#Robin kicks a tree

[dcxdpdabbles]

Dani/Ellie as a member of YJ or Teen Titans.

The team is helping the JL with an all hands on deck apocalypse on earth. They are losing badly. She looks around herself, at the destruction all around her, squares her shoulders and says 'looks like it's time for the nuclear option... DADDY!!!!'

I didn't know if you've seen the post where a scary Danny got summoned instead of Klarion and everyone (heroes and villains) was getting ready to team up because of how scared/intimidated they were. That's the Danny I'm picturing answering his daughter's call for help. Maybe with an equally scary Fright Knight sword already drawn at his back.

The team was struggling with keeping the villains at bay. This was supposed to be a coordinated attack with the Justice Leauge, moving simultaneously on the other world.

Earlier yesterday, the Light had organized for reality to split apart, forming two worlds. One contains children, and the other includes adults, causing the opposite age groups to vanish before the eyes of horrified humans.

To the adults, their kids were taken in a flash worldwide. To children, their parents went missing in the same flash. It was chaotic, and if it had not been for Captain Marvel, they would have never figured out what was happening.

Dani was a little peeved that she was on the child's side, but despite being a princess of the Infinite Realms, her body technically did not form until four years ago. For all intentions and purposes, she is sixteen. So she stayed with Young Justice, following the kid's command and feeling alive.

She may request to be placed on the Team when this is all over. She sends an energy blast towards Klarion, watching the little Lord dodge with a laugh. He sends back a wave of magic that would nearly knock her out of the air if not for her gritting her teeth and digging in her heels within her ectoplasm.

She always hated dealing with the stupid Lord of Choas. They gave her Dad nothing but trouble whenever he called a court. Everything Danny suggested was a challenge on the grounds of attempting to "control" their disorder.

Honestly, Dani preferred dealing with them than the Lord of Order. They were a bunch of self-righteous uprights who didn't care about who was hurt in the process of their justice. At least the Lord of Choas admitted they were monsters.

Oddly enough, she was grateful Klarion wasn't treating her like the princess she was. It made work so much easier when he allowed her to attack him and vice versa.

"Echo!" Robin runs towards her, waving a hand. "Maneuver seven!"

She nods, abandoning her stance to shift her flight path into a large arch. Her hands clasp into a tight cup as she speeds back up into the air. Robin doesn't miss a beat, launching himself at her just in time to press his foot on her clasp hands, using them and her upward rise to launch himself clear across the field to land a mighty kick on Teekl.

It lets out a howl that quickly gathers the attention of the angered Lord of Choas. Seeing her chance, Dani fires more energy blasts, quickly forcing the witch boy into a defensive position.

She pinned him for a few seconds while Kid Flash raced toward the marking on the ground. Dani grunts to shift the ectoplasm in the air into a long beam, firing it straight at Klarion's shield.

A few cracks are forming around the dark red dome, and she is just about to break through when Teekl comes out of nowhere. A roar is the only warning she had before the blasted cat slams into her, claws digging into Dani's side, and she can only scream as the pair fall.

"No!" Kid screams somewhere behind her, but Dani can't turn since she is holding the claws of the large cat away from her and pressing into the ground to stop it from tearing her face off with its fangs. Its sneering face looms over her, snapping at the air, while her arms tremble with the force of holding the large beast at bare.

Getting her wits about her, Dani uses a ghostly wail to get the cat off her. Teekl is flung through the ai,r landing in a heap by Klarion's side.

The witch boy gasps, "Teekl!"

Dani heaves herself to her side, legs turn, and oozes a mix of red and green blood. Teekl had managed to claw at them during the fall, which meant she couldn't stand, let alone fight, for a good while.

Panting through the pain, Dani presses her hands to leg, attempting to put pressure on it. Her vision goes in and out as white-hot fire races up her legs and body. The Team struggles with an outraged Klarion just a few feet away from her.

Dani wishes, not for the first time, that she was a perfect clone of Dani. If she was, she would have all of his powers, including super healing and duplication. Instead, she sits like a heap, an utter liability to the team, as Klarion dances circles around them.

It pains her to do it, but Dani starts to drag herself away from the battle, realizing she needs to put space between herself and the danger. If the Witch Boy or his stupid cat realizes they can use her as a hostage, Dani will never live it down.

She is just about to drag herself to the tree line when she notices Zatanna raise her hand and speak in rapid-fire magic. A nearby bush drops its illusion to show a very familiar helmet. Dani's eyes widened in alarm, and she took it into her hands and slid it right on.

"Zatanna! Wait!"" She hears herself scream, but it's too late. The girl's body has become a vessel for Nabu, the champion of the Lord of Orders. She really hates those guys.

Zatanna rises into the sky, now dressed as Dr. Fate, flickering in and out of sight as the split realities mess with Nabu's anchor.

Klarion taunts him for it, seeing this as a chance to take down the ancient Dr.Fate, but Dani has other plans. Raising her hand, with every last ounce of strength she has, Dani aims one last good ecto-beam towards the crystal in the center of the spell runes.

It shatters the crystal in a thousand pieces, sending a shock wave of magic across the field. Klarion throws a fit, like the immature brat he is, before he calls back his stupid cat, and the two vanish into a portal. If Dani was feeling better, she would have chased after him.

Captain Marvel beams back into their reality, informing them the adult magic casters were all defeated by the Justice League. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when Dr. Fate and Zatara med the two worlds back together

Superboy rushes over and leaves Dani in his arms, mindful of her wounds. She offers him a soft thank you, which earns her a grunt in acknowledgment. Not one for words, that Conner Kent.

She thinks about the Conner Kent of another universe, this one younger and more arrogant, running around in leather jackets and piercings but a Young Justice member all the same. One day, she should introduce the two. If the fabric of realities didn't fall apart upon their meeting.

Dani is snapped out of her thoughts when the pair get close enough for her to make out what Zatara is begging the Order Champion. Her mouth falls open as Dr. Fate refuses to leave Zatanna's body.

"Kent would never allow-"

"I have sent Kent Nelson's soul to the afterlife." Dr. Fate cuts off Kid Flash with what sounds like a coldhearted taunt to Dani. The way he uses Zatanna's voice makes her skin crawl.

"Take me," Zatara offers desperation in his voice. "My body is at its peak, my magic stronger than my daughters. Use my-"

"No!" Dani shouts, flailing in Conner's arms. Her ectoplasm boils in her veins when she points an accusing finger at the flowing Dr. Fate. "Nah-uh. This is against the law, and you know that, Nabu!"

"You know not what you speak of,child-" The ass tries, but Dani won't hear any of it.

"Long-term overshadowing of any living being is against Infinite Realms law." She sneers, facial features slightly less round and more uncanny with her anger. Around her, the Team is staring wide eyes.

Oh, right, this version of the Team has never seen her proper Phantom form. They only know Echo- named after being the copy of the great hero Phantom- who looked awful like her human form, just color flipped.

Her Halfa form was much more appealing than her entire ghostly appearance.

Dr.Fate crosses their arms. "Against a mortal will. This child willingly gave her body to me in exchange for aid in combat. I broke no law."

"Oh yeah! We'll see what the King has to say about that!" She screams, and finally, Nabu seems slightly worried, but it vanishes quickly as he jolts Zatanna's chin at him. Using her friend like some sort of meat suit.

The nerve.

"The King has better things to do than heed the call of an unimportant child." Nabu hisses, and yeah, she's going to make him pay for that.

"It looks like it's time for the nuclear option, just remember Nabu, the Lord of Order's Champion, you brought this upon yourself." Reaching out with a hand shaped entirely of ectoplasm, Dani launches a blast at Nabu.

The Team screams, Kid Flash's voice rising about the others. "No! Zatanna feels ever hit you land!"

"Echo, stand down!" Batman commands, but Dani doesn't pay them any mind as her attack lands against Dr. Fate's cross shield. She smirked, willing her glowing hand to rip a piece of the shield and fling it back towards her.

Conner nearly drops her as Dani slams the pieces into her leg, allowing them to cover up Teekl's magic. Wobbling her lips and letting the water fill her eyes, Dani lets out a whine and then a scream.

"Daddy, help!"

At once, the field is overflowing with death magic. Every living being in the area- including the animals in the forest- is brought to their knees as a fear unlike anything they have ever experienced digs its way into their very souls.

Conner falls to his knees dropping Dani in the process but she doesn't mind. She is too busy enjoying the way Dr. Fate's entire body has gone rigid as one glowing green eye snaps behind him. Zatanna small figure is no bigger then the pupil of the glowing eye, her body bath in the glow of it's green light and even the moon pales in comparison to the might of it's shine.

The eye quickly gainst a smile, stretched across a row of sharp teeth, then a second eye, a nose, and slowly Danny, King of the Infinite Rleams, forms in front of everyone's eyes.

The sweet smell of terror fills the air as Dani breathes it in.

Danny stares at the overshawed girl, eyes locked on Nabu who is resting just behind the layer of her skin, and glares. "You have brought harm upon my heir."

Nabu is too terrified to move, so Dani puts on a bigger show, letting tears roll down her face as she calls up, "He stole my friend too! He overshadowed her and won't give her back!"

Danny's face clouds with rage. "You have taken my heir's love. Release her."

Woah, hey now, no need to out Dani like that. Blushing, Dani ducks her head as Nabu quickly allows Zatanna to take off the helmet. Danny's large hand reaches towards the helmet, ripping out the spirit of Nabu, who wails in horror as the King drags him towards a portal. "You shall face trial for these actions."

"No! Mercy, your majestic, it was for the purpose of order!" The ghost cries, but his pleas fall on deaf ears as skeleton ghosts burst out of the portal, dragging the kicking and screaming ghost through. The portal slams closed with a loud crack, Nabu's screams echoing across the field.

Danny turns his large head towards the cowering group of mortals before the pointy-dark features of death melt away into a warm human face. It's a whiplash of change as the air shifts to comfort and personified sunshine when the King smiles. "Dani, I just wanted to let you know how proud I am you joined a hero team. Visit home a little more often and bring your friends."

"I will, Dad. Thanks." She beams back as Danny's large finger presses into her side, and his healing magic overflows her body. He does the same to all of her teammates and Justice League co-workers.

They are too petrified to move or thank him for the healing, but neither is Phantom Mind.

Danny nods, winks, and then vanishes like he was never there. Slowly, sound returns to the world- the leaves rustle in the wind, and animals begin to chirp.

"Well," Dani starts, climbing out of Conners's arms and dusting her outfit. "Who wants victory fudge?"

She gains a lot of round-eye looks, and when no one answers, she sighs, "I guess we can do victory pizza instead. But I demand one kind of sweet, or I'm going home to my father to complain."

[fantabulisticity]

Welp, I have a sore throat & nose and congestion. All very mild, but def not normal, and a lot of my illnesses start out very mild. So I got some shit done at work and ditched. Had to ride the bus home bc my car is at the mechanic. (Of course.) But at least I'll get to catch up on sleep, and I'll avoid giving it to anyone else before I know if it's a bad one or not.

[timcassie]

There is no objective best robin. To me.

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

I need more whimsy in my life. I think that’ll fix me.

I don’t talk to my cats like I used to, I don’t spend time outside like I used to, I don’t talk to inanimate objects or stick Googly eyes on things. I don’t think naming my electronics is enough, I need to tuck my stuffed animals in at night.

[frownyalfred]

Examples of Bruce’s “Dad Strength” as witnessed by various Robins throughout the years:

can and will bodily pick up any new Robin and bail as soon as gunfire starts on patrol

one time Bruce got out, physically ripped off a broken part of the Batmobile, and threw it in the backseat so he and Jason could keep chasing someone in the Narrows

ran home with Nightwing over his shoulder when he got shot

frequently lifts sewer grates/manhole covers like they weigh nothing

does push-ups with Robins on his back for a challenge

held onto the side of a building with just his fingers for ten minutes once when Steph’s grapple line broke and he had to help her back up

pulls hot dishes from the oven without mitts sometimes for Alfred (insists scar tissue on his hands means he can’t feel it, nobody fully believes him)

Damian swears he saw him kick a tree down once during training. A big tree.

Dick frequently catches him unscrewing screws in his prototypes with his bare fingers

Punches through walls????

can drink nothing but straight black coffee for several days before any signs of discomfort (this freaks out everyone but Tim)

[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where the Gotham rogues are very territorial over their favorite bird

I always thought it was odd how in season one of young justice, neither Bane nor Robin acknowledged that Bane is a Gotham villain when they met on Santa Prisca. So I give u some ideas of the team encountering Gotham rogues and said rogues only giving a shit about Robin bc no one is as good as their little bird. And also if another non-Gotham villain they’re working with tries to do anything to Robin? That’s not gonna fly.

Like just imagine during that first Santa Prisca episode, when they have Bane tied up to a tree or whatever and M’gann is trying to read his mind for information, Bane straight up rolls his eyes at her, and turns to Robin.

“Tell your little sidekick friends not to announce their psychic abilities before actually using them,” Bane scoffs.

And when M’gann immediately responds with, “he’s reciting football scores, en español,” Robin straight up snorts and hides his grin behind his hands. Because come on dude why would you TELL the bad guy you’re gonna read his mind before you actually do it? Amateur move.

“It’s their first real mission,” Robin tells Bane, as if telling him it’s his baby sibling’s first time playing tee ball, an exaggerated grin on his face and his hands clasped by his cheek. Bane can just tell he’s batting his eyelashes behind the mask.

“Clearly.”

And all the others get annoyed because Robin is bantering with the enemy.

“Will you stop encouraging him!” Wally snaps, unsure if he’s directing it towards Bane or Robin.

Bane ends up helping them because he for some strange reason has a soft spot for Robin. Maybe Bane calls him something like murciélago baby, and it makes Robin straight up pout at him. He’s not a baby. He’s a whole teenager now, and Bane knows it.

Robin knew Bane was only going to help them so much, so he’s not shocked when that comes like everyone else is. He just gives Bane an exaggerated salute before running the other direction.

When the creepy Kobra guy is fighting with Robin later on? Bane does not like that. Not one bit. Once the kiddies leave, Bane kicks the crap out him.

In another mission, they have a run in with the Penguin, who just straight up groans when he catches sight of Robin.

“You again!” Robin is smothering an actual giggle at how exasperated Penguin sounds. “Tell the Bat to come deal with me himself!”

“But Uncle Ozzy!” Everyone can hear the grin he has in his face. “Didn’cha miss me? I missed you!”

The team is frozen in their spots, unsure of what angle Robin is trying to play. Also, did he just call the Penguin his uncle? Superboy is trying to figure out if that’s actually his uncle. It would explain why Robin is so short.

And when that thought goes through the mind link, Robin throws an actual birdarang at him. Rude. He’s not short he’s a gymnast and he’s a perfectly respectable height thank you!

The team ends up watching and Robin dances around the warehouse, dodging shots and taking out Penguin’s hired thugs all at the same time. By the time he’s taken them all out, he’s actually beaming as he stands in front of a very frustrated looking Oswald Cobblepot.

“Listen kid,” he somehow sounds fond, exhausted, and gruff all at the same time, “I don’t wanna see your hide around here for at least a month after this, got it? I’ve seen enough of you!”

“Aww, you didn’t miss me?” Robin is twirling Penguin’s umbrella in his hands, and no one can figure out when he snatched it.

“Fine, yes, I missed you. Even though I saw you three nights ago with the Bat!” Penguin now has his hands tied behind his back.

“Yeah but B is a sourpuss, he’s no fun,” Robin chirps. “Our games are much more fun when it’s just us!”

“I’m gonna roast you like a chicken one of these days, bird boy.”

“See! You’d never say that with B around!”

Robin is off to the side now, hacking through Penguin’s phone to find the files he wanted. They’re still going back and forth at each other, and the team is just standing awkwardly around trying to figure out how to be helpful.

“And don’t bring these goody-two-shoes kids around here again!” Penguin snaps at him. “They barely lifted a finger the whole fight, they’re useless!”

“But they’re my friends!”

