#and she was sitting down only visible from the bust up

[snowsays]

i think it's really funny how they completely changed Van Pelt's style and sat her behind a desk 90% of the time during the first half of season 5 to hide the fact she was pregnant lmao

[moon-my-beloved]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

Introduction: the universe is never on your side.

wake up, go to work, eat, read, and go to sleep.

that had been your routine for the last couple months ever since you moved in to your new place. your new home.

it really didn’t bother you at all. the solitude, the quietness, the undeniable lack of socialization you had, it was okay with you even if might have looked like the most miserable life to others.

it was a great place to the say the least. your last resort to finally getting the fuck out of the apartment you had shared with your now ex-roommate. you couldn’t bare living there another day hearing her constant sexual acts with every guy she brought in like they were some kind of rabid animals. gross.

there was really no need to say goodbye either. jumping out of your bed in excitement when you got the message from the real estate agent that the place was ready for you to move in.

finally, finally after so many years of busting your ass and saving just enough, you had your own place. not hesitating to pack your things that same day and shove everything into your old but still functional car.

you were free.

the moving was tedious and exhausting, working your muscles out when your furniture finally arrived and giving an awkward smile to your next door neighbor which you later got to find out that her name was charlotte, but insisted on you calling her just auntie lottie. she was a nice old lady, mid 70s who frequently brought you some of her delicious homemade baking with every new recipe she came across. who were you to reject free food?

auntie lottie was probably the only person you had actually talk to ever since moving in, occasionally sitting on her porch just to chat or helping her out with her garden at times.

it was one friday afternoon where the weather was a bit too cold to sit outside and found yourself sitting on auntie lotties couch as she talked about her children, grandchildren, or just the latest gossip. you were more on the listening end of the spectrum, at times putting in your two cents when she asked of your families whereabouts and pointed out ‘how such a young lady shouldn’t be living by herself! you ought to have a husband by now.’

you knew she didn’t mean it with bad intentions but it made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment with the reminder that you were truly utterly unsuccessful when it came to relationships. sure, you had your fair share of partners and they never lasted longer than a few months before they were heading out the door when they realized your lack of intimacy.

it just never felt right and you really couldn’t blame them, despite it leaving an ache in your chest. you really don’t quite remember how the topic of conversation was brought up but she had mentioned that your other neighbors just across from you would be here soon.

“really? I thought no one lived there..” furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you brought the cup of tea up to your lips. it had been empty ever since you got here. no visible cars or sign of life making itself known for you to determine if someone actually lived there. you just figured it was empty.

“they’re an odd bunch but they’re sweet and handsome. most of the time they’re gone. no worries though, I’ll introduce you to them, dear.” you really weren’t fond of that idea and by the way her eyes wrinkled with that sly look she gave you, a worried chuckle made its way past your lips.

“sure, that would be nice.”

true to her word, they arrived the very next day.

the engine of a black SUV waking you up from your three-hour nap that had your joints popping back in place after stretching your limbs out of their locked positions with how long you had been lying down on the couch.

that wasn’t really what caught your attention though, fighting off the idea of just going back to sleep before your ears caught on the multitude of voices from outside. reluctantly, you get yourself out from the confines of your soft blanket and sit up on your knees to open one of the blinds with your fingers.

your eyes widened at the sight before you. four big men, all of them carrying a variety of duffle bags make their way out of the car. some of them stretching after what you presume a long drive.

you can’t quite get a good look at them but you could tell they were all pretty good-looking even from the distance. starting with the one who probably had better hair days with the way his mohawk was a total mess, leaning against the tallest man you have ever seen as he rubs the sleep off his eyes. skull mask doesn’t seem to be bothered by the shorter man’s tactics. an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling face first on the pavement as they make their way to the front door.

flicking your eyes towards the other side of the car, you zero in on probably the most gorgeous guy you have ever seen. he wears a cap, the UK flag displayed on it and you almost gasp when he turns just enough for you to see how smooth his skin looks. totally not jealous. the last of the group finally gets out from the drivers seat. he looks older than the other three but his stance screams authority and respect once he adjusts himself. these were the neighbors lottie was talking about?

but before you could ponder the fact that you were living across four big scary men, mutton chops turns around towards your direction and makes eye contact with you.

you flinch away from the window a little too hard, tumbling your way over the couch and down onto the floor.

