogneat_oh

Did you hear this one? A vigilante walks into a warehouse and kills the joker. (One shot, angst)

If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You) by lurkinglurkerwholurks

Five times Jason saved his siblings, and one time they saved him. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Normally People Pass Out After by WriterfromGotham

Tim donates blood. (One shot, angst and fluff)

In Living Memory by DangerBeckett

Jason remembers why he stays out of other people's business. (One shot, angst)

Set My Mind To Wandering by Tabithian

Tim goes on a vacation. (One shot series, angst)

A Little Bit of Sunshine, A Little Bit of Rain by ohwhatevrewhatevr

For once, Tim is happy with his life. (One shot, fluff?)

American Ninja Worrier by DangerBeckett

Tim hires a ninja intern. Jason becomes concerned. (One shot, funny)

The Wrong Boy is Breathing by heartslogos

Tim visits Jason's grave all the time. (One shot, angst)

Jason Todd: The Not-So-Outlaw by GoAwayOlivia

Jason Todd isn't what Batman made him, he isn't what the Joker made him, he isn't what the League of Assassins made him, and he isn't what the Lazarus Pit made him. He's his own person and he's taking himself back, one home renovation at a time. Also he might just make friends with the people who are supposed to be his brothers while he's at it. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

The Art of Conversation by glassgoblin

Robin needs to talk to a friend, but everyone is a little busy. (One shot, angst)

Road Rage Robin by heartslogos

"I’d be doing humanity a favor.” Tim grinds out, “And I would get away with it. I could totally get away with it. I’ve done worse.“ (One shot, funny)

How to be a male Batgirl by Blackjay27

There are many ways to help Batman and Robin, but no matter which universe he's in, Tim's method will always end with him in a costume on Gotham's rooftops. (Multi, canon divergence)

I Saw Grayson Kissing Santa Claus by pupeez4eva

It’s Christmas time, and Damian is on a mission - to stop this ‘Santa Claus’ fellow from molesting his older brother. (Multi, funny) (this fic is so funny it made me cackle out loud)

Favourite Strangers by SpiritsFlame

It's been six months since Bruce's actions led to the death of Superman. (One shot, crossover with the movies?)

show me yesterday, for i can't find today by indent

Then: The year is 2013. Jason Todd is alive, fourteen years old, and about to follow Sheila Haywood, his birth mother, into the hands of the Joker. All he wants is to save her life.

Now: The year is 2018. Jason Todd was dead. But now he's a nineteen year old vigilante about to take down the latest C-Lister rogue. Unfortunately for him, its a rogue that specialises in time-travel technology. And what starts as an easy takedown...ends as a time travelling phenomenon.

The two Jasons swap places. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Retrograde Motion by Lysical

All Jason wanted was a case that was simple, clean, and far away from the latest mess in Gotham. Magic wasn't the Outlaws' area of expertise, but they soon found themselves investigating a dark wizard with a penchant for organ harvesting.

When an accident on the case leaves Jason as a clueless seven year old with a memory that's spotty at best, what else can his team do but go to his family for help? (Multi, hurt/comfort?)

anglerfish by envysparkler

Robin was having a horrible night even before the Red Hood showed up. (One shot, angst)

Tso'ape Mumbichi by keeptogethernow

Tim is Talon. (Multi, AU)

Kodokuno Shoujo (A Lonely Girl) by C_R_Scott

A tale of two Robins wrapped up in an Asian-style horror story. Tim Drake goes to Japan for business, both for Wayne Enterprises and Batman Incorporated. However, when he returns to Gotham City, it's Damian Wayne who discovers he brought along more from his trip overseas than just his luggage and mission report. (Multi, horror)

at me, too, someone is looking by bacondoughnut

Dick Grayson knows he's got problems when the Red Hood's busted leg somehow becomes his concern. (Multi, hurt/comfort)

Help by Loxare

Jason never went to Gotham after he emerged from the Lazarus Pit. Instead, he went to Bludhaven to begin his reign of terror. (Or Jason adopts all the children of Bludhaven.) (Multi, fluff)

Lean on me by Musingsofthesky

Tim just wants to hang out with Bruce. Too bad his cold has other plans. (One shot, sickfic)

The Ol' Switcheroo by AutumnHobbit

Damian takes a bullet for Tim. (One shot, angst)

Meant to be by protagonistically

Tim takes a bullet for Bruce. (One shot, angst)

Juneberries by MichaBerry

When Tim is taken, Damian has to come to terms with his own insecurities, and how he really feels towards his older 'brother'. When he does, it might be too late. (Multi, angst)

though the sun continues to stand by metropolisjournal (TKodami)

Tim in the movie universe. (Multi, angst)

The Time We've Got by DawnsEternalLight

While on an emergency Redbull run, Tim tries to talk to his adopted father. (One shot, fluff)

Take It Back Now Y'all by TimTheToaster (tabletoptime)

Tim travels back in time, focusing on trying not to make too many changes. Too bad plans don't always work out too well. (Multi, AU?)

We're Not Driving (How did we get here?) by TimTheToaster (tabletoptime)

Tim stared at his phone, as if that would change what was on the screen. (One-shot, hurt/comfort)

cards on the table by wesslan

His reality did not involve riches and inheritance, galas and mansions, or even a sunny beach in the wonderful non-extradition country of Cuba. Instead it involved a drafty and somewhat crappy apartment, and a whole lot of hustling to make ends meet. (Multi, canon-divergence)

[rainbow-nerdss]

2024 fic roundup!

I was tagged by @exhuastedpigeon and @chronicowboy to share my roundup, so here goes!

I posted 20 fics and 247k words this year! I may have posted more fics some years, but this is for sure my highest word count! (and even though some of what I posted this year was written in 2023, there's even more in my google docs just waiting to be finished, so the numbers just about balance out!)

I have to say, looking at some of these, I can't believe it's only been a year!

So, here's what I wrote:

January:

In a fix, E, 3k

He didn’t know how it happened, but about three steps down he heard a creak, then a crunch, and the next thing he knew the stair was giving way from under him. One leg fell straight through the stairs while the other bent behind him at a strange angle. “Ow,” he groaned, moments before the realization of the severity of the situation hit him. Or; Buck gets himself into a bit of a sticky situation, and Eddie helps him out.

A Minor Delay, M, 43k

Eddie looks back at Buck with an uncertain expression. “You wanna grab some breakfast before you go home? I’m starved.” “Sure,” Buck agrees. He doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s shoulders relax, something like relief in his expression which quickly fades into a tired smile. Eddie thought he would say no, Buck thinks. And then: He asked anyway. *** Almost a year after the bridge collapse, a lot has changed. The team are scattered—Bobby and Athena on their Honeymoon, Hen on adoptive parent's leave, and Buck and Eddie... They may still work together, still have movie nights with Chris whenever they can, but things have changed. With Maddie and Chimney's wedding around the corner, Buck tries to make it perfect. And maybe, along the way, he might figure out why everything still feels... wrong.

March

Lime Jell-O, T, 3k

Eddie Diaz didn't panic. Or, well... Maybe he did. Sometimes. But he was working on it.

Fight Through it, G, 3k

"Bobby and Athena's cruise ship is missing." Buck’s entire body went numb. No. Eddie reached out, brushing his knuckles against Buck's. Buck wanted to tangle their fingers together, hold Eddie's hand in a vice grip and never let go. But he couldn't, not without giving themselves away. He clenched his own fingers into a fist instead.

April

Makes me dizzy, E, 29k

Buck watches Tommy walk away and he feels… Huh. He’s not sure exactly how he feels, honestly. Happy? Relieved? His lips still tingle with the memory of it, the pressure left by Tommy’s kiss. He’s frozen on the spot, right where Tommy left him. He laughs, the quiet sound echoing through his empty apartment. He knows Tommy had to go, had to work, but Buck stands there, watching the spot where he’d just walked out, and he wishes he’d reached for him. Pulled him back in for another kiss, more than just a faint brush of lips, more than a question. He wants to wrap his arms around Tommy’s shoulders, pull him close, lick into his mouth. Shit, the things he wants to do. And it’s all new, it’s strange and different and wonderful, because when Tommy kissed him, he felt stubble scratch against his own, and Tommy’s fingers tilted his face up, not down, and even though Buck hadn’t quite managed to set his hand down, hovering it over Tommy’s shoulder in his surprise, he knows what he’d find there—broad shoulders, muscled back, so unlike anything Buck’s known before. But he’d wanted it. He wants it.

May (Here we have the start of @911actions fics!)

'cause I've waited my whole life, 2k, T

Buck fell into making videos on tiktok by accident, really, but he loves it—almost as much as his followers love catching sight of his boyfriend in the background. Not even close to how much he loves Eddie, though. The videos just help them out, along the way.