Artemis scoffs when she realize Robin didnt even try to prove that they arent useless. It passes through their mind link, and Robin turns his head just enough to narrow his eyes at her.

Well then next time don’t make me fucking fight them all by myself, he thinks at them. They at least have the decency to look embarrassed when he points it out.

“Well that was fun!” Robin announces. “The Commish will be by soon to pick up you and your boys. Thanks for playing with me, Uncle Ozzy!”

“Yeah, yeah. See you next time squirt.”

“Can I keep your umbrella?”

“No!”

Robin just shrugs and rolls it under Penguin’s chair. He can hear the police sirens already.

“Well that’s our cue to skedaddle.”

Robin is halfway back to the bioship before the others can shake off the shock of whatever the bell they just witnessed and follow after him.

“How are you so friendly with them?” Wally asks once they’re flying back to the mountain.

Robin shrugs very exaggeratedly.

“Maybe that’s my super power. Did’ja ever think of that?”

“I hate you.”

I can’t rly think of any other specific idea but I do love this premise so so much I think it’s hilarious.

[yeahiveheardofbears-fics]

Hiiii!! I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you could do another best friends to lovers with Steve <3 maybe they’re in their 20s and reader has never kissed anyone which she’s embarrassed about and thus ensues a healthy dose of angst and mutual pining and happy ending? <3 tysm for considering 🥹

oh, anon, I had so much fun with this one! I'm definitely thinking of doing a part two with smut...

[fic masterlist]

accidentally, then all at once

wc: 3097 steve harrington x reader, first kiss, best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, happy ending

“—I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Steve says, dragging out the vowel like it means something. “Cool. You’re just sitting there with your arms crossed like a pissed-off toddler because you’re not mad. Got it.”

You shoot him a look. “Can you focus on the road instead of diagnosing my body language?”

He shrugs one shoulder, eyes still on the empty stretch of highway. “Hard not to notice when you’ve been doing that twitchy mouth thing since we left.”

Your jaw clenches on instinct. He grins like he caught you in a lie. You turn your face toward the window and sigh, trying not to sulk. The warm hum of the car fills the silence, broken only by the soft thrum of The Smiths on the stereo—because of course he put on The Smiths. Like your night didn’t already feel like a bad punchline.

He glances at you again. “Look, I don’t get it. So you kissed that guy. The one from your creative writing class. The one you talked about for, like, weeks.”

You say nothing.

“It was truth or dare, not a wedding ceremony. And, sidenote, we’re too old for that ‘playing games as an excuse to kiss’ crap anyway.”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. “It was my only one, Steve.”

The words just… drop. Like a record scratch in the middle of a song.

He blinks, eyes flicking toward you, quick. Then again, slower. “What?”

You should’ve let it hang. Should’ve laughed it off or pretended you said something else. But no—of course you had to go and drop a personal bomb in the middle of his dumb BMW like you were having some kind of main character monologue.

He lets out this awkward little laugh. “Wait—what? Like… ever?”

You grimace and turn back to the window. “Forget it.”

“No, no, hold on. I mean—really?”

And that’s it. The dam breaks.

“Jesus, yes, okay? I had braces until senior year. Like, industrial-grade. It was like kissing a fucking bear trap. And I wasn’t exactly in high demand. I was too busy writing angsty poetry and reading romance novels with characters who—surprise—also never got kissed. So no, it’s not some huge dramatic thing, it just… happened. I got dared, I went with it, and—whatever, okay? It’s not like it meant anything.”

You stare out the window, breath hitching slightly at the edges. You don’t even realize the car’s stopped until you see trees out the passenger side.

You blink. The lake glimmers under the soft pull of the moon, all glassy and silver. Lover’s Lake.

“Why the hell are we here?” Your sarcasm kicks back in, eyes narrowed, automatic armor. “What, you figured I got the first one out of the way so now I’m cleared for advanced coursework?”

He scoffs, soft and amused, like your sarcasm didn’t hit him straight in the gut. “Relax,” he mutters, hands still on the wheel. “I’ve seen enough of you and Robin’s weird anxiety rambles to know we were three minutes away from either screaming, crying, or—on very rare occasion—puking. And you had a couple beers, so I wasn’t risking that last one in the beemer. I like this car.”

You make a sound. Something between a groan and a huff, more grumble than anything, still curled against the window like it might let you disappear if you press hard enough.

You’re quiet again. That same tight silence you’ve had ever since the party, ever since you kissed that guy and didn’t say a damn word about it until now.

And now he knows why.

It’s not like you and him talked about that kind of thing, anyway. Not really. Not in any real detail. He’d hear names sometimes—people you didn’t like, people you really didn’t like—but never the kind of stories he and Robin traded in late-night 7-Eleven parking lots.

Then again, Robin’s gay. So it’s… less weird. Less tense.

With you it’s… different. Even if he doesn’t say why.

Your voice pulls him out of it. “I’m probably the only girl you’ve taken here who didn’t make out with you.”

He lets out a dry laugh, head tipping back lightly against the seat. “Okay, first of all, most of the heavy petting happened at Skull Rock. That was the hot spot.” He smirks when you snort softly. “Second, not true. I brought Robin here when she needed to scream about Tammy Thompson being straight.”

That earns him a breath of a laugh from you. Soft. Real.

It lands in his chest somewhere.

He should leave it there. Let the silence take over again. Let it fade into another weird, almost moment that both of you pretend didn’t happen.

But he doesn’t.

Because now that he’s thinking about it—really thinking about it—it is kind of a big deal. Not the kiss. Not the party. But the fact that you said it out loud. To him.

And you said it like it was something to be ashamed of.

He glances over at you again, the dim light from the lake catching the curve of your cheek. You’re still looking out the window like it’ll save you.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice lower now. “It’s not a big deal, okay? You’re not weird.”

You roll your eyes, sharp even in the dark. “Steve, we’re twenty-one. You’ve got a goddamn Rolodex of experience and I’ve got a drunken peck from a guy whose biggest personality trait is liking The Great Gatsby.”

“Okay, well, just so you know,” he says, a little smug, “I’m currently in what Robin is calling my ‘longest dry spell to date.’ So, I’m basically a virgin again. It's a reset.”

You snort, but your mouth twitches like you’re trying not to laugh. It’s barely there, but he sees it.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “That’s not how it works.”

“What’s not?” he asks, pretending confusion.

“You don’t just—lose all your progress because it’s been a while. You don’t respawn as a virgin just because you haven’t made out with anyone in a year. That’s not how any of this works.”

He gasps, dramatic, hand over his heart like you wounded him. “Wow. Okay. First of all, rude. Second, it’s been fourteen months, not a year. Third—”

You lift your brows. “You counted?”

“I had to. It was starting to feel biblical.”

You laugh, soft and reluctant. “You’re so full of shit.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, eyes wide and insistent. “At this point, I probably wouldn’t even remember how to do it. Any of it. I’d be like a baby deer. All limbs. No coordination.”

You snort. “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably a bad kisser now, too. Like—tragic.”

You look over at him, skeptical. “Yeah. I bet you’re awful. All that varsity experience? Gone. Wiped clean.”

He nods solemnly. “Gone. Out the window. I’m a shell of the man I once was.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something warm curling in your chest. Something easy. Familiar. His hand nudges yours on the center console—not holding it, not quite, just a brush of his fingers against yours like punctuation. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

And somehow, you’re closer than before. Not dramatically. Just enough that you can smell the faint sharpness of his cologne and the minty gum he always keeps in the glove box. Just enough that if either of you turned your heads at the wrong angle, your mouths might graze.

You feel it happen before you can name it—the shift. The quiet, off-balance moment where the space between you stops being a buffer and starts being a pressure point.

His gaze flicks to the back seat. Then back to you.

He raises his eyebrows. “Could always… test the theory. You know. Just for science.”

It’s a joke.

It has to be a joke.

But your heart doesn’t get the memo. It kicks like it’s trying to break through your ribs.

You glance—just for a second—at his mouth.

Just a second.

Then you lean back, fast, putting distance between you and the heat that’s suddenly too much. You don’t look at him. You just fold your arms, shift your body toward the window, and pretend that didn’t land like a slap.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first.

Mostly because he’s too busy internally screaming.

Nice. Real smooth. Excellent joke, Harrington. Really landed that one.

He stares out at the lake, but all he can feel is the space put between the two of you. Like a wall he didn’t even mean to build.

Because he didn’t mean to say it. It just… slipped out. The way things used to. When flirting felt like muscle memory. When moments like that didn’t have consequences.

But this wasn’t just some girl at a party. This was you.

You weren’t just anyone. You were—his friend. A good friend now. Someone he actually knew.

And yeah, okay, maybe he’s thought about kissing you before. He’s not blind. You’re—well. You. And he’s still a guy with eyes and a pulse and urges, thank you very much.

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t,” he mutters to himself, voice low. “Don’t go there.”

He rubs both hands down his face, grounding himself in the familiar feeling of palms against tired skin. Then he glances over at you again, and guilt punches him square in the chest.

“Hey,” he says finally. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Your voice cuts through the car like a blade. “I know.”

Flat. Sharp. The kind of tone that doesn’t need volume to hurt.

He winces. “Right. No, I mean—I really didn’t mean to. It just—came out. Like a reflex.”

You don’t look at him. You just breathe harder.

He leans forward, bracing his forearms on the steering wheel like he’s trying to physically hold onto the moment before it gets worse. “But it’s not like—I mean, I didn’t mean it like it’s gross. Or that you’re, like, some experiment or something.”

Still nothing.

He keeps going, because now his mouth won’t stop. “You’re—you’re pretty. And nice. Usually.”

That gets a look. A look.

He winces again. “Okay. Yeah. That’s fair. Real bold stuff. Revolutionary. Compliment of the century.”

He sighs and leans back in his seat, staring up at the car ceiling like it’s got a teleprompter he forgot to read. “I didn’t mean, like, surface-level stuff. I meant… the real stuff. Like how you remember dumb things people say in passing and then bring them up like three weeks later, and it freaks them out in a good way. Or how you’re the only person who actually listens when someone’s talking, not just waiting for your turn. Or like, the way you somehow always know when someone’s about to cry and do that casual thing where you pretend you didn’t notice so they can keep their dignity. I don’t know, you’re just—you.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then: “And you look really nice tonight. Like, really nice. That skirt thing you're wearing? The—uh. Whole situation? Yeah.”

You’re still not saying anything. So he laughs a little, under his breath.

“I guess… I kind of hoped if that stupid game led to you kissing anyone, it’d be me.”

Finally, finally, you look at him.

He swallows and offers a half-smile. Soft. Shrugging like it’s no big deal even though it’s the biggest thing he’s said all night.

“It’s a skort,” you mutter, finally looking at him again.

Steve’s head tips back as he laughs. “Ah, yes. The secret enemy of any guy trying to get to third base. I know it well.”

You smack his arm—harder than necessary, but it makes him laugh again. So you do too.

And then it’s quiet again. But not the same kind of quiet. This one feels… softer. Less like a wall, more like a blanket.

You mess with the fraying edge of your sleeve for a second. Then, too fast to stop it: “So what, you have a crush on me or something?”

It hangs there for a second. Too sharp. Too loud in the small space of the car.

Steve snorts, caught somewhere between defensive and flustered. “What are we, twelve?” But then he shrugs, eyes still on the lake. “I mean… yeah. Sometimes. It’s hard not to.”

That quiet stretches again. But it’s humming now.

He keeps going. “I mean, I spend most of my time with you, Robin, or a literal high schooler. And no offense to Dustin, but I don’t think I’m his type.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. It doesn’t work.

Your voice comes out smaller than before. “It wasn’t really a real first kiss.”

Steve glances over. “The thing tonight?”

You nod.

“No,” he agrees. “Definitely wasn’t.”

You shift toward him slightly, heart thudding louder in your ears. “So… what would you do different?”

You ask it like a throwaway. A maybe. Like you’re already bracing for a backpedal.

But when you finally look at him—really look—you catch it.

The way his eyes flick to your mouth. The way something stills in his whole body, like the world just narrowed to the space between you.

He looks at you like he’s seeing the question behind the question.

Steve doesn’t move at first.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

But because he does—badly—and that’s the problem.

He could tell you. He could say all the things running laps in his head. That he’s thought about this before. That he was hoping you’d ask. That maybe he’s been waiting for a moment like this and didn’t even know it.

Or he could show you.

But somehow, neither feels like enough on its own.

So he says, “Fuck it,” under his breath. And does both.

He turns slightly in his seat, eyes still on you, voice low but easy. “Okay… so let’s say we just got back from a date.”

You blink at him, confused—but not pulling away.

He continues, heart thudding loud in his chest. “Dinner was good. You made fun of me for ordering something boring. I made fun of you for putting hot sauce on literally everything.”

Your lip quirks, but you’re still watching him.

“We drove around a little afterward. Listened to that mixtape you won’t admit you made for me. Pulled up to the lake just to sit for a second. And now…”

He reaches up slowly, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek, letting his fingers linger there just a beat longer than necessary.

“… for the record, I’d probably be walking you to your door. No Lover’s Lake on the first date. Usually. But seeing as we’re already here, in my car, I’ll have to improvise.”

His voice dips, softer now. More real. “I’d lean in. Not too fast.” 

He does. 

“I’d wait to see if you moved. If you got shy or said you were tired or—” 

You don’t move. Not away from him, anyway. 

“And then I’d ask…” He’s just a breath away now. His nose nearly brushing yours. “Is this okay?” 

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. Your eyes flutter closed. And that’s when he knows. 

He kisses you. Slow. Sweet. No pressure. No rush. Just the press of his lips against yours, careful and warm and way too full of everything he’s been trying not to feel for months. 

When he pulls away, your eyes are wide. Searching his face.

He sees the doubt flicker across your face—just for a second. Like you’re trying to catalog every part of it, weigh it against the idea that maybe you’re not enough. That maybe you’ll mess it up.

He hates that.

Because you didn’t. You don’t.

He gives you the softest smile he can manage, one that only barely masks how wrecked he feels by the fact that you let him kiss you at all. “You’re not bad at it,” he says quietly. “Not even close.”

You blink. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He leans in again, closer now, until his breath fans warm across your cheek.

“Okay,” he murmurs, a low grin tugging at his mouth, “so this is what we in the biz call the… advanced coursework.”

You start to roll your eyes—classic, a callback—but then his mouth is back on yours before you can finish the motion.

This time, it’s not hesitant.

It’s intentional.

His hand slides up, fingers curling gently along your jaw as he kisses you again—just lips, for now. Soft, sure, grounding. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t crowd you. He kisses you like he’s got nowhere else to be. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.

Then he pulls back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice barely a whisper. “Okay, now part your lips.”

You do.

“Good,” he breathes. “Now let me—” His nose brushes yours as he leans in again. “—show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

His lips find yours again, slower this time. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the angle. You feel the difference immediately—it’s heavier. Hungrier. Still soft, but anchored in something that makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue nudges gently at your bottom lip. Not demanding—just asking.

You let him in.

He exhales softly against you when you do, and his tongue brushes yours—just once. Light and careful. Then again, with more intent. He coaxes rather than takes, matching your pace, letting you get used to the rhythm.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to speak again, breath hot against your skin. “Relax your jaw. Don’t overthink it. Just… follow me.”

And then he kisses you deeper. His tongue strokes against yours, slow and unhurried, as if he’s teaching your body what it’s supposed to remember. His hand at your jaw tilts your face gently toward him, guiding. His other hand steadies himself on the center console, but it brushes your thigh as he shifts—just barely, but it sends a shiver straight up your spine.

You breathe in like you’ve been underwater.

When he finally pulls away, it’s gradual. He lingers. Like he doesn’t want to stop, like he wants you to feel every second of the space that’s suddenly between you again.

You’re both a little breathless.

Both flushed, blinking like you forgot where you were.

And Steve?

He just smiles.

That same soft, slightly stunned smile that says finally.

GUYS I REALLY WANT TO DO A PART TWO TO THIS. would that be something you'd like...?