“shit!” you quickly cover your mouth, lying on the ground in defeat and your pride more broken than it already is for at least a few minutes before you slowly get yourself up and warily open the blinds again only to find that they had already headed inside.

letting out a small sigh of relief, you sit down on the cold floor. tilting your head back to rest against the cushion of your couch as you beg to any god out there that they didn’t catch you basically eyeing them down.

auntie lottie will definitely hear about this on your next ‘girls night’.

a/n: this is me forgiving myself after not uploading something for 2-3 months.? I’m sorry ;-;

[moonstruckme]

hi gorgeous!!

could i request poly!marauders with a reader who has been avoiding them a bit? she’ll text and call them, but not see them in person? maybe she tells them she’s really busy and they finally get her to come over or maybe catch her somewhere out n about and find her with a ~mysterious~ black eye? she finally ends up telling them abt it and she’s so embarrassed by how she’s got it and didn’t want them to fret over her? they poke fun of her a little, but it ends with hugs or cuddles on the couch?

(this is so definitely not self indulgent!! i absolutely do NOT have a black eye currently because i was wearing fluffy socks and tripped over my own foot and went flying into a doorknob!!! pfffftt, what kind of idiot would you have to be to pull that off…)

Hope the black eye you don't have is healing well babe!

cw: injury/bruise

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 984 words

“She said she was too busy to even come over for breakfast this morning,” Remus frets. “I don’t know if we should be bothering her.” 

“She’s putting too much on herself,” James says certainly, can-do attitude in place and a bag of your favorite pastries in hand. “She won’t let herself relax, and it’s our job to help with that.” Remus only chews his lip, so he looks to Sirius for backup. “Right, Pads?” 

“Sure.” Sirius shrugs. “I don’t know, I still think she’s avoiding us. Any plan that gets us to see her sounds good to me.” 

“Well, don’t talk like we’re about to bust down her door,” Remus says, rolling his eyes as they come to a stop in front of your place.

“Course not.” Sirius grins, and slams his fist extra-loud against your door to make Remus squirm. James smothers a laugh when he hears a curse from inside, the sound of something falling to the floor, and then shuffling footsteps headed in their direction. 

“Hi.” You sound surprised, half of your face visible in the crack of the door. That’s…oddly shy, for you, and the first threads of concern begin to wind their way around James’ ribcage. Has he or one of the others done something to upset you? Maybe Sirius is right, and you have been avoiding them. “What’re you guys doing here?” 

“Hi, sweetheart.” James gives you his most guileless smile, holding up the bag of pastries. “You’ve been working so hard lately, we thought we’d bring you a treat.” 

You all but melt against the doorframe, the eyebrow James can see scrunching in a cute pout. “Aw, thank you.” 

“Can we come inside for a bit?” he asks, but Sirius is already pushing at the door, nudging you out of the way as he invites himself in. 

You flinch away from the door as Sirius says, “Christ, angel, we haven’t seen you in so long I’d begun to think you were…” he trails off, and Remus and James both hurry in behind him to see why. The half of your face that had been obscured a second ago by the doorframe (intentionally obscured, James realizes now) is marred by a dark, purple-and-yellow bruise. 

Remus inhales softly, all three of your boyfriends nearly frozen in place. 

Sirius has gone tense all over, but his voice is gentle. “How’d that happen, baby?”

It doesn’t help matters that you get so clearly anxious at the question. “I—um, okay.” You look at them abashedly, shoulders gravitating towards your ears. “It’s not as bad as it looks, but you can’t get mad.” 

Sirius sucks his teeth, eyes darkening. James knows his mind is running through all the various people you could be asking them to not get mad at for doing this to you; he’s thinking along similar lines. “Why would we be mad?” Sirius asks, noncommittal.

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, going to sit on the couch. “I, uh. I ran into the kitchen and hit myself on the cabinet door.” 