June

no getting away now, T, 5k

He enjoyed talking to her on his breaks, as much as he could enjoy anything at that point in his life. He enjoyed discussing the merits of different coffee creamers, enjoyed complaining about the printers and gossipping about co-workers, enjoyed word of the day calendars with May and donuts in the break room, but he’d assumed that was all there was to it. He’d figured once he left, they’d forget he was ever there in the first place. or; 3 times Eddie met up with his friends from Dispatch after returning to the 118, and 1 time he goes to visit them

July

I mustache you a question, T, 4k

Eddie's life is in shambles. He grows a mustache. It, somehow, fixes everything.

Fever, T, 3k

Buck sits on the edge of the bed, reaches out to put a hand on Eddie’s head—he’s warm. Too warm. Now that Buck’s awake and paying attention, now his eyes are adjusted to the darkness, he can see the flush of Eddie’s cheeks and hear the snuffly sound of his breaths. *** Or: Eddie gets sick. Buck looks after him.

August

Where there's smoke, T, 37k

His eyelids are heavy. His lungs ache. The smoke is dense and thick, slowly suffocating him. Eddie feels himself drift as Buck’s voice penetrates the smoke, cuts through the fog in his brain. “Eddie, stay with me. Stay with me, Eds.” Eddie wants to stay. He wants to open his eyes and see Buck. He doesn’t want to leave. But he’s so tired, and sleep is calling him. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe his dreams will be sweet. Maybe there’ll be peace, there. And maybe, if he just rests for a little while, he’ll be able to find his way back.

September (A busy month!!)

don't dream it, be it, T, 4k

When Eddie hears Hen's plans for the weekend, he's immediately on board. Fun costumes, singing along, and time with the people he loves sounds like exactly what he needs to help Buck get back to his old self. or: The firehouse gang goes to see Rocky Horror

on my way to believing, T, 4k

It was a regular day, nothing special about it, really. Buck fell asleep on the couch while they were watching a movie after a long shift, and he woke up to a blanket covering him and the sound of Eddie humming quietly from the kitchen. When Buck walked out to him, he saw him dancing along to music playing through headphones, doing the dishes. He was happy, practically glowing. He hates headphones, but he’d put them on to avoid waking Buck, and that was it. Buck stood there in the doorway and told Eddie everything. How he felt, how he’d been waiting until the time was right, how he didn’t expect Eddie to feel the same but he just had to put it out there, couldn’t keep this a secret between them. And Eddie might have been surprised at first, but he felt the same. He feels the same. And today, finally, after so long, they’re going on a date. Their first date. His last first date, if Buck has any say in the matter.

I didn't know (that it could be good), E, 27k

They're friends, that's all there is to it. Until Eddie lets himself into Buck's apartment unannounced, and finds him in a compromising position. That should be nothing, just something to laugh about down the line, except afterwards, it's like a switch has flipped, and neither of them can get it out of their minds. The solution? They need to get it out of their systems. Just one time, and things will go back to normal. But one time turns to two, which turns to more nights spent together than apart, and still, they haven't actually spoken about what any of this means for them. They're still just friends, right?

Keep it down, T, 6k

Ravi doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired. He’s less than a week into his probational year, only two full shifts under his belt with the 118, but he already knows firefighting was the right choice. He feels fulfilled, like he’s really helping people, even if he hasn’t been allowed out on more than a handful of basic calls so far. But he’s also, as previously mentioned, fucking exhausted. And his new neighbor will not keep the fucking noise down.

October

touching me, touching you, E, 7k

After dinner, Buck wedges himself on the couch between Hen and Eddie. Maybe, if he’s squeezed between them, he won’t be able to feel that weird creeping sensation over his skin anymore. He drums his fingers on his knee, trying to focus on the TV. Eddie jolts next to him. “Sorry, did I bump you?” Buck asks. Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, sorry. Just..” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and Buck feels it again—that pressure, running over his nose and his cheeks and— Eddie drops his hand and the feeling stops. Wait. Or, Buck and Eddie wake up one morning able to feel each other's touch. They make the most of it.

never believe it's not so, T, 6k

Maddie Buckley never expected to enjoy hanging out with her little brother's best friend. She just didn't think they could have all that much in common. Turns out they've got more in common than she could have expected. And she can't tell Buck. In which Maddie has magic. And so does Buck. And so does Eddie. And she can't tell either of them. Or: 5 times Maddie has to listen to Buck and Eddie talk about each other without spilling their secrets, and one time they actually talk to each other.

November

just soothes the soul, M, 2k

It’s quiet, apart from the music still playing over the speakers, Old Time Rock and Roll fading out, another equally upbeat song starting right after. The contrast of it is what gets to Buck. Whatever Eddie had been doing when Buck showed up, he’d seemed… different, than he’s been lately. Buck turns his head to look at Eddie properly. "You shaved."

Jee-Yun's Big Day, G, 5k

“So, Jee,” Mommy says. “You remember how we visited Daddy at work before?” Jee-Yun nods. “Captain Bobby says you can come to work with me for a whole day!” Daddy looks excited, and Jee thinks about it. Daddy’s work is pretty fun, she thinks. Captain Bobby cooked some really yummy pasta, and Uncle Buck is always there, and so are Aunt Hen and Uncle Eddie. “Will I be like a real firefighter?” she asks. “Like Uncle Buck?” Mommy laughs, and Daddy looks a little bit annoyed. “You know, you could be! Or you could be a paramedic, like me and Aunt Hen, right?” Jee-Yun thinks about it. She chews a piece of cold carrot, then swallows it. “I think I want to be a firefighter. Parmemedic is too hard to say.”

December

Wherever you find love (make it last all year), M, 12k

Buck first met Eddie on Christmas. This is the story of seven Christmases they spend together.

and finally, I just posted the final chapter of:

Somebody to Someone, E, 32k

Buck wasn't really thinking when he applied to be on the reality dating show Love Island, beyond the fact that he was tired of being alone. Now, he's out of the villa, trying to find some stable ground beneath his feet, but things keep getting in the way. His relationship with Taylor falls apart, he doesn't know what he wants to do with his newfound fame, and then, his tires are slashed by what looks like a stalker. The answer to the last problem, at least as far as Bobby is concerned, is Eddie Diaz — a bodyguard. Buck's not convinced.

Thank you so much to everyone who read even one of these fics, I probably wouldn't have gotten through this year without you, and I mean that!

Tagging some lovely people 🥰🥰

@epicbuddieficrecs @slowlyfoggydestiny @diazsdimples @diazheartsbuckley @speaknowbuckley

@buddieboos @dangerpronebuddie @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @disasterbuck @spotsandsocks

@theotherbuckley @your-catfish-friend @steadfastsaturnsrings @aspecbuddie @daddy-kinard

@inell @darkrose6578 @elvensorceress @ladydorian05 @lovelettertothewise

[hanahaki-disease]

Been Left No Choice

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

Summary:

“But he also didn’t want Batman to overtake the demigod world. Bruce was a paranoid person, he had plans and contingencies and contingencies for his contingencies. He liked control. Because if he had control, then things would stick to the plan and no one would get hurt, no one would die, and he wouldn’t have to lose the people he cares about. And while the contingencies were helpful, the plans make missions and patrols and cases run as smooth as they can be, Bruce’s orders felt suffocating at times. Like a leash tethering them to the concrete block of morals that stood Batman firm in place

“I-I can’t tell you,” Percy decides. It was better to suffer this life in silence than to drag them down with him”

********************************************

Bruce was going to be out of town for the next few days, a League mission he couldn’t be absent from. What it was about, Percy didn’t care. He was just glad the man was gone. He had been back for the past week and Bruce hasn’t even spoken to him much. Too wrapped up in Wayne Enterprises and Batman stuff to remember his missing adopted son had returned from a nationwide manhunt and disappearance. It made Percy wonder if he had even known about the manhunt for Percy and his friend. Did he follow the news reports on the computer downstairs? Was he listening to the various police scanners in the cities he had been sighted in, trying to figure out if he was okay?

Probably not. Bruce just picked up the next kid with dark hair and colored eyes and gave them all of his care and attention.

A loud thwack echoed in the empty cave, followed by the sound of bare feet shuffling on the practice mat and two more hits. If Percy hadn’t known any better, and if the date had rewound two years ago, Percy could believe it was Jason in the cave. His brother wasn’t allowed to go out as Robin when Bruce wasn’t in town, not wanting him to get into trouble when there was no back up. Though at the time, Barbara was Batgirl and prowling on her own and had earned her own uniform display when he upgraded to her new suit.