[invincibledc]

can we get some jack and batbro love? ;-;

(if you want to ofc. amazing writing either way 👍)

ᯓ★𝑩𝑬 𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑽𝑬!

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐎!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

⭑.ᐟ Synopsis: aggressiveness is the key

⭑.ᐟ Genre: enemies to lovers oneshot

⭑.ᐟ Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. I got bored. Reader is the twin sister of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome. yes that guy is the face claim I picked.

⭑.ᐟ Word count: 1,291

You despise that boy! Ever since you and your twin brother, Damian, arrived in Gotham, you never imagined you would be the first duo of Robins ever. It’s unheard of—two Robins fighting crime side by side, but that's exactly who you are.

But let's get to the point: you hate Jack Quinn. The boy joker. Joker Jr.—whatever name he tries to claim. Your disdain for him ignited the moment he mocked you.

With his painted clown makeup, dyed green hair, and piercing blue eyes, he embodies everything you can't stand. Right now, you’re locked in hand-to-hand combat with him, and there’s no holding back.

You ran up towards him, holding twin sai as your weapon, Jack Quinn laughed loudly, mocking you as he did a bunch of backflips.

“C'mon short stack, show me what you got, birdy,” he says, his voice a little raspy, but you paid no attention to it. All you saw was his head on your sai.

You leaped up to him, a crazed grin on his face as he jumped back. “Hah! Try again—” You had cut him off, tackling him as you started to punch his face in.

As you straddled him, Jack couldn't help but laugh as you did this, his nose bleeding and face bruised.

“So!” punch “cute!” punch. Midway through your nth punch, Jack flips you over, his tall frame towering over your small one.

“You’re a pathetic excuse of a man, dude.” his hand going to squeeze against your neck, and his eyes darkened as he couldn't help but chuckle darkly at how he could feel your heated gaze staring through his skull.

Before he could fully choke you out, Damian appeared above him, slamming his two hands that were balled together onto Jack’s head.

That knocked the boy joker out, leaving Damian to tie him up and help you up.

You glared at the boy joker, wanting to kick him down before Damian dragged you from the unconscious body of him.

“Control your anger. Batman wouldn't approve of it.” Damian said shocked as you turned to him with a more angered expression.

“I control my anger?! Very shocking when you tried to kill Nightwing!”

While you and Damian argued, Jack woke up, flicking his wrist to magically appear a card and cut the ties off. Rubbing his head before walking off, not wanting to be between two Robins chirping at each other.

This led to Bruce grounding you both, you both needed timeout.

★

But as years went on, you and Jack’s so-called hatred for each other grew more. Or so you thought.

When he talked, his voice was deeper, more raspy. Jack held a detonator, a crazed grin as he laughed seeing explosives around a bank.

“Man… It's finna rain!” he said to himself, his thumb itched to press it down, not caring if he blew up with it.

Suddenly a Batarang hit his hand, cutting it through his gloved hand as he held it to his chest tightly. Another was thrown, breaking the detonator. Groaning in annoyance, already knowing who it was, he turned to see you. The other Robin rather than your twin.

“Birdy.” He says with annoyance and fake friendliness. “You should know, not to peck at the wrong tree.” He says, pulling out cards.

You narrow your eyes and drop to the ground to where he was. He threw the king card down, letting it blow up when you were too close to him.

Laughing, he takes off. He bolts with impressive speed, vaulting over a fence with ease. You, on the other hand, can’t manage that due to your height. You mutter a few choice words in Arabic before opting for the quicker routes.

When you finally caught him, he wore an odd grin. “So, this is it for me, shorty? The clown versus the bird. Quite the tragic ending,” he exclaimed, swaying from side to side in an exaggerated manner.

“Enough with the games. I’m done with your nonsense.” As you approached him, Jack shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. “Honestly, if you weren’t a Robin, I would’ve considered dating you, Birdy,” he said playfully, hands firmly behind his back.

You grabbed him by his suit, pinning him down and grabbing cuffs, “Shut. Up.” You said lowly, the boy joker couldn’t help but giggle.

“Rough, I see, Y/N Wayne.” Your eyes widen, and you nearly drop the cuffs as Jack smirks at you. Taking your shock for granted, he did a weird breakdancing move, moving you back as you jumped back.

“Bye, cutie!” he yelled, tossing something into the air. Smoke erupted, filling the space. You instinctively covered your nose and charged into the cloud.

He was gone—just like that. Overwhelmed by anger, you hurled a trash can, oblivious to a certain clown boy watching with a smirk from a distance. “He’s so aggressive for someone so short,” he commented, amusement in his tone.

★

You were much more explosive than Damian, without a doubt. As demon twins, he had managed to temper his rage over the years, but you remained fierce and unyielding.

Jonathan Kent, Damian’s best friend, dared to compare you to that infamous ninja turtle, Raphael.

You scoffed at the notion, but when he pointed out that like Raphael, you wielded twin sai, you shot a glare at Jon, who cautiously flew behind Damian, trying to shield himself. You knew one thing for sure: you were unapologetically aggressive.

★

But despite everything, you don’t know how the hell this happened. One minute you and Jack were fighting, and you gave him a swift roundhouse kick. He blocked the harsh texture of your combat boots with his arm.

In the next moment, you were fiercely kissing this outrageous character. He grinned as he pulled you in, your arms tightening around his slim waist.

It was a striking sight—Robin, the sixth one, passionately making out with the son of the worst criminal, right there in the alleyway.

After you broke the kiss, Jack took hold of your face, admiring the way his red lipstick marked your lips. Your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing were undeniably captivating. He couldn't resist letting out an adoring coo.

“Looks like the bird found its seed to eat, huh, puddin'?” He teased, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“Enough with the joking.” You pulled him closer, kissing him fiercely, pressing him against the wall with a determined intensity.

You knew you were walking a fine line.

★



“Dick. I think I fucked up.” You said as you walked into your older brother’s room. Dick was on his bed listening to music before he turned it off.

“What’s wrong, Raph?” It was that ridiculous nickname the family had decided on after Jonathan made that comparison.

“...I kissed the Joker’s son,” you replied, biting your lip, a mix of embarrassment and resolve flooding you.

“WHAT?!” he shouted, making it clear for the entire manor to hear. “HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!” He seized you in disbelief.

“It just happened!” you shot back. “And stop yelling!”

“You stop yelling!” Dick countered. The two of you volleyed back and forth until Tim stumbled in, groggy and irritated.

“Guys. I’d like to sleep, so can you please keep it down?” You and Dick exchanged guilty glances, muttering a quick, “Sorry,” as Tim retreated to his room. With the noise now silenced, you and Dick found yourselves at a loss for words.

“Well, you’re Bruce’s son. He had Catwoman and—”

“I’m not going to entertain this right now,” you interrupted, stepping away. You needed to think and figure out your next move.

You were in a precarious situation. An obsessive clown now had his sights set on you, all because you refused to back down.

Jack Quinn tag: @xxxryukifukuxxx @lockofspades @sramoonlight @darkfaethedestroyer @gayartisticandlonely @sleeping-l0s3rs @itsmonicabc @dead-ry-walking @fanaticf1fan @cxcilla @wolffrankie @jellystar-star @nayykura @nickithearticorn @nightblanc

[yandere-wishes]

OMG THE DAMIAN X CATGIRL ONE WAS SO GOOD I NEED CATWOMAN TO ADOPT A WHOLE LITTER. Soooo imagine AK Jason Todd with a catwoman of his own? Having fun until Jason got stuck and torture at the asylum, only to come back to find that Catwoman have Tim as the new Robin? 🥺.

Because seeing this it just fuels he's hate towards the new Robin for 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 HIS catwoman away. Pain to Batman, pain to the new Robin, and now he's bringing it to HER. Hey would she recognize him with the the helmet on? Who knows? 🤷‍♂️

This is an idea I want to write, love u wishes ❤️

NO CAUSE I'VE BEEN SO OBSESSED WITH THIS IDEA!!!!!! It is literally everything!! Poor Jason can't catch a break not only has Batman, his mentor, his father, replaced him! But you! The only girl he's ever loved, someone he's been connected to on such a spiritual level since taking up his mantle. Even you have forgotten him, even you have forsaken him! Oh yeah, definitely pain to reader 😠😠

I want you to be measurable too...

=ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ==ᗢ

He'd spent the better days of his boyhood, hanging by the thin metallic thread of a grappling hook. Swinging, feet first from rooftop to rooftop. Muscles taut, body coiled around the rope like a snake around a baobab tree.

He'd read The Little Prince last night, that's how he learned of such marvelous grandiose arbors. Trees that breach the mind, that grow tall enough to shadow Wayne Tower. We wonders if Bruce will take him to Africa one day, he wonders if his mentor will show him the baobab trees. If they'll feel cool and brambly under his palm.

Jason lands on the Museum's roof. Prying through the skylight watching as you kneel by your mentor, your mother. Greedily shoving colorful diamonds into fabric bags. Even in the dark, he's half mesmerized by the fluid motion of your body, the way your muscles flex so smoothly. His breath hitches in his throat too engrossed in the moment.

It's not the baobab trees that Jason thinks of when he sees you.

Instead, it's a rose. Not roses, plural, rose singular. As the rose the little prince had. The thing he cherished more than his own life. The thing he'd die for over and over again.

He hears Bruce land behind him. The moment gone evaporating like morning dew upon red petals. He straightens, ready, he has a job to do, a father to impress.

And maybe that book, that dreadful, wonderful book had been his first taste of bitter love. Through the pages and the words spoken between Prince and Rose, little Jason Todd had savored his first dose of obsession.

You kick him in the shoulder, sending him flying to the skyscraper edge. Jason swings himself up just as you are near to inspect your prey. His knees cage your hips and he uses all his force to push you down.

The stars blink overhead, paparazzi cameras catching a private moment between two masked kids. "Hello, Robin" you purr clawed gloves idly tracing his arm. Jason tries to smile to smirk, to flirt back."H-hello Ki-tty". But the blood rushing to his face has him stunned he can't breathe. Why do you look so pretty like this? Laying on your back staring up at him with big perfect eyes. You tilt your head and meow.

"Hey, that's Miss Kitty to you"...

He likes this new side of you, likes the mace you wield like a whip. It looks like yarn, soft and delicate.

The punchline lands at the same time as the flanged head crashes to his ribs. He thinks they shattered, cartilages cracking, freeing the marrow from within.

So this is what love feels like. Pain that rages from the inside sharp shards piercing soft organ tissue. So painful it tickles and you can feel the blood pooling in your mouth along with all the words you long to say.

No wonder the little prince kept going back to the rose. No wonder he found euphoria in the prick of her thorns.

He struggles to his feet and jumps, as high as he can. His side bruns begging him to stay down. Be he can't, he won't, Bruce wouldn't, and Alfred will find a way to piece him back together. So he takes flight flipping through the air, out of your sight.

For a moment you're stunned lackadaisically twirling your mace like a ballerina's ribbon wand. And even though he's mid attack Jason can't help admiring how ethereal you look, like a lion cub out on her first hunt.

Jason's knees land on your shoulder blades, his weight making you fall on your stomach with a pained scream. Your mace rolls away, thank God, that could have gotten too messy he thinks. Jason tugs hard on your cat ears, pulling back your head and exposing your neck to point a Batarang at your throat. "Here, kitty, kitty" he mocks, playful cadence laced with derision. You hiss out in pain as he brings his head closer. He looks so handsome upside down, like the pretty birds that sing on the balcony.

It's a split second, you raise your head, and the Batarang's wing punctures your collarbone. Your lips push on his, hollow but sweet. You feel his body go ridge his hold on his weapon lost. Still, you persist not breaking your first kiss...

You guess it's his too, you hope it is. Only when you feel his lips push back do you force him off with all your might. Grabbing your mace and jumping to the next rooftop. What is this excitement, so raw, so frantic?

You don't stop running until you make it home.

You don't look back, scared he'll see the bright pink dusting your cheeks.

You open the window and silently slip in.

Only to see Selina waiting in the dark.

Arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

He's baptized by blood and iron.

Broken down bone by bone.

Left to bleed out in the dark on the dirty asylum floor.

Still, he holds your name under his tongue, caged between his teeth.

His little kitten.

Sometimes he pretends you're lying next to him, gazing into his eyes as you too bleed out. Sometimes he laughs at your sarcastic quips at the dreaded clown. No dread is too light a word you'd correct. He finds you more attractive when you spill graphic profanities.

But you're not here, not really. And he can't quite tell if he's happy or not. His hand always reaches out to you. Desperate to feel your warmth, just once more...

And yet he's always met with air.

Always met by the stickiness of his own blood pooling beneath him.

He watches you from afar. Haunting the night, camouflaged amongst the shodws. The still Gotham night feels like a homecoming. A bittersweet reunion with a world that's both abandoned and forgotten him.

The arkham night swallows thickly, from behind his digilitized mask he zooms in on two figures in the distance. Swinging on metal threads, bodies coiled like snakes, latching on. One loses muscle one wrong move and they plummet to their death.

But the figures don't seem scared. You don't seem scared as you laugh at the boy wearing his clothes. No not his clothes, he's made sure to burn them all so very long ago. Instead, the boy wears red and black and yellow, he wears his symbol. But the garments are looser, not carved but built, foreign things covering a boy's body. Not armored built from years of endurance.

Still, you don't seem to mind, you scratch at him playfully as if he were a mouse on a string. You hiss and meow as he laughs and spools sanctimonious gibberish that sounds all so very Bat in nature.

Who else have you been sneaking off with? Jason makes a note to keep a better eye on you.

Jason's ironclad fists meet with Bruce's masked face.

Again and Again. He points his gun beneath his old mentor's ribs and shoots. Feel me he scream inside himself. Feel my pain. From the shadows, something pounces. Familiar nails try to dig into his chest, bypass the iron armor, and impale him.

It doesn't take much force to tug her off of him. He smashes her into the cement. Catwoman lets out an all-so-familiar meowl of pain. His boot meets with her flesh, her bones. Grinding them into the pavement, he can't tell why he wants to hurt her. Does he blame her for your disloyalty, does he want to hurt Bruce? The thoughts grow heavy as his ears buzz with rage. When he finally leaves he tosses a glare behind his shoulder watching the bat crawling toward the cat.

"Don't worry about your Kitten, I'll take better care of her than you ever could." His modulated inhuman voice promises...

It's been all so long since he's thought of roses and baobab tress, so long since he's pretended to be a prince returning to his scared beloved rose. Jason- no the Arkham Knight- corners you on a rooftop as you frantically try to reach your mentor. He watches as you twirl your mace, ready to fight. They're so much hatred behind your eyes, do you really not see him?

Your mace's head swings at his ribs, good to see some things never change, he counters the attack seizing the weapon with one hand. You try to pull it back to bring him to you. Instead, Jason pulls back and you're sent hurling into the thick metal of his chest. Your head spins as you glare up at him. His fingers wrap around your neck squeezing.

squeezing

squeezing

He'll find the new bird later. Crush his skull before your eyes. He'll make you suffer for leaving him. For turning your tretory.

At his base, in an interrogation room, the Arkham Knight slowly starts to peel away your sanity. Breaking your bones, your mind, your essence. Morphing you from the helpless little kitty into a bloodthirsty lioness. Whose only purpose is to be at his beck and call. You'll live for him, die for him. His perfect little pet. And once he knows he's broken your mind completely, the only thoughts swimming around that damaged thing are how to please your master. Then he'll unleash you on Gotham, watching as you tear into your mother's throat, ripping her apart with bare teeth and claws. Just like he will do to his father...

Then, and only then. When Gotham is his, he'll pull away the mask and let you see the man beneath the helm. He'll let you see the man who used to be Jason Todd.

Let me know if you guys ever want a fic or HC on what Jason ends up doing to the reader, I'll try to make it as gorey and darkly romantic as I can. Honestly rn my brain is so fired I can't really come up with anything lol. 😅😅

Love you to the moon and back for this ask Anon!! AAAWWWW Arkham Knight Jason is honestly the LOVE OF MY LIFE!!

