#I could have left it…. but MCD would have been a tag… Anyway you’re all welcome. It’s a story about recovery now instead of what it had

[gemglyph]

I am a merciful God

[square-blunt]

You're in my heart, in my heart, in my head.

The normal empires fic in which shit goes from 0 to -100 to 100 and back to -100 in like, 2000 words. Scott ruins shit bc he's a dumbass in love. Jimmy watches him die. Y'know, the normal fic you'd see on the empires tag. This is a Minecraft Roleplay.

TW- MCD (major character death), Gore, (blood. and like, big knife mention). Angst. there is so much angst- emotional mental physical, it's all that shit. Sacrifice, screaming, crying, and they kiss so that's fun but y'know.

WC: 2009

Ao3: :) Second Chapter: :)

Scott knows something is wrong. He feels that pit in his stomach- familiar emptiness that clouds his vision and his mind. His feet start to move forward. He knows- he knows something's happening.

He knows Jimmy is in trouble.

He hasn't been in Mythland much- but somehow he cuts through trees and knocks over stands almost like he knows exactly where he's going and nothing was gonna stop him from getting there. It's getting dark- that's weird it was just noon-

Scott looks up to see where the sun is. 'This can't get any worse,' he thinks. You're never supposed to fight a demon when there's a solar eclipse, everyone knows that-

Scott hears a scream. It sends his heart up into his throat- that's Jimmy. Scott sprints forward and bursts through the treeline and he's at Sausage's summoning circle- no- no no no-

The sight is terrible. Sausage- his body is practically decaying under the weight of corruption- of possession. Xornoth's possessed the man he once saw as a friend. And Joey's by his side, a book in hand, chanting in elvish. They've crafted an obsidian altar- and writhing in chains, desperately trying to free himself is Jimmy. Tears are streaking down his face, his terror radiating off of him in waves.

Xornoth raises something above their head as the moon fully covers the sun- its last light gleaming off the object- it's a ritual knife.

They're going to sacrifice you- I don't want to lose you. He can hear Jimmy’s voice as clear as day.

Scott screams out a time-shattering “Stop” before he can get a hold of himself.

Everything does stop. Time, space, reality- it feels like Scott’s heart has stopped, too. Sausage looks at him with eyes that aren’t his own; Joey looks at him as well, but his eyes hold no rage or fear, only smugness. His eyes are drawn away as he catches Jimmy’s face. It goes from happiness to confusion, to heartbreak, back to confusion, and then to pure fear.

“Stop,” Scott says it a little quieter this time. His voice rings out against the stilled breeze. There are no birds, no nature, everything around them is either dead or too terrified to make a sound. Xornoth tilts his head, slowly and concerningly calmly. “Step away from him.” Scott’s hand finds itself on the hilt of his sword. Not like there’s much that could do, but he has to do something.

Xornoth laughs. It sounds like Sausage.

“Scott-” Jimmy says, and immediately cries out in pain. Scott looks up- Joey was the one to twist his arm. Under any other circumstances, Scott would have lunged forward and sunk his sword into Joey’s skull, but since Xornoth is still holding a very painful-looking ritual knife, Scott stays put.

“Jimmy, don’t say anything-” Scott begins, his voice tight with panic. Xornoth speaks up before he can continue, Scott’s heart dropping in his chest. His voice sounds like Sausage, too.

“Brother, have you come to replace your lover from another life?” Xornoth’s voice is suffocatingly rich with sarcasm and fake pity.

Scott can’t answer. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He doesn’t- he can’t look at Jimmy.

“I know you remember, great champion of Aeor, I know you do.” Xornoth grins, their face contorting.

“I do, and I have,” Scott says, finally getting over the lump in his throat. The lump comes back tenfold as Xornoth’s grin grows impossibly wider.

“Scott- no- what-” Jimmy begins to say, but Joey quiets him with another yank on his restraints. Xornoth puts a hand out, and Joey drops the ropes.

“You know what I need, brother,” Xornoth says, their voice eerily emotionless.

“Scott- don’t do this-”

“Jimmy, please,” Scott says, closing his eyes to keep the tears at bay, he can’t give Xornoth his own humanity.

“Scott-” Scott winces as Jimmy’s voice breaks. Jimmy doesn’t know, he can’t remember-

Scott takes a deep breath, and once again, speaks before he can tell himself to stop.

“I, Ellinair, take the place of this man so that he might live free of pain or suffering for the rest of his life.” Scott needs to make sure that Jimmy gets off free, with no strings attached. So Xornoth can’t hurt him after he’s gone.

“No- Scott, what have you done- why-” Jimmy sits up, some of the ropes have disappeared but he still can’t leave the altar.

Xornoth laughs- it doesn’t sound like Sausage anymore.

“A great elf with a great future who was stolen in the night and thrown into an arena for the devil’s delight. And you fell in love. How cute!” they snarl, “Unfortunately, as you died, you were whisked away from our grasp. I had to find you again, and wasn’t I lucky that I found your husband instead? And, better yet, without your protection! It was so easy, brother, to just come in and take him. To use him. Sweet, dopey, stupid Jimmy. Why would he be the one tied to that dragon? I kill him, and nothing will happen other than a shortage of slimeballs and a few tears. The only use for him was that he was close to you. He’s nothing but a pawn to get to you. And you, in your blind devotion, played right into my hand. I was never going to kill him, it would honestly be too much effort to do so. I was never going to kill him. I was only threatening to kill him so you would change places with him, so Exor could finally triumph over his brother. You are weak, Ellinair, in your love, in your loyalty- or lack thereof. You always were weak. And now I’ve won. Exor has won because you fell for a mortal. Because of a flower. It’s sickeningly amusing, I must say. But unfortunately, it seems that your time is drawing to a close. Lesser, you may release the ‘bait’.” Xornoth ends their monologue with a direction Scott takes a moment to realize is for Joey, who follows it immediately. Jimmy, now free, lurches off the altar like it was burning him alive. He rushes over to Scott, questions bubbling up and out of him. His hands move to hold Scott’s, but Scott isn’t exactly... present. But he can still hear Jimmy. How he wishes he couldn’t.

“Scott- Scott what’s going on- I thought you- what’s going on? Why did you- Scott- why did you take- what-” Jimmy asks, clutching at Scott’s hands. Scott hangs his head, Jimmy immediately stops and lets him talk.

“Jimmy... you don’t know what you mean to me,” Scott says, tears threatening to fall, he can’t make eye contact with Jimmy.

“I think I can guess, at least,” Jimmy says, voice tight, cupping Scott’s face. Scott still can’t look at him.

“They’re right-” Scott begins to say- before Jimmy tilts Scott’s head to face him and kisses him. It takes Scott a second for his heart and his head to catch up to it- but Jimmy’s kissing him. Finally, after what feels like eons apart, he’s kissing him again. Scott kisses him back like he’s the air he’s gone without breathing for so long- Scott’s been without him for so long- and just when he’s got him back... he quite literally sold his soul for this. Time stops again- this has happened way too many times for it to be normal but Scott wishes it would stop forever. Seconds turn into minutes and it’s like the gods have finally taken pity on him and given him time to give everything he can. He’s sold his soul for Jimmy, and he’s never gonna get to see him again. The tears become too much, and they fall- but Scott would rather die now than break the kiss, so Scott’s tears stain both their cheeks. The kiss tastes the same it always did, like Jimmy, and it was heart-achingly familiar.

Scott can’t live without it.

Funny.

He won’t live much longer anyway.

He is hyper-aware of Jimmy’s grip on him, on his face, in his hair, holding him close like they would melt together if they could.

Maybe Jimmy needs him as much as Scott.

And fuck, he needed Jimmy.

He needs to feel as much of Jimmy as he can before all he feels is a knife through his chest.

But right now all he cares about are the hands on his chest where the knife will go- the hands that are gonna be gone soon- Scott hasn’t been counting the seconds how long has it been- how long has Jimmy been kissing him- how long has he been kissing back- how long do they have left? Scott wraps his arms around Jimmy, trying to become inseparable- and Jimmy just holds onto him tighter. One of them sobs into the other- and all Scott can think is I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you- and he hopes Jimmy can hear him.

They both can hear a sickening crunch, instead.

As time crashes back into Scott's reality like a freight train, a number of things happen in rapid succession.

Jimmy is torn away, crying out in pain. It's familiar. Scott's tears break their dam and his vision is blurred- but he can still see Jimmy, sweet, dopey, beautiful Jimmy.

As Jimmy gets jerked backward, his and Scott's grip tightens on each other, and Jimmy's screams of agony make Scott want to throw up.

It takes everything Scott has to stay in place and keep Jimmy with him.

"'Scott something's on my back- something's hooked into me-"

"Jimmy- don't let go- please, please don't let go- I love you, please-"

"I won't- Scott- don't- I love you, too, I love you, too-"

Something cold sinks into Scott's shoulder, sending searing hot pain across his body- and making his arm go limp.

Scott and Jimmy are ripped apart from each other.

Scott screams for Jimmy and thrashes around, trying desperately to free himself, sobs ringing in his skull and fear and pain and regret raking through his body- but he refuses to stop looking at Jimmy, and Jimmy still looks at him. He catches a glimpse of what’s hooked onto Jimmy's back- it’s a massive tendril of corruption, and now it's holding Jimmy suspended in the middle of the air- it looks like it hurts him to breathe, much less call out Scott's name, but it's all in vain.

Scott knows he's going to die.

He gave his word.

But that doesn't mean he's not going to try and get away.

He needs to get away.

He needs to scream and cry and writhe and brace himself against the altar that whatever's hooked into his shoulder is trying to drag him onto.

He needs Jimmy to know how sorry he was because he’s gone and fucked it all up now. He thought he’d be able to play it off to Jimmy as ‘you don't deserve to die in my place' but when Jimmy looked at him with pure heartbreak and fear in his eyes he knew that he was doing it to save him.

Not the world.

Jimmy was his world.

Scott loses the fight and is dragged up onto the altar, where tendrils of dark crimson threaten to bury him alive, and one-handed he tries to swat them off. He can feel his power draining, he knows Joey's probably chanting again, but all he hears is Jimmy. He looks back, and Jimmy is still struggling and sobbing and Scott has to keep fighting to stay alive as long as possible just to be able to see Jimmy for as long as possible.

But the tendrils are growing in number, and Scott can’t keep all of them at bay and slowly he’s overtaken and restrained. The metal hook still sits painfully in his shoulder as his energy drains with his blood, he’s lost the power to scream.

Jimmy hasn’t.

Scott hangs onto that.

Scott hangs onto Jimmy’s screams, his sobs, his ‘Please stop’s, his ‘why him’s, Scott hangs onto the feeling of rage- at his brother and their tool hurting Jimmy like this- but the rage stays heavy on his chest. Rage and fear and pain swirl in his mind and every other emotion drains out of him.

All he knows is terror.

All he knows is Jimmy’s sobs.

He knows that he has seconds left- Xornoth’s probably already gotten the knife back up above his head.

All Scott can offer to Jimmy, all that he has left, is a weak smile of comfort before every sense he has cuts out.

Scott can’t see Jimmy.

He can’t hear Jimmy.

He’s failed everyone he’s ever known.

[nanabbi]

Hello! I love zisashi angst and I have at least 70 fics to rec! ... Would you like me to recommend them? 👀 I've been colecting them for over a year now

So, this person did DM me the recs but they didn’t want to be mentioned by name, so I’ll just thank them a lot for sharing their suggestions. They had also placed sweet little notes for all of them, I’ll include them, but I hold no authority of them. I’ll add some of my own insight if I have any.