Remus hisses through his teeth. “Fuck, honey, the corner?” He sits down next to you, angling your face towards the light. “Is that where this little scrape is from?” His thumb brushes over the small cut with painful tenderness, and James watches with satisfaction as you go so soft you nearly forget to answer him. You give a nod, and Remus hums sympathetically. 

“Jesus, babe.” James leans closer to peer at it. “That’s gotta hurt.” 

Sirius pouts at you, sitting on the back of the couch. “Why would you think we’d be mad about that, darling?” 

The look you give Remus is guilty enough that he withdraws his hand, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“You know how you tell me not to run in my fuzzy socks?” you ask him. 

Remus’ lips twitch, but he narrows his eyes at you sternly. “I do.” 

You shrink away. “Well, I was sort of sliding around in those when it happened.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, but he lets his lips twist into a begrudging half-smile. “Christ. Learned your lesson now?” 

“Learned not to leave cabinet doors open when I do it,” you say, and James tugs you to his front protectively as Remus lets loose an appalled sound that’s somewhere between exhale and laugh. 

“Our poor sweetheart,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the unharmed skin beside your bruise. “I can’t believe you avoided us for days just because you didn’t want Remus to be upset with you. You’re rivaling Sirius for dramatics with that one, lovie.” 

“Oi.” Sirius jabs at your side meanly with his foot. “Don’t start taking my titles. There can only be one master of theatrics in this relationship.”

You draw your knees to your chest, entirely in James’ lap now, and he suspects you’re snuggling closer to him because you prefer his coddling to the other boys’ teasing. He’s more than happy to indulge you, brushing his lips ever so gently over the colorful skin by your eye and giving you a good squeeze with his arms around your middle. 

Sirius makes a soft pitying sound. “That really looks awful. Did you at least put ice on it?” 

You blink up at him, and James wants to chide you and smother you with love at the same time. Remus looks like he feels the same, the exasperation of his sigh diminished greatly by the fondness in his look as he gets up. “You’ve got a pack of peas in the freezer, don’t you, love?” 

You confirm, and Sirius takes Remus’ place on the couch, squinting his eyes at you playfully. “You’re not allowed to avoid us when you’ve hurt yourself ever again. Clearly, you can’t handle it on your own.” 

You seem like you could disagree, but James takes the opportunity to attack you with kisses again, and you don’t protest much after that.

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 15 - Lisa Manoban x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: Sorry but here it's late and I'm very tired, so probably this is poorly written and gonna feel more rushed than usual. I promise edite it when I have time.

Also. ISTG This was scheduled and it is pure coincidence that today was Lisa's turn.

In fact it was a pretty good club, the best and most expensive you ever had been. Although money isn't a problem to you, this place still feels kinda expensive for what you're used to spending on a regular night, but so far the money has been totally worth it. 

In front of you there is a small circular stage with a pole dance pole in the middle, and color lights pointing directly to the center. The rest of the not so small private room was in complete darkness. You were sitting on a really comfortable chair looking directly at the pole, so the bright light prevented you from seeing the hooded figure that entered the room till they were near the stage.

When the hooded person stepped on the stage you were able to see a black boot high heel boot that covered up to her mid-calf, coming out of the big coat that was hiding they identity. Soon their steep lead them tho be standing between the pole and you, even with the lights you weren’t able to see their face. 

Suddenly music start to play coming from an undetermined point, filling the room with a sweet melody. That was the signal to start the show, so the figure finally took off the hood revealing the facial features of a woman on her late twenties. She was by any standard beautiful, and the make up just enhanced her natural beauty. When she discarded the big coat that was covering the rest of her you saw that her body was beautiful too.

The outfit was simple but it totally served its purpose. It was a two-piece suit that simulated an office outfit. The sleeveless top clung to the woman's curves, hugging her completely, highlighting them and also highlighting her breasts. Pressing them together to create the effect that her bust was more prominent than it really was. The top also showed off her marked abdomen. The shorts on the other hand barely covered from the waist to the beginning of her thighs, and from the front it gave the impression that half of her ass was visible. Fishnet stockings and the aforementioned boots completed the outfit.