[goldfades]

thanksgiving | JOE BURROW [009]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first thanksgiving with hayes!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | domestic!joe + family. playful arguing, joe being the husband-est hubby ever, one cup of wine, nothing else! just a sweet, thanksgiving fic for the series!

The drive to the Burrow family home was picturesque in that cozy, Midwestern kind of way—all open fields, wooden fences, and the occasional rusty mailbox at the end of a long gravel drive. The trees lining the road were just barely clinging to the last of their autumnal colors, leaves blowing in the cool November breeze and scattering across the asphalt like a final hurrah before winter set in.

You weren’t sure why you were nervous. It wasn’t like this was your first Thanksgiving with Joe’s family. Far from it. But something about this year felt different—maybe it was the fact that Hayes was here now, his first big family holiday, and you wanted everything to be perfect.

"You’re quiet," Joe remarked, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you.

You glanced over, snapping out of your thoughts. "Just thinking," you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

He gave you a sideways look, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "About what? How Jamie’s gonna try to give me shit the second we walk in the door?"

You laughed, because he was right. Jamie Burrow was the king of light-hearted roasts, and you knew Joe was gearing up for it. But you shrugged in response, keeping your act casual. "Maybe. Or about how your mom is gonna sneak Hayes away and spoil him with who knows how much pie before dinner."

"Definitely pie," Joe agreed with a chuckle. His smile made your chest warm, even though the nerves were still lingering.

Hayes was making little coos from his car seat in the back, and you turned to check on him. His chubby cheeks were flushed from the heater, and he was clutching his favorite stuffed bear in one hand while kicking his feet. It was hard to believe that this little human was yours—yours and Joe’s.

"He’s ready for all the attention," you said, more to yourself than to Joe, but he heard you.

"Good. They’ve been talking about seeing him for weeks," he replied. "I think my mom’s got a whole picture board made up just from the five photos I sent her."

"Robin would," you said with a smile, your shoulders relaxing a little. The Burrow family had a way of doing that—making you feel like you belonged, like you were just as much a part of them as Joe was. It was one of the many things you loved about them.

As the car slowed down to turn into the long driveway, you sat up a little straighter, taking in the sight of the house. It looked exactly the same as it always did—a warm, welcoming mix of red brick and wood, with a wide front porch that was already decorated with pumpkins and a “Gather” sign leaning next to the door.

"Here we go," Joe said, putting the car in park and flashing you a reassuring smile.

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting with the straps of your bag. "Here we go," you repeated, and even though you still felt a little nervous, you couldn’t help but smile as you opened the door.

Joe was already climbing out of the driver’s seat, opening the back door to unbuckle Hayes. You stood there for a moment, watching the way his broad frame seemed to soften as he scooped up your son, cradling him with a gentleness that never failed to make your heart skip.

"Alright, buddy," Joe murmured to Hayes, who blinked sleepily at him. "Time to meet the chaos."

You grabbed the diaper bag from the backseat and slung it over your shoulder, walking up to meet them as Joe waited for you. The two of you exchanged a quick look, a little smile passing between you like an unspoken promise: whatever the day held, you’d tackle it together.

The crunch of gravel under your boots was loud in the stillness of the late November morning. Joe walked a step ahead of you, Hayes nestled snugly against his chest in his thick little jacket, looking adorably rumpled from the car ride. The baby let out a soft coo, still half-asleep, and Joe’s hand instinctively rubbed gentle circles on his back, soothing him like it was second nature.

The air was cold but not biting, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and dried leaves. A light breeze tugged at your scarf, and you pulled it tighter around your neck as you glanced up at the Burrows’ house. There were already signs of life inside—the flicker of movement behind the curtains, the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. A plume of smoke curled lazily from the chimney, promising warmth and something delicious cooking inside.

You couldn’t help but smile as you approached the steps. Robin had clearly been busy, her festive touch everywhere. The pumpkins on the porch were arranged in perfect, symmetrical groups, with a few gourds tossed in for good measure. The handmade wreath on the door was adorned with tiny pinecones, sprigs of holly, and a big orange bow that somehow managed to look charming instead of tacky. A set of hay bales sat off to the side, topped with more pumpkins and a scarecrow that was a little worse for wear after years of use.

"You think they went all out just for Hayes?" you asked, half-teasing as you nudged Joe with your shoulder.

Joe glanced back at you, his lips quirking up into a smirk. "Probably. He’s already their favorite."

"Not hard to believe," you said, tilting your head toward Hayes, who was now fully awake and blinking up at Joe with wide, curious eyes.

Joe stopped at the front door, shifting Hayes so he was perched comfortably on one arm while he knocked lightly with the other. The sound barely had time to echo before the door flew open, and Robin’s face appeared, flushed and glowing with excitement.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she immediately zeroed in on Hayes. "Oh, give him to me. Come here, my sweet boy!"

Joe chuckled, handing Hayes over with a kind of resigned fondness. "Barely even a ‘hello’ for me, huh?"

Robin waved him off, already cooing at Hayes, who rewarded her with a gummy smile. "You I can see anytime. This little one, though—look at him! He’s gotten so big!"

You laughed as Robin disappeared further into the house, bouncing Hayes gently and muttering about how he looked just like his daddy. Joe sighed but smiled, holding the door open for you as you stepped inside.

The warmth of the house hit you immediately, along with the unmistakable smell of Thanksgiving—roasting turkey, spiced apple cider, and the faintly sweet aroma of whatever pie Robin had undoubtedly baked that morning. The living room was cozy and inviting, with a fire crackling in the stone fireplace and a few throw blankets draped over the couch.

"Mom, don’t hog him," came a voice from the kitchen, and a second later, Jamie appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His face split into a grin when he saw you. "Hey! There’s my favorite sister-in-law."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as Jamie pulled you into a quick, one-armed hug.

"Favorite by default," you teased.

"Still counts," Jamie shot back before turning his attention to Joe. "What took you so long? You get lost?"

Joe shrugged, unbothered as he dropped the diaper bag by the couch. "Traffic."

Jamie snorted. "Sure. Anyway, Dan’s in the kitchen pretending he knows how to cook. You should go make sure he doesn’t burn the gravy again."

Joe raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, patting your back lightly before heading toward the kitchen. That left you standing in the living room with Jamie, who was now peering over Robin’s shoulder at Hayes.

"Man," Jamie said, shaking his head in mock awe, "he really does look like Joe. Poor kid."

"Watch it," you said, swatting his arm lightly, though you were smiling.

Robin just rolled her eyes. "You boys always have something to say. Ignore them, sweetheart," she added, planting a kiss on Hayes’s cheek. "You’re perfect, aren’t you?"

Hayes gurgled happily in response, and you felt a swell of gratitude as you watched the scene unfold. It was moments like this that made all the chaos and exhaustion of parenting worthwhile.

"Alright," Jamie said, clapping his hands together. "Who’s ready to eat too much and regret it later?"

You laughed, shaking your head as Robin led the way toward the kitchen, still doting on Hayes. You lingered for a moment, soaking in the warmth and the laughter, feeling, for the first time in a while, like you could actually relax.

The warmth of the house felt almost like a physical thing, wrapping around you in layers of comfort and familiarity. You sat curled up on the armchair in the corner of the living room, legs tucked beneath you, holding a glass of wine that was just the right balance of fruity and rich. The first sip had melted the tension in your shoulders, and now, halfway through the glass, you felt completely at ease.

Across the room, Joe was sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over the back as he laughed at something Jamie said. Dan was perched on the other side, gesturing animatedly as he told some elaborate story about a coworker, complete with ridiculous voices and exaggerated facial expressions. Joe’s laugh came easily, a sound that always made you smile, deep and genuine, the kind of laugh he didn’t always let out when the weight of everything was on his shoulders. But here, with his brothers, he was relaxed, his guard down in a way that made you love him even more.

Robin bustled in and out of the room, keeping herself busy but always finding a way to linger near Hayes. The baby was content in Joe’s dad’s lap, looking up at his grandfather with wide, curious eyes as they played a gentle game of pat-a-cake. Hayes giggled at the clumsy movements of his grandfather’s hands, a soft, tinkling sound that had the whole room glancing over every few moments to smile. Robin kept stopping to coo at him, her face lighting up every time Hayes smiled back at her.

"You’re spoiling him already," you teased, setting your glass down on the side table.

Robin glanced over, not looking the least bit guilty. "That’s what grandmas are for, sweetheart. Besides, look at him! He’s an angel."

"Yeah, until bedtime," Joe muttered, earning a laugh from Dan.

"Don’t listen to your daddy," Robin said to Hayes in a sing-song voice, tickling his chubby cheek. "You’re perfect."

"Perfectly spoiled," Jamie chimed in from the couch.

"You’re one to talk," Robin shot back, narrowing her eyes at him. "I remember a certain little boy who used to demand two desserts at Thanksgiving."

"Still do," Jamie said with a grin, leaning back against the couch.

You laughed softly, watching the easy banter unfold around you. It was such a stark contrast to the usual chaos of your day-to-day life. The house felt alive but not overwhelming, full but not stifling. There was a rhythm to it, a comfort in the way everyone seemed to fall into their roles so seamlessly.

Joe caught your eye from across the room, his lips quirking into a small smile that made your heart flutter. He tilted his head slightly, silently asking if you were okay, and you gave him a reassuring nod.

"Hey," Dan said suddenly, sitting up straighter and looking between you and Joe. "You two never answered—who was Hayes’s first word gonna be for? Mom or Dad?"

You raised an eyebrow, already amused. "Isn’t it a little early for that? He’s barely babbling."

"It’s never too early to start betting," Dan said, leaning forward like he was ready to instigate. "I’m putting my money on Mom."

"Obviously," Jamie cut in. "Look at how much time Joe spends at practice. This one’s got all the one-on-one time with him." He gestured toward you with a smirk.

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," Joe said, though he didn’t sound the least bit offended.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and unrestrained. "I think we’re all underestimating Robin here," you said, nodding toward her. "If anyone’s going to win, it’s going to be Grandma."

Robin looked up, clearly pleased. "Now, that’s what I like to hear," she said, lifting Hayes into her arms. "Tell them, sweetheart. Your first word is going to be ‘Grandma,’ isn’t it?"

Hayes let out a happy squeal, and the room erupted into laughter.

"See?" Dan said, pointing. "The kid’s already choosing sides."

It was moments like these that felt so profoundly domestic, so deeply rooted in love and connection, that you couldn’t help but feel a pang of gratitude. This was what life was supposed to feel like, you thought. The laughter, the teasing, the small moments that weren’t flashy or grand but were filled with warmth and belonging.

As the conversation shifted to old family stories—Jamie reliving his disastrous high school football days, Dan reminding Joe of his most embarrassing childhood moment—you leaned back in your chair, letting the sound of their voices wash over you.

Joe’s laugh, Hayes’s soft coos, the crackling of the fire—it all blended together into something that felt sacred. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself fully relax, the wine warming you from the inside out as you soaked in the feeling of being surrounded by love.

It wasn’t long before the front door opened again, ushering in the kind of joyful chaos that only a late arrival of more family could bring. Dan’s wife, Emily, walked in first, balancing a casserole dish in one hand and wrangling their two kids with the other. Their little girl, Claire, darted into the house immediately, a whirlwind of energy as she flung herself into Robin’s arms, shouting, “Grandma!” Her younger brother, Ethan, clung shyly to Emily’s leg, his face half-buried in her coat, though his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

The house shifted in an instant, going from comfortably bustling to vibrantly alive. Jamie, who had been halfway through a story about Joe getting tackled during a backyard football game as a kid, was cut off mid-sentence by Claire’s shriek of delight when she spotted Hayes.

“Is that the baby?!” Claire exclaimed, rushing over to you so quickly you barely had time to laugh.

“Yes, this is Hayes,” you said, scooping him into your arms just as she reached you. “Want to say hi?”

Her eyes went wide as she nodded, standing on tiptoe to get a better look. “He’s so tiny!” she whispered, her voice full of awe. “Can I hold him?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” Emily said, swooping in to kiss Claire’s forehead before gently redirecting her. “Let’s give Auntie a little space first, okay?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Emily said to you warmly, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “You look amazing. I don’t know how you do it with a newborn.”

“Oh, I don’t,” you said with a laugh, glancing at Joe, who was now helping Ethan out of his coat. “It’s definitely a team effort.”

Joe glanced up at you, catching your eye with a soft smile, before looking down at Ethan and saying, “All right, buddy, what do you say we find a snack?”

Ethan nodded eagerly, finally warming up to the environment as Joe led him toward the kitchen, leaving you with a heart-melting view of your husband holding a tiny hand in his much larger one.

Robin, meanwhile, had taken Claire under her wing, walking her over to show her some toys she’d dug out of storage for the grandkids. Jamie and Dan were now animatedly talking over each other in the kitchen, their voices growing louder as they debated which team was better this season.

The dining table was already set for dinner, though the plates were still empty, and the smell of roasted turkey and fresh-baked rolls wafted through the air. The kids’ laughter mingled with the low hum of conversation, creating a symphony of family life that felt utterly perfect.

You leaned back against the armrest of the couch, Hayes nestled against your chest, his tiny fist curled into your sweater. The warmth of the moment settled over you like a blanket. For years, Thanksgiving had always been a holiday you loved, but this year, it felt entirely different.

This year, it wasn’t just about stepping into Joe’s family dynamic—it was about being part of it. Fully, completely.

Hayes stirred in your arms, letting out a tiny yawn, and you pressed a kiss to his soft cheek. The sounds of the house swirled around you: Jamie shouting at Dan about a botched play from years ago, Robin gently scolding Claire for nearly toppling a lamp, Joe’s deep laugh ringing out from the kitchen as he handed Ethan a cookie before dinner.

It was chaotic, yes, but it was also yours.

For the first time, you realized just how much your life had changed—and how much fuller it had become. You weren’t just visiting anymore. You were here, firmly planted in this family, and now you had your own little addition in Hayes to make it even more complete.

You took a deep breath, soaking in the moment, and when Joe reappeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a soft look on his face, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You good?” he asked quietly, nodding toward you and Hayes.

“Better than good,” you replied, your voice soft but full of meaning.

And as Joe crossed the room to press a kiss to the top of your head, the sounds of family and love filling the space around you, you couldn’t imagine life feeling any better than this.

As the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner were finally cleared away, the house slowly shifted into that post-meal lull, the kind that only happens after too much food and a full day of laughter. The dishes were stacked, the leftovers tucked neatly into the fridge, and the smell of pumpkin pie and cranberry lingered faintly in the air.

True to form, Joe and Jamie were in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and good-naturedly bickering over who was doing more work as they washed and dried dishes.

"You're just rinsing! That doesn't count as actual cleaning," Jamie quipped, flicking a soapy sponge at Joe, who dodged it easily, his laugh echoing through the house.

"I'm faster, though," Joe shot back, grinning. "If you were in charge, we'd still be on the first plate."

From your spot on the couch, you watched the exchange with a small smile, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in your chest. It was always like this—Robin ran the kitchen like clockwork, and the boys cleaned up after, bickering and laughing the whole way through. It was a system that worked, one steeped in years of tradition and familiarity, and now you were part of it.

Hayes had been fed and changed, and after a day full of passing from one adoring family member to another, he was finally fast asleep, his little cheek resting against Joe’s shoulder as he cradled him gently. Joe had scooped him up the moment he was done cleaning, murmuring something about "making sure he settles down" when in reality, you knew he just wanted to hold him a little longer.

The game was on in the background—a close one, judging by the animated way Dan and Jamie were arguing from their spots on the other side of the living room. Robin sat in her favorite chair, knitting something that looked suspiciously like a baby blanket while quietly enjoying the chaos. Claire was nestled beside her, yawning but refusing to go to bed just yet, her eyes glued to the game.

Joe finally sank down beside you, careful not to jostle Hayes, who let out a tiny sigh before burrowing further into his dad’s chest.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

You nodded, your heart swelling as you took in the scene around you. “Yeah. This is... really nice.”