He’s seen pictures of it and clips in the news. A darker purple than the previous version with ticker shin guards and sharper forearm spikes, not to mention the reinforced padding on her knuckles and knees, or the tonfas attached to her belt. Growing up as the daughter of the Gotham PD Commissioner, Barbara had a preference to hand-to-hand combat, surely the influence of her father. Her fighting style closer to Jason’s brawler type, but preferring more of a jiu-jitsu and capoeira blend. Vastly different to the flippy and distracted style that Dick has, one where his excess body movements leave his opponents confused and keeps them right where he wants them, and Bruce’s close range league training.

Judging by the sound of the feet, the whooshing in the air and the deeper voice that distinctly did not belong to Barbara, Percy was not surprised to see Tim training away while Bruce was gone. He was concentrated on the punching bag in front of him, chest heaving as he caught his breath, wooden practice staff held tight in his hand, positioned for another round of attacks.

Of all the weapons, he didn’t expect for Tim to have chosen the bo-staff, but as he watched him train, it was hard to imagine him with another weapon. He didn’t seem like the type of person to have a bladed weapon besides the birdarangs or wing-dings supplied by Bruce and Dick. Nor was he made for melee like Jason or Barbra. The mid-range weapon built for mainly defense and quick-thinking just felt right in the hands of his best friends.

He twirled the staff in his hands, stepping in a careful circle around his target as the weapon seamlessly wove around his body. The center of the staff placed just below his sternum, wrists doing more of the work to spin the stick, keeping his biceps and arms tense and ready to quickly counter any attacks. Tim was light on his feet when he lunged, staying on the balls of his feet as he parried and avoided imaginary attacks from the punching bag. He even went so far as to back flip away, one hand touching the ground as he retreated Nightwing style.

It was pretty impressive, Percy had to admit. Reminded him of the more experienced campers, the older kids who have been staying year round. For the convenience that sword fighting was, Percy was surprised to see many of the campers preferring spears. The wooden shaft ending at their nose with the a foot long blade at the end. Clarisse was the first that came to mind when it came to skilled spear fighters. Her attacks were similar to Tim’s distracting twirls around her body and light footwork despite her muscled size. But where Tim’s attacks were quick hits with the long sides of the weapon, smacks and heavy hits, Clarisse and the rest of camp were more of a lunge and slash style. They handled the weapon one handed mostly, using the other to hold a shield.

Tim would have fun going against Clarisse, their opposing, but still similar styles would be an entertaining fight.

He still has yet to figure out how, when, and where Tim learned to fight with the staff. Obviously it’d have to be while he was gone, leaving the possible time frame just shy of three months. Not including the play-pretend ‘spars’ they would have before Jason’s death. When they would run around the back gardens of the Drake estate or Wayne manor, defeating imaginary foes as their own versions of Batman and Robin.

Percy swiveled the chair to the Batcomputer, the brightness of the computer blinding him for a quick second before he got used to it. He wonders if his login still worked. If the silly code name of “Scyphozoa” and simple password he created at the age of eight was still an active account in the most secure computer on earth. It did. His notes and files that past-Percy was using were still up, the rogue profiles and maps, clues and evidence reports. All of it, untouched and where he had left them last. Had Bruce never went through his account? Did he not monitor, or at least gloss over, whatever Percy had open?

He checked the audit trail for the reports and files. Bruce had this implemented when someone had accidentally written their school book report on a case file, deleting about seventy-five percent of the notes in the process. There were no logs or signs to point out who had done it (It had been Jason, who else used fancy thesaurus words in a report about Harry Potter?) and Bruce was tried of going around in circles trying to find the culprit.

Percy sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the audit trail, the counter ticking up every second he lingered on the page. It hadn’t been closed since he left. None of the pages that he had opened had closed while he was gone. Bruce never once opened his login, and he doesn’t know if he done that out of respect for him or if he simple hadn’t cared. If he wanted to keep it the way it was, to preserve the last things Percy interacted with. It wasn’t too far of a stretch to think that, Jason’s room was the same way, but he never would think that Bruce would have done it with him as well.

He blinked away the rising tears in his eyes and closed the pages he had up, not even bothering to save the notes that he had been working on.

It wasn’t hard to find and pull up Tim’s file when the screen was clear. His name had been another subsection in the Robin tab and a whole sub-folder in the “known allies” folder. All the information about his debut as Robin was clinical. Succinct and methodical, the style much like the reports where the mission was difficult in some way, emotionally draining or an innocent life had been lost. The way Jason’s death had been reported.

“Percy?” He turned around. Tim held the wooden staff in one hand and a water bottle in the other, shock and disbelief clear on his sweaty, red face. “You—you’re back! You came back!”

Percy watched as he best friend dropped his things and ran towards him, a big smile on his face, and it hurt to step away from the hug Tim initiated. But Percy didn’t want to a) get Tim’s sweat and smell all over him, ew. And b) be near him for a while. There was too much to think about, to process when Percy let the fact that Tim was now Robin settle.

“When did you get back? How did you get back? What happened to you?!” Tim asked, brushing his sweaty hair out of his face.

“You’re Robin?” Percy countered and he watched as the excitement Tim had damped a little. The smile on his face disappeared and his shoulders dropped. “Why?”

Tim didn’t meet his as spoke at first, keeping his gaze focused on the cave around him his fist closed at his sides. “After…After you left, Bruce wasn’t the same. He hadn’t been the same since Jason’s death, either, but once you were gone and he found out you had disappeared…Batman didn’t seem like the good guy anymore.”

“What?”

“His attacks were unnecessarily stronger against the rogues, against regular muggers and thieves.” Tim typed at the computer, pulling up a spreadsheet. “I tracked all the times Bruce put someone in a full-body cast, or the ICU, or even left them paralyzed. He was angrier. Ruthless, he didn’t care if he was going too far.”

That…wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. After all, Bruce hadn’t acted like he cared when Percy left, so why was his disappearance a variable to the sudden change? It made no sense. “What about Dick? Did he not help?”

“He didn’t want to talk to Bruce once he found out happened with you and Jason,” he said. “He left the Titans and moved to Bludhäven at the end of June, joined the police force there too, but, he didn’t want anything to do with Bruce. The only reason they talked was to help train me or if he needed help with a case over there.” Tim stepped away from the computer and faced Percy this time. His own questions running through his head the same way all the possible shots for a photo filtered in his mind. “He was a part of the squad that investigated the bus explosion you were a part of.”

Percy held his breath at that. He doesn’t want to involve his Gotham life with the demigod side. And while he knows that all the people here can handle themselves, they’ll be at a disadvantage against monsters. They’d never see them coming—literally. His first week at camp had Percy thinking about life at the manor and if there had been any indication that any one them had been apart of the demigod life or descendants of it, no matter how small of a chance that had been. But there wasn’t any. No hint, no hushed whispers, no trace of ichor in any of their blood. Percy even checked when he came back. He took a small celestial bronze nail that the Hephaestus kids use when making shields and poked everyone he knew with it, watching as the metal simple phased through them as if they were nothing.

(He hadn’t had a chance to try it on Tim or Dick yet, but he wouldn’t be surprised if nothing happened.)

“What happened when you disappeared, Percy?” Tim asked. “Nothing the Justice League did were able to find you, Superman wasn’t able to find you.”

“I…I…” He began. Involving Batman into the demigod life could spill the secret that Bruce was Batman and the rest of the bat-clan was their respective heroes since everyone at camp knows everyone. He was relieved when Chiron used his mother’s maiden name of Jackson instead of Todd or Wayne to introduce him to the camp, one less connection between Percy, young prince of Gotham, and Perseus, son of the sea god.

But he also didn’t want Batman to overtake the demigod world. Bruce was a paranoid person, he had plans and contingencies and contingencies for his contingencies. He liked control. Because if he had control, then things would stick to the plan and no one would get hurt, no one would die, and he wouldn’t have to loose the people he cares about. And while the contingencies were helpful, the plans make missions and patrols and cases run as smooth as they can be, Bruce’s orders felt suffocating at times. Like a leash tethering them to the concrete block of morals that stood Batman firm in place

And maybe that’s why Jason had a hard time of following the older he got, the more experienced Robin had become. Maybe that was the Poseidon’s powers in him, the restless disobedience that wanted to do as he pleases because he doesn’t like getting told what to do.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Percy decides. It was better to suffer this life in silence than to drag them down with him.

“What? What do you mean ‘you can’t tell me’?” Tim said.

“It means that I can’t tell you,” Percy answered. “I don’t have to tell you anything about it if I don’t want to.”

“But I’m you best friend! Best friends’ tell each other everything!”