Here is the list for me and all of you to check them out:

don't scream until the earth crumbles by rise_beyond_the_graveyard (serenlyall)

3K/Oneshot-  [Their Note:  Angst for Hizashi and Shouta. Mentions of torture, be careful with the tags]

If At First You Don't Succeed... by MarziPanda95

26K/Completed- !!! It Is completed! Yay, I’ll definitely read it at first chance. It is a Groundhog Day fic. [Their Note:  A personal favorite that was completed very recently. Mentions of torture (mental and corporal) the tension in this fic is amazing! And its really well written]

Without You I Can't Breathe by morbidcorvids

2K/Oneshot- Major Character Death. Hizashi basically dies in Aizawa’s arms from what I saw.  [Their Note: This one is... So good but omg it made me so sad ;;;; a great piece of angst!! Mind the tags before breaking your heart].

Hindsight Is 20/20 by Nartothelar

2K/Oneshot- Wait there’s fics of this AU!? Omg! I was wondering where I could get more insight about it and this fic is part of a series. Now tho 👀 [Their Note:  Part of nartothelar's awesome mafia au! I love the angst in this one, and even comes with art! 💕💞💖💓 love it so much]

Resignation by OnAir

28K/Completed- [Their Note:  THIS IS OMG SJDVBDD MY FAVE, I'VE READ IT LIKE 8383737721 TIMES, its a must! Read! Of! Hizashi! Angst! Pleaaaase! Do yourself a favor and read this masterpiece]

[More under Read More, because our provider was very generous with their suggestions]

Patchwork Family by bravobeavo

3K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  This one is so cute! Hizashi angst with erasermic family fluff to warm your heart! Shinsou and Eri are so worried for their dad in this one 💕]

Consumption of the Heart and Lungs by YamiHeart

4K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  I think you will like this one... Its a hanahaki!!!! And in japan with ninjas and samurais 💕💞💖 and an omg very good amazingly written hanahaki. It is part of a series though! So if you fall in love with it you can read the next one!]

White Chrysanthemums by LipstickVenom

9K/Oneshot- I see Major Character Death warning and Hurt no Comfort. I’ll approach with caution [Their Note: Ok hear me out, this one hurts! A lot, but its oh so amazing💕 fully recommend it!]

Paper Hearts by Xen_The_Protogen

2K/Oneshot- Major Character Death Warning [ Their Note: Super fun timeline to follow! Well... Not fun, this fic made me cry, but I loved how the story was told! Please, its a must read!]

Soul Bound by Ibelieveinahappilyeverafter

7K/Oneshot- It is written by Andy. I trust it. [Their Note:  One of the best soulmate fanfiction out there, its not fully angst, but it is there in some parts! (USJ I see ya) this one is more like Hizashi and Shouta angst though].

you are my sunshine by chimera (emptyheadspace)

5K/Completed- Ha. Ha. I see the title and the MCD Warning... Someone here is not afraid of that warning [Their Note:  I mean, the title already tells you that this sadder than mufasa's death. 5+1 type of fic (I love the format so I loved this one even more!)]

I'm Sorry, I'm Not Sorry by Tabs

1K/Oneshot- It does say happy ending tho [Their Note: And yis.... Short and sad, read it!]

Shout & Mute by ill go with that then (Linelenagain)

9K/Oneshot- Body swap, you have my curiosity and attention [Their Note:  Ok this one is not angst angst, but is more like Aizawa finally realizing the hardships that Hizashi must have (and is going through) because of his quirk thanks to a bodyswap! :D (love this one aye)]

A Gift of Sunshine by Ibelieveinahappilyeverafter

35K/Completed- It’s Andy again! Hi sir, I’m a fan. The concept seems interesting [Their Note: Ok so... In this fic Hizashi is a sword and Aizawa attends UA with him (it? Lol) well, he is more like a soul in a sword, not the swor- meh, just read it. It has some heave angst in some chapters! And its not that long! Reallyyyy good fic]

More Than Just a Smile by ravyn_sinclair

7K/Oneshot- -heavy breathing- I see BAMF Hizashi in the tags. BAMF HIZASHI! [Their Note:This is a fic of Hizashi being underestimated and showing everyone that he has some brains/ knows how to be a hero. There is angst by the end of the fic~ this piece of writing is just- a masterpiece. Kudos to the writer!]

Improbable Botany 101 by Tierfal 

46K/Complete- [Their Note: OKAY! A HANAHAKI THAT IS JUST 💕💞💖 its longish? Not that much, you'll finish it in an hour or so, but is just sooooo gooooooood! Amazing hanahaki angst! I love how they show us the feelings and thoughts of the characters].

6:15 by dadzawa_of_1a

3K/Oneshot- [Their Note: So great! I loved this one! And its very well written! Its a quick read so please just go go go go!].

I thought we'd last forever by orphan_account

1K/Oneshot- MCD Warning [Their Note: Great fic my dear! And very sad... Mind the tags :'"c]

Ice It by Say_Jay

3K/Oneshot- Oh! I’ve read this one! It’s so cute. I was looking for it when I was doing the Hizashi whump list, but I hadn’t bookmarked it! Now I have! Gosh I hate losing fics, thanks for bringing it over [Their Note:  Its more like... Comfort after getting hurt? But meh, angst anyway sbdbjdbd However, I think that everyone in the erasermic fandom is familiar with this short masterpiece].

Dust in the Wind by d_lynx

Sleep and Sweet Tea by d_lynx

2K/Series-  [Their Note: Ok this one is just pure angst. A very short concentrated bomb of angst. It does have a happy continuation though! So you can go and check that].

Guillotine by existentialrat

4K/Ongoing- !!! 👀 Do I have anything to do with the origin of this fic? I see the author’s note there. I’ll wait~ [Their Note: Hizashi is with hanahaki! Ohnooo! Dnjdbdj well well, this one is not finished, but there is one chapter left so... You can choose to either wait or just start reading it. Oboro lives in this one though!]

Honest with You by astrange_one

8K/Completed- [Their Note:  Hizashi gets insecure after having an encounter with his past foster parents :c babyyyyy. He suffers so much mentally speaking in this one]

Needle-thin Tightrope by Dramaticdragon

2K/Oneshot- [Their Note: Another insecure Hizashi! This one is short but ohhh amazing!]

Lost and Found by TheWiseMansFear

16K/Ongoing- Last Update: April 2020 [Their Note: Hizashi is tortured but refuses to tell why! Its not finished! And the updates are slow, but is very good, read under your own risk].

Day 3: Unexpected/Revelation by presentedmic

2K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Great fic! Shouta tells Shinsou about the time he almost lost Hizashi! Cutecutecute and angsty!]

Desolate by maplebee

<1K/Oneshot- MCD [Their Note:  A short very angsty fic... Almost made me cry, this one did].

With You by maplebee

<1K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Short and sad as well, this author is great with making you feel stuff in less than 1k].

Accidentally Forever by Arkham_Cat

1K/Oneshot- I skimmed through it, it seems mild with no Mature content [Their Note: Short Omegaverse, shows how Shouta accidentally marked Hizashi. Its angst? But not very heavy angst, soft angst? Dunno. And is short as well! So I would recommend it if u want a quick read!].

Sunshine Boy by MarziPanda95

40K/Completed-  MarziPanda again! Hmmm 👀 [Their Note: We all know that Marzipanda95 is a goddess of Hizashi Angst, and this fic is one of her greatest masterpieces! Please! This is a must read!!! Recently completed].

Even As I'm Busted And Broken by Tippytap

<1K/Oneshot- [Their Note: Ok... Short but sad, Hizashi is finally overwhelmed. Mind the tags please]

(Don't Ever) Stop Talking by WritingStarsIntoConstellations

<1K/Oneshot- [Their Note: Aizawa messes up by using his quirk on Hizashi! They are teens in this one~]

Kintsugi (Broken & Fixed) by DarklingMoon

12K/Completed- [Their Note: Another 5+1 cause god knows I love them so much! Its a great fic filled with angssttttttt... Read it lol]

Lemon Boy by modernmint

<1K/Oneshot- [Their Note: Short! Focuses on the phobia that Hizashi has with bugs and the relationship of the boys! They are teens in here].

Five Times Present Mic Apologized (And One Time He Didn't Have To) by BurningTheSapphires (MyStShSh)

5K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Features villain present mic! Is not mostly angst but it has...] Good ending? I hope.

Sixty Seven by AcroArdent 

1K/Oneshot- MCD [Their Note: This is just short erasermic angst. Featuring villain aizawa!]

Waiting For You to Call My Name by Purplemerald

2K/Oneshot-  [Their Note: I mean, you tell me "Hizashi angst" and I think of this fic, short, painful, a must read].

Snapshot by LipstickVenom

5K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Insecure of his body image Hizashi :c ]

Five Stages of Grief by NeitherDeadnorAlive

3K/Ongoing- I saw no MCD warning. [Their Note:  Hizashi is trapped with some civilians under loads of rubble! Rescate mission ensues! And huh... Its not finished, but its some great angst thooo]

Musical Vibrations by Rose_Cat

1K/Oneshot- [Their Note: Hizashi gets deafened :c ]

Letting Go by Zombieisms

<1K/Oneshot- MCD [Their Note: Hizashi is comatose].

Dangerous by AutisticWriter

1K/Oneshot- [Their Note: Little kid shinsou and hizashi bonding over their time at the orphanage].

One Last Time by CoolPandr

<1K/Oneshot- MCD [Their Note: Aizawa Mourning our sunshine boy :c short and painful]

You're Late! by AnotherWeirdoHere

<1K/Oneshot- MCD. I didn’t even read it but the title and the summary alone pained enough of a picture to make me choke. These concepts hit me for some reason [Their Note: Short angst! Super cute ending].

Too Loud and Too Much by doctornemesis

2K/Oneshot-  [Their Note:  Insecure teen hizashi :c someone give this boy a hug].

Just a Push by Say_Jay

5K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Aizawa injures Hizashi while training!]

Everything I Wanted by toshiwoshi

4K/Oneshot-  [Their Note: Hizashi gets misuranderstood and gets his heart broken :c happy ending tho]

Memories by My_Furnace_Has_Wings

2K/Oneshot- MCD Omg... [Their Note: Ok this is erasermic family angst... Suuuuper sad, this author is great.]

Actions Speak Louder than Words by My_Furnace_Has_Wings

<1K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Teen erasermic confession with angst! Really good ^^]

Mr loverman by popweezle

1K/Oneshot- Angst with a freaking Happy Ending tag. Finally I am getting super depressed with these scenarios I am reading here. Good God. [Their Note: Another comatose Hizashi~]

first love / late spring by pgsaihara

1K/Oneshot-  [Their Note: Erasermic angst, insecure Aizawa makes Hizashi upset :c ]

Needle-thin Tightrope by Dramaticdragon

2K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Another insecure about his volume hizashi :c poor baby but I kinda get him].

Small Hiding places by IsTheMedia

2K/Oneshot- Part of Villain!Mic [Their Note:  Part of villain Hizashi series! But can be read alone... Implied child abuse, mind the tags].

(dis)trust by Cat_Tac

4K/Oneshot- TW: Sexual assault (doesn’t get far, but it is the basis of the plot). Mentioned this one in previous ask, but let’s put it in this huge pile too [Their Note:  MIND THE TAGS PLEASE, this can be triggering. Hizashi is assaulted at work and feels guilty].

Be grateful, hero by SaltywithSarcasm

2K/Oneshot- [Their Note: Hizashi is kidnapped and tortured]

Tenacity by tiniest_hands_in_all_the_land

23K/Oneshot- [Their Note:  Ok so... This is more Aizawa centric? But there is some amazing hizashi angst at the end! (Another 5+1 fic!)]