Joe smiled, his gaze flickering to the screen where the game was heating up. “It’s the perfect ending. Well, almost.”

“Almost?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Almost. If Jamie would stop yelling about bad play calls, it’d be perfect,” he joked, his grin widening as Jamie shot him a glare from across the room.

The sounds of the game blended with the laughter, the clink of glasses, and the occasional hum of Robin’s knitting needles. It was perfectly chaotic, just as it had been all day, but now there was a softness to it, a sense of winding down and simply being.

Joe’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer as Hayes snuggled deeper into him. “I think this is my favorite Thanksgiving yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of contentment.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting the warmth of his words and the moment wash over you. There was nothing extraordinary about it—no grand gestures, no flashy celebrations—just family, love, and a feeling of belonging so deep it made your chest ache in the best way.

And as the night wore on, the game eventually fading to background noise, you thought about how lucky you were to call this your life, your family. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours, and it was more than enough.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[sashaforthewin]

Multi-chapter fic on Ao3

Steve had been enjoying a nice relaxing lounge by the pool despite it being night. He had his hearing aid off and his fruity drink and a romance novel Robin had let him borrow. He was determined to have a good time despite the circumstances. 

Someone tapped his foot, scaring the crap out of Steve and making him drop his book and nearly knock over his drink. 

It was a fellow cruise passenger and he was saying something. Steve turned his hearing aid back on.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked why you were out here instead of at the concert,” repeated the man with a smile.

“Oh, um. I’m not actually a fan of metal music. It gives me headaches if I listen to more than one or two songs in a row,” Steve admitted sheepishly.

This stranger was still clearly a metal head, but he looked significantly less scary than most of the ones he had seen so far that day. Everyone Steve met had been nice, but Steve hadn’t felt comfortable telling anyone he wasn’t a fan until now. Maybe because it was just the two of them out here and he was smiling so cutely. 

“Not a metal fan? Well damn, not to critique your life choices, but I think maybe going on a metal cruise wasn’t an ideal choice for you? I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”

There were plenty of deck lounges around, all empty, but Eddie sat down on Steve’s right next to his legs. 

“Steve. So Steve, why are you on a metal cruise when you don’t like metal? These tickets were not exactly cheap and there’s no way you missed the theme, it was pretty clearly advertised,” Eddie asked teasingly.

Steve looked Eddie over, noting that he was actually pretty cute. Pretty eyes, nice full lips, dimples, and he was that type of lanky Steve was drawn to. He had good skin and his hair had some volume and texture to it, Steve could work with that. Bit of a fixer-upper, but a better starting point than most of the men that had flirted with him since his last failed relationship. He also had the vibe, so Steve decided this guy would be fine to open up to. 

“Well, Eddie, I bought this ticket for my dear friend Dustin for his birthday, but then the little shit went and outed me to my parents. Accidentally, of course, and he feels like shit about it. But still, that got me kicked out of my home so maybe I’m being petty but I decided he shouldn’t get to go on this cruise after all. I forgive him, it really was an accident, but still, gotta teach him a lesson.” Steve shrugged. “And I would’ve gotten the ticket refunded but the money would’ve gone back to my parents and they clearly don’t deserve to get anything back from me. So, instead of trying to figure out how to sell a ticket to a very niche interest cruise, I figured I deserved to just come and treat myself for four days before I have to go back to living in my ex-girlfriend’s basement. It’s actually pretty nice to have the ship to myself while all you guys are in there shaking your heads to loud music.” Steve gestured to the pool and the drink.

“Ex- girl friend’s basement?” Eddie asked.

“Shut up, I’m bi.” Steve smacked Eddie on the arm with his book. 

Eddie grabbed the book and looked at it as he replied, “Hey, just checking to make sure I’m not barking up the wrong tree.”

“Oh? Is that what you’re doing, barking up my tree?” Steve said, playfully.

“If you’ll let me,” Eddie flirted back.

“So how come you’re not in the show right now?” Steve asked, gently stealing his book back from Eddie’s grasp.

“Oh, I’m touring with those guys right now, I have heard them play the same set like fifteen times already. I’d much rather be out here getting to chat with you. You know you’re beautiful, right? How come you don’t live with your boyfriend? Or girlfriend?” Eddie asked, quite obvious in his fishing for information.

“I’m single and yes, I do know I’m beautiful, but I still like hearing it. Are you like a roadie or something?”

“Actually,” Eddie said, “I’m the lead guitarist in the headlining band. We play tomorrow night. Can I buy you another drink? Maybe dinner?”

“The, uh, the bill goes to our cabins,” Steve answered, too shocked that an apparently famous musician was asking him out to respond appropriately.

“Baby, I’ll put your entire tab on my cabin if you’ll let me. You are the most beautiful, and dare I say cleanest man on this entire boat. Metal heads are great, but they aren’t really my type.”

Steve takes a sip of his cold drink just to make sure he’s not fallen asleep and dreaming. The ocean is calm and the moon is full and he is most definitely awake.

“And what is your type?” Steve asked. 

“Handsome men with soft hands who will let me pamper them,” Eddie said, picking up Steve’s hand and feeling his lack of calluses. He placed a kiss onto each finger tip. “These hands aren’t meant for labor, let me spoil you rotten.”

Well, Steve reasoned, even if this ended up being just a weekend fling, it was going to be worth the price of admission.

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Dan and Ellie or otherwise known as Crack pt 6

Pt1. Pt2. Pt3. Pt4. Pt5.

Kon could immediately tell something was wrong with the kryptonite weapons firing at them. Another green blur shot at himnand he spun in the air over it. A move to evade the blast and check on his family.

The kryptonite guns had just enough kryptonite for it to be dangerous only if the blast hit them. They'd immediately go down. Another blast entered his field of vision, and he swerved to the side. He tried to use his supervision but was only met with lead. They couldn't get closer because of the guns, and he could see Jon get angrier his eyes glowed red in warning of his laser, and Kon flew up to evade him.

"Superboy! Don't use them it could deflect -" his father spoke from his higher position quite a few paces away from them, but Jon ignored him.

The vision hit the gun, and the metal melted into orange, red, and green mess. Like an ugly Christmas tree. Weird. Usually, Luthor would have more security than this. Something is officially wrong.

The batjet he'd been keeping an ear out for since he left finally arrived just as Jon melted another one. The jet swerved the blasts even though he doubted it could even hurt them at this point. The jet shot st a few of the blaster and destroyed them an even more explosive mess. Kon used his own vision, his glasses held in place below the lasers on his face with his hand. Another gun exploded, and his father finally got the hint and exploded several of his own.

The jet careened around them and expertly angled between the already destroyed guns and landed onto the beach. He continued exploding the guns but kept an ear out for the bats on the beach. The ones closest to him were mostly destroyed, so he joined his father in his sector while Jon landed on the beach.

Good luck.

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

Jason was not having a good time at all. Not to say he expected to have a great time rescuing his little brother, but he was hoping to try to get some of the bubbling green rage under control by demolishing some robots. He may possibly not have the best guns for demolishing these robots, he was handling it of course, he was a bat after all, he'd be an even worse disappointment if he couldn't handle some glowing green robots that remind him heavily of thing he'd prefer to leave in the past. He risked a glance toward Dick and could see him take down several robots in an expert acrobatic movement that sent him soaring off each of their head and switching between crushing or electrocuting them with his escrima sticks. Show off.

One of the robots he was fighting suddenly crackled and burned a smoking trail into the sky before exploding and sent himself and several other robots crashing into the walls and each other. It must have been faulty wiring. He knew he didn't touch that one, Babs was still mostly blocked out, and none of his siblings were running to patronize him for getting hurt. If he didn't know better, he'd say the robots were cheaply made, but that's never been Lex Luthors style.

"Red Hood. Help Red Robin turn the robots off in the central monitor room. We need to manually plug Oracles systems into the computers here." Right. Thank you, Bruce, for always being there at the worst possible times. He groaned and attempted to shake the tweeting birds away from his head.

"On it, Batman." He couldn't bring himself to use any stupid nicknames right now. He cataloged all the other bats just in case. Goldie was still the same show off. Red Robin had knocked out his robots and joined him for destroying his wave. Spoiler and Signal were in the rafters doing... something with his powers and reflective baterangs. He wasn't touching that with a fifty foot pole no way. They had a tendency to make things explode with those things. Orphan and Batman were still outside the burning hole in the wall they blasted to get through, so he couldn't find them, but they were probably kicking ads anyway. Suddenly, Tim launched himself backward through the air using his staff and landed behind him, hunkering down and messing with his wristcomputer. That assshole definitely planted explosives. He quickly got one last hit on the current robot and used it to launch himself past his head. Just as he landed, several small bombs exploded on the robots and collided with each other, creating more explosions.

"Time to go Hood."

"Lead on, Replacement."

----------

Why does Superman always disrupt my plans? Not just Superman, he reminds himself, he'd brought their son and his brother. As well as Daniel's family or Damian, whatever. The bats were the worst destroying his robots and his walls. Okay, maybe he didn't have the best robots here because they might be missing quite a few parts and kryptonite. But he needed for the portal, and both Vlad Masters and Lex Luthor were anything but resourceful.

The monitor beeped erratically. Gods above if Damian was going to flatline again. He technically wasn't flatlining but pumping ectoplasm through his heart instead of blood at that moment, and that messed with moniters, and when that happens, nurses get all hysterical and almost actually flatline him.

It wouldn't be such a problem if Damian wasn't severely lacking ectoplasm. Typically, his blood was made of both of it. All that rest from the medicine induced coma that he put him in certainly helped him fight the corruption and was now creating his own. See, if only Damian listened to him more often. It'd be better for everyone.

The moniter died down again, and he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Whatever am I going to with you?" He muttered with his head leaning back.

"Maybe stop beating me up." He shot up toward the voice. He wasn't supposed to be awake yet, but this was better anyway. He had to get him into the portal before the bats destroyed all the robots. Another litte voice in his brain betrayed him and reminded him the portal was still not done, and they were closing in.

"Little Badger, you know I don't start fights. I end them." He reprimanded.

"And you know I hate that nickname, and we both know you start fights all the damn time."

"Language." Damian stared unimpressed at him. How was he meant to explain this? The supers and bats somehow discovered where we are and are fighting their way in and are currently tearing the main control room apart? Actually, that isn't that bad.

He told Damian just that, and somehow, he didn't seem to like his paraphrasing. Can't please anyone anymore.

"What do you mean my family is here? How could they track us? This isle is supposed to be superproof."

"I don't know, but I don't have some ideas. I believe Susan has betrayed our trust and ratted us out. I will unfortunately have to fire her, and I was just beginning to like her." He sighed. All the best employees turn out to be useless and disloyal. That's why he prefers A.I. Until it started to betray him, too. Ugh. Never get good help anywhere nowadays.

"Vlad! Focus! I need to get to the portal right now!" He winced.

"Well, about that -" Damian shot up and stumbled on his legs from not moving for two weeks, probably. He reached to steady him.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone." His godson growled and scampered past him. He left the medical area and quickly started studying his current readings and calculations.

" I've already checked hundreds of times. I can't find out what's wrong with it." He tried to explain but was forced to watch, and Damian grabbed a random red pen and started scribbling all over his things. He sighed again. Teenagers.

"I've got it!" Oh you've got to be kidding me!

"You're trying to create your fancy portal. We don't have the time or materials for that, but we can recreate The Fenton Portal. Most of the ectoplasm is soda anyway. I stashed some in the fridge around here since you banned me from drinking it while we were working." He explained already halfway across the lab and opening a fridge labeled 'chemicals only'. Why does he even try anymore?

More alerts were popping up. Most of his robots were down now and the last remaining ones were the brainless ones not connected to the central computer that luckily he didn't have connected to some of his tech just in case, including this lab. Which now meant he would need to take control of the robots himself. Unless he wanted them to be defeated in less than a minute. Luckily again, most of the kryptonite he had that he hadn't rerouted into the portal was inside those portals.

"I'm going to attack your family now." He announced, cracking his knuckles and hacking into his own robots easily.

"Don't kill them, or I'd have to kill you." He replied, ripping and welding parts together. He's pretty sure he just watched him weld something together with 7up. Nope. Not today.

-----------

Jon was feeling...off. He, for some strange reason, felt an urge to let himself be hit by the kryptonite. Not in a suicidal way, but in a way, he instinctively wanted to be...with the kryptonite. Something that is incredibly dangerous to kryptonians like him even if he's only half.

For a while, he dodged guns, destroyed guns, destroyed robots, and then the Reds destroyed the main computer, and most of the robots deactivated until... the robots suddenly started to get stronger and smarter.

TV moniters suddenly flickered on and Lex Luthor was displayed.

"Luthor! Return Damian Wayne now to uss and we will consider lessening your sentence." His father spoke loudly, assuming mics were around somewhere.

"Oh really? You've never been able to get those charges to stick before. What make you think they'll suddenly stick now?" He mocked cruelly.

"You won't get away with this, this time, Luthor." Batman threatened.

"Coming from the man who can even get a failed circus clown to stay in prison? I think I'll be fine."

"Luthor, I know that something is going on. If you tell us we can help you." Nightwing spoke masterfully, emphasizing the man who stole his little brother. He didn't trust he wouldn't stare screaming and yelling at the crazy fruitloop if he tried to say anything. Wait-fruitloop? Where did that come from? He shook his head to clear the thought, but he somehow made eye contact with the shadow he suspected to be Orphan. Who is somehow emitting a very concerned aura. He ignored that and focused on the conversation just in time to hear large explosions from the TV.

"Damian!" Nightwing yelled out. Superman glanced around wildly as if trying ti will himself into seeing or hearing through lead.

He was concerned... but he didn't feel as worried as he should be for his best friend. Like he was definitely worried but he had a gut feeling he would be fine. And a little exasperated for some reason.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back to work! If we don't get that portal open before they find us, I'm going to rearrange your organs upside down!" Luthor yelled behind him. He could feel his face heat up, and he covered his eyes just in case.

"Don't you dare threaten him!" Nightwing yelled at the screen. Batman was starting at his wrist screen as if it would disappear if he looked away. The shadow had slunked away sometime. Spoiler and Signal nowhere to be seen.

"What are you gong to do? Reach through the screen and throttle me?" He taunted.

The screen suddenly started to glitch out in green bursts. It reminded him of kryptonite but...

"I've found them. Follow these directions. I'm almost there myself." He overheard Signal from Batmans comms. He repeated them twice, but he had already grabbed Nightwing and saw his dad grab his own bat. They couldn't go as fast as he wanted to because of the tight spaces, making superspeed dangerous to the supports. If they went too fast, the building could go down on them. They went faster than they should have anyway.

They reached the door where Signal, Spoiler, and Orphan were trying to wrench the doors off the hinges using several blowtorches and a misshapen crowbar.

"I've got it." He set Nightwing on the ground and cleared the door off the hinges just to see a large explosion of green. And Lex Luthor shooting powered up kryptonite(?) from his hands.

He dodged the blasts but his father wasn't able to and was sent flying to the wall smoking.

"Dad!" He screamed his anger at him forgotten. He flew over him and he vaguely remembers a yellow blur following him.

There was a smoking crater on his chest. Burns of all degrees decorating his suit.

"Dad?" He collapsed to the floor infront of him.

"It's okay, Jon. It's not that... bad... it looks worse than is. I promise. Go...bakc to the...fight." his dad spoke, his voice cracking, and he knew his dad was completely powered down. He had to get him to the sun.

"I'm getting you out of here." He promised and gathered him into his arms carefully. He was about to laser several random walls down when Signal handed him the closest trajectory to the outside.

"Hurry. We can handle this." He lied. They couldn't handle a powered Luthor, and he's couldn't let his dad die. He nodded and turned his head away, and his eyes lit up in burning pools of red.

----------

The green was mesmerizing. The only word Cass could describe it. Like it was the only thing that could understand her. It reminded her of the Lazarus Pits.