“Yeah? Well best friends don’t wear their dead brother’s uniform either!” Percy shut his eyes. He didn’t want to dig into this barrel of angst, but he need a way to get to leave him alone. A way to push him aside so he doesn’t get hurt by Percy’s monsters anymore than he does with the monsters roaming around Gotham. “They don’t go behind their best friends back and take what isn’t theirs!”

It was so easy to pull the guilt and anger from this well, too. Because it wasn’t like Percy was making any of this up. He didn’t like that Tim took the mantle of Robin from Jason. He didn’t like that he changed the uniform where it was totally different than Jason’s. He didn’t like that Tim saw an opportunity to join the capped crusaders and replace his brother, how he followed Batman through the streets of Gotham that same way Jason had. It was like he was pretending to be him.

“That suit doesn’t belong to you, it’s Jason’s suit, and you know it!” Percy yelled, and while it hurt to break Tim’s heart, to mess with his emotions like this, he was glad that he was getting the reactions he wanted.

“Someone had to stop Batman from himself!” Tim fought. “You were gone and Dick said no, there was no one else!”

“That doesn’t mean it had to be you!” Percy said. “You didn’t have to be Robin. You didn’t have to use Jason’s suit. It doesn’t belong to you!”

“You didn’t want it anyway!”

“Doesn’t matter!” Percy tightened his fists. “It belonged to my brothers, their legacy was never yours. You just wanted to play pretend and think you were one of them. But you’re not! You’ll never be!”

Oof. That one hurt. Percy knows it for sure. He can see it in the way Tim deflates in his spot, the tension in his stance, and expression on his face.

He couldn’t stay down there longer. He wouldn’t be able to handle seeing his best friend (if they still were best friends after this now) break down, to watch as his trust in Percy shatter before his eyes. It wasn’t fair that he had to do this. That this was what Percy had to do to keep him and the rest of the people he cares about safe. And Tim might hate him after that, he might not want to see or talk or even bee near Percy again. But if this was what it takes to keep them safe, he’ll do it a hundred times over.

********************************************

Scyphozoa: “true Jellyfish” it’s what we think of when we think of jellyfish

Also, I forgot to put this in the notes of the last installment—we have finished the first “arc” of the series. Fics #1-8 titles are all from the song “High Water” by Sleep Token, this one and the rest of this “arc” are all going to be from the song “Descending.”

And, trust me when I say that next week Dick and Percy are reuniting. I promise. They’ll be hugs and tears and all the good stuff.

Also, Percy and Tim not being besties is only for a little while, it makes sense in the end. Trust the process.

Thank you so much for reading!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[tojisun]

our shallow graves — 01

recom miles quaritch x recom fem reader

!! smut (between fuck buddies outside of main pair) - minors dni; heat (as a theme); mean quaritch; power imbalance; references to (made up past), including death and prev dead lovers; worldbuilding; fast slow-burn; the reader adopts a nickname (callsign) which gets used // 3k words

: this chapter lays the foundation of the fic and introduces the initial dynamic of quaritch and the reader; reader’s callsign is 10/10 from that one penguin in madagascar; this fic made me fascinated with deja blu fr; hope u guys would luv it <33

next // m.list

you don’t understand why you were one of the early ones they awakened. sure you signed up for the shitty program – because who wouldn’t want to be an eight-feet tall blue alien? apparently, other than the scientists, you were the only one in your squad who wanted the transfer – but you didn’t expect to be the first in the line up.

to be in colonel miles quaritch’s squad. 

other than walker and mansk, you knew absolutely no one from the deja blu team. but you’ve heard of them, alright. who wouldn’t? they have lines of kills and assists in terra and, now, in pandora; they are warmongers at most, rascals at least. 

you stare up at their imposing figures, trying to make sense of the fact that they’ve all been killed in action. 

despite not remembering much, you’ve come to terms with your own death during the initial war – a lone pilot, only meant to be an escort, gunned down by trudy’s bird before being further propelled into the lush forest floors of pandora by the banshees. it is a boring life story, one that is only worth telling because of your “sacrifice” in alien territory. 

(you still don’t understand why the shrink insisted on showing you the syphoned clips of your death. 

“it’s to help you move on,” she said as if she could ever understand the horror of seeing yourself fall to your death. as if you had not been a human trapped inside a fucking burning bird, being torn to pieces by, what could literally only be, flying dinosaurs. as if you were just another collateral. just another number added to the charts.

“i’m sorry,” she added, a small smile on her face as she turned to you, her hair tied in a neat bun and her white blouse tucked in her pencil skirt. “ultimately, thank you for your service, ma’am.”

fucking piece of shit. 

you wondered if she even has a licence or the RDA just handed your files to some science nerd and was told to play god for their little blue alien. to fix you right up so that they could send you to another suicide mission.)

but that wasn’t the case for the rest of the deja blu. you know they were directly fighting; leaders of smaller squadrons, following the beat of papa dragon. walker and mansk, themselves, have touched down with guns in their amp suits, directly under wainfleet’s command. you don’t know how they died – you couldn’t even fathom wainfleet dying. and yet there he stands with the others, bald as fuck but imposing nevertheless.

your eyes shift to the man beside him. not the tallest, zdinarsik got that title, but the one in command. 

colonel miles quaritch. big, blue, and seething. 

one more thing you noticed in this whole fuckery is that your recombinant body is short. you stood about two inches shorter than walker, and she’s a full head shorter than anyone else. as you line up beside her, with fike on your other side, you three could very well make a groupie of santa’s little helpers.

wainfleet smirks like he’s thinking the same. you would have rolled your eyes at him but the colonel began to move close, his combat boots echoing against metal floors, snuffing out any noise from the squad. 

“and who are you, kid?” he asks, standing directly in front of you.

you tell him your name, internally wincing when your tail unconsciously coils around your leg. you still don’t know how to control it – an easy tell of your anxiousness. the colonel’s lips lift up in a smirk, his eyes flashing at your tail in slight mirth, before recognition crosses his eyes.

“rico?” 

you startle at the use of your unofficial callsign, a feat only made possible after climbing up the ranks and being heralded as one of the best pilots.

(trudy had been the best pilot in hell’s gate; the one with the most medals, and rightfully so. she was the one who ripped through the skies with her samson, zigzagging like she had been riding a banshee instead of a plane. 

the one with the kindest heart.

there is a part of you that is grateful that it had been trudy who took you down.)

“yes sir,” you reply, blinking up at him after he’s dismissed your salute, feeling a little shy at being recognized, somewhat, by the colonel. 

quaritch hums, tilting his head to the side in thought, watching you with narrowed eyes. briefly, you wonder if he’s asking himself why it had not been socorro who was awakened. to be honest, you are asking yourself the same thing because it doesn’t matter if you were one of the best, not when socorro, sweet and gentle and pregnant socorro, had the colonel’s favouritism. 

(socorro’s child was a beautiful boy with sun-kissed hair and chocolate eyes. he was such a darling even though you’ve only seen the infant in passing, held lovingly in his mother’s arms.)

they could’ve made a blue alien baby this time around. maybe, then, they’d be happier too. 

the colonel certainly doesn’t deserve it but socorro does. 

“were you a private, rico?” quaritch asks, pulling you from your thoughts. he leans close again, dramatically bending his head down which highlights the difference in your heights.  

“no sir,” you reply. “i was a lance corporal, sir.”

he hums again, finally backing up and giving you more room to breathe. then, he sends you a smile. “well then, welcome to the team, kid.”

the tension seeps out of you as you nod, thanking him before he turns to the other recoms, chatting amiably. walker bumps you with her shoulder and you see her smile from your peripheral.

you give her a smaller one before willing your tail to finally uncoil from your damn leg and act normal.

of course it just swishes behind you.

-------

training is gruesome. you honestly thought that it would be easier with your stronger and newer body, but with the colonel around, that thought vanished. 

suicide drills were the squad’s least favourite, you especially. not only were the stakes increased to push the limits of your new bodies, but you all were always watched by the scientists, with their little sticks poking at your bodies and their little wires strapped down to whatever skin they wanted to bother this time around. 

wainfleet started screaming at them, calling them “fucking losers,” and barking at them to give the squad some space. quaritch quickly took over, grunting that whether they were losers or not, whatever they were doing was necessary. that said, he sent the scientists a heated glare, making it known that his words do not necessarily reflect his feelings – wainfleet had taken this as his victory. 

the tests weren’t fun, but you appreciated their purposes; through them, you learned that your na’vi DNA was extracted from a tipani warrior. the sentiment isn’t lost in you – they robbed the graves of the na’vi. you think you are used to what humans could do all for conquering pandora but for many days, you were unable to stomach any packet meal they fed your squad. walker had to talk you out of it because your unintentional hunger strike made you lag behind – an error that had you being summoned to the colonel’s office.