Déjà vu by douchegrayson

9K/Completed- Mentioned this one before too. I really love its concept so much [Their Note: Everyone forgets hizashi thanks to a quirk! Our poor boy is desolated :c ]

Stay With Me by MintIceTea

2K/Completed- [Their Note:  Erasermic angst and fluff!]

Engagement by fecklessphilanderer

8K/Completed- [Their Note:  Hizashi falls off a building, fluffy ending!]

Note: In all of these, make sure to read the tags please, in case there are any themes you’re uncomfortable with. I have not yet read most of these, so once more you’re gonna have to look out for yourselves. 🙏

[innittowinit]

Clair de Lune, L. 32

Summary:

Tommy has a nightmare about Wilbur's death and Ghostbur comforts him

YOOO just to be clear this is an AU that was created before cannon ghostbur and schlatt so all you need to know for this fic is that Wilbur is a ghost that haunts the sleepy bois, he's from the 1700's or something and he was murdered.

Not tagged MCD as a warning because Wil is technically still a character but his death is described a bit so stay safe!

Word count: 1536

Google doc with more info on this au

AO3

The air was bitter and cold, cracks in the walls seethed with a breeze that never seemed to go away, it helped in the summer months when the homes felt like a sauna but on a late December evening like tonight, all it did was remind the townsfolk that they weren’t nearly as wealthy as those who wouldn’t be worrying about this.

After having served his time, on account of slandering a wealthy businessman in a song, he had made the decision to invite the gentleman over to have dinner and hopefully reconcile. Bad blood was never a good thing to have with someone, especially not the rich, and even if the intent was not to suddenly become good friends, Wilbur still felt it was important to be civil with him. While the point of his song had been to humour the situation, he still recognised that it had offended the man to the point of wanting legal action to be made.

Unfortunately Wil had been the only one to feel this way.

He had placed down his own food first before going back to the kitchen to get the gentleman’s meal. In hindsight this had been a horrible decision, giving an easy way for him to spike his food with no witnesses at all. That had definitely been easier than planned, perhaps Wil was just too trusting. He had just assumed that now that he had been punished all resentment had faded into what was a potential reconciliation.

The poison hadn’t taken long to fall into place, half way through the dinner Wil would start coughing, only for that to turn into long, breathless gasp, until eventually he was left scraping at his neck trying to grasp for some air as if it were a privilege.

The man watched with humour as Wil suffered, tears streaming down his face as he focused every inch of his energy into his breathing, not fully able to comprehend what was happening until a knife was pressed against his neck, blade cold and sharp as a swift swipe let out all the pressure in his body and left him to fall to the floor.

------ ------

Tommy swung up in bed, arms flailing around the blankets, as if he was searching for physical evidence that Wilbur was okay. Heart pounding and sweat glazing his forehead, he spun his head around the room, as if he was scanning for either Wilbur or the scumbag who had killed him. Knowing Wil was a ghost hurt. Even though they could still communicate through a range of media, even though he could still physically hug him if he possessed someone, it wasn’t the same. He knew Wilbur had been hurt and that just didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to accept that the Ghost who they had lovingly welcomed into the family was hurt by someone, he loved him too much to really accept that as a reality.

It took a solid ten minutes before he calmed down from his frenzy, left just to breathe heavily, rested against the bed frame as if he had just run a marathon.

Despite the fact that he had never known Wilbur in life, since he had learned of his tragic demise, he hadn’t been able to get the horrible thoughts out of his mind, it was like a curse. Wilbur was like a big brother to him, even if he wasn’t exactly alive they could speak easily through spirit boxes and voice recorders and when he was too tired to try and manipulate radio waves, he would sometimes knock things off of counters and shelves to make his presence known.

Learning guitar from a ghost had been surprisingly easy, he had a video tutorial of some song playing and every now and then Wil would pause the video to talk through the spirit box, sometimes giving tips and other times just straight up teasing Tommy for being bad at playing the guitar.

Wiping his teary eyes, trying to remind himself that even though Wilbur was dead, even though he had gone through something bad, he was still there (Not even in those ‘he’s with us in spirit’ facebook post kind of ways, Wilbur had been haunting them, he was quite literally still around) he reached for the spirit box, switching it on and leaning back in his bed as relief washed over him.

There was something about knowing that Wil could freely talk through that, that comforted him. It reminded him that Wil was okay, he had been poisoned, he had been stabbed, but he was okay.

“Wilbur?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, waiting for the ghost to make his presence known.

Every now and then Wil would go off to mess with Minx or the lunch club, during the night, paired with Schlatt of course, Tommy hoped to God that tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

“Nightmare?” The box spoke back at him, he nodded.

It was hard to talk to the spirit box sometimes, Wil could only talk in a couple words with that, that’s why they had started the family tradition of Wilbur possessing one of them each Friday so they could have some actual time with him instead of mainly one sided conversations.

Today wasn’t a Friday but Tommy wished it was.

“Techno.. Techno won't mind if you use his body.. You can still take control when he’s sleeping right? I just need to hear you talk for real..”

By now, Tommy was sitting upright in his bed, knees pulled up into his chest. They’d been through this exact situation so many time’s that Tommy had even set up a mirror near his bed since sometimes Wilbur showed up in them, He wasn’t showing up today though.

“Yeah. Wait.”

As always, the spirit box was choppy and left room for interpretation as Tommy nodded and tried to think about anything other than the frightening thoughts of death in his head. Tomorrow was a Week-day, that’s why he’d chosen Techno, he would no doubt be pissed that he had missed a chunk of sleep but being sleepy at school had far fewer consequences than being sleepy at work, which would happen if Tommy asked Wil to possess Phil.

After a while of Tommy staring at his ceiling, ‘Techno’ peeked his head into the door and walked over to Tommy’s bed, sitting down next to him.

“It’s Wilbur, you know that right?” Wil smiled, Techno’s glasses -which Wil still needed to wear while possessing him- glinting against the moonlight.

Nodding, Tommy leant his head onto Wilbur’s shoulder, hands wrapping around him and squeezing with as much force as he could muster.

“I shouldn’t miss you this much. I didn’t even know you. Wil, it must have hurt so much”

Wilbur just nodded and stroked his hair as he whispered reassurances and kind words, there was no certain way to fix this, the fact of the matter that Wilbur had died and he probably shouldn’t have let a 16 year old know the fully gruesome details of his death but that being said it was all readily available online and sure enough he would have eventually found out anyway. Wilbur much preferred being the one to tell him himself rather than him reading a blog post made by a teenager that was probably way too into true crime to accurately report what happened.

He supposed what attracted those kinds of people was that he had led a fairly eccentric life, only to be killed and the killer to never be caught.

Wil had always thought his killer to be obvious but the justice system had not been very good in those days, in many ways it still wasn’t very good.

“It did hurt Tommy. I was so scared that was going to be the end of everything but y’know what? If I hadn’t died like that, I might not have ever met you or Phil or Techno. If I had died up in some other city, since I did like to travel a lot, I might have never thought to mess with you guys. If that hadn’t happened I wouldn’t have the family I have now”

“But you hur-”

“That was hundreds of years ago Toms, I hardly remember it”

Liar. He thought about it every time he saw people using cleaning chemicals or cooking with knives.

“Tommy you’re a good kid. You’re empathetic, that’s really good, but you can only die once and that’s never going to happen to me again, okay?”

Tommy nodded into his chest

“Do you wanna watch that movie you like? I know I can’t really fix how you feel about what happened but sometimes a distraction helps” “Up’s good. Let’s watch Up”

Ironically, Tommy had fallen asleep right after the wife died but Wil hoped that would give him some closure since it was a very nice film. Not wanting to wake the boy, after him already having such a rough night, he didn’t bother taking Techno back to his own room, leaving his body to sleep next to Tommy as he watched the rest of the movie alone.

-----

“Why the fuck am I in your bed?”

“...I had a nightmare?”

[whatatime30]

Torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness

This is the “sequel” to my fic Green Eyes (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799641), though they are standalone, hence my publishing them independently. Thanks to @renecdote​ and @themerrywriter​ for helping me title it. I’d been stuck on the title for like the past week and a half now. 

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309219

Summary: A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

WC: 6311

Info on it

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning

Major Character Death

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Batman - All Media Types

Son of Batman (2014)

Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)

Batman (Comics)

Relationships:

Damian Wayne & Everyone

Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne

Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson

Damian Wayne & Tim Drake

Damian Wayne & Jason Todd

Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne

Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne

Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Ra's al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Characters:

Damian Wayne

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Tim Drake

Jason Todd

Alfred Pennyworth

Cassandra Cain

Alfred the Cat (DCU)

Ra's al Ghul

Additional Tags:

MCD is Talia

Mother-Son Relationship

Father-Son Relationship

Brotherly Angst

Damian Wayne Feels

Damian Wayne-centric

Damian Wayne is Robin

Damian Wayne Needs a Hug

Bat Family

Bat Brothers

Batfamily Feels

Insecurity

Angst

Hurt

Art

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Damian Wayne is an Artist

He likes art a lot

Painting

Green Eyes

Blue Eyes

Eyes

Loneliness

Language: English

Blue.

Damian blinked at himself in the mirror. Everything looked the same.

Except that his eyes were now blue. The same shade of  blue his father and brother’s wore.

He smiled.

Damian knew he’d have to take them off before leaving his bathroom. They could never know (would never know). But he was so happy to look normal, feel normal, feel like he was a part of something.

He hated his acid green eyes. He only shared them with Ra’s. He wanted to share something with his paternal side. Now, he could (only when he was in the bathroom, of course, but anything was better than nothing).

He waited another minute before taking the contacts out. He blinked a few times, his face drooping slightly at the sight of his actual eye color. He sighed, leaving the bathroom.

[Keep reading under the cut, or go on AO3]

…

“Robin, focus,” Bruce whispered into the comm.

“I am focused,” Damian said back, equally quiet.

“No you’re not.”

“I don’t believe this is the setting. Do you?”

“On my count.”

Damian prepared himself.

Bruce counted down.

Then the fell to the floor.

Damian never did well thinking in action. He’d learned from his formative years that fighting was more brute force and instinct than planning and calculating. Sure, he could do it, but it never served him any better than just jumping in.

He suspected that this was the reason he and his father never worked well together. The family constantly said he was too rash, too fast to act, that he needed to wait. He wished they’d stop.

It was just rubbing in the fact that he was too different to belong.

He wished his mother were still alive. He used to belong at her side.

(“My Alexander.”)

…

Maya’s eyes were green. Damian’s kind of green too. He liked them.

He had more in common with Maya than his father’s family. Maya was most his family (she and Goliath).

“When you called…” Maya trailed off as she gave him a hug. “It’s been too long.”

Damian rolled his eyes (they didn’t talk enough).

“I missed you.”

“And I you.” His voice was half a grumble.

“How’s Mr. Batman?” The sarcasm was obvious. She was heavy handed in that manner, something he didn’t share but admired.

“They’re children.”

“The lot of them? Man, kids these days, am I right ?”

He felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

“Where’re we going?”

Damian hadn’t thought of a place. They could wander. “Out.”

“Look, I get you like this brooding thing and being all ‘Son of Batman-y,’ but tell me where you want to go, or we’re going to Bat Burgers.”

“Batburgers it is.”

Maya’s eyes were green.

…

“You got the eyes wrong.”

Damian turned to his father. He hadn’t even heard the man come in. He didn’t like to paint around anyone. It made his stomach do loops like those rollercoasters Dick took him to for his birthday last year.

“What do you mean?” Damian asked.

“Selina’s eyes are blue.”

“No, they’re not. They’re green.”

The man grunted. “You sure?”

Damian was mostly sure. He hadn’t thought of them any other way.

They fact that Selina’s eyes were green bothered him enough. It’d be a small mercy for God to make them blue. After all, his mother had brown ones. If he couldn’t share eyes with her, he’d rather not share them with his father’s lover either.