After a few seconds of looking directly at you, the woman turned her back, revealing that the shorts did indeed only cover half of her plump buttocks. Raising her arms, she grabbed the pole, and immediately began to spin on the stage until she jumped into the air, using the pole as a pivot point.

The dancer was good at what she did, even you who didn't know much about the subject could see that. She moved gracefully, twisting her muscles to the beat of the music, while she spun non-stop, holding on to the pole. Now the melody had changed to something sexier to accompany the moment.

Her movements were impeccable. Controlled and precise, showing that she was a true professional. But maybe being this good was the only way to work in a club as exclusive as this one. Only the best of the best for the best clients, that was clear. And if you needed any further confirmation, the dancer was currently spinning on the stage with her legs completely open, constantly changing the hand that supported her weight.

After a few minutes of hypnotic dancing, the music changed again and the dancer landed, spinning down from the stage. Only a few meters separated her from you now, and it took her a couple of steps to cover them and stand directly in front of you. Without saying a word, she put her hand on your shoulder and began to sway to the rhythm of the new music. Soon she began to spin around you, getting closer and closer to your body.

Now you could better appreciate her beauty, which was truly stunning, but you could also see from a closer distance how delicious her curves were. It was when she passed in front of you that you were able to see how the tiny shorts hugged the flesh of her buttocks, and how they bounced lustfully with each step. Each sound of heels touching the ground was accompanied by a tremor in her ass and thighs. That drove you crazy while her perfume intoxicated your senses.

Taking you by surprise, the dancer took a few steps away from you and began to unbutton her top, which was soon discarded revealing her perky tits. Her breasts, now free from the embrace of the garment, bounced once before remaining firmly still, only rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing. Two pasties covered her nipples, preventing you from seeing her tits in all their glory.

Then the dance began again. Now she touched her body as she danced in front of you, immersed in the light of the spotlights that had moved to accompany her. She turned and bent down, stretching her ass back, making her buttocks stick out more from her shorts. You wanted to reach out and touch the most perfect ass you had ever seen in your entire life, but you knew that was off limits. It had been made clear to you that you could only watch, the right to touch was above the amount that even someone like you could pay. Still the dancer could put her hands on you if she wanted to.

As if she was reading your thoughts, the girl spread her legs and leaned in ninety degrees, putting her ass as close to you as it had been all night. Grabbing the shorts by the waist she pulled them off in one swift movement, removing them in one go and ripping them in the process. The image that was revealed in front of you made your cock throb, protesting inside your pants for being touched.

A few inches from your face was her round, plump ass, covered only by stockings and a tiny thong that was lost between her buttocks. The garment was large enough to barely cover her anus and vagina from your view, but even so you were able to see the outer edge of her rear entrance. In front of you was a whole meal served and you were not allowed to take a bite.

But the torture didn't end there as now the girl sat on your lap, placing her ass crack directly on your clothed penis. It was obvious that she could feel your tip digging into her flesh despite the clothes, but like a true professional she didn't protest. Instead she began to move her ass rubbing against you, while grabbing her hair and lifting it up revealing her delicate neck to you.

Of course you wanted to kiss her neck, her shoulders, and the delicate but toned muscles of her back. Everything about this woman was perfectly delicious and drove you crazy, even how her tanned skin seemed to shine with pearls under the light of the colored spotlights.

You needed more from her but all you could get was the action of her ass on your crotch. Your cock protested and you struggled not to make any noise even though your state of arousal was evident. You could practically feel your tip pressing against her barely covered anus. Your balls ached and all you could think about was the woman you had dancing on your lap.

The controlled movements of her ass, the way her back pressed against your chest letting you see her tits firmly bounce, her perfume, the little kisses she gave you on the cheek. It all drove you crazy and quickly took its toll on you. Unable to hold back any longer you came in your boxers, staining them with your hot cum as you moaned and panted.

The dancer continued to move her ass in a circular motion over you, until she felt the wetness of your semen against her skin. You had come so much that even your pants were stained. She then stood up and gave herself a hard spanking so that you could see her ass shake for the last time. She then turned around and made the gesture of kissing her fingers, which she then delicately placed on your lips as if she were sharing a kiss with you.