“we’re all tryin’ our best here, rico,” quaritch’s voice echoes in his office. 

you’ve never been inside the one he had back in hell’s gate and you had hoped that you would never see the day of being in his current one, but there you stood, tensed as the colonel studied you. 

he refused to sit on his customized chair, choosing instead to pace just behind his desk, his bulging arms hidden from your view as he clasped his hands behind his back. quaritch’s lips are pursed, almost pouty, and you beat yourself up at the thought of finding him – your nose scrunches at this – attractive when he’s busy scolding you. 

“our circumstances ain’t ideal, but we’re back as some lab-grown native and we oughta take advantage of what we’ve become,” he says, continuing his tirade amidst your silence, snapping you out of your humiliating thoughts. “your little stunt costs us a delay on proceeding with a recon of the area and the only reason i’m not benching you is because the general has faith in you – faith that, frankly, i’m still not understanding.”

your back straightens at his words, and you tamp down the need to wince at his scathing tone. he is right, after all. for some fucked up reason, the general – both ardmore who’s stationed in pandora and gonzales who’s still in terra – backed the need to have your soul transfer commence. you still don’t know what it had been for, given that past your flying skills, you are just another idiot who knows her way around a gun. not memorable to many, except, apparently, for those in command.

(‘maybe this was why the colonel doesn’t particularly like me,’ you would think later, safe in your room. ‘socorro may have the colonel’s attention but what is a colonel – one who already failed his priority mission – against two generals?’)

“i’m sorry, sir,” you utter, clear but not loud, and quaritch just watches you again with his unwavering stare.

finally, he grunts, turning his body away from you to fully face the glass window that oversees the lower-level operations. you take this as his dismissal and scurry out of his office.

-------

“and she’s finally back from tryna kill herself!” wainfleet’s voice echoes in the nearly empty mess hall and you roll your eyes at him, glowering when he just proceeds to chuckle.

you plop your tray in front of walker, sending her a small smile which she returns with a cute beam. her braids are out of her hair tie today, letting them frame her face in the way you saw the omatikaya prefer. shooting a quick glance at zdinarsik’s way and it’s clear that someone else prefers it this way too. 

“what’d the pukes say?” fike asks, sloshing around his packet meal, sneering in disgust when it jiggles like a slab of jello. more than the fact that you found out that your gene came from a corpse, this ‘food’ is about to do the trick of making you want to pursue starvation again.

“said i needa take so many pills.” you shrug, tearing open your packet of faux meat with pinched lips and your shoulders tensed like you’re expecting to be shot at. “apparently, i stunted my growth.”

prager laughs. “aww, you gonna remain short?”

“aww, you gonna remain hairy?” you shot back, snorting when prager just pouts as he raises his hand to rub at his fuzzy chin. gross.

wainfleet barks out another laugh at the exchange before reaching across the table to place an apple onto your tray. “‘ere ya go, rico. real food.”

you don’t know where he got the fruit, you don’t even know if it’s ‘real’ like he just said, but you do not have room to complain. fake fruit is a whole lot better than the slush in the compound. 

“thanks,” you say, smiling bashfully, not expecting wainfleet, of all people, to adopt the mother hen role. he winks at you in reply, wiggling his brows, before straightening back up and fooling around with prager. 

you dump the packet back to your tray before picking up the apple. you wipe it on your shirt before bringing it up for a bite, humming in delight at the crunching sound it made.

“delicious?” mansk asks from beside you, his lips quirking up in a smile when you turn to him.

“yummy,” you reply, humming, taking another bite. he snickers, bumping your leg with his, before placing his own apple onto your tray too. 

“you gotta eat more,” is all he says when you make a questioning sound before bending over to hover his lips on the shell of your ear. “news spread fast that you got your ass reprimanded by the colonel yesterday.”

“uh-huh,” you mutter, unable to focus on what he’s saying at the sudden surge of heat engulfing you. 

your lips feel dry all of a sudden, your throat parched from unknown thirst, and you turn to mansk, wanting to ask him what the hell is happening to you – was this the fault of the fucking apple? – only to see his own face flushed, blue skin turning into dark purple. 

his eyes meet yours and all of a sudden, you feel like you are doused with gasoline and set ablaze.

huh. well, if that isn’t interesting.

-------

“jesus- devin, not too ha- ah!” 

your back arches at a particularly hard thrust, your jaw falling open for a drawn out garble. the explosion of pleasure races across your synapses, filling you up with nothing but a deafening white noise. blearily, you recognize mansk’s bigger hands wrapping around your waist, lifting you up from his lap only to drop you down again. a hiccupped moan escapes your lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, feeling your walls spasming around him.

“rico, fuck, so good. so good.” mansk’s voice is faint, falling from his kiss-swollen lips in murmurs. you would have missed it without your new heightened senses, but the sound of his voice tickles your ears, making your tail flick behind you as you preen at his praises.

a giggly “thank you” barely makes it past your teeth when mansk manhandles you again, humping his hips up to grind himself along your pelvis, driving him deeper. you choke on your words, unable to stop the moan that is punched from your lungs, the sound so loud that mansk had to cover your mouth with one of his hands.

“not so loud,” he mumbles, bumping his forehead against yours. the sound of his rugged voice makes you clench around his length, making you feel utterly stuffed. you drag your blunt nails across his back, your eyes fluttering rapidly, feeling yourself tipping into the peak of your orgasm.

mansk laughs. “y’r unbelievable.” 

you do not know what it is that you said, your wobbly voice still smothered by his hand, as you get lost in the way he bounces you on his lap. mansk goes quiet, only letting muffled grunts pierce the air between the two of you, and you feel the sudden surge of primal need unleashing deep in your belly.

the tight clench of your abdomen almost hurts, your orgasm ripping through the remnants of your sanity. your last thought was: ‘motherfucker, why did no one ever tell you that the na’vi have heats?’

it is later when the haze lifts up that the warmth licking up from the core of your muscles – almost like it is burrowed deep within your blood vessels – is finally snuffed out. 

mansk is asleep on his bed, dead to the world. you shuffle out of his loose embrace, blinking blearily before realizing that he had cleaned you two up. a small smile graces your lips as you fully slink out of his bed, looping your tail around your leg as you pick up the pieces of your off-duty apparel. 

pressing a kiss on his forehead, and rolling your eyes when he sleepily bats you away like you are a fly, you grab your respirator and quietly leave his room. 

standing in the empty hallways, turning your head from side to side, you study the stillness of the metal walkway with bated breath, afraid that someone will eventually see you making your walk of shame to your room. when the silence continues, you finally begin to move, lithe steps only broken by the continuous hissing from your respirator as you occasionally take slight sips of air. 

nearing your room, your heart finally settles, your tensed back loosening up at the feeling of safety. you cross past one of the intersecting hallways, quick in your steps, when a hand reaches from the dark and grabs your wrist.

a scream nearly bubbles from your lips when a palm is shoved to your face, shutting you up once again. panicked eyes turn, trying to see who’s got such a strong hold on you, only for your heart to careen even faster when you make eye contact with quaritch.

no-

his sneer is terrifying, his bright amber eyes glinting with so much malice, it pins you right on the spot. cold dread washes over you like a tide, chasing away the quiet elation that settled deep within your veins. the heat is returning, you know that, but it is muted and mingled with fear that you can’t even feel the need to scratch the itch. 

your ears are pinned onto your skull, your tail drooping as it wraps itself around your leg again. this time the colonel doesn’t look at it in amusement, instead he continues to glare at you.

“colonel-” 

“next time, fuck around quietly,” quaritch barks out, cutting you off. “and go take a goddamn shower. you reek.”

he snatches his arm from your wrist as though he’s been burned before marching away, his combat boots echoing in the hallway. tears prick the back of your eyes and you run to your room, heaving, trying to calm yourself.

anger, hurt, and shame bubble deep inside your stomach, expanding, until you are finally reduced to tears. you cry your frustration away, hoping that by doing so, you would stop thinking about how good the colonel smelled as he glowered at you with his sharp eyes. 

(if only you had glanced at quaritch as he walked away, you would have seen the way he burrowed his face on his palm, chasing the sweet scent that roused him from his sleep and pushed his own heat into its beginnings.)

next

[ambalambs]

Miko Jinjahl

Basics

Nickname: Miko is actually his nickname. His real name is Rhaj'a Age: mid to late twenties (the xiv age bubble is weird so its hard for me to say exactly how old he is) Nameday: 24th Sun of the 1st Astral Moon Race: Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te Gender: Male Orientation: Bi-asexual Profession: As a child/teen he was both a farmer and an honorary member of the trappers guild. Now he is a bard by trade but of course a warrior of light and adventurer.