She ran inside with Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman close behind. Luthor tried to shoot at them, but they dodged skillfully. She looked past him and could see Damian typing madly on a computer. His movements were deliberate, and he knew what he was doing, but his body betrayed hum to her. His fingers were still, but his wrist twisted slightly too much. His ankles shifted weight between one another. His head tilted backward like he was physically stopping himself from looking at them.

"Damian!" Nightwing vaulted over a blast.

Damian froze for a second but willed himself to continue with new determination, painting his body. Something wasn't right. He should be running to them. Telling them he had a plan they ruined but would pause for enough time they knew he was struggling if they asked for it.

"Damian? We're here to save you!" Nightwing dodged another blast. She could see his plan. Distract both Damian and luthor. It was working, too. Luthor was occssionly shooting her, but he'd all but forgotten about Batman and Spoiler in the rafters.

Damian wasn't at all easily distracted she could tell from his headtilt he was watching them. He sped up the computer. The large portal machine expanded, and greens swirled around.

"Shut it down, Damian!" Nightwing shouted, attempting to rush luthor but failing. She launched herself using the distraction to take luthor out. He is somehow stronger than she can remember flung her off rough enough she hit the wall. She saw stars and failed to rise. Her vision was blurring, but she could see Batman's blurry figure attempting to subdue luthor and succeeding. Where's spoiler?

There she is! Spoiler kumped down on top of Luthor and put meta cuffs on him using the elemnt of suprise. Nightwing reached Damian just as the portal exploded, adding unfamiliar purples mixed in. Nightwing was thrown back, but he recovered and ran back. Batman and Luthor struggled in vain for control. She blinked, and Spoiler was a purple blur at her side.

Her body riddled with worry. She reached out and gently prodded her for injuries.

"Fine. Help little... brother." she tried to say, but it was mostly slurred from the blood loss. Spoiler glanced at her nervously and took out her field aid.

"No. Fine." She attempted to convey, but she just shushed her quietly. She turned back to the fight just in time to catch Damian slip through the portal. Nightwing didn't hesitate to run after him.

"No!" Her father's voice and anguished growled after watching two sons slip through. He tried to follow them, but Luthor got free and broke the computer powering. Just as Batman reached the edge, he hesitated, and the portal fizzled out.

She tried to stay awake but the gentle shushing from Spoiler lulled her into the embrace of darkness.

---------

Dick Grayson hit the strange glowing bluish snow and rolled to a soft stop. He looked around frantically and spotted Damian kneeling on the ground. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and his face was screwed up in pain.

"Damian!" He ran to him and kneeled by his side, hesitating to grab his son if he was injured but wanting to scoop him up after being missing for two months now.

"You shouldn't be here." He murmured but he leaned against him heavily.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. We almost thought you were dead." He gave up looking for physical injuries apart from the maybe a mix between 1st and 2nd degree burns and clutched his son to his chest.

"It's not...safe for you...here."

"And it is for you?" He gathered him in his arms best he could, minding the burns on him. Neither of them were wearing clothes meant for the storm.

The strange snow was colder than any snow he's ever seen before, and it had an otherworldly component to it. Another point for the interdimensinal portal. Behind then sharp hissing screeched behind them and the greens snd purples disappeared. Shit. That was their way out.

"Who goes there?" A large voice echoed from the trees and he cursed himself for not studying his surrounding more. A large...yeti? Emerged from the pine trees he wore armor and had a ice prosthetic hand. He looked mean and rugged.

"Frostbite!" Damian yelled from his arms and started struggling. He gripped him tighter. Like hell, he was letting him loose after everything. Even if he somehow knew this kinda of cool looking yeti. The yetis eyes lit up in what he thinks his recognition.

"Great one? Have you returned to us? Who is this?" The yetis voice was softer but still dangerous he kept his mouth shut and hoped Damian knew what to say.

"My-baba? We need to get your village. I need some help." Wow. Damian had never acknowledged he was anything other than his older brother before. If he wasn't a bat and damn good at compartmentalizeing, he'd probably start crying. Or pass out. Probably both.

"All right then, Great One. Any family or friends of his is friends of ours. Follow me."

Which is how he came to be standing in the middle of an entire town of yetis getting scrutinized by Frostbite(?).

"So how did you meet our King? I've never seen you before." He questioned curiously. What the actual fuck did he get into now.

[electric-ocean-explorer]

Sanji x Shy!Reader

"Too much compliments"

Warnings: SFW, Too much fluffy, Anxiety, Sanji being cute.

Word count: 1100

Synopsis: Shy girl, flirty cook, too much feelings.

Notes: Since Toei Animation has been feeding us nothing but crumbs when it comes to Sanji, I decided to give him some extra love myself.

Next cookies: Second chance and Pelican Counselor.

    It had become part of the Sunny’s routine, a predictable, almost comedic cycle that played out every single day, as if it were baked into the very rhythm of the ship.

    Yoru would walk into the kitchen, hoping only for a cup of tea or maybe something to nibble on. But Sanji never missed her entrance. He would stop whatever he was doing, turn in her direction with that dazzling smile and sparkling eyes, and shower her with compliments so sweet they could give you a toothache.

"Yoru-chwaaaan!" he’d sing out. “I made chocolate pudding! Nami told me it’s your favorite.” Then, stepping closer to take her hand with gentle confidence, he’d add, “Though I doubt it could ever be as sweet as you.”

    She froze on the spot. Her shoulders tensed, hands shook, and her whole face flushed a bright red, starting from her neck all the way to her scalp. And then, like some instinct for survival kicked in, Yoru would spin on her heel and bolt, tripping over her own feet, heart racing, breath caught in her throat.

    It happened. Every. Single. Day.

    Yoru was like a walking ball of anxiety — a quiet storm of bottled-up emotions. Compliments, especially when wrapped in Sanji’s soft, adoring voice, were too much for her. And the daily attention he somehow gave only to her? Impossible to process. She was like a frightened kitten; one step toward her and she was already gone.

    And yet... Sanji never gave up. In fact, he adored watching her face go red, her eyes darting around for an escape, her lips parting as if to speak — only to end up with a stuttered mess of tangled words. To him, it was the most charming sight. It was rare to find someone so genuine, so transparent with their feelings. Her shyness was like a rare gem hidden in the vastness of the sea.

    That evening, Robin sat in the shade with a book between her fingers and a knowing smile on her lips. She watched the scene unfold like a daily episode of a romantic comedy that never got old.

"Sanji-kun, one day you're really going to give her a heart attack" she commented, amusement lacing her voice as she watched Yoru disappear down the hall again like prey escaping a predator.

    Sanji laughed softly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Better to die from love than to live without it” he answered, dreamily.

    Robin shook her head and returned to her book. “Hopeless.”

    He chuckled again, but his gaze lingered on the corridor where Yoru had vanished. There was something different in that laugh — a hint of real tenderness. Because deep down, it wasn’t just about teasing. There was something honest about the way he looked at that timid girl… and a quiet hope that one day, she might smile back — without running away.

. . .

    The night was peaceful, but inside Yoru’s head, a storm was brewing. No matter how tightly she shut her eyes, her thoughts wouldn't leave her alone. She was thinking damn thinking thoughts and it wouldn’t let her rest. What if she took a step forward? What if... those compliments and all that attention were just something he gave to every girl, like free samples? What if he didn’t accept her feelings?

    So many "what-ifs" circled in her mind, it felt like her brain might catch fire right there in her room. “I need some air” she mumbled.

    When Yoru couldn’t sleep, her favorite place to go was under the orange trees. She didn’t know why, but the fresh, citrusy scent always made her feel lighter — maybe a memory from childhood. She wrapped her arms around herself, walking slowly between the trees, the night’s chill kissing her skin. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. Then, her brain — traitorous as ever — whispered “I wonder what he smells like…”

“Ugh, stop it” she muttered, shaking her head as if it could fling the thought away.

“Mademoiselle? Out here at this hour?” His voice, husky and smooth, was unmistakable even in the dark. Sanji stood by the railing at the edge of the garden, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers.

“I couldn’t sleep” she admitted, approaching him slowly.

“Thinking about me, mon amour?” he asked with that crooked smile, a playful glint in his eyes.

    Normally, that line would have her red from head to toe. But this time… something was different. A small ember of courage warmed her chest. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe, she just couldn’t hold the feelings in anymore.

“Actually… yes,” she said, looking away and nervously fidgeting with her hands.

    Sanji froze. The smile faltered. His eyes widened ever so slightly. The cigarette nearly slipped from his fingers. And for the first time, a faint blush touched his cheeks.

    Yoru had never seen him like that. And for a moment, her nerves gave way to a soft laugh that bubbled up without permission. She covered her mouth quickly, startled by her own reaction.

    Sanji cleared his throat, dragging slowly from his cigarette to cover his own surprise.

“Yoru-chan… you’re going to give me false hope like that,” he murmured, voice lower than usual, his smile uncertain — but his eyes full of something rare and true.

    She looked down at her feet, fingers knotting together, her voice a quiet whisper. “I… I don’t want it to be false…”

    He stepped forward — not abruptly, but with the care of someone approaching something fragile. “Yoru,” he said softly. Just her name. And it was enough to make her breath hitch.

    She finally looked up. His eyes met hers — no teasing, no games. Just warmth. Gentle, open warmth. He raised a hand slowly, brushing his fingers against hers. She didn’t pull away. Their hands fit together clumsily, unsure — but real.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he whispered. “I just want you to know... you're not just another girl to me.”

    Yoru felt her heart lurch. When she tried to answer, the words tangled on her tongue. Sanji leaned forward. Not quickly. Not too close. Just enough. He took her hand in his, turned it over, and placed a slow, tender kiss in the center of her palm. The contact was featherlight — but it sent shockwaves through her entire being.

    She froze. Her heart was doing somersaults. Her brain? Complete static.

“I—I think… I need… Umm... GOOD NIGHT!!”

And she spun on her heel and bolted, footsteps pounding down the deck in pure panic.

    Sanji stayed where he was, staring at the space where she’d been, her warmth still lingering in his hand. Then he laughed — soft, not mocking — just full of fondness.

“That girl’s going to kill me with cuteness.”

    The cigarette between his fingers burned slowly as he turned his eyes to the starry sky, smiling like a man who knew, even with all the chaos… this was the start of something really sweet.

[hummingbird24220]

your angst writing is 1000/1000 got me tearing up when i read the zoro x swordsman reader :’)

could i request an angst luffy? i’m sure we all know he HAS to have severe ptsd after saboady and losing ace but no one from the crew ever really directly spoke about it with him. but here comes reader and lets say that something similar happened where they are in grave danger maybe got hit exactly the way ace died or they are kidnapped and then he loses it the way he did after waking up post ace death? maybe he blacks out and the crew have to hold him down like hes mad crazy while chopper is trying his best to make sure the reader survives? and ofcourse after reader is saved/survived, the crew or just reader have a sit down with luffy where he lets everything off his chest tbh i just feel like sobbing this week

Ughhhauh my feeeeeelings. I havent seen ace die in the anime yet, but i know its looming. ill probs cry ;.;

Hope this itches your angst itch. im not sure how i feel about this one, not my best, but its aight.

Enjoy!

What If I Was Too Late

Luffy x Reader

The sky had split open over the island — black clouds gnashing like teeth, lightning carving fury into the heavens. The Straw Hats were scattered across the battlefield, bruised but pushing back hard against the Marine ambush they hadn’t seen coming. You were separated from the others, fighting side-by-side with Robin when it happened.

The enemy wasn’t strong — not really. Not like the Warlords or the Admirals. But they were cruel, and they were precise. One of them had seen it. The way Luffy always shielded you. The way he watched you when he thought no one was looking.

And they used it.

Robin’s scream echoed through the trees.

Luffy arrived too late.

You were already on the ground, curled on your side, a gaping, smoking wound in your chest — right where Ace had been hit.

He didn’t even feel his legs move. One second he was on the edge of the forest, the next he was kneeling beside you, staring down at your barely-conscious body as your Devil Fruit power desperately fought to stitch you back together — but too slow. Too slow.

“(Y/n)...?”

Your eyes blinked open, foggy and unfocused. Blood stained your lips. “Lu...ffy?”

He froze.

The sound of your voice — broken, raspy, faint — was exactly like Ace’s last words.

“Luffy, I’m... sorry.”

No. No. No.

His heartbeat crashed in his ears like waves against rock. The crew started to catch up behind him, but Luffy couldn’t move. His hands were shaking. His vision blurred.

The last time he’d heard that kind of apology, Ace had died in his arms.

And now you — you — were bleeding out in front of him. Just like his brother. Just like the worst day of his life.

“LUFFY!” Zoro’s voice cracked like thunder behind him, but Luffy didn’t flinch.

Then came the scream.

He didn’t even know it was coming from his own throat until his knees buckled, and he fell forward, clutching you. He screamed so loud it felt like his lungs would tear apart, like the sky would shatter under the weight of it.

“Get Chopper!” Sanji bellowed.

Chopper was already running, crying, his hooves trembling as he dropped beside you and tore open his medical pack. “It’s not enough, it’s not enough— I need more time—!”

Luffy didn’t hear him.

He wasn’t there anymore.

He was somewhere deep, somewhere dark, somewhere filled with fire and smoke and the weight of his brother’s body in his arms.

“No—no no no no—” He clutched your face, smearing blood across your cheek as he tried to hold your head up. “Don’t die. You’re not allowed to die.”

You tried to speak, but it came out a wet gurgle.

And Luffy broke.

He surged up with a scream, haki flaring around him like an explosion. Robin fell back. Chopper nearly dropped his tools. Zoro grabbed Luffy’s arm — only to get flung aside like a rag doll.

“HE’S LOSING IT!” Franky yelled. “HOLD HIM—!”

Brook and Franky moved to flank him.

Sanji kicked at his legs. Zoro was back up, bruised but determined. It took all of them to hold Luffy down — muscles straining, eyes wild, voice ragged as he thrashed like a demon born of grief.

“I CAN SAVE HER—LET ME GO! LET ME—!”

“She’s alive!” Nami shouted, tears spilling as she grabbed his face. “She’s alive, Luffy—Chopper’s helping her—!”

He didn’t hear her.

He didn’t hear anything.

He just saw your face.

Your blood.

Your wound.

Just like Ace.

Just like Ace.

-

The trees were gone.

The cliffs? Flattened. Shattered like glass under a god’s fist.

What had once been a dense battlefield was now nothing but a cracked, smoldering plain, littered with the ruins of what the Straw Hats had fought to protect. Fire danced in the craters. The air sizzled with haki that boiled and thrashed like a living beast.

And at the center of it all was Luffy.

Unleashed.

He wasn’t talking anymore. He wasn’t thinking.

He was rampaging.

Every punch shattered the earth. Every scream split the sky.

“LUFFY, STOP!” Sanji coughed through the smoke, shielding Chopper and your body with his jacket. “YOU’RE GONNA KILL US—!”

“He can’t hear you,” Zoro growled, blood running down his temple. “He’s gone.”

Robin and Franky

had fallen back. Brook was covering Nami, who was crying so hard she could barely stand. Usopp was screaming Luffy’s name, waving his arms, trying to reach through the haze — but it was like trying to grab smoke with bare hands.

Luffy turned.

Eyes wide. Unfocused. Ferocious.

And he charged.

Straight at them.

Zoro moved first, swords drawn, haki shimmering — but even he hesitated.

He didn’t want to cut their captain.

But their captain wasn’t their captain right now.

He was a storm. A monster born of grief and guilt and love too big for one heart to bear.

The crew braced—

Then a whisper floated through the smoke.

“...Luffy.”

He froze mid-step.

Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

That voice—

Your voice.

Your body still lay crumpled in Chopper’s arms, still torn open, still healing slowly — too slowly — but your lips were moving. Barely.

“Luffy... ‘m here...”

The haze broke.

His knees hit the dirt with a crack.

His hands gripped his hair as he let out a strangled sound, something between a sob and a gasp, and bent forward like the weight of the sky had finally caught up with him.