With that, and having fulfilled her task, she simply took her coat and left, leaving you alone in the now dark room. With your pants stained by your own semen, panting without having been touched,  and thinking about how much money would be a reasonable sum to leave her as a tip.

[adventuringblind]

Medication Mishaps

Landoscar x Reader

Genre: Fluff and Crack

Summary: When a mix-up in meds leaves her without any, Lando and Oscar are there to her navigate without them.

Warnings:

Notes: for @norizznorris. Sorry I don't do male readers! Regardless, I hope this is what you wanted! :)

Side Note: This one made me laugh the entire time while writing it. My fiancé is unmedicated and very high on the ADHD spectrum. Every day is an adventure!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Ah, the joys of being neurodivergent. When somehow the world is to much and simultaneously to little. When the nagging impulsive thoughts and continues need for caffeine aren't enough, then the interests that lay dormant for years come back swinging; upset they've been neglected for so long.

Medication helps. Which - of course it does - it's engineered brain chemicals in the form of a chalky pill designed to help someone function in a world where only one kind of brain is excepted. It's better than it was, the world has come further in recent years.

yet here she is, taking her last pill from the bottle. A little piece in her cries knowing she'll have to go pick up her new meds today. The pharmacy feels like to much and she'd rather lay in bed and give into the executive dysfunction. Then she remembers she's flying with Lando and Oscar to their race tomorrow.

With that thought in mind, she groans and hauls herself out of bed. The boys are doing factory work today and won't be back until later. Plenty of time to come home and waste away the hours in bed and pray her energy comes back.

~~~~~

She lied to herself earlier. Any optimism for the day has just disappeared.

"What do you mean you don't have my meds?"

"There was a mix-up with the orders, but we'll have them in a few days." The pharmacist gives her a sheepish smile.

She just sighs and turns on the balls of her feet. How she's going to tell her boys, she has no idea yet. The insecurity of them not wanting her around the paddock because of in burns in the back of her mind.

She still has today at least. Maybe she'll just ride it out and not tell them.

That plan fails miserably the second they walk into the flat. The sight of her visibly distressed on the couch alerts them that something is wrong.

The sit down on either side of her. The question trying to escape their mouths. She beats them to it. "There was a mix-up with my meds. I won't have them until after we get back."

"And we'll help you manage, yeah? You'd do the same for us."

"Lan... she has done the same for you, like, daily."

"Rude!"

~~~~~

Sometimes, she's convinced she lives on a different planet entirely. Like the brain and body she has are simply not meant to be here and there must have been a mistake with the storks.

Lando hands her a Redbull, courtesy of Max since he has to many. "I figured this might help?" Seeing as she nearly just threw hands with whoever was chewing unnecessarily loudly, caffeine might help.

She looks at Lando and Oscar, between the three of them, there are seven drinks. Only one of which is the Aussie's. "Oscar is being boring again."

the man in question huffs. "Water is good for you."

"But it's wretched to taste sometimes."

Lando nods at her in agreement. "See Oscar, boring."

"Nothing is ever boring with you two."

~~~~~

The beginning wasn't bad. Not like it is right now with her brain only wanting to do one specific things, she hasn't remember to eat since early this morning, and the tag on her shirt makes her want to pull her skin off.

Oscar looks at her curled up in his drivers room with a horrendous amount of care and sympathy. He slots in next to her and leans his head against the wall. "Hard day?"

"I need like - five pounds of dino nuggies and a nap."

"Anything I can do to help right now? We'll work on food when Lando is done."

She curls up in Oscar's lap like a cat. The lack of regulated sleep finally catching up to her. She's on the verge of sleep when Lando busts through the door yelling about something.

She throws a pillow at him in annoyance. "You owe me food."

Lando pauses. "That sounds brilliant."

Oscar shakes his head in defeat later that night as Lando gradually sneaks food off her plate and pretends they can't see him. If he's not caught then it didn't happen and Jon can't get mad at him.

~~~~~

She hasn't stopped talking with Lando for the last two hours. What exactly they've been going on about, she has no idea at this point. Their original conversation led to rabbit trails and other distractions that got in the way. The original story now long forgotten as they discuss the possibilities for new shoes.