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: silver/greyish with a soft lavender tone and blue on the ends. Usually pretty shaggy or unkempt from having to cut it himself while traveling. Also with a braid or two that are tied off with some feathers for style. Eyes: Gold Skin: Pale but on the more muted greyish peach side Tattoos/Scars: One scar on the right side of his face across the eye from his first encounter with Zenos. He also has extremely faint lichtenberg figure scars on his chest from Omega. Some random nicks and scars here and there as well just from his lifestyle in general. No tattoos but he does have the three birth marks on his nose and the classic male miqo'te markings under his eyes.

FAMILY

Parents: Both his biological parents are deceased. Mother was killed during the Garlean attack on his tribe. Father succumbed to illness while being held captive in Garlemald. He currently has living adopted hyur parents though who are residing on their farm in the Black Shroud. Siblings: Two adopted younger siblings, a brother and sister. Both still back home living on the farm as well. Grandparents: His grandmother on his mother's side had already passed away before he was born and he never met the others so unknown where they are now. Others: In a relationship with G'raha so gonna consider him family lol Pets: none that he has traveling with him currently but he does have a whole farm of pets back home with his family.

SKILLS

Abilities: Archery, the Echo, close combat self defense with daggers or fists (extremely useful with an arrow in hand), arrow crafting/simple woodworking, baking (mostly cookies lol) Hobbies: Singing, playing musical instruments, triple triad, performing arts (acting for the drama or impressions)

TRAITS

Most positive trait: He is a big optimist even when he knows things are bad. Really good at keeping things bright and happy and silly and fun and can usually get people to smile and feel comfortable. Just a little ball of sunshine in the darkest moments. Most negative trait: Is prone to a quick temper and heavily carrying his grief in silence.

LIKES

Colours: Light greens but mostly anything bright and colorful. He has the bard habit of picking out garments that look like the dye shop exploded on the fabrics. Like an exotic bird lol Smells: Flowers, freshly baked sweets, the forest especially around a river Textures: feathers, a crisp triple triad card, the soft wool of a handmade scarf or fabric Drinks: cocoa and anything sweet

OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: nope Drinks: Only casually if he is invited to and trusts the person who is offering. Drugs: nope Mount Issuance: His chocobo is actually one he helped raise and take care of while growing up on the family farm. He is Miko's og bestie and it was an emotional reunion after coming back from the First during Shadowbringers when he finally got to see his bird again. Been arrested: If you consider the moment when they thought he had poisoned the sultana in ul'dah being arrested then yes lol but that didn't last long before being on the run of course. Other than that no

I was tagged by @zylphiacrowley for this like waaay back in april or something and ty! but omg i am so sorry it took so long. this is one i did really wanna do but it took some thinking and then i forgot oop lol

[hufflepuff-16]

Thank you Zzz・・・・

Tom riddle x gn! Neutral reader (platonic) :->

Summary: The reader is a professor at hogwarts who believes that Tom should not be living in Wool's orphanage.

Warnings: angst, hurt/ comfort, and a slight ooc Tom

A/n: Let me know if I should make a part 2 for this, I have no idea why I am obsessed with teachers adopting students' trope.

A/n: Part 2 is here on my Masterlist!

Link to my previous Remus Lupin fanfic

It's not uncommon to find Tom Riddle sneaking around the hallways during your midnight patrols. If you're being honest, you've come to enjoy your late night talks with him, up until tonight.

He seems different. His green eyes hold something unfamiliar in them as he peers down you, his face a mask of unreadable emotion. This makes you slightly uncomfortable.

You go up to him, "Mr Riddle is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine…" He replies, his voice raspy and hollow. He stares at you with those unnaturally green eyes, and you can see something almost predatory in them. You know he's lying, but you're unsure what to do or say. "How are you, professor...?" He finally asks, his tone low and calm, as if he's trying to cover something up.

you knew Tom, stayed in an orphanage, and you had been pestering Dumbeldore to find Tom a more suitable place to stay. A home. You cared about this boy very much.

"Tom...are you sure, you know you can always tell me darling."

"Of course, I'm sure." A hint of a dangerous edge creeps into his voice. He narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side, still staring with that eerie intensity. It feels like he's looking straight through you. "Can't I just be alone right now?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice. What could be bothering him?

"Well, you can't be alone walking around the hallways, especially now that patrol times for prefects have finished. Would you like to come down to the kitchens with me for a glass of milk, then you can go to bed?" You say with a warm voice.

He pauses for a moment, then lets out a heavy sigh. "You're right. Fine... I'll go with you." He crosses his arms, and his body tenses. He glances down the hall and then turns back towards you. "Lead the way..." He replies, his voice cool and emotionless again. He seemed eager to leave behind whatever he was just thinking about.

"Alright." You both enter the kitchens and make him some warm milk with honey and hand it to him. You had wanted to ask him about what he was doing up so late.

"Thank you..." He takes the glass from you but doesn't make a move towards drinking it. "So... What brings you down here?" He asks dryly, his emerald-green eyes gazing at you with the same intensity. It's as if he's looking into your very soul. It's unnerving, and you can't shake the feeling that this whole situation doesn't feel right. You feel like he's hiding something, but you can't figure out what.

"Oh, you know darling, just your usual teacher patrols, what about you?" You asked him with a yawn.

"Nothing." He answers simply. "I can't sleep." He takes a sip from the warm glass of milk, the sound of his lips against he glass bowl echoing in the quiet kitchen. All around the two of you is silence, the only sound being Tom's muffled sipping. Finally, after a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, he looks back up at you, his emerald eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you really believe that's why I came down here?" He asks, his voice cold and sharp. "How naive of you..."

"Tom?" You are confused by his sudden coldness. You begin to stroke his back gently, calming him down.

He flinches when your hand first makes contact with him, but as you continue to stroke his back, he settles in your touch. He sighs heavily through his nose, and his eyes seem to soften a little. He lets you continue for a few seconds, and then he suddenly pushes you away. "Back off." He growls, his voice low and intimidating. He takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets. His voice has taken on a sinister quality, and it's clear he's not in the mood to be touched. Your hand remains outstretched for a moment, and then you slowly retract it.

"Ok darling," you say softly.

He gives you a cold, icy stare for a few seconds, and then he suddenly sighs again. His body deflates slightly, and his demeanour changes again completely. He seems almost defeated now, as if all his anger and aggression have disappeared. His voice takes on a different tone, one that almost sounds sad, as he speaks again. "I'm sorry, professor. I shouldn't have done that." He bows his head slightly. "I just... had some unpleasant memories brought up. Please forgive me..."

"It's OK, darling." You aren't sure if you should bring this up with him, but you do anyway.

"Tom....how would you feel if you didn't go back to your orphanage?"

He freezes when you mention the topic of his orphanage, and the same predatory gleam appears in his eyes once more. He seems to be holding his breath, waiting to see how you'll react. You can sense his body tensing, and you have a feeling that if you push him too far, he'll probably attack you. This is when you notice he's also slowly backing away from you. He speaks in a voice as cold as ice, just like his stare, and you suddenly feel like you've just walked into a room full of snakes. "I would never speak to you ever again."

you felt disappointed, "Oh...I see, so you like your orphanage."

"I love my orphanage." He replies flatly, his voice sharp and sarcastic, as if this were all some big joke to him. His eyes are locked on yours, and he's still staring at you with that odd, predatory gaze. "This place is like a second home to me." He's being completely insincere, yet you can tell he expects you to believe every word he's saying. He's hiding something, and he's trying hard to disguise it.

he was trying to be smart, but you were smarter. You were going to tell him of an offer he couldn't refuse. "Oh...ok then... I was just going to offer you an apprenticeship that would require you to live with me, that's all!" you said in a well disguised false voice.

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why would you offer me..." He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, then he stares you down as the predatory gleam returns to his icy eyes. "Why would you ever offer me an apprenticeship?" There's something dangerous in his voice again. He seems to be trying to stay calm, but you can see he's getting impatient. He shifts on his feet and leans closer to you, as if he's ready for an altercation.

"Because you are a smart, talented, young individual who I believe with the proper training can become a great auror. But I know being an auror isn't something on your mind, but my apprenticeship could help you gain favour in the ministry. You could even become the future minister of magic." You said truthfully.

He continues to stare you down, but as you explain yourself, his eyes soften slightly, and his body relaxes. His voice is cool and calm again, but his gaze is still somewhat insistent. "What exactly would this apprenticeship entail? How long would it last? And in what way would it help me?" He puts a particular emphasis on that last word, and you're not sure if he even noticed. "You'll need to be very detailed if you expect me to believe any of this." His emerald eyes burn into yours once more, as if studying you for inconsistencies.

you conjure up a letter containing all the details of the apprenticeship..