“They’re prettier blue.”

Damian couldn’t help but grimace.

After a shrug, his father left.

Damian smudged the eye, ruining the painting.

But what did it matter if it wasn’t pretty anymore?

…

Damian found photography was enjoyable.

He didn’t need as many materials.

He could do it anywhere.

It didn’t require as much time as painting, but the attention to detail was of the same caliber.

So, he took lots of pictures.

When he was in the mood, Damian would climb to the tops of Wayne Tower or some other desolate rooftop to capture pictures.

His current venture?

Eyes.

People had all different colors.

He found himself printing out pictures of them all, arranging them by levels of beauty and depth.

Ra’s always said a man’s eyes were his soul.

What did that mean of this woman? Her eyes were a placid blue like a duck pond in a children’s cartoon. Was she calm? At peace? Her dress didn’t suggest such. She’d worn a tight-fitting business suit and heels that clicked. If one had seen her eyebrows, they’d see the steeliness behind those calm blue ponds.

“What the…”

Damian sighed. Of course Jason would be the one to interrupt his studies. It seemed the man had been coming around the manner more as of late. He’d come to Damian and ask after his father.

“What’s this about, squirt?”

“Art project,” Damian answers curtly.

“For school?”

“No.”

“Then what for?”

“Recreational purposes.” If Jason was entitled to his Shakespeare, wasn’t Damian to his art?

“Why’re all the blue-eyed ones over there and the others in another pile. Something against blue-eyed people?”

“Something against aryans, Anti-Führer?”

“Father is in his study. Now leave me be, Todd.”

“No, I’m intrigued now.” Jason took a seat by Damian, brushing against the younger’s leg. “So, what’re we doing?”

Damian sighed. “Nothing.” He threw the placid blue pond to his right, starting a pile of its own.

“Are these randos from the street?”

“I suppose you could call them that.”

“Pretty good quality.”

“I-- thank you.”

Jason chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Over the years, Damian had learned that Jason wasn’t as insufferable as he first thought the Red Hood to be. Depending on the activity, he was even the best possible company (if Dick wasn’t available, of course). They had similar histories, a common friend and foe. It made sense.

“Ever finish that portrait of Selina for her birthday?”

“I drew her cats instead.”

“Why? It was looking pretty nice.”

“I lost interest.”

“That sucks.” Jason flitted through a stack of photos he’d collected.

Damian shrugged.

“Dick been around lately?”

“Not since the Sunday before last.”

“Has he called?”

“Are you looking for him?” Damian asked.

“No… just wondering.’

“Why?”

“I dunno, kid. Can’t I wonder?” Jason made eye contact, a grin forming on his lips.

Damian couldn’t help but smile back (even if the sheer blueness of Jason’s eyes made his tongue dry up and shrivel like that of the silent soldiers of the pit).

…

He wore them again.

Damian found himself locking the bathroom door and putting the contacts in daily now.

He liked things better this way.

He wanted to gouge his slimy emeralds out. Glass water droplets would make for a better existence.

Blue was art, after all. The pretty kind.

…

Dick gazed sadly upon his youngest brother.

Damian was paler, duller (the rest of his health being intact was mercy enough).

Did no one notice? The His kid was spending a drizzling afternoon sketching ponds.

No less alert though. He saw Damian eyeing him from the garden, most likely waiting for Dick to leave the car before accepting their usual embrace. Dick sighed as he left the car.

Damian hurriedly left his spot on a jagged rock by the duck pond that’d been around since Bruce had been a boy.

“Hey, D,” he said easily, hugging the boy.

“Grayson.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Drawing.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I suppose.”

Dick punctuated the hug with a peck on Damian’s cheek.

The boy blushed. “How long will you be here?”

“All weekend. B needs me for something.”

Damian nodded.

“Is that paint or blood?”

“Hm?”

“Your hand.”

There was a red stream down Damian’s palm.

“Shouldn’t be touching sharp rocks, kiddo.”

“Better perspective.”

“Uh-huh.” Dick dragged Damian inside to clean the wound up.

(his kid)

…

Dick came back.

Damian liked Dick.

Dick was his first relationship in Gotham. The thing that tethered him here when his father died. Had Dick not kept him here, he would’ve went back to the League (which didn’t seem like a bad idea often), but now he was stuck here.

Stuck in Gotham with a family that was nothing like him and only half loved him (except for Dick, of course). He was Dick’s son in all but name.

Dick came back, helped Damian clean off his hand when he cut it on the rock. He hadn’t meant to cut it though. Firstly, because it hurt. Secondly, because red hadn’t been pretty in years.

…

“My eyes work fine,” Damian whispered.

Dick didn’t know what even brought on the statement. Maybe it was Bruce claiming Damian didn’t see the gunmen on patrol earlier, which in Bruce’s defense, had earned Damian a bullet wound in the left arm. “What’d you mean?”

Damian’s eyes were trained on the soft light that was the television screen, but the glass lid over them signed tears threatening to spill over. “I saw them, but the risk…if that boy’s idiot father hadn’t-- who brings children to drug deals anyway? No parent of any value. I saw them…” He trailed off, and a tear fell.

It was probably the meds. Alfred had given Damian pain meds and a sedative. The boy was merely tired. He was fine, nothing to worry about.

“S’okay, D.” Dick wrapped an arm around the boy, pulling him close. “He just gets scared. You know what happened to Jay…” And you.

Damian let out a small whine and pulled away.

Dick shushed him. “You did well, kiddo. I promise.”

Soft, emerald green’s glanced at Dick for a second before being obscured from view by the boy’s lids. Damian sniffled. “I see fine.” Hot tears wet Dick’s shirt.

“I know.” Dick rubbed circles into Damian’s back. “Bruce does too. He was just upset, okay?”

Damian sniffled again.

“Go to sleep. You’re tired.”

“M’not a baby, Richard.” Damian’s voice was muffled as he nuzzled Dick’s shoulder.

“I know.”

Damian’s breathing evened out a few minutes later, soft snores coming from the boy.

He was tired. That was all.

…

The prettiest thing he’d seen in his life.

Damian’d found an eye in his photography ventures. He just knew painting it would make it prettier (and it had).

Blueberry blue with azure hints. A beautiful, clean ocean of paint.

“The wall?” an incredulous voice asked from behind him.

Damian turned to see Tim. “Problem, Drake?”

“Why the wall?”

“It’s gorgeous, is it not?” Damian admired the picture.

“But… the wall? Alfred’s not--”

“It’s my room to do with what I wish. Father said so.”

“I think he meant you could get curtains, not deface a whole wall.”

Damian clenched his paintbrush. Hadn’t Dick said that if one had nothing kind to say, nothing should be said at all? Surely Tim Drake, a supposed cultured individual would know the rule. “That’s not kind, Drake.” He hadn’t meant to make his voice soft.

The expression in the teen’s face changed as fast as a bullet in a chamber, from eased indifference to a smirk. “I was joking.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Sorry.”

Damian nodded, sniffing as he looked back to continue detailing his art.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

Music was an art as well.

Damian’d explored it as much as any boy forced to learn the classics had. After all, there was nothing visual about music. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t touch it, so why would it interest him?

There was one person, though, that liked music.

Cassandra Cain was a particular enthusiast.

Whenever she came over, she’d always drag Damian over to the music room. They’d duet on the ivory piano keys or speak in morse code on the drums. Music was a language for her the way drawing and painting was for him.

He wouldn’t dare take it away.

“What’s with the eye?” Cass asked, inspecting the back wall of Damian’s art room. “Is it wet?”

“No.”

She brought her thin fingertips across it, smile resting on her face. “Pretty.”

“Thank you.”

…

A rose by any other name supposedly smelled just as sweet.

Damian wasn’t sure that he believed that.

…

“Hafid.”

“Talia.” Damian ducked a slap from his mother. He smiled.

She did as well. “Your absence has been noted.” I missed you.

“As has yours.” I missed you too.

“I was on business,” she defended.

“Of course.”

“Would you credit me… an embrace?” I love you.

“I suppose.” The feeling is mutual.

They hugged. It was a real one. The kind they only did every few years.

“You’re taller,” she noted.

“I am,” he agreed.

They parted.

Her hand tugged his chin (why was it still so smooth?), and their eyes met. Hers were like lukewarm cups of coffee. “Grayson emailed me your marks in school. Ra’s was pleased.”

Damian nodded.

She sighed, releasing him. “Where is your father? I must speak to him.” There she went, screaming ‘Habibi’ down the hall.

Then he woke, as he always did: Gasping for air, face wet with tears, shirt soaked in sweat, alone.

…

Damian gifted Jason a blue hoodie for his birthday. It suited the young man much better.

Though the family mostly made a joke of it, he stood by his decision, happy it brought a smile at least.

“Did you hear about the Blue Hood?” Dick asked, checking the grapples from his corner.

Tim grinned from behind his laptop, still typing away. “The Blue Hood?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“Dastardly, I hear. Right, D?” Dick glanced at Damian.

Damian rolled his eyes, not dignifying the answer with a response.

“Just dastardly. Saw him helping some lady across the street with her groceries.”

“That’s Damian.”

“What?”

“I have feed of him helping some old lady.”

“Show me.”

Damian looked up from his book now. “You’re stalking me now?”

“Yeah, I was scared you’d spray paint a wall blue.”

Dick chuckled while Tim came over to show Dick.

Damian rolled his eyes once again. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

He wondered if he should save Tim.

Damian watched a bloodied and drugged Red Robin from the rafters of a warehouse.

The Joker hummed from the side.

Damian didn't like the Joker, but did he dislike Drake more?

With a swish, the Joker was on the floor, blood pooling around him.

Damian sighed as he helped up Tim. “Red, you with me?”

Tim didn’t answer.

He pressed his comm. “Batman, I have Red Robin. We’re in the Diamond District.”

“You didn’t think to call before leaving? We were looking for you.” There was a tinge of worry in his father’s tone.

“I apologize. Heading back now.”

“I’ll come pick you up.”

“I have the--”

“Is the Joker incapacitated?”

“Yes, but I--”

“Wait there.”

Damian humphed but sat down, pulling Tim to his side.

Tim giggled. “Gonna paint him blue?”

If fratricide were an option…

…

Damian didn’t like Tim.

He didn’t hate Tim, but Tim was his least favorite brother and sibling.

He seemed to only say things to upset Damian, and Daman never knew a response to upset Tim back.

“He paints everything blue, Bruce,” Tim said with a slur, leaning tiredly against their father as Alfred sewed up wounds.

“He can paint whatever color he wants,” his father said with a smirk.

“Blue’s boring.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sad color. Everything that is blue is sad. When someone’s sad, they’re blue. Tears are blue on TV. Water’s blue.”

“Mmhm.”

“My mom’s eyes were blue too.” Tim sniffled. “She had a blue clutch that matched ‘em-- were your mom’s eyes blue?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Damian?”

“At the computer.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Probably listening to you talk.”

Tim hummed quietly.

“Damian,” his father called, amusement evident in his voice.

Damian slunk over to his (hypothetical) family. “Father,” he said with clear displeasure.

Tim yanked Damian closer, nearly knocking Alfred out in the process. “Sit down.”

Damian obeyed.

Tim delivered a wet kiss on Damian’s nose. “I love you.”

Damian scrunched his nose. Maybe he didn’t totally dislike Tim.

…

“Damian, I have to go out. Can Tim stay with you?” Bruce asked. Alfred had enough to worry about without putting  the teen into his schedule.

“I’ll be painting.” Damian was in the process of playing in his breakfast, which had become some sort of a pastime in the mornings.

“He won’t bother you.”