Her phone dings, an automated message alerting her to her refilled meds. She shows Lando in excitement. The joys of functioning like a human again are nearly in her grasp.

Lando and Oscar both look at her in amusement. The latter has been using their conversation as an excuse to read. He sets his book down, a look she hasn't seen before crossing his features.

"Have you ever thought what it would be like if you didn't have to take meds?"

Lando shoots him a nasty glare. "Oi, she can't help-"

"Not what I meant." The Aussie crashes onto the bed with them, book now tucked away. "I just mean that having a different kind of brain shouldn't be such a difficult thing for the world to cope with. But the second someone is different-" He looks at Lando. "-Like they struggle with reading or processing information." Then he turns to her. "Or they struggle to with focusing and sensory things. They are ready to create some kind of fix to make those brains work like theirs." The genuine concern and sadness from him is almost heartbreaking.

"In a perfect world, yes. For now though, I think me and Lando can both settle for having someone who cares as much as you do."

"Just wish I could do more."

Lando hums and, quite literally, rolls over onto Oscar. "Just like our best is enough, so is yours."

"However, if the world could provide me with free drinks, I wouldn't be complaining."

Oscar chuckles and drags her closer despite Lando's weight on him. "I'll make a note of it for when I become ruler of the world."

"You never said you were planning that!"

"It's been my secret plan this whole time."

"... It's always the quiet ones."

[trippinsorrows]

ltye + 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 oneshot

authors note: the wonderful @callmekayd asked about roman's conversation with fetu where he called solana his light, so i figured, why not write it?

only gonna tag a couple of people, cause i'll link this with the next update.

gif belongs to @romanreigns

words: 2.3k

warnings: some angst, discussion of solana's trauma

“You’re quiet, tonight.”

Roman looks over from the bottle of corona he was spinning in a circle on the wooden dining room table. “Am I?”

Fetu chuckles, snatching the bottle from him. “Smartass.” She pops off the cap and takes a swig, Roman sitting up in the chair.

“Should you be drinking that with your medications?”

“Probably not.” She answers so casually, so nonchalantly. It makes him sigh. This is what Ava was talking about. “But, I’m old, so I do what I want. Now stop trying to change the subject.” Placing the cap back on the drink she’s now commandeered as her own, she asks again in a more serious tone. “What’s going on, atalii o le uso?”

That’s such a loaded question, so much so that he’s not sure where to start. “Solana….”

“Your wife, right?” He nods, eyes glancing to the phone that’s screen up on the table. She hasn’t text him in a couple hours, which could either be a good or bad thing. He’s not sure. “How is that going? I know you weren’t very happy about it the last time I saw you.”

Roman is the one to chuckle. It’s almost unreal how much his tune has changed since his last visit with his aunt where he essentially expressed both disinterest and acceptance with the arrangement. 

“Yes, it’s about her, but….not in the way you think.”

When he doesn’t say anything, Fetu impatiently implores, “well, would you hurry up, boy? I may be old, but I still need my beauty sleep.”

Rolling his eyes, Roman shakes his head, growing quiet, muddled thoughts floating into something less disorganized and more cohesive. “She’’s—she’s not what I thought she would be.” 

At that, Fetu asks, “Oh?” She offers a warm smile. “Tell me.” 

Another loaded request he’s not sure how to handle. Roman swallows. “She’s…..kind.”

Fetu snorts, again grabbing the beer he really should try to take from her and would if not for the fact she’d probably bust it over his head in the process. “Well, they say opposites attract.” Roman rolls his eyes. Granted, she’s not entirely wrong, hence why he offers no disagreement. “What else?”

Leaning back in the chair, Roman tries to think of the best way to describe her. To describe the last person on earth he ever expected to care about but has done just that. “I’ve…..I’ve never met anyone like her. She has a big heart, and she’s so innocent. Despite being raised in this life, surviving hell, she still….she still has this softness about her.”

Fetu hums, reminding him, “not everyone in this world is cruel and unkind, Roman. There are very much good people, and it sounds like you’ve maybe been lucky enough to land one of them as a partner.”