“(Y/n)...?” he croaked. “You’re...”

Alive.

You were alive.

His body shook. His fists clenched against the dirt. “I thought— I thought you were gonna leave me too.”

“I’m here,” you whispered again, voice weak and hoarse, eyes barely open. “I’m here, Luffy...”

The crew held still.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Luffy crawled to you like he’d forgotten how to walk, every inch dragging across the wrecked battlefield like penance. When he finally reached you, his fingers barely dared to touch your arm.

You smiled — faint and broken.

And Luffy broke again.

But this time, it wasn’t rage.

It was relief. Terrible, overwhelming, soul-crushing relief. The kind that makes your chest hurt worse than grief.

He collapsed beside you, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice no louder than yours now.

“You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.”

The others started moving in slowly, their breathing ragged, some limping, some crying, all of them watching with wide, hollow eyes asthe Captain they thought they might have to fight finally, finally came back to himself.

-

The battle had long since ended, but no one left.

They couldn’t.

The ground was still scarred, trembling with the aftershocks of Luffy’s rage. No one dared move you — not while your body was still healing itself one heartbeat at a time.

So they built a camp.

Not far from the flattened battlefield, nestled under the remaining trees that had somehow survived, Robin and Franky cleared space. Sanji laid out clean blankets, warm covers. Nami took Chopper’s instructions and sterilized water, cloth, anything that could help.

And Luffy stayed exactly where he was.

He hadn’t let go of your hand.

Not once.

He sat cross-legged beside you on the thickest blanket, head bent low, gripping your hand like it was the last rope keeping him tethered to reality. His thumb brushed over your knuckles again and again, watching your face with fevered intensity, flinching at every twitch.

“Breathe, (Y/n),” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Just breathe. That’s all. Just keep doing that.”

Chopper bustled around you like a tiny storm — checking your pulse, temperature, rate of regeneration. He looked more exhausted than you did, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Not until he was sure.

Luffy startled when your eyes closed for the first time.

“H-hey—hey, no, stay awake, please—!”

You stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips, but your body sagged deeper into the warmth and comfort the crew had piled around you.

“Luffy,” Chopper said gently, “it’s okay. She’s just sleeping.”

“She—” He shook his head. “But—what if—what if she doesn’t wake up?”

“She will.” Chopper moved closer and tugged another blanket up to your shoulders. “Sleep is good. She needs it. The Healing Fruit’s working overtime — rest will help her regenerate faster.”

Luffy didn’t answer.

He just watched you. Watched you breathe. Watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest like it was the only thing keeping him alive now.

“She’ll be okay,” Chopper whispered, placing a hoof on his shoulder.

Luffy didn’t nod. Didn’t move.

But his eyes finally closed for a moment — just a moment — and when he opened them again, there were tears caught in his lashes.

“…I can’t lose her too.”

No one responded.

Because what could you say to that?

The captain who had lost his brother.

Who had failed to protect his nakama once before.

Who had been forced to get stronger not just for the dream, but for the fear.

He didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t eat. He didn’t speak.

He just sat there.

Holding your hand.

Watching your face.

Waiting for you to wake up again.

-

Morning came slow.

The night had been thick with tension and the soft, muffled sounds of worry. A few birds had returned, cautiously chirping from the trees that still stood. Smoke from the distant battlefield had thinned into haze.

The crew had made camp around you in a protective circle. Sanji and Brook took the first watch, murmuring quietly while Robin helped Chopper finally lie down, his tiny form buried under a blanket as he snored gently.

Then Zoro, then Franky, then Nami.

Each of them sat near enough to hear your breathing, to glance over and know you were still alive.

Luffy had finally — finally — fallen asleep just before dawn.

It wasn’t peaceful.

His head had slumped forward, his shoulders hunched like a soldier who had never put his armor down. One hand remained wrapped tightly around yours, the other cradling it in his lap as if he were afraid you might vanish if he let go.

And then the sun rose.

Soft pink spilled over the horizon, brushing the earth with warmth that the night had stolen. The light reached your face first, gentle and golden.

You stirred.

A small sound left your lips as your brows furrowed, and your fingers gave the tiniest twitch within his.

Luffy’s eyes snapped open.

He was awake in a heartbeat, jolting upright, his hand tightening around yours instinctively as he turned to you — eyes wide, full of something raw and ragged.

Your lashes fluttered. You blinked at the light.

And then your gaze met his.

“…hey,” you rasped, voice hoarse.

He made a sound like he was choking and immediately leaned over you, his free hand cupping your face with a reverence that hurt to see. His thumb brushed under your eye, down your jaw, thumb trembling slightly.

“(Y/n)… you’re awake… You’re— You’re okay—”

You smiled faintly, trying to lift your other hand but failing. “My hand is sweaty.”

He blinked.

Then laughed.

A real one.

It was broken, breathy, soaked in relief, but it cracked through the air like sunlight through clouds. He dropped his forehead to yours, shoulders shaking.

“Idiot,” he whispered. “You scared me so bad…”

You closed your eyes again, your breath evening out.

And his tears returned — quiet, steady, without shame.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered against your brow. “I really thought… I was too late.”

You wanted to answer. To tell him he wasn’t. That you were here. That the worst had passed.

But your body was too tired.

So instead, you just tightened your fingers around his as best you could.

He felt it.

And he didn’t let go.

-

They moved you just after midday.

It took time — carefully coordinated effort, hushed voices, and hands that trembled more from fear than fatigue. Every step was calculated. Every shift of your weight met with winces and held breath. Chopper barked instructions, his doctor’s voice steady despite his red-rimmed eyes.

The hole in your chest was still there. A deep, awful wound that should’ve been fatal — would’ve been, if not for your Devil Fruit. It wasn’t just healing you. It was working — the edges of the injury knitting themselves closed, hour by hour. Tissues weaving back together with slow, glowing warmth.

But that didn’t make it hurt less.

You flinched when they lifted you onto the makeshift stretcher. Cried out softly when the blanket brushed too close. Your breath caught with every bump.

Luffy was there. Every second.

Helping carry you. Shielding you from sun and wind. When you whimpered, he was the first to react — flinching like he had been struck, whispering your name like a prayer he couldn’t finish.

They laid you in the softest bed the crew could manage — a nest of blankets and pillows set up inside a nearby forest clearing that Robin had chosen. It smelled like flowers and fresh grass, sunlight dappling through the leaves.

You didn’t have the strength to sit up yet, but your breathing was easier now. The pain was still there, sharp and hot, but less suffocating.

And Luffy hadn’t moved from your side.

Not once.

He sat next to the bed, his arms resting on the edge, your hand still held gently in his. He didn’t bounce. Didn’t fidget. Just watched.

Watched you.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t shout. His eyes weren’t filled with adventure or wonder or hunger.

They were red-rimmed, shadowed, and haunted.

Like he was still trapped in that moment — the second he saw your body lying in the dirt.

You stirred, watching him. “You... okay?”

He blinked. The question caught him off-guard. He looked down at your hand in his, and then back to your face.

You’d never seen him like this.

Not even after Marineford.

Not even after Sabaody.

This was quieter. Heavier. Like whatever he’d been carrying in his chest had finally cracked under its own weight.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

You stared at him — at the way he looked so much older in that moment. Not in his face, but in the silence between his words.

“…You can rest, Luffy. I’m not going anywhere.”

He shook his head, eyes burning again. “I thought that last time too.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not yet.

So you just let your hand rest in his, letting the warmth pass between you.

Letting him stay.

Letting him watch.

Because even if he didn’t say it — Even if he couldn’t say it yet — You knew:

He was more afraid than he had ever been.

And not of death. But of losing you.

-

It was late afternoon when the bleeding started again.

Slow at first — a shimmer of red seeping through the edge of your bandages. Nothing urgent, nothing panicked. But Chopper noticed.

He always noticed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pressed new gauze gently to your skin, replacing layers with practiced hands. But he wasn’t smiling anymore. His ears were flat. His hooves trembled as he worked.

You were still healing — slowly. Painfully. But the bleeding hadn’t stopped. Not completely.

And you were tired.

So tired.

Every breath took effort. Every blink dragged like the world was just a little too far away.

You whispered something to Luffy earlier. He’d leaned in, his forehead brushing yours. He’d smiled — not big, not the usual grin — but a real one. Soft.

Then Sanji called for dinner.

Luffy hesitated.

But you’d whispered, “Go eat. I’ll be here.”

So he’d gone.

Now he sat at the table with the others, plate mostly untouched. Fork in hand, barely lifting it. His foot tapped anxiously beneath the table. Every now and then, his head turned back toward the med bay.

Chopper stood near the fireplace, staring into it, silent.

Robin was the first to notice. “Chopper?”

The reindeer doctor didn’t look up.

“…She’s still bleeding.”

Everyone froze.

Luffy’s hand stilled mid-air.

“She’s healing,” Nami said quickly, her voice soft but shaky. “The fruit’s working, right?”

Chopper’s shoulders sagged. “It’s working. But it’s slow. Too slow.”

Zoro frowned. “She’s strong. She’s held on this long.”

“She shouldn’t have been able to.” Chopper’s voice cracked now — raw, low, quiet. “I didn’t say anything before because… because she was healing. But her blood loss hasn’t stopped. And she’s getting weaker.”

Luffy’s fork clattered onto the plate.

Usopp swallowed hard. “What… are you saying?”

Chopper turned.

Eyes wide. Voice tight. “I’m saying I don’t know how much longer she has.”

The silence that followed felt wrong. Like it didn’t belong on this ship, with this crew.

Luffy stared at Chopper.

Eyes unreadable. Mouth slightly open.

“She’s still breathing,” he said, as if that were enough. “She’s gonna be fine.”

Chopper took a slow step forward. “Captain… any other person would’ve died already. She’s still here because of that fruit — and because she’s strong. But I don’t know how long she can hold out like this. Her body’s not keeping up with the healing anymore. It’s—” He hesitated. “It’s like she’s… stuck. Between recovering and dying.”

Sanji ran a hand down his face, stepping back from the table. Brook stood like a statue. Robin closed her book without looking up.

And Luffy…

Luffy sat still.

His jaw was clenched. Knuckles white.

“…You said she’s still breathing.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going back.”

He stood. No hesitation. No argument.

And when no one stopped him, he walked.

Back to the med bay. Back to your side.

Like if he left again — even for a second — you might disappear.

--

The days passed like molasses.

Some mornings, you woke up clearer — the sky looked bluer, the wind softer. You could smile. You could speak.

Other days, you barely opened your eyes.

Your breath came ragged and slow, like your body was still trying to remember how to do something so simple.

But the wound was healing.

Chopper changed your bandages religiously, marking every millimeter of flesh that reknit itself. From a hole to a deep gouge. From a gouge to a slash. The bleeding slowed. The pain stayed.

But you were alive.

Luffy stayed as close as he could.

He came and went in brief windows — long enough to shower, to eat, to let the others make him leave when they noticed the bags under his eyes. But he always came back, slouching into the chair beside you like the world didn’t exist beyond this room.

He held your hand even when you were too out of it to notice. Talked to you when you didn’t answer. Sometimes he watched you in silence, eyes flicking to your chest every few seconds just to see it rise.

Today was a better day.

You were propped up slightly, a pillow behind your back. The wound still throbbed, but the worst of the agony had dulled to a hot, manageable ache. Sanji brought broth. Nami adjusted your blanket. Zoro sat nearby, silent but present. Chopper hovered like a satellite.

And Luffy was there.

Like always.

You looked around the room — tired, but aware. They were all here.

And so, you asked the question.

“…Luffy?”

He perked up instantly, eyes scanning your face. “Yeah?”

“…Are you okay?”

The silence that followed was heavier than any pain you'd felt.

Luffy blinked, once. Twice.

And then he let out a short, incredulous breath. “Me?”

You nodded slowly, head tilting. “You haven’t… looked okay.”

He stared at you.

Then at the others.

Zoro’s jaw tensed. Nami looked away. Sanji set the bowl down gently. Chopper shifted from hoof to hoof.

Then Luffy laughed.

A bitter, broken sound.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Your fingers tightened slightly on the blanket.

“I should be the one— I should be the one asking you that!” His voice cracked, his hands curling into fists. “You almost died, and I— I wasn’t even there—!”

“Luffy—” Nami started, but he shook his head.

He was standing now. Pacing a short, erratic line.

“I saw you lying there, and it was him all over again— Ace— Ace was right in front of me, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t do anything.” His voice was shaking now. “I held him while he died. And I had to wake up without him. You know what the first thing I did was?”

He turned to them, eyes glassy.

“I screamed. I ran. I begged someone — anyone — to bring him back. I broke down like some pathetic, useless kid, and Rayleigh had to drag me off the ground.”

None of them said a word.

He looked back at you, now seated again beside the bed. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I thought I lost you. Just like him. I saw your blood, and I broke again. Just like before.”

Tears were falling now, silent but steady.

“I’ve been scared every day since Ace. Scared that someone else I care about will die and I won’t be fast enough, strong enough— enough. I try to smile, to laugh, but it’s still there. All the time.”

You reached out, fingers trembling, and he took your hand instantly — held it against his heart like he was afraid to let it go.

“…I’m so tired of being scared,” he whispered. “And when I saw you like that, I—I just—”

He didn’t finish.

He just buried his head against your hand, breathing like someone drowning in grief too deep for words.

The others stood still, quiet.

None of them had ever heard him talk like this. None of them had ever seen him let it out like this.

But maybe it was finally time.

Maybe he needed to break — so he could start healing, too.

The silence after Luffy’s confession hung thick in the air.

He still held your hand, forehead pressed against your fingers like he could anchor himself there — like you were the only thing keeping him from sinking again. His shoulders trembled faintly, his breath hitched and uneven.

You stared at him, throat tight, chest rising and falling with effort.

And then something in you cracked.

“…I was scared too.”

Your voice was small — smaller than it had ever been — and the words felt like glass in your throat. But they came anyway.

Luffy looked up.

Your eyes were glassy now, lips trembling, hands shaking. You forced yourself to keep speaking. You had to.

“I didn’t know if I was going to make it. I didn’t know if the fruit was going to… do anything. I’ve never been hurt like that before, and for a while, I didn’t feel it working. I just felt cold.”

Your voice broke.

“And I thought— I thought I was going to die alone in that field. I didn’t know if anyone was coming.”

A sob slipped out, sudden and raw, like a dam giving way.

“I didn’t want to die,” you cried. “I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to lose you, or anyone. I wanted to fight, but I couldn’t move. I was so scared—”

Luffy reached for you immediately, not hesitating for a second. His arms wrapped around you carefully, like you might still shatter, like he was terrified of hurting you — but you clung to him like a lifeline.

It was the first time you’d cried since you got hurt.

Not just from pain. Not from shock. But from everything else.

From fear.

From grief.

From survival.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” you whispered, voice muffled against his shoulder. “I didn’t want to be the reason you were hurting again.”

“You’re not,” Luffy murmured, tightening his hold. “You’re not, (Y/n). You’re here. You made it. That’s all that matters.”

“It’s a miracle,” you breathed. “I should’ve died.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own red-rimmed but clear.

“But you didn’t.”

The others stood in silence.

Chopper wiped his eyes. Nami looked away, her hand over her mouth. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. Zoro’s head was bowed, expression unreadable.

“I thought I was ready,” you whispered. “To be a part of this crew. To fight. To bleed. But… I didn’t realize how much it would hurt. Not just my body — but the fear. Of losing everyone.”

Luffy’s hand found yours again.

“You don’t have to carry that alone,” he said softly. “Not anymore.”

You nodded, tears still falling — but slower now. Softer. No longer a flood.

Just a release.

You were still healing.

But now… so was he.

-

Eventually, the crew gave you space.

Chopper gave your shoulder a final, gentle pat. Sanji promised something hot and rich would be waiting when you could eat more than broth. Nami pressed your hand in hers and left with a shaky smile. Zoro gave a small nod. Robin touched your cheek briefly.

Then, it was just you and Luffy.