Dick had told Bruce that Damian’s art room was one no one should enter without permission. Even Alfred left the maintenance of the room to the boy. Most of the family, rather than purchasing entrance, hovered in the doorway whenever they wanted to speak to him or see the newest artwork.

Tim, Bruce knew, had never been inside the room. He wasn't’ sure if it was Tim’s choice or Damian’s though.

Damian pushed his plate forward. “I suppose.” His chair scraped the floor as he stood. Damian approached a resting Tim on the other side of the table. He tapped him once. “Come, Drake.”

Tim cracked an eye open. “Hm?”

“Come.” Damian took him by the hand and led him out of the room.

Bruce sighed. His kids.

…

It was hard to paint with a lump in one’s lap, so Damian took to drawing.

Why he had to spend his day off school with Tim Drake was beyond him, but he did his best to make the most of it, as Dick would’ve told him to do such.

“Why do you make everything blue?” Tim asked quietly, staring out the window.

“I don’t,” Damian answered.

“You do.”

“I’m drawing a flower right now. Is it’s stem not green?”

“It’s a cornflower.”

“I don’t make everything blue.”

“Are you blue?”

“No.” What kind of question was that? Damian’s skin was tan like his mother’s.

“I mean in the metaphorical sense.”

“Elaborate,” Damian demanded.

“Sad.”

“No, I’m not sad.”

…

Some nights, Damian had heard, were made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness.

He spent many of his nights doing all three, though it was hard to do the latter when his father insisted upon reading in his art room. A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

He knew this as he painted an eye-- his eye.

A family portrait was in order with Alfred’s birthday coming up. His father requested a small portrait, something he could frame and wrap for the butler from the whole family.

He liked most of the picture. Dick’s icy blues and Jason’s white streak. It all went together beautifully (ignoring one factor).

Damian payed attention to every detail, sans the blemishes. It was necessary. The picture had to be perfect.

He heard footsteps behind him. Then Duke was at his side. “Hey,” the teen said, his warm breath on Damian’s neck.

“Thomas, what do you require?”

“I just came to see it.”

“Did you?” Damian asked absentmindedly.

“Yeah, and I came to see if you want to join me and Tim for a Star Wars marathon. We ordered a pizza.”

“No.” Damian finished the red curtain behind the family with a blot. “Thank you for offering.” He struggled with common social phrasings still. He never learned them when he was younger. It was harder than people made it out to be. A second language he wasn’t quite used to.

“He’s coming,” his father said from his chair.

“I’m not hungry,” Damian argued.

“You haven’t eaten since lunch. Patrol’s soon.”

“Pennyworth's absence does not mean I’m not capable of finding my own nourishment.”

“Go.”

Damian humphed but set the painting down.

“It’s done?” his father asked.

“A few finishing details,” Damian said.

With a nod and a grunt, his father returned to his book,

Duke smiled. “Bye, B.”

“Duke.”

Then they were gone.

…

Tim wasn’t sure about Damian.

Well, he knew the kid was a certified sociopath, but he could tell Damian tried. Tried to fight his instincts, his raising. And the kid did a good job most of the time.

He did wonder about what Damian did with his free time.

Damian went to school. Then Damian disappeared until dinner. Then he disappeared until patrol. Then he was dead to the world until breakfast the next day.

He never saw Damian on weekends though. Alfred would note the absence to Bruce, but the man never did anything about it. Alfred would probably have to knock Bruce in the head to make him get it.

He supposedly ate, considering Damian retained his muscle and wasn’t getting skinnier. It didn’t seem like Damian slept. The bags under his eyes had bags. They were omnipresent, became accepted as Damian’s appearance a few months ago.

Of course, one could usually find him in the art room, except when the door was closed (Alfred would open it whenever he came by).

He didn’t want to say anything. Only God knew how Damian would take it.

Even now, Damian sat dejectedly in the corner of the sofa, staring at the curtained window with his head propped up on his arm. He looked half asleep.

“How’s school?” Tim asked, feeling more like parent than a brother (but someone had to be).

“Fine,” Damian answered.

“Do you like the movie?” Duke tried.

“No.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Damian. To his surprise, the boy didn’t pull away.

…

You are your mother's child, but you won’t learn. No one can protect you. Not your aunt. Not your mother. Not your father...Your world holds but one truth, boy...You continue to exist at my sufferance.

An echo.

Cold, tight chains released themselves from his side, clinking to the floor. His arms and legs could finally breathe. Pain radiated from everywhere. He kept his eyes closed. Damian took a breath from the floor before trying to stand. His legs were noodles. He swayed until a gloved hand steadied him.

“Damian.” His father’s gloved hand apparently.

“Batman,” he scratched.

“Don’t talk.” He lifted Damian into his arms.

Damian allowed his head to fall, chilled kevlar kissing his cheek. His nose became aware of the intermingling aromas of burnt flesh and blood confluenced with sweat.

The jostling was kept to a minimum in transporting him to the Batwing.

Damian heard shuffling as the plane took off.

He woke up to hushed voices, felt hands pulling at his blood-stained clothing and bandaging him before everything darkened to a haze once again.

…

“Touch me and die,” Damian said quietly, not in the mood for interruptions (he’d had enough in the past two days) and willing to stop them even if it meant paining his nose. He again on his way to perfecting a portrait, one of Alfred this time. His ribs pained him as he bent over the small canvas. The pain like a small searing, reaching throughout his middle. He couldn’t do detail without gazing closely though.

“How’d you know I was there?” Jason asked, coming from behind Damian with a tray.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“I brought you lunch.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “No, thank you. Leave me now.”

Jason’s silence filled the room for a solid minute. “Doing okay? Heard your Grandpappy knocked you around.”

Damian couldn’t help but smile. “Not before he coughed blood.”

A chuckle. “Good for you, kid,” Jason said. “Whatcha painting?”

“Nothing you need to pay any mind.”

“The cat, huh?” He took a seat on the floor beside Damian. “Should you be bent over like that? Has to hurt.”

“I am fine.”

“Wanna go to Batburgers?”

“No.”

“The library?”

“No.”

“Outside.”

“No.” He was fine where he was.

“Babybird told me--”

“Must you use asinine nicknames everytime you speak? It’s a childish endeavor you’re much too old and educated to pursue, don’t you think?”

“Ouch.”

It was quiet once again.

Damian leaned further forward, biting his lip as the pain increased. It felt good in it’s own way. He moved to dot a splotch of fur white when Jason punched him in the arm. A long line of white littered with gray marred the picture.

His jaw dropped as he turned to Jason.

The young man merely shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “But hey… the eyes were all wrong anyway.”

Damian didn’t know why, but that hurt more than the searing pain in his chest and the tears pricking at his eyes. He jumped at Jason with a punch.

Jason grabbed his wrist.

Damian tried with his other one. This time nailing Jason in the cheek. He then kicked Jason in the back of the knee, causing the young man to topple over into a table.

The circus-themed vase Damian’d made in art class the previous week shattered.

“Get out.”

“Kid…”

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Damian demanded, tears now cascading down his cheeks.

And for once, Jason did.

…

Bruce wondered what had caused his youngest to flee to the coat closet. He’d been about to go out to ‘enjoy nature.’ Alfred was cleaning the computer and he had nowhere to go. He hadn’t expected to find Damian curled up in the corner, face scrunched in what he read to be displeasure, possibly pain. Dried tear streaks were on the boy’s cheeks.

He lifted the boy up carefully. Damian, though technically a teenager, was still so small. Why was he so small? Would he grow up to be as big as Jason or Bruce? By Bruce’s estimations, Damian would inherit his mother’s slender figure as he had her soft skin and devious smirk.

Damian huffed at the jostling, his eyes forming slits to glance at Bruce as he sleepily rested his cheek on the man’s shoulder (beautiful basil eyes). “Todd broke my vase.”

“Did he apologize?” Bruce headed in the direction of the boy’s bedroom. He sat down on the bed, relishing any time he was able to hold his son, as the action was rarely permitted.

Damian humphed. “It was to be gifted to Grayson upon his return this weekend.”

“I’m sure we can find something else to give him.”

“Matched his parents’ costumes.”

“I’ll see what Alfred can do.”

Damian’s eyes closed again.

Bruce took the neon orange pill bottle from Damian’s nightstand and popped a pill out. “Here.”

Damian’s hand slowly found its way to Bruce’s, and the medication was consumed.

Bruce then laid his son on the bed, tucking him in as any good father would.

The boy didn’t protest the impromptu nap (most likely because he’d been napping already), taking another last look at Bruce.

Beautiful basil eyes.

…

“You’re sketching me?” Maya asked Damian, her emerald greens piercing him with amusement.

Damian snorted. “Of course, chica.”

“I’m prettier than over half the things you draw.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“Is it done yet?”

“Everything but the eyes.” The eyes were the only white thing left on the page. He sniffed the pleasant aroma of graphite and wax. The searing in his middle had regressed to a dull soreness.

“You always save the eyes for last,” she sighed, grinning. “Why is that?”

“They deserve the most care and attention.”

“Why?”

Damian sighed. “I don’t know.”

…

Tim was walking through the hallways of the manor towards his bedroom when he heard talking in the kitchen. He entered the room to see Damian and Bruce of all people not cooking, but gluing together what looked to be a vase.

Damian’s arms crossed themselves as the boy frowned. He was seated by the stove, wrapped in a blanket. It could be classified as cute, if not for the purple and blue bruise surrounding the boy’s broken nose and Damian’s split lip. “You’re not doing it right. Let me.”

“Alfred would never forgive me if you cut yourself,” Bruce said, hunched over the island with glue and tweezers.

Damian turned to Tim. “Can’t Tim do it then?”

Tim’s brows raised at the use of his actual name.

Damian seemed to catch it too.  “I’m sure no one will care if he is cut.”

Tim grinned. “Hey, B.”

“Tim,” Bruce returned.

“What’re you guys--”

“Jason knocked the table over and broke Damian’s vase for Dick.”

“And you’re fixing it?” Tim surmised.

“It’s all wrong,” Damian said before Bruce could respond. “Father, you’re--”

“Like a try, Tim,” Bruce interrupted, stepping back and holding out the materials to the teen, now revealing his own scowl and furrowed brows.

Tim chuckled. “Sure.” Those two were too alike.

…

“Todd broke it, but Drake fixed it,” Damian said quickly.

Dick examined the vase carefully. “It’s beautiful, Lil’ D. Thank you.”

Damian wasn’t sure what to say at that point, his face flushed. He slackened, releasing some tension on the pulling bandages under his shirt. He was proud to say the least. He’d known Dick would love it from the moment the idea sprouted. The moment now was mere proof.

Dick’s eyes glazed over with tears. He blinked them away. “Guess I’m gonna have to start keeping flowers now, huh?”

“I suppose you will.”

…

“I meant to visit you on your birthday but Ra’s…” Damian trailed off as he played with the dew-filled grass. It was early morning. No one was up but him, which made sense considering they’d just arrived back from patrol two hours ago. Damian hadn’t slept either. He couldn’t.

“I…” He sighed. “You are missed.” He missed her. Every single part of her he missed, from her whacks during sparring to her petty threats. “Why won’t he bring you back?” He used to always bring her back. “I wish he’d bring you back.”

Damian wiped warm tears from both his cheeks and sniffled.  You are-- and will always be-- an assassin at heart, my lovely boy. Your mother's child. “My mother’s child.” The boy’s voice was a rasp, filled with anguish.

A sad smile. “Even in death, you haunt me. A ghoul you truly are, Mother.”

There is no Hell. No Heaven. Only what we make for ourselves.

…

Blue came in seven distinct shades, each with its own name: azure, prussian, cobalt, cerulean, sapphire, indigo, and lapis. Damian loved them all.