He nods, quietly admitting. “I have.”  Roman traces his finger over the imperfections of the wooden table. “But, she’s had a lot of trauma. It’s been….not the easiest to get to where we are.” He takes a deep breath, disclosing, “we haven’t even consummated the marriage yet.”

Fetu’s eyes widen a bit as she asks, truly out of genuine curiosity, “wasn’t that the point of the marriage? To create an heir?”

“She was gang raped as a child,” Roman informs in a low voice, only feeling comfortable sharing such sensitive information because he knows it will never leave this room. “So touch is….it’s hard for her. She asked to work up to intimacy, so we’re trying that.”

“Oh, that poor child.” Fetu’s expression is visibly disturbed and saddened. “Sick fucks.” Roman doesn’t say anything, but the murderous urges boiling underneath are something he has to push back down. In due time. “Wait. Don’t take this as me agreeing with that bullshit requirement, but if she wasn’t a virgin, how did the Elders approve of the marriage? It obviously wasn’t her fault, but we both know how they are. Traditionalist pricks.”

If not for the nature of the conversation, Roman would laugh. “Her father had the doctor lie on her medical report. It stated she was still a virgin.” Roman feels the need almost to defend, “wouldn’t have made a difference to me either way. You know this.”

“It better not. I didn’t raise you to be a hypocrite.” Fair. “Wait, her father did that?”

That actually makes Roman chuckle, but there’s no humor whatsoever. “That’s why I’m here.” Hand naturally forming into a fist, he continues to share information he would never share with anyone else. “Her mother was stabbed to death when she was ten. Solana was there and stabbed too, but she survived.” His jaw clenches. “Her father and brother are both pieces of shit who used to abuse and torture her.”

Fetu is visibly perturbed by the heavy details. “My God, that girl has been through hell.”

“I know.” It doesn’t make sense to Roman how with everything she’s experienced, she still stands, still keeps going, keeps fighting. “But, she’s made tremendous progress since leaving her family. I made her start training, and I think it’s helped a lot. She’s made good friends with Naomi and her friend Bayley. Solana is half Mexican, and Bayley is Mexican, so they seem to bond a lot over that.” And he's happy she has that. Glad she has people she can talk to and connect with. “She’s……happy now.”

Better.

Much better.

Fetu tilts her head to the side. “Something tells me there’s a but.”

There is. A major one. Roman releasing a heavy sigh and running his hand over his face. “I found out her father was behind the hit that killed her mother and was intended to kill Solana too, but she survived. And when he couldn’t afford to pay off the balance, he sold Solana’s virginity and had it set up like a home invasion.”

Fetu says something in Samoan, her own expression slipping into something angry. “What a fucking piece of shit. His own wife? His child?” She asks, an almost demanding element to her question. “You’re going to kill him, right?” Like it’s less of a request and more of an order.

“Of course.” That’s a no brainer. Roman’s new number one mission in this life is to see Xavier, his bitch ass son, and Solana’s rapists meet gruesome, painful deaths. And he’ll be sure to see it through. “But, I don’t—I don’t know if I should tell her. “ He quickly adds, “but, I don’t want to lie to her either. I promised her I’d never do that.”

Fetu nods, her lips pressed together in a sort of frown. “I see…..”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he admits in a low voice. “I don’t—I can’t see her hurt.”

“Roman….” Fetu’s voice takes on that gentle tone that’s always been comforting to Roman. That, for a long time, before Solana, was the only source of comfort he truly could find in this life. “It’s obvious you lo—care for this girl.” She catches herself. In his own timing. “But, the truth is, there is no way around her being hurt by this.” Roman looks away, jaw clenched, clearly not wanting or liking what he’s hearing. As expected. “She’s going to be devastated. As would anyone to find out their own flesh and blood, let alone a parent, could be so evil.”

“She’s tried to kill herself when she was younger.” Recalling this specific piece is by far the hardest part. Just thinking about the medical report he read detailing the emotional aftermath Solana’s attempt. How distraught she was. “I just—I just don’t want to be the cause that pushes her over the edge.”