"Hmm.." He seems to be legitimately considering what you've said, the predatory gleam now completely gone from his eyes. He takes the letter and studies it for a few moments, making sure to read everything from top to bottom. The intensity of his stare makes you feel like you're being judged and analyzed. "And why can't I just accept any ordinary auror apprenticeship? Why are you so adamant about having me work for you directly?" He tilts his head slightly to the side, his emerald eyes still locked on you as he waits for your response.

"The auror apprenticeship is useless. I should know I did one,but my apprenticeship isn't just about defence against the dark arts. it's on everything to do with magic."

"Also.....I don't want you going back to Wool's Orphanage Tom, that place isn't good for you it's an awful place. Dumbeldore may not care, but I care, I know... you're slipping out of control Tom......I don't want you to get hurt!"

His gaze softens again, and you can see a hint of emotion cross his face. "You know about my orphanage, then?" He asks in a quieter voice. "You know... you care?" He suddenly steps closer to you until he's right in front of you. He's still keeping a firm facade, but you can see that this is clearly a sensitive topic, and it hits close to home. You're not sure how much more he can take before he breaks and becomes vulnerable.

"Yes," you say, your voice is kind,gentle, and loving.

He's overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Once he's collected himself again, he looks up at you, and you can see tears starting to form in his eyes. You can see the walls he's built up over the years are starting to crumble. "Do... do you really want me to... to leave?" He stutters out, looking at you through misty, tear-filled eyes. You've never seen him like this before. He's normally so aloof and cold. Who could have known he'd be so vulnerable?

"Tom.....I'm going to tell you something, ok?"

He nods quickly. "O-of course." He replies, his voice wavering slightly. He bites his lower lip, and you see a tear fall from his eye to his cheek. He doesn't wipe it away but instead turns his face slightly in an attempt to hide it. "What is i-it?"

You take a deep breath." I went to Wool's Orphanage when I was a child..... I am an orphan, too."

"You?" He looks at you in shock, his face crumpling and tears flooding from his eyes. He steps forward and pulls you into a hug so tight you almost can't breathe. "Y-you're..." His voice is shaking, and his sobs are almost too much for you to bear as you stand there with him in your arms. "Thank you..." He says in between sobs. "Thank you for caring..."

you hug him back. "I know exactly what you're going through. And I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

The end

[spasmsofthought]

split open, i'm going down (j.s. x reader)

Warnings: Angst, mention of losing a parent to cancer

The title comes from the song “circle the drain” by Soccer Mommy.

Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes and tense changing. Also there are probably some military/Navy inaccuracies if you look for them.

Please give me all your thoughts and feelings. This one wasn’t just for me, it’s for you too. (How do we feel about reconcilation? Is there a way they can get back together? Does Jake deserve it?)

also, I've always pictured Jake's mom as the most wholesome, sweetest human being who would adopt anybody in a second, so.... that seeps through in this part.

Happy Saturday! Enjoy and all my love xo 

If you’ve missed the previous installments: 

Part 1 / Part 1.5 

+++

You softly knock on the apartment door three times. 

It’s an intimidating thing, standing here by yourself. 

In the times you’d been to Jake’s apartment previously, it had always been with him. You’ve never had to worry about being on the opposite side of the door from him before. 

The silence seems to echo your knocks, and you wait a few more seconds to see if the door will swing open on the first go around. 

You’re not a very patient person by nature, so waiting for him to come to the door feels like an acute kind of torture. You begin to anxiously roll your ankles as you stand there, fiddling with the item in your hands. You had found it stuffed down in the very bottom of your dirty laundry basket. When the realization came that you needed to give it back (not just to return something lost, but purge it from your life) all you could do was sink down and press your head to the floor, stifling the urge to cry. 

You knock again, a little louder this time. You tried texting, but all your texts were left unread and unanswered. You tried calling too, but it went straight to voicemail, and you had figured out enough by then to know not to leave a message. This was the last thing you had wanted to do after the unspoken break-up, but with no way to directly contact Jake to give him the one shirt he had let you keep, you were left with no other option. 

You begin to step back to head down the hall, resigning to finding a thrift shop on the way home where you could give the t-shirt away as a donation, right as the doorknob is fiddled with, slightly shaking and rotating, before the door quickly swings open on its hinges. 

But it’s not Jake standing in the doorway.

Instead, it’s a middle-aged woman. She has a wide mouth and there are slight crow’s feet around her eyes. 

“Oh, hi,” Her eyes slightly widen, you can’t tell if she’s surprised or taken aback, before returning to normal, “How can I help you?” 

“Oh, um,” You step forward, just slightly, holding the flimsy piece of fabric out in front of you with one hand, “I came to give this back to Jake. Is he around?” 

She smiles softly. “You’re the one he won’t tell me about.” 

Your brows furrow but you choose not to answer. The woman tries again. 

“You’re the one he’s seeing, and I know he’s been trying to hide it from me. Jake’s always been one to keep things close to his chest when they mean a lot to him.” She smiles softly, her eyes glazing over with memories you can’t see. Her hands finally reach to collect the t-shirt you’ve been holding out to her in your hand. 

There’s a violent crack suddenly splitting the heart you’ve spent weeks putting back together into two separate pieces. The jagged edges from the break scrape your throat as the words come out, “We’re not seeing each other anymore.” 

Your watch unnamed emotions roll over the woman’s face, taking in the tone of your voice and the painful expression probably clearly displayed on your face, and the assumption you reach is that Jake not only didn’t tell her about the relationship, if that’s what it even was, but he obviously hadn’t told her about how you both had split ways either. (Although it’s more like Jake deserted you and you just decided to pack up and try to move on.) 

You have to grab her phone from her hand as she's pulling it from her pants pocket before she does something like call Jake,

“Please don’t,” Your voice comes out as firmly as it can, despite the tears gathering in your eyes and down your throat. It feels a little harder to breathe now. You feel exposed, standing in front of her like this.

The woman is staring at you, eyes darting between your face and the phone in your hand.

“I’m really trying my best to leave all of this behind me, and the only reason I came here today is because he won’t answer my texts or calls. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and I really don’t want to see him now. Do you understand?”

You slowly hold out the hand holding this woman’s phone and she tentatively grabs it and puts it in her pocket.

“Oh honey,” Her arms softly wrap around you in a hug.

It takes everything in you to keep from sobbing into her shoulder. You thought you had been making progress and now it just feels like your heart has been ripped open all over again. Coming here was a bad idea It not only resurfaces memories of Jake, it resurfaces memories about your own mom.

She pulls away after a long moment. She has Jake’s eyes and gives you the same kind of warm, safe feeling you felt when your mom hugged you.

“Listen,” She scrambles down the hallway and you avoid looking into the apartment, her voice echoing as you can her rustling around for something. You don’t want to know what has changed or what has stayed the same. You keep your eyes on the ground. “I know you don’t know me. My name’s Sheila, I'm Jake's mom, and this is my number. It may be strange, especially because we never met while you and my Jake were together, but know that you can text or call me if ever you need anything.”

There are ten digits scribbled in pretty cursive writing across a blank piece of paper. You take the paper and hold it in between your fingers for a second before you fold it and put it in the back pocket of your jeans.

Jake never told you about his mom, though you told him plenty about how yours had died from cancer when you were just a teenager.

“Thank you,” You say, your nerves beginning to fray just slightly. “Um, I really just came by to drop off the shirt, so I really should…” You gesture towards the area where the elevators and stairway are.

“Of course, of course,” Shiela's voice grows a little louder and echoes against the hallway walls as you begin to head towards the elevators. “Seriously, text or call if you ever need anything. ”

---

The color of the ocean used to be something you could stare at for hours. You could just watch the still movement of the water passing by from the deck or from any porthole or window available to see through on the various ships you had called home throughout your deployments. By the end of this one, however, you’re ready for a break. You want to go somewhere far away from the color blue, from water, from all of it.

The measly letter he had given to you via your dormmate sits on the small desk in your tiny dorm and collects dust for the rest of your time at sea. You hadn’t wanted to store it with your personal things, which included pictures from your family and letters from Shiela. You assumed she had never told him that you had met her and had stayed in contact with her all these years. And you're not going to mention it now, not to Jake. You don't want to give him another way to try and accomplish whatever it is he's trying to do with you.

The rage you feel towards Jake is what pulls you through the last few weeks on the ship, which pisses you off even more.

After years of only hearing about him via word of mouth, he has the audacity to pull this kind of stunt?

He couldn’t have just left you alone and been on his merry way, far away from you?

You take your time gathering your things before assembling at gangway with all your fellow sailors. The disembarking with its ceremony and process takes some time, but soon enough you're on solid ground after months of being at sea. Getting back your land legs is your least favorite thing after a deployment.