Yet, none of them could be found in Ra’s’ compound. The buildings were tan. The shades were lined with mahogany. The uniforms were charcoal. The katanas were silver. Nothing was blue except the sky above him.

Damian liked it that way.

…

Gone. He was just gone. No notes no trace.

Damian disappeared like smoke in the air.

Where had he gone, Dick wondered.

…

“You came back?” Maya asked. “Then what was the point in leaving?”

“It’s better here,” Damian said, voice a trained low volume he’d learned when he was younger and never forgotten. He stretched his hand to test the pain, having cut it earlier when sparring with Ra’s earlier. It was worse if anything, and looked infected, but he was ignoring it for the time being.

“How?”

“My father… he-- It just is. The rules are clear. Easier to follow.”

“My father wasn’t the easiest guy either.” She took a seat on his rug and crossed her legs. “He made us ghosts.”

“And I’m not one?” He could tell she was searching him, sifting through what she knew, what she surmised, conjuring an answer that was appropriate, correct.

“You want to be?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Tears fighting their way out behind his eyes made them burn. It’s better than the torture being someone puts me through , he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He said, “Yes,” for that was all that mattered to the question.

A small wet stream ran down her right cheek. A glass film over emerald jewels. She leaned forward, wrapping her lean arms around him.

He knew the embrace was meant to be some form of solace, but it did nothing for him. He wanted to ask her to release him, to let him feel the pain, to let him fade into the black and through the wall like any good ghost could. Why wouldn’t she let him?

She stayed until he was nearly asleep.

He used her lap as a pillow, eyes having long given way to the heaviness.

She hugged him once more before laying him on the rug. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t a soft cotton either.

He let out a small whine of complaint, mumbled her name.

“Right here, but I have to go,” she whispered. Maya pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He allowed her last words to escape him as he drifted off.

…

“Where is he, Ra’s?” Bruce growled.

“I assume you’ve scoured my compound for him then?” Ra’s smiled. Damian swore that was the face of the Devil sans the cherry skin and raisin horns.

“He’s my son.”

“He is his mother’s as well, Detective.”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m well aware.”

Damian watched the scene from above in a blindspot even the Batman wasn’t aware of. He came back to Ra’s for two reasons. One, it was easier than living in Gotham. Two, Ra’s would burn Gotham if he didn’t.

And he knew Gotham was his father’s true love and mistress. The thing that let the broken boy with wet cheeks who became a man whose had dried out. The motivation to live, he even guessed. He’d rather be under Ra’s than take that away, than be the cause of the fall of the Bat and his cohorts. He’d rather die than do that.

So, he came back, enjoyed the blue-less world of the League of Assassins, visited his mother’s quarters occasionally. He minded it the first day, and he still missed a stray Gothamite or four, but other than that, he was fine.

He was trained to be fine, after all. How could he not be what he was created to be? It made no sense, so he didn’t let it happen.

The pain was duller here anyway,

And dulled pain was the best kind.

…

There was one part of being with his grandfather again that Damian didn’t like.

He hated having to slash throats and impale hearts.

It wasn’t that he now found murdering abhorrent either. It was the voice Dick Grayson implanted in him at the age of ten that told him it was wrong. Everytime he even came close to ending a life the voice rang in his head. It hurt.

This was why Ra’s sent Damian to kill a whole family. The psychology behind it was infallible. It would prove that he wasn’t soft, that he’d earned his place long ago and hadn’t given it up on his departure, which was why Ra’s called in the comm for him to stop before the action. The man wasn’t as cold as he advertised himself to be. He wanted loyalty more than blood any day.

So, having proven such and still possessing free hours, Damian slunk across the street of a nearby diner. He hadn’t come to eat but to watch. He loved to watch people still. That want had not waned. He’d even smuggled a camera on the off-chance he would see something truly photogenic.

Contrary to his intruder coming from behind, he did feel the footsteps. He hadn’t stopped feeling the things behind him since the day his uncle was shot in the head. A memory he held quite close to the day he first met his father.

“Red Robin,” Damian said.

“Dames. What’re you doing here?” Tim asked, crouching beside Damian.

“I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to figure it out. I don’t take you for as much as an imbecile as you advertise yourself to be.”

A snort. “B came for you.”

Damian made a noncommittal noise. It seemed Tim Drake would always interrupt his art.

“You could call.”

Damian plopped himself on the ledge and extricated a bagged sandwich from a pocket he should’ve been keeping a pistol in (still couldn’t break that habit).

“Ziplock?”

“The League isn’t that old.” Damian pulled his face mask down and set the camera beside himself.

Tim did the same. “Didn’t take you for one to eat on a profiling.”

“I’m not going to hurt them.” Damian sighed, watching his smoky breath dissipate. “Any of them,” he added. An assassin’s past times weren’t limited to killing, after all. Even Ra’s liked books and reading. He took another bite of his sandwich, sweet honey ham and American cheese.

“Okay.” Tim didn’t sound like he believed Damian, but he didn’t care about Tim’s thoughts of him anymore.

“What do you want?”

“Took me awhile to get a lead on you.”

“If you count Maya as a lead.”

“She told me ‘cause she cares.”

“I hold nothing against her.”

“Nightwing misses you,” Tim said.

Damian inserted himself into a scene before him. A young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair in a waitress uniform sat across from a young man and baby with the exact same features. A family, he figured. Both women were hunched over the table while the baby-- a girl-- babbled to herself and stuck a fist in her mouth. An interesting sight. He wondered if his parents could’ve ever created a seen like that had his father known of him when he was a baby. It was a pretty thought.

“--mian.” Tim laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

He turned to meet the gorgeous blue eyes that were Tim’s.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Damian repacked his sandwich and stood. “I have to get back.”

“You’re not due ‘till four. It’s two thirty.”

“I have to go.”

Tim took his wrist. “One day he’s gonna actually make you do it, you know.”

Damian blinked. “What?”

“Kill somebody. Maybe a family. Maybe a couple. Maybe a person. But he will.”

“I live with myself just fine.”

The whites of Tim’s domino squinted before returning to their previous state. “Don’t die. Maybe send a text once a while, so we know you’re still succeeding in that venture. And call Dick ‘cause you know how he blames himself.” Even when it’s not his fault, Tim didn’t say. Because that would also imply it was Damian’s.

Damian nodded.

Tim released him.

The robin flew away, and the ghost became translucent once again.

[maternalcube]

i did an art summary so now im doing a fic summary. i was tagged by @jamthedingus also!! ive never done one of these before!! lets go!!!

Rest (13106)

Keith & Lance's Island Adventure (20631)

Atlantis (10014 words)

The Way to a Man’s Heart (6858 words)

nobody's business (2096 words)

leave, and take (557 words)

dead girl walking (1661 words)

the course of fate (1039 words)

who ya gonna call (465 words)

come here often? (806 words)

til kingdom come (1950 words)

stars in the sky (pt 2) (5404 words)

a song of falling (630 words)

Eyes to the Sky (3683 words)

Feet on the Ground (4050 words)

Divergence (6669 words)

homecoming (1426 words)

Window of Opportunity (11144 words)

along that wilderness of glass (3801 words)

string theory (2327 words)

Katt Week (1062 words)

The Pining-Plant (3860 words)

at the end of many worlds (21684 words)

you're my home (19646 words)

Believe Me (3177 words)

Starchild (3568 words)

Summer Heat (2285 words)

third time's the charm (5349 words)

Blackbird (59546 words)

The Sixth Planet (9444 words)

all the infinite realities (1197 words)

Total Fics: 31! (plus one i posted anonymously lmao) Total Words: 229999! (except parts of string theory and the sixth planet were actually posted last year... but still, what a number)

more under the cut!

Ship/character breakdown: i didnt filter out my prompt collection or abandoned wips here so /shrug Ship breakdown:

klance - 6 sheith - 5 shance - 5 katt - 4 heith - 3 pallura - 2 and one each of plance, kallura, allurance, shatt, shkatt, kidge, kidgance, and shunk. and keiths parents lol. let it never be said i am not a multishipper.

and i know gen isnt a ship but it tied with klance at 6 (plus whatevers in the prompt collection) which was a surprise

Character breakdown: man if theres a way to get ao3 to show me ALL the stats, i dont know it. but.

keith - 25 (shocker) shiro - 23 lance - 21 pidge - 17 hunk - 16 allura - 12 matt - 12 and then coran and sam are at 4, and zarkon ats 3 and presumably many others are at 3 or less

Characters that had the main focus: well ~9 were from keiths pov, and ~5 each from shiro and lances povs. i think i also had ~5 from multiple points of view. its safe to say that keith has my heart tho lol

Specifics:

Best/worst title? Best title: i still like “at the end of many worlds.” i weirdly still like “Blackbird” too even if it has nothing to do with anything... Worst title: “Rest.” :/ also like all of the abandoned wips bc i didnt care. and “Keith & Lance's Island Adventure.″ some of my zine fic titles were also... bad. im bad at titles.

Best/worst first line?

Best: Keith & Lance's Island Adventure. ok the title is bad but this line? this really sets the tone for whole fic. you know what youre getting yourself into here.

When Pidge invited Keith to a fully-funded graduation party aboard the Holt family boat (“the smaller one, anyway,” she’d said), this is not exactly what he'd pictured: three of them standing on a wobbly dock, packed bags at their feet, sky cloudy and gray, while the Holt siblings stand on a little ledge off the back of the boat and deny entry.

Worst: ive got two for this lol

at the end of many worlds: even i have to read this a couple times to figure out what i was trying to say. at least you know youre in for pain...

Keith’s mother shows up to interrupt movie night often enough that, this time, Keith almost doesn’t realize anything’s wrong. Almost, because she’s silhouetted by the movie, but she’s clutching her arm and panting for breath, and in the thin edge of light around her he sees a wet and vibrant red.

Divergence: because all your friends being dead is EXACTLY like losing at dodgeball. yeah, theres a reason i abandoned this one.

Hunk always hated playing dodgeball. Not because he was bad at it--though he was--but because he always ended up the last one standing, and therefore the only target for the entire other team. It was due to a tendency to hang unnoticed in the back, he knew, but that didn't change the sickening, empty feeling of looking around and realizing there's no one left but him, and there's no way he can win. Only wait for the inevitable.

This, Hunk decides, is a lot like that, only, like, a billion times worse.

Best/worst last line?

Best: The Pining-Plant. there are a few others that were cute too but this one is also good out of context so

And then the pod swishes open and he's scrambling to catch Pidge as she stumbles out. She clings to his arms to steady herself and his heart swells.

"Falling for me again, huh?" he asks, and she groans loudly.

"Let me go, I'm getting back in the pod," she says, and he laughs. He doesn't let go, and neither does she.

Worst: if im bad at titles, im worse at endings. most are bad. i suspect the ending to “Rest” is terrible but i cant bring myself to even open that shit again so: Believe Me. if weather were a recurring theme in this fic, itd be fine, but as is its just... a weird note to end the fic on lmao

Hunk rocks back on his heels. "We aren't counting this as our official first date, right?"

"I dunno," Keith says, and now he smiles at the rain instead of frowning. It shows no sign of easing up, but whatever—they're soaked anyway. "This seems pretty good to me."

“...All right.” If nothing else, it’ll make a good story. And, Hunk had to admit—he’s pretty happy with how it’s turned out, rain and all.

But next time, he's double-checking the forecast, just in case.

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

more than i expected! considering ive been in grad school all year!! i wrote about the same amount wordcount-wise in 2017 which i spent only half in school so. idk how i managed it.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

the anonymous fic was a surprise but im not gonna talk about that lol. otherwise... nah, its all been my usual stuff.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

blackbird, probably. i like working on that one. summer heat was also fun, id sort of forgotten about it bc it was a zine fic but coming back to it, i really liked it. likewise with third time’s the charm. and i like t6p a lot even if i kinda hate drawing for it :’)

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

depends on your metric. window of opportunity has the most kudos, keith and lance’s island adventure has the most hits, and t6p has the most comments and subscriptions. 