Fetu reaches over the table, placing her hand on top of his. “It wouldn’t be because of you.”

He shakes his head. “Yes, it would. Either because of what I tell her or I don’t tell her, and she finds out some other sort of way.”

“Is there a way she could find out?”

Roman has to think about it. One of the first things he did was cut off contact between Solana and her family. For the mere fact he knows Xavier is up to something, wants something out of Roman’s marriage to Solana. Roman knew that he would try to use her, and just from what he saw at the outset of this whole thing, he knew the last thing she needed was to be dragged into some type of wicked plan.

Xavier has no way to contact her, and he’s not stupid enough to show up or send his dumbass son to her job. 

He knows it’d be walking into a deathtrap. So, no, it seems like there’s no chance for this information to ever get out and arrive at Solana’s doorstep. 

But……there’s still a chance.

“I don’t know,” is the answer Roman settles on. ‘But, I can’t—I won’t do anything I think could hurt her, and this…..this will do more than hurt her.”

It could destroy her. Destroy all the progress she’s made. Regress her so far back that he’s not sure she’d be able to recover. 

And he can’t have that. 

“I think she deserves to know the truth. It was her mother. Her assault. She has a right to know.” Roman doesn’t disagree with that. “But, I’m also thinking about everything you’ve told me regarding her mental health, and I guess my concern is what that truth could do to her. If she could handle it.”

And that’s exactly what his fear is.

Roman’s voice is full of vulnerability that he could never show outside of this safe space. “I don’t think I could handle seeing her the way she used to be. I—I care about her too much to do that to her.”

“I understand.” Because she does. Oh, she does. And if not for the heavy nature of this conversation, she’d be more expressive at the joy bubbling beneath the surface. Her elation at finally having years worth of prayers answered. At having comfort in knowing her sweet boy has finally found his person. His soulmate. “Your intentions are good, Roman, and I can’t tell you what to do, though something tells me that’s what you’d prefer.”

He scoffs, shaking his head and admitting, “I just needed to talk to someone.”

That much was obvious. She continues, advising, “what I can tell you is to just continue to support and be there for her, because when she does find out, whether from you or some other means, she’s going to need you, son.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, sitting on his aunt’s wisdom. She’s right. This truly is the depiction of being stuck between a rock and a hard place, but for the sake of Solana’s mental health, it’s not in her best interest to know the truth.

He’ll tell her.

But only when the time is right. 

Fetu, however, has a question of her own. “I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Roman sits up and sighs, “I’m always honest with you, uso o le tinā.”

“Because you know, even with how big and strong you’ve gotten, I’ll still whoop your ass, little boy.” She’s pleased to see the small smile that accompanies his eye roll, a brief glimpse of that young child she once knew so long ago appearing for the first time in a long time. And she’s pretty sure she can bet just what’s brought that dormant side out of him.

Or who.

Her voice is gentle. “If you knew then what you know now about Solana, would you have still agreed to marry her?”

It’s a valid question. 

It’s also something he doesn’t have to think about. 

“Yes.” Fetu smiles. Knowing. Confirmation. “I wouldn’t change anything.” It’s the easiest thing his aunt could ever ask him. It requires no thought. No contemplation. Just an automatic response. “Solana is…..she’s my light.”

Her heart swells, and she finds herself with unshed tears. There’s this invisible weight that’s suddenly lifted off her soul. A worry that’s been destroyed by one woman. One strong woman who’s managed to capture the heart of her sweet boy.

Even if he hasn’t realized it just yet.

“Well, she’s obviously a strong woman to survive all she has, and she must be to deal with you.” She flicks his hand, pulling back and asking, “let me see a picture of her.”

Roman grabs his phone, unlocking it and opening his photos album. Hitting the favorites folder, he selects one of the photos taken of Solana the night she went out with Bayley and Naomi for Cinco de Mayo.

Reaching the phone to his aunt, he watches her slide her glasses over her eyes, mouth ajar just a bit. “Oh my goodness, she’s beautiful! Too pretty for you.” Roman smiles. “You know if my tits still sat nice like that, I’d wear stuff like that too.”

And just like that, a scowl is on Roman’s