It's not hard to find Jake, not when you know how he looks now. He’s situated towards the edge of the humongous crowd, so you have to struggle and push through the groups of sobbing partners and cheering children and smiling parents to do this. It only riles you up more, hardening your heart and tensing your muscles. Almost like your mind is telling your body: brace for impact.

Your seabag drops onto the pavement with a loud thud, and you let the sound echo as Jake turns around, pulling himself away from a conversation with what looks like a fellow aviator. It’s been years since you’ve been this close to him, but you’re already starting to feel the pull of his magnetic field.  

Think of him without forgiveness, is the mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself since you spotted him and started to make the long walk over. You're going to get this over with and then hopefully never see or hear from him again.

He seems a little taller since the last time you saw him, a week before you sat down and wrote that goodbye letter to him in his apartment. But you are taller now, too, and there’s less of a distance to close this time around.

Jake’s face is stoic, but you can tell you’ve piqued his curiosity. You know he assumes that you would rather choose to avoid conflict, that you don’t have the guts; they’re assumptions based on how he knew you before. But he hasn’t been there to see how your time in the Navy has changed and grown you.

“What the hell is this?” You hold the folded piece of paper, with a measly five words written on it, in your hand, waving it around in the air. 

The man never claimed to be a poet, but come on. 

Jake doesn’t say anything. No confessions of sorrow or repentance. If he had wanted a chance to try and patch things up, smooth things over, this would have been his real opportunity. This would have been his moment to shine. Instead, he says nothing. 

His expression doesn’t change, eyes remaining steady on you. Unwavering. If you didn’t know better it would almost look like a perusal of sorts, or maybe like he’s drinking you in.

But you do know better. 

You take a few steps closer and despite the raucous noise of the families and friends greeting their loved ones, and the heavy, overwhelming smell of the sea and metal from the ship, a sharpness of longing pierces your heart. A thought of what it would have been like if things had played out differently. If you had been wiser, if you had held on longer. 

If Jake hadn’t been such a selfish asshole.

The anger is back, swiped away by something else for a quick second, and it’s the fuel you need to get through the next words coming out of your mouth. 

“I don’t want it.” You press the paper hard against his chest, his hand moving to keep it there before it flies away with the wind as you pull your hand away. The breeze pushes against his back while you’re mostly protected from it as you stand in front of him.

You step back and move to turn away, but Jake’s words stop you. “It’s yours.” 

It’s been a long time since you’ve heard his voice, longer still since it’s been directed at you. 

His voice is weathered, weary. Rough like a piece of worn leather. 

You turn back around to him and allow yourself one moment of weakness. Just one. 

One long glance at his face, in his eyes. 

Jake does look older, despite this idea you had when you were together that he would retain his youthfulness and bachelor lifestyle far beyond what was normal. He looks like he’s carried the weight of the world at least once since he hung you out to dry. 

Good, your inner monologue thinks, maybe he’s finally had to grow up a little. 

“God, even after all this time, you still refuse to listen to me. I don’t want this,” You scoff and then snort, the outrage escaping you. You don't want to keep it, not when it had mocked you from its space on your desk for the past several weeks. “It’s yours.” 

“It’s something you deserved from me a long time ago,” There’s finally a crack forming in his expression. The straight line of his mouth tips down and the space between his eyebrows furrows ever so slightly. You’ve never seen his face take this shape before, so you don’t know what to do with it. 

You tried to give yourself a week when you walked out of his apartment for the last time. A week to cry and eat an unlimited amount of dessert and watch bad romcoms and bad thrillers and bad action movies. A week to linger in the damage Jake did to your relationship. A week to watch the part of your heart that had housed him turn to ash and rubble. (It ended up being much longer.)

Then you tried to move on, and you promised yourself you would never cry over him again. 

You know you’re going to have to hightail it to an empty space in the next few moments when you feel the hot tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision. You cry when you’re sad, but you also cry when you’re angry. You hate it but you can’t help it. You have to blink hard a few times to push them back. 

“You don’t know anything about what I deserve,” You take the same steps back toward him that you did just a few minutes ago. It’s always been like this, you moving toward him while he stays in the same place. Even now, when it’s been years and you two are on more level ground, he still waits for you to come to him. “And if you even had the slightest idea, you would know I deserve much more than that.” 

You gesture one last time to the pathetic excuse of a letter he gave you via your dormmate that he’s still holding against his chest. And then you turn around, grab your seabag from its place sitting on the cement, and walk away.

[stars-n-spice]

Sharpshooters - Sec Gen!

Introducing the Marr family some 10 ish years after Mount Tantiss :D

In the aftermath of the s3 finale, Cross and Tay settle down, eventually get married (Tay took too fucking long to ask so Crosshair ended up asking), and end up adopting! They have a place down by the shore, on the lower levels of Pabu, where they make a living as fishermen and raise their daughter, Akona.

Others coming soon:

Tech + Phee's Family // Wrecker + Khea's Family // Echo + Viram's Family // Hunter + Jung's Family

Close ups and additional information under the cut!

Crosshair and Tay Marr

Been married for 4 years - they will not agree over this

Last to marry and adopt - Tay took too long to ask (he was nervous, okay?) and Tay didn't think he'd be a good dad since he never had a father figure (he was wrong)

Have a place on the shore

Are fishermen for a living - Tay is an amphibious species and Crosshair is good at spotting fish in the water

The "cool" Tíos - Tay never says no to his nieces and nephews and Crosshair is always encouraging them to start up shit

Crosshair -> "Papa"

Tay -> "Apá"

Tay got a Pantoran facial tattoo to match Akona and Crosshair - not the full scope because he kept squirming during the session (it tickled) and Crosshair gave up

He also got his lethorns capped off so Akona couldn't poke herself with them since she has a habit of climbings all over him/pulling on them when she wants something

Crosshair now has a prosthetic arm and is like Tech with all of his pouches (all for storing things for Akona + his toothpicks)

Both are somehow super overprotective of Akona but also spoil her rotten - they will let her have everything and anything she wants EXCEPT for a blaster

"Oh no I'm much worse" <- he's awful - it's a good thing his hair is already gray because Akona would've given him a lot of gray hair with how much he worries over her

But they're very trusting of her and know despite her young age she's more than capable of handling herself so they'll let her go out and about (not without Batcher though)

Crosshair loves to make fun of Tay whenever he sees Tay being a "total dad" in his words - "And you said you couldn't do it. Big, cocky guy always bragging about everything he's good at and you thought you wouldn't be a good dad. Tch."

Tay never had parents and the one mother figure he had um,, died brutally in front of him so his fears are warranted but he proves to be a good parents over time - of course with guidance from Crosshair who's already had some experience with Omega

They're doing just fine though - of course it took a long time for the both of them to adjust to a peaceful civilian life, but they managed and look at where they are now :)

Akona Marr

Akona Marr! Crosshair and Tay's adopted daughter

Pantoran/Nautolan hybrid

6 years old (was found by Crosshair when she was around 2 years old)

3'11

Stubborn, spoiled, and cute as all hell

Autistic and nonverbal - will sign and usually doesn't say much outside of "Papa" and "Apá"

Wants to be a biologist when she grows up! - specifically a marine one because she loves the ocean :)

Likes: fishing with her Dads, swimming in the ocean, animals (especially Batcher!), spicy food (like burning tastebuds kind of spicy), and collecting shells!

Dislikes: loud noises (and crowds for that matter), the cold (cold-blooded), flying/heights, being alone, not having a REAL blaster (not allowed to until she's 10)

For now she as a toy wooden firepuncher that Hunter whittled for her (that she also uses as a club)

Akona loves to collect shells and will show off her collection to anyone and everyone

She might not have a blaster but Tay got her a harpoon and that works for her (for now) - like her dads, she's proving to be a really good sharpshooter as well :)

She has a tooka doll named "Dae" that Crosshair made for her (yeah, it's supposed to look like Tay - when Tay saw it he cried)

She got her facial tattoo recently (done by none other than her Papa)

Spends most of her time swimming with her Apá, playing in the sand, exploring the shore, or napping with her Papa

Her favorite cousins are Rangi (he shows off his bug collection and she shows off her shell collection) and Sami (because they're both Pantoran and she's nice)

Her favorite Aunt/Uncle though is Jung and Hunter - Jung because he's selectively mute and understands her on a level not many can and Hunter because Hunter gave her the wooden firepuncher

But she does love all her cousins and Tíos of course

I based her off of my Mom's cat, Snoopy (aka my kid sister/goddaughter), because like Akona she has a habit of biting people but you can't be mad at her because she's adorable (and she's also super spoiled) - see following images

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