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

AT THE END OF MANY WORLDS. oh man i killed myself over that fic. it was important to me. but i think the mcd scared everyone off :’)

Story that could have been better?

i realize “all of them” is kind of a cop out answer but like

Sexiest story?

i have written nothing sexy, ever, in my whole life

Saddest story?

i mean, ateomw. considering all the death. blackbird def has its moments too.

Most fun?

i feel like i answered this in the favorite story q lmao. you’re my home also gets a shoutout, that thing was,, super self-indulgent lmao. and id be lying if i said i didnt have fun with parts of ateomw, even if its mostly sad.

Story with single sweetest moment?

man i write a lot of fluff but so much of you’re my home is just tooth-rotting. heres part of the proposal scene lmao

"Lance!" Keith yelps, barely rescuing the ring from falling into the sand with them. Lance pushes himself up on his arms, silhouetted by the sun and glowing with it.

"Really?" he asks breathlessly.

"Yeah," Keith says, and maybe he should've prepared something to say, that's a thing people do, right? Hell, he's winging it. "I know we can't stay here on Earth forever, 'cause we're paladins, and there's still stuff out there we gotta do. And I know you probably want to stay because this is your home—but you're my home, and if we gotta go, at least you'll have me, good or bad." He grins crookedly. "Or rocket science. Whatever happens, I'll be there."

Hardest story to write?

well t6p gets a shoutout, but its not the writing thats the hard part for that. uhhh ive struggled with parts of blackbird. i remember k&l’s island adventure giving me a LOT of trouble, i think i posted late lol

Easiest/most fun story to write?

anything short uhhh for all the infinite realities, i kind of just sat down the other day (actually i was in bed but) and was like “im gonna write this” and then in the morning i just sat down and wrote it in one go. i dunno if id call it fun, but it was easy. t6p is super fun to write but, as mentioned, drawing it sucks.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

no... my perceptions probably have shifted but not due to anything i wrote in particular. i did talk myself into liking allurance with a prompt fill, though, but im not sure that was 2018...

Most overdue story?

all the infinite realities lmao. at the end of many worlds needed that happy ending. and another shoutout to t6p, because thats been going on over a year and im still nowhere.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

does posting my abandoned wips count? ive still got some of those hanging around... blackbird was a bit of a risk bc my last longfic was written while i was unemployed and out of school, so like i had the time for it, and now i kinda dont. still chugging tho. ateomw b/c of all the death but it turns out i really like writing whump woops. and writing any sort of kissing always feels like a risk bc i suck at it but im getting better lol... i hope...

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

write more! finish things! do more sheith! i really want to work on this sheith longfic i came up with the other day... but i want to get blackbird over with first.

Tagging: eh! do it if you want to!

[of-another-broken-heart]

That was so fucking awful... 

And I get to do it every week for the rest of forever. Great. 

My Nana is diabetic and has heart disease. There might be some other conditions she’s got that I have not been made privy to - but those two, I know for sure. She is on a full page of medication. This is not an exaggeration. She has a complete lined paper filled, top to bottom, with her daily medication regimen. 

It would be a lot even for a fully able-bodied, neurotypical, mentally healthy person to manage. My Nana is not able-bodied, nor is her mental health or memory as great as it used to be. She used to be able to manage, though. Before her memory started getting a big sloppy. 

Now Pop-Pop is trying to shoulder all responsibility, while also blaming Nana for the medications she’s on, and being impossibly stubborn about any suggestions on how to better help or manage the situation. 

My one aunt is the only one who actually understands the full scope of what each medication does, what dosage Nana is supposed to take, and how often. There are a few (like Nana’s insulin) that are supposed to have fluctuating dosages based on Nana’s current blood sugar... except, Nana doesn’t always test her blood sugar. She just goes ahead and takes some mid-point standard insulin dosage, I guess. And she’s not supposed to do that. But she’s also lucky to remember to take it - and take it only once - with each meal. 

Basically they’re both struggling to be independent despite really, really needing better communication and teamwork. Nana feels, very understandably, trapped and stripped of a lot of her own value. Even when she was in better shape, she was somewhat house-bound. She never had a license, definitely can’t ride a bike any more, and couldn’t go very far on foot. Now, she’s not mobile. She’s on oxygen, with a literal plastic leash tethering her to the house. She can’t even manage most household chores any more, because the heat or moisture will mess with her breathing - and that’s assuming she could move or stand long enough to do it in the first place. 

So Pop-Pop is shouldering it all - which is honestly mostly reasonable. Nana took care of it all for over fifty fucking years by herself, PLUS raising four kids and running daycare from home while he was still working. They’re retired now, so it’s not like there’s some nine-to-five or house full of kids otherwise demanding his time on top of normal household routine chores. BUT he’s being such a whiny little shit about it - complaining about ~having~ to make the bed, ~having~ to do the laundry, ~having~ to vacuum, ~having~ to... cook! COOK!

Like... if you were single, you’re telling me you wouldn’t be doing any of that shit? You’d leave your bed a mess? You’d never wash your own damn clothes? You’d leave your floors full of tracked-in dirt, mud, hair, and whatever else?? You’d... never fucking feed yourself?? PLEASE!  

The toxicity of 50′s straight marriage is definitely a big factor in the unhappiness - and mutual emotional abuse, honestly - in their marriage. I can chalk up around 99.9999999% of Pop-Pop’s indignation to the manufactured narrative that “the wife does this shit, the husband sits on his ass at home!” You can’t tell them that, of course. Even Nana will agree when Pop-Pop says, “Yeah, well, things were different back then!!” Yes, Pop-Pop, I know... segregation was still a thing. I’m well aware of how “different” things were. 

All of that is a mess in its own right, right? Yeah. But is that all I get to deal with? LMAO OF COURSE NOT. 

So, when I locked in that I’d be going over every Friday, we decided on what was going to be for dinner and a few tasks we’d be tackling. Or, that I’d be tacking to the best of my ability while trying to keep them both from doing it themselves. Lil sis originally was going to tag along, and mom joked about showing up for dinner (Pop-Pop said he was going to set a big pot roast up with a bunch of veggies). So there was some vague “maybe two more people will join us for dinner” anxiety that Pop-Pop was struggling with. And me, too, honestly. 

So today, before I even managed to get out of bed, lil sis sent me a message (as I more or less expected) around 1 PM, saying she had homework to do instead of being able to tag along. Sure, okay. I didn’t fully believe that was the reason, but I wasn’t gonna stress myself over it. (She later hit mom up for money to go to the movies with her friends, so... yeah) 

I asked my bro if he wanted to come along, because he’d felt bad about missing Pop-Pop’s birthday visit for a friend thing that ended up falling through. But he was resting from a headache and decline. Alright. Fine. Not a big deal. 

I ended up getting there a bit late because 1: I slept like trash and didn’t get up in time to fully prepare myself, and 2: I blew six bucks at McD’s to get coffee and a quick lunch because... (see point 1 again). 

As soon as I walked in, Nana was busy making an apple pie. Which she wasn’t supposed to make. Despite professing it was a treat for Pop-Pop, it doesn’t fool anyone that she’s just as invested in having pie for herself. And it’s not like it was a from-scratch pie that she could control the syrups or sugars in - she used canned pie filling. 

She’s diabetic. She literally shouldn’t be having that crap because it can kill her. 

But, circling back to her struggle to feel purpose, and her desire to make her husband happy (and also feel happy, herself) she likes baking. She likes baked treats. “I’m gonna die anyway, at least let me have good food!” she’s said on more than one occasion. 

And I get it. The compromise ends up being small servings accompanied by some extra insulin. 

But that doesn’t work any more, either, because her memory is slipping. She used to self-manage the insulin amounts. Now, she sometimes forgets, or takes the wrong dose. And because she’s used to being - and still trying to be - somewhat self-sufficient, she doesn’t communicate if/when she’s having trouble remembering things, or when she does remember and takes a dose. 

THEN, because she’s on SO FUCKING MANY MEDICATIONS, the times she DOES communicate that she’s taken her medications... often causes Pop-Pop to fly off the handle, because he automatically jumps to the conclusion that she’s taken the wrong things at the wrong times and/or has screwed up her dosages. 

They don’t quite shout at each other regularly - but sometimes they do. And what they’ve gotten in the habit of lately, is calling each other “stupid” or “idiot.” Or calling themselves (mostly Nana, in this case) those things. Because she knows her memory is slipping, and she hates it and can’t do anything about it, and feels awful and like even more of a burden because of it. 

Right before I was fixing to set the table for dinner, they were spatting over the pie. Nana said something about “I tried to surprise you with a nice pie, and you don’t even appreciate that,” and Pop-Pop mis-heard “pie” as “party” and immediately jumped to the conclusion that “19 to 20 people” were going to be showing up. He huffed and puffed, and I thought he went to the bathroom - but it turned out he just fucking left. Left the house completely. Drove away. 

I had been setting the table, so Nana and I waited after I got everything out. Nana gave a shout to ask if he was okay, and got no answer, so I investigated. The bathroom was open, but the bedroom door seemed to be mostly closed. I let Nana know and suggested he might be getting changed? So we waited a bit more. And waited. Nana wondered if he’d gone to bed instead. I went to knock on the door and find out. No answer from the knock. The lights were out, so it was possible that he was in bed. But nope. The room was empty. Walking back to the dining table, I looked out front and finally realized Pop-Pop’s car was missing. 

So just Nana and I had dinner together. It was delicious, but hard to really enjoy, given the circumstances. Pop-Pop called in the middle of it, to check if Nana had taken her mealtime meds, to remind her that “You realize you chased me away, right?” and “Tell Kristin I’m not mad at her.” He said he’d be home around ten or something. 

I wanted to cry. 

Actually, that’s putting it lightly. I’d already been there for three hours and I was screaming on the inside. Desperate to leave, but unable to abandon them after I promised to help, and especially unwilling to leave Nana alone, when she’s stuck there by herself so much already. 

He came back around 8, when Nana and I were just about done with the evening’s dishes. He repeated that he wasn’t angry with me, then said some more nasty shit to Nana. At that point she took herself to bed - the only escape she really has, to be honest - and I stayed a small while longer with Pop-Pop so he could have some vent/social time, too. 

Mostly it was all the shit I already knew - just phrased differently. Nana’s medications were overwhelming to manage - but he phrased it like it was her fault for needing it all, her fault for getting old with him. Everything was ~his~ responsibility - except it’s not, it just seems that way because he’s too stubborn to accept any significant help, and too scared that he’ll be left in the dark about important things if/when he IS the only one around to help. 

I get it. 

I have no idea what will actually help them, because I sure the fuck don’t have the ability to implement the only real solutions I can come up with myself. And so much of the stress and drama and strife is basic fucking communication that they’re both screwing up on. 

I don’t know how I’m not bawling my ass off from the anxiety this whole deal caused me, personally. Probably full of too much anger to let it out. Too guilty to let it be about me for even a second. 

I’ll break down later, probably. 

And do it all again next week. 

[newyorkbaby]

top 10 favorite fics?

This has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute, honestly, because this is a super difficult question. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to answer! I want to preface by saying that I’ve read a ridiculous amount of fic in this fandom, and I’ve loved so much of it, and there are plenty of fics that I would die for that aren’t on this list. also i’m constantly reading and finding new universes to love, so this list could change any day? but here goes, my top 10 favorite (at this very moment in time) hl fics:

10. Relief Next To Me by dolce_piccante (334k)

What can I say? Is this fic overhyped? Maybe. Is it ridiculously long? Sure. Is it nothing but pure fluff? Yeah, you’re right. Would I die for it? Absolutely. I find myself revisiting this universe over and over again, and that’s saying something for a fic this massive. I just love how fun the relationship is, so whenever I’m feeling blue and need to get away from anything angst, this is one of my go-to’s.