The tent was quiet now, the air warm and still. A breeze moved the canvas slightly, but it felt calm — like the world had exhaled.

Luffy sat beside you, finally calm himself. There were still shadows under his eyes, still remnants of something broken behind his smile, but the weight of panic had lifted. For now.

He brushed your hair gently from your face, eyes soft.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “at least you’ll have a really cool scar now.”

You blinked.

Then laughed — a small, surprised sound that turned into a wince halfway through. “Ow—ow—okay, okay, not ready to laugh yet.”

Luffy panicked instantly. “Wait—are you okay?! Did it open again?! I’ll go get Chopper—!”

“Luffy.” You reached out and caught his sleeve. “Luffy.”

He froze.

You gave him a gentler smile, a breathless huff escaping your lips. “I’m okay. Just sore. Still hurts when I laugh, that’s all.”

He sat back down quickly, still hovering, hands twitching like he was bracing to catch you if you so much as blinked wrong.

You looked at him — really looked — and then shifted your hand slightly against the bed.

“…Come here?”

He stared at you.

You patted the space beside you. “Carefully. Slow. But… I want you here.”

He hesitated only a second.

Then he moved.

Slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of breaking you all over again. He laid down beside you, propping himself up just enough to curl in around your side, one arm draped gently over your waist, forehead resting against your shoulder — his straw hat resting on the ground beside the bed.

You sighed.

Your fingers tangled into his hair without thinking.

He let out a breath.

And then… silence.

But not a painful one.

Not scared.

Just quiet. Soft. Safe.

His voice came low, barely a whisper. “You feel like home.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

Because in that moment — in his arms, in the quiet — You both finally believed it:

You were still here. And so was he.

[stevieschrodinger]

Eddie notices things.

He might be loud and brash, might be over the top and his mouth might run away before his brain can kick in, but he still notices things.

He likes the details. Loves a fantasy world that’s so detailed it’s believable. Loves a tiny detail in a story that becomes relevant two hundred pages later. Loves a detail in a puzzle in a DnD game. He loves the minutia of everything.

So he notices these details about people. Mostly because Eddie likes to create people. He likes to write his own stories, likes to make his DnD characters real...foibles and all. Any time Eddie is alone, or bored, or waiting, sometimes he looks around and thinks, ‘if I were writing this, how would I describe it?’ And then he does...he writes in his head about the tree he can see, what the weather is doing right now, how he would describe the quality of the sunlight or the way the rain rattles against the window. He watches complete strangers and writes out their whole life in his head. Eddie likes the details, and he likes to create characters, and he also thinks, a lot of the time, you write what you know.

So yeah, Eddie pays attention to the people around him. How they dress, how they behave, if they bite their nails or chew pen lids. If they stand straight or lounge against the nearest wall or counter. How they cradle their smoke in their hand when it’s breezy out.

All the little details he can build into characters he makes in his mind.

Steve’s calendar interests him. It probably shouldn’t, that stuff would be private if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s hanging in Steve’s kitchen where anyone can see it. Plus the fact that it is just a calendar and there for by it’s nature isn’t very interesting. Eddie thinks he finds it interesting just by the virtue that it’s to do with Steve Harrington, and therefore it immediately becomes very interesting to Eddie.

It’s got big pages, a decent amount of space to write in every day. And Steve has. Every single day.

There’s a pattern to it that Eddie deciphers pretty fast; his shift at work is on the top line; it’s in red. Next is anything to do with the kids, and it’s in green; picking the kids up or meeting them or going to a game for Lucas or basically anything like that. Then blue, and that seems to be stuff to do with Eddie himself, Robin, Nancy, if he needs to meet them, give them a ride somewhere, or just times to hang out.

The bottom line is in black, and it’s stuff like, ‘hoover’, ‘do laundry’, ‘bathroom,’ ‘kitchen’, ‘groceries,’ followed by a little note that seems to be about whatever Steve plans to have for dinner that night.

Below it is a note pad, also hanging up, with an in process grocery list on it. Eddie knows why all this is here; Steve’s forgetful.

If Steve makes plans, he immediately writes it down; Eddie’s seen it for himself.

Eddie sees it too, when Steve’s struggling to hear. If too many people speak at once, or if there’s too much background noise, Steve doesn’t stand a chance.

If he’s not looking at you when you’re speaking to him, chances are, he might not be hearing you. Which, okay, Eddie’s just kind of rolling with it.

Until they get together. No one was more surprised by this turn of events than Eddie, who was convinced that he was just going to pine after Steve forever and that would just be how things were for the rest of his life. That was right up until Steve Harrington held his hand and just sort of...seemed to forget to let go.

Eddie hasn’t pointed it out to him yet, he’s still kind of worried that if he points out the fact that they’re kind of, sort of, dating, Steve might realize and stop again. So yeah, Eddie rides the wave, not at all freaking out when Steve invites him over for dinner and a movie like that’s just a normal thing they do now. Because it is. Because they’re kind of dating.

There’s no answer, but that’s pretty normal, the front door is unlocked a lot of the time, Steve doesn’t want to hinder anyone's entry if there’s any kind of emergency going on, and it’s totally normal now for any of them to just wander into Steve’s house.

Steve is cooking; Eddie can smell it. He stands in the kitchen doorway and says Steve’s name. And predictably, Steve doesn’t react.

Eddie takes this as an opportunity to gauge this. He says Steve’s name a little louder; still nothing.

Eddie tries four times, a step closer and a little louder each time, until the last time, when Steve spins around so fast the spoon he’s holding splatters sauce on the counter top and his other hand flies to his chest, “holy shit.”

“Sorry,” Eddie rubs at Steve’s arm and shoulder as he gets his breathing under control, “you couldn’t hear me.”

Steve shrugs, “it’s fine.”

“Stevie…you could at least, you know, go get them checked, or whatever.”

Steve hums, "maybe, if you go with me," and Eddie's quick to agree, because he gets a kiss out of it.

[totally-here]

Post Gotham war Jason and post GIW Danny scrap

Jason is laying on the ground. He can hear water running to his right and can see his parachute tangled in trees overhead. 

The explosion must have sent him farther away than he hoped. His back hurts from the landing after he disconnected from the parachute. His hands are still shaking from residual adrenaline that in turn makes his throat constrict in fear. 

Fucking Bruce. Of all the things he could’ve done to break their cycle. 

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? A never ending cycle of them fighting over morality, making up, then fighting again without any real progress being made. The Joker’s still kicking in one way or another, and Jason still doesn’t talk with his family much outside of vigilante activities. 

And now he won’t even be able to go out as Red Hood, because his own fucking adrenaline will immobilise him with fear. 

Jason never should have tried to work with Selina. He’s self-aware enough to admit that. It was stupid, trying to mess up her operation from the inside after realizing just what she was setting up the goon workforce for, even if it wasn’t her intention. She was only letting him work with her to shove it into Bruce’s face, anyway. 

Because that’s all Jason will ever be to them. Batman’s biggest mistake. A Robin turned corpse turned mass murderer. Like he hasn’t been actively not killing people for at least a year now. Hasn’t shot a gun in months. 

And yet here Jason is, trying to tell if his ribs are broken without moving. His ears are ringing faintly from the collision with the meteor and then the explosion at the observatory. 

He ditched his comm to Oracle and the rest of the bats earlier, and the batwing is one with the wreckage now. But there are cameras everywhere in Gotham. They would see he got out, and probably send someone to pick him up. Maybe. 

Jason doesn’t know if he can stomach looking at his family right now. Not when he can still feel the effects of whatever Bruce stuck in him in the back of his throat, in the back of his mind. It’s like he’s been flayed out, all his scars and weaknesses on display. 

“Hey man, you okay?” A man steps into Jason’s vision. Around his age, if not younger. His eyes that verge on the edge of uncannily blue have deep eye bags, like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He looks at Jason like one would a particularly uninteresting bug. Jason shivers.

It takes a few tries for Jason not to swallow his words. As it is, he still slurs on the swear. “Just fucking peachy.” 

The guy raises an eyebrow, looking very doubtful. He looks Jason up and down, then sighs. He rights himself from leaning over and runs a hand through his long black hair with white streaks in it. It’s choppily cut, and not in a tasteful way. It’s like a five year old found scissors for the first time. It’s annoying how it actually works for the guy. 

“I have a first aid kit in my truck, wait here,” He orders, then walks off to the left. Jason turns his head to watch him. There is a small white truck parked to the side of a road that no cars are passing through. The guy opens the back door and digs around, then emerges with a white box. 

He kneels on the grass next to Jason and slowly reaches out to help him sit up, narrating as he does. “I’m gonna lean you against the tree so that I can get a better angle for your forehead.” He does that, and Jason realizes that yeah, his forehead is bleeding. Maybe he snagged it on a branch on the way down, or maybe it was debris. “I’m going to disinfect it, brace for the sting, I guess.” 

It does sting, but Jason doesn’t flinch away. It’s not the exhaustion from the back to back panic attacks that’s calming him. He knows what that exhaustion should feel like, this is not it. As the guy gently washes off the blood from Jason’s forehead with wipes and presses bandaids onto it, he feels like he’s being enveloped in a warm hug. 

“Why do I feel safe with you?” It stumbles out before he can stop it. The guy doesn’t stop inspecting Jason’s arms for cuts to answer. Only when he finds traces of burns to wrap against infection does he say anything. Jason’s too warm for a November night. 

“Well. There are two options. Either you’re concussed, or you’ve died before.” Jason takes in a sharp breath, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice. “Oh, three, I guess. Since it could be both.”

“I don’t feel concussed," Jason says. And he doesn’t. Maybe slightly dehydrated, but his head doesn’t hurt and he’s not nauseous at all. The slight slurring is just because he’s tired, probably. 

The guy hums, leaning back to check his handiwork. There’s bandaids on Jason’s forehead and bandages along his arms. He closes the first-aid kit with a snap and stands to his full height. His face is haloed by the full moon behind him. His eyes reflect in the light. “Guess it’s option two, then. I was leaning towards that, anyway. Once Deads tend to have that effect on me, and you do give off Realms Touched vibes.”

The guy offers a hand, and Jason stares at it for a moment before taking it. It’s like touching an ice cube. “I don’t know what that means.”

The guy pulls him up easily, despite being built like a broad-shouldered twig and at least five inches shorter than Jason. Probably a meta, then. Or maybe magic. The guy lets go of Jason’s hand to run a hand through his hair again. The motion brings attention to the layer of scar tissue around his left eye. Likely scarred over in the past month or so. 

“Yeah, my bad. Should’ve assumed. Um, short version: I have what amounts to a biological need to help peop-” He stops, purses his lips, then starts again. “To help the undead. And that stretches over to you, I guess.”

“And the Realms Touched thing?”

He shrugs, not looking at Jason’s eyes, but up at his hair. At the white streak sticking out against the black. “Let me guess, you had an encounter with some green not-quite-liquid stuff sometime after you died?” Jason nods once, slowly. “Yeah, that’d do it. The green stuff’s from the Infinite Realms, and doing stuff with it kinda marks you for people with an eye for it.”

“People like you?” Jason narrows his eyes, but it really does seem like this guy is telling the truth. That this is just some weird coincidence that the spooky guy (who cannot be local. Jason might have ditched the mask, vest, and gloves, but he still has his padded shirt with his symbol on it. No true Gothamite would dare to approach the Red Hood with medical supplies) just happened to stumble upon Jason. The complete blasé attitude he has toward the pits helps. A League devotee would be more reverent. 

The guy tilts his head to the side, his face scrunching. “Technically, yeah. I meant more, like, formal magic users. I’m… different?”

“What are you, then?” 

“It’s complicated?” As Jason’s unimpressed look, he tries again. “I’m, I’m kinda like a protector spirit and a psychopomp rolled into one? But, a psychopomp that’s not good at their job.”

Jason gets the feeling that that’s the best explanation he’s going to get out of this guy. He’s already shifting away, looking past the trees and at what’s probably Gotham proper.

“So I have a sense for dead things. ‘S actually why I ended up coming through here. Something that felt like a meal was coming here, but now it’s faded.” He points past Jason, and he follows his finger, moving to face the green smoke rising from the observatory, glowing in the night sky. “You know what happened?”

“Big fuckin’ meteor,” Jason mutters. The smoke is dispersing slowly but surely. A news helicopter is already buzzing around the observatory site. 

“Sure, why not?” The guy mutters back. His eyes flick to Jason before jutting a thumb backwards. “Welp, I’m gonna get back on the road. You need me to call someone for you or something?”

Jason thinks about it. He could call someone to pick him up, or check in with Rose. But. That would mean eventually going back into Gotham. Back into the fire. Back into a city that’s being overrun with thieves he had helped support. It’s not shame that stops him, but fear. 

Fear that if he goes back, it will just start the cycle again. That it’ll just take another form, but he’s just going to be stuck fighting. He’s always fighting, has always been fighting. If he goes back and he starts fighting again, it will never stop. Fear lodges into the back of his throat once again and Jason realizes that he might not be able to fight like that anymore. 

And standing outside of Gotham, seeing the smoke coming out of it color the same as the Pits that still haunt him, Jason thinks that maybe fear and fighting are all he has left. 

He wonders what would happen if he let himself lose those, too. 

“Actually, which way are you going?” Jason asks the guy, who squints at him.

“North.” 

“Sounds good.” Jason spins around and walks determinedly towards the guy’s truck. The guy stutters and hurries to catch up to him.

“Wait, what? You’re just gonna… come with me? Are you sure you’re not concussed?” He says, but stops at the driver’s side door and just watches as Jason slides into the passenger seat. 

Jason smiles at him, all teeth. “Come on, Charon. Aren’t psychopomps supposed to lead the dead to their next destination?”

The guy just looks at him for a moment, then opens the driver’s side and slides in. He glares at Jason, but it doesn’t feel like there’s any real dissatisfaction behind it. “You’re not dead now, and I told you I’m bad at my job.”

Jason shrugs and swings his feet onto the dashboard, ignoring the guy’s disgruntled and insulted look. “Then you’ll get some on the job training.”

“I’m on the run from the government. This isn’t going to be a fun adventure, dude.” 

That does make Jason pause. But he also knows the government. “What’d you do?”

He scoffs. “Exist. Fuckers think they’re entitled to my organs. For science, they said.”

A victim, it sounds like. Hell, maybe even a clone. Not likely to be a criminal. Jason shrugs and shimmies more into the seat, making a show of getting more comfortable. The guy frowns, then closes his door. 

“You know what? Fine, guess I’m doing this now. But we gotta set some ground rules for this roadtrip, okay?” He points at Jason with his left hand, leaning over a little in what could have been intimidating if he didn’t look dead on his feet. Jason recognised the faint lichtenberg scarring on his finger. Recently electrocuted, and badly. “First, get your dirty ass boots off of the dash.” Jason obliges. “Thank you. Second, seatbelts stay on. I know how I drive, and it is not good.”

He emphasizes his point by buckling himself in and glaring at Jason until he does the same. 

“Third, um, I don’t have a third one.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Oh, tell me a name I can call you. Yeah, that’s the third.”

“Jason. What’s yours?” He should have hesitated. All bat protocol for getting into unmasked situations with a stranger determines giving a fake name, and to not even think about anything close to real. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. This guy clearly doesn’t know who Red Hood is, if he doesn’t recognise the symbol, so Jason doubts he’d recognise the first name of Bruce Wayne’s dead son, and then connect the dots. 

“Danny.” Danny starts the truck and pulls back onto the empty road. It must be two or three in the morning at this point. Maybe later. “Hope you have an enhanced ID, ‘cause we’re going to Canada.”

Jason, in fact, does. Not one that has his name on it, and it’s for New York, but the picture looks similar enough.

~~

So the original idea for this was they head to a cabin aunt alicia has in canada, but I got like 2000 words into this then realized i didn't have the motivation to continue, plus i wasn't confident about the characterization (i'll admit i read the gotham war event in a vacuum) so i just scrapped it. But!! I figure i would post it here in case someone else wants to take the idea and run with it :P