9. let it shine under the morning star, orphaned (22k)

This is one of the first fics I ever read twice (I’m not normally a fan of re-reading fics) and I still go back to it from time to time just to experience the amazing aesthetic this fic has. It’s set during the Belle Époque, one of my favorite historical eras in terms of the arts, and the imagery is just beautiful. Read this while listening to some Chopin or John Field; it’s totally lovely.

8. the impossible now by stylinsoncity (54k)

Oh, god. This fic is incredible. There are a lot of really great original plots out there, and there are a lot of good time-travel/universe swapping fics, but this one takes the cake. The angst and the conflict resolve are super well done, and this is one of those fics you just can’t stop reading even for a second. I remember staying up one night reading it all in one go, yelling at Kelli the entire time. I think I’m due to revisit this one myself!

7. You Come Beating Like Moth’s Wings by supernope (81k)

The Barcelona Fic™!!!! I read this pretty early on when I became a 1d fan and it’s stuck with me as one of the most fun and adventurous fics I’ve ever read. The entire idea of a whirlwind romance while traveling abroad is an automatic set-up for fun times (as well as a little angst) but the best part of this fic is the slow burn. If you haven’t read this one, you absolutely must.

6. Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule (93k)

If you’re looking for originality, look no further tbh. Listen, I’m a huge horror/sci-fi/fantasy fanatic, and I’m obsessed with anything different, so obviously there’s some bias going on here, and I recognize that this fic may not be for everyone. However, it feels like this fic was written for me. This is one of those fics where the romance takes a bit of a back seat to the actual story, which is something I love, and the actual story is what keeps you hooked. On top of that, fucking phenomenal writing. Read this one when it’s raining, preferably with the lights off.

5. 210 Days by cherrystreet (16k)

Listen. Are you listening? Okay, good. This fic changed me. This was the first of Shelly’s fics that I ever read, and I couldn’t stop screaming about it for weeks. Shelly is, quite honestly, the queen of hurt and comfort. Did I cry while reading this? Of course. But I finished this fic feeling so content, hopeful even, for Harry and Louis, and for how strong their love is in this universe. I got hooked on the writing right away, but even more than that, I got introduced to Shelly’s incredible ability to write about the pain of the real world while highlighting all of the good things that happen as well. This fic is a huge gift; it brought me comfort during a really shitty time in my life, it made some of my friendships stronger, and it introduced me to one of my favorite people in this fandom. Anyway, the writing in this is totally poetic, so if you want to know what it feels like to be adored, read Harry’s letters to Louis in this fic and get back to me.

4. Have You Coming Back Again by whoknows (31k)

It’s crazy to me that this fic is number 4 on this list instead of number 1, because the first time I read this fic I ranted and raved about it for a ridiculously long time. The first time I tried to read this, I couldn’t get into it. Fortunately, I tried again after a few weeks and when I did get into it, I got into it. I adore the characterization in this fic. The writing is, of course, totally on point. “You’re just obsessed with fluff,” you might say. Well you’d be right, but that doesn’t change the fact that whoknows has a gift for writing a fun, playful romance.

3. Here in the Afterglow by fondleeds (89k)

Ah, here’s where I really get emotional. When lysha posted this, I had already read her first work, which I adored, so I was really excited for a well-done historical au (I’m a hoe for historical au if that isn’t obvious, btw). But nothing could have prepared me for this fic. Not only are all of the historical details totally spot on (the MUSIC IN THIS IS.. INCREDIBLE!!!), but the story itself handles the coming out “trope” with such incredible finesse and care, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. There is so much LGBT+ history in this fic, and it’s treated with the respect it deserves, which is something I really haven’t ever seen in any other fic before. When I finished it, I just had this immense feeling of thankfulness for the pioneers of LGBT+ rights, which is not something you’d necessarily expect to get from a fic?? Anyways I’m rambling but I really can’t emphasize enough how wonderful and important to me this fic is. You absolutely must listen to 70′s rock while reading this, btw.

2. It Comes and Goes in Waves/It Always Does by roaroftheninth (51k)

Am I a fake for making this my #2 even though I only first read it a few days ago? Maybe. This fic, just recently completed, is another absolutely original fic that stands out from anything I’ve ever read. The thing about this fic is, the romance (like BWAR) is secondary. This is more a story about a soldier, who has to deal with the loss and pain he was left with after WWII, and his struggle to accept his own self-worth and happiness. Everything about the story itself is just flawless: the writing, the characterization, the plot, the imagery, the dialogue, the vocabulary itself - all of it is fantastic. I know the MCD tag scares people (it definitely scares me too!) but I promise it’s survivable, and the ending is happy! Given, if you like cookie-cutter fic with a predictable plot with all smiles and no tears, this fic isn’t for you. Then again, real life probably isn’t for you. If you want to read something real, something powerful and thought-provoking, read this. (Also, bonus points to this fic for SLOWWWW burn, an amazing tension-release, and a beautiful ending).

1. Tug-of-War by cherrystreet (63k)

You knew I couldn’t make a fic rec without having cherrystreet on here twice, right? The reality is, all of Shelly’s fics should be in my top 10, because I love them all, but there is no universe that compares to TOW. As always, her writing and characterization are on point. It’s obvious how much Shelly cares for this universe in the details of this fic, and it’s obvious how much she loves Louis and Harry in the way she carefully handles their fragile hearts in this particularly angst-driven story. Like the previous recommendation, this fic perfectly captures the pain of the real world, while still emphasizing that things can get better, that if you don’t give up, or even if you have already given up, you can change things for yourself just by believing that you deserve it. This fic is, naturally, littered with hardships and addresses real human sorrow, but it’s also full of love and hope, and lots of laughter. I’ve read it multiple times, and every time I’m left smiling and a little more in love with hl than I was before, so if you’re waiting to read this one or you haven’t done it yet because you’re afraid of the angst, I promise it won’t hurt you.

Sorry this was so long and so extra, but Top 10 is truly an outrageously difficult question! And like… it could change by tomorrow, for all I know! Anyways I hope you enjoy these if you haven’t read them yet, and even if you have read them maybe try giving some of them another go! All of these universes are too wonderful not to enjoy multiple times.

[cheatos]

REC ME A GOOD IWAOI FIC TBH

““I TRIED MY BEST. AND DID A NSFW ONE ON UR OTHER ASK, HOPE THAT ONE WAS SATISFYING TOO!

I chose from my bookmarks bc those are the fics where I was like “I’d actually like to reread this fic at some point in the future”.

I’ve also tried to pick from … not exactly unpopular, but less popular fics that I don’t see on every single reclist out there, so yeah, I hope they’re all of use! 

HERE WE GO:

“dinner and a movie” by rikke, T+, 11k: As a good vice captain, Iwaizumi would do a lot for his volleyball club’s success and general welfare, including, apparently, fake dating Oikawa. - Basically one of the cutest fake dating fics I’ve read! i love the author and the language and the mood, it really is an adorable fic and I rec it to everyone!! FAKE DATING MY DUDE

“if i could fly” by hydrangeaes, T+, 11k: “I think I’ve always subconsciously relied on Iwa-chan" Oikawa paused, taking a second to look at Iwaizumi before adverting his eyes. “Whenever things went south, Iwa-chan would be there to fix it. I think a part of me knew that so it didn’t matter how much I overworked myself, Iwa-chan would always be there for me to fall back on.” - I fell over this fic because I was specifically looking for fics where Iwaizumi was the one going pro, since people usually write Oikawa being the only one, which is just. Well. This fic is amazing and Iwaizumi is amazing and the friendship he builds up with Kuroo and Yaku is amazing and Oikawa and–. Just read ittt

“phone home” by ghostystarr, g, 6.5k: Oikawa Tooru is currently orbiting Earth at 445 kilometers per minute, but falling in love with the voice in his ear makes it feel so much slower than that. - astronaut au!! this one was really cute and i’m pretty sure I read this like a long time ago when it just got out ish, I really enjoyed it and idk why but it stuck with me.

“as close as you need” by carxies, T+, 8k: Oikawa meets a boy that no one really believes in – so he does what someone before him should have. He out of spite befriends him, stubbornly supports him, gets dangerously close to him and gently teaches him all he knows. - oh man, this story was really really soft. i wasn’t sure about it at first, and the author is like on top 3 of the people i’d like to invite out for coffee and a talk right now, bc i have Questions.

“fake it till you make it” by chrystie and kate882, T+, 12.4k: "So you think he’s fake?” He weighed his options, and Iwaizumi figured he might as well bury himself in the hole he dug, “A bit,” was his simple response.And that was how chaos broke out in the live stream chat. Or: Iwaizumi accidentally starts a war with Oikawa Tooru. - Youtuber au. Not at all the kind of story i usually read, in general because i couldn’t care less about youtubers, but this was adorable and a really sweet story. I love friendly rivalry/banter too.

“bat those eyelashes” by ricekrispyjoints, T+, 3.6k: Oikawa’s a healthy teenage boy. He’s supposed to want to have sex. Clearly, it isn’t working out with girls, so he just needs to try something different. Iwa-chan is good looking, bisexual, and his best friend. Why shouldn’t he want to have sex with him?

“to shore” by perbe, T+, 5.6k: The summer before college passes slowly for Oikawa Tooru. That is, until the disappearance of Iwaizumi Hajime. (A mystery told in non-chronological order.)

“by the time you’re eighteen” by ricekrispyjoints, T+, 4.2k: “Tell you what,” Oikawa continues. “If you still haven’t been kissed by the time you’re, say, eighteen, I’ll kiss you.” Or: Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s adventures in dating, kissing, and birthday gifts.

“oh no, there goes tokyo” by souliebird, T+, g, 1.3k: Iwaizumi is six and the only person he would want to date is Godzilla.

”right here, right now” by minyrrds, T+, 3.8k: It’s funny, Hajime thinks, how easily this became routine. […] He had stumbled into The Cat’s Cradle and took one look at Oikawa Tooru and knew he was well and truly fucked. - COFFEE SHOP AU!!! so very cute

“brick by brick” by toffle, WIP, T+, 17.4k: After the defeat of the Grand King Oikawa, Iwaizumi seeks the Hero’s help to save his best friends life, and hopes that they can start again. - basically the only FHQ I’ve ever read and ever will read (oh god. except another one but i’m not gonna speak about that one in public, but i’d gladly praise stevie’s amazing writing anytime)

“stranger danger” by safra, g, 14.5k: iwaizumi refuses to give his personal details out to strangers on the internet while oikawa just wants to know his namealternativelyoikawa spends three months trying to convince iwaizumi he’s not a serial killer - and fails.

”the lifespan of asters” by russianpotatofarm, (MCD! HEED THE FUCKING WARNING!) T+, 7.8k: “What do you need?” Hajime asks. The patient’s eyes light up. A little, anyway. He looks like he doesn’t have much left in him, and if he does, it’s either caffeine or heavy drugs.“Great! So, what does glioblastoma mean, anyway?” or, "god damn i never should have gone to med school,” a novel by iwaizumi hajime (forward by yachi hitoka) - I’m pretty sure I wrote “please don’t ever reread this again lou” in my bookmark tag. why is this on the rec? no idea. it’s pain. but beautiful pain.

Sweet anon, I have so so so many more. I even have 10 more open that I wanted to rec, but I guess I can do that another time, hm? HERE’s my bookmarks if you’re interested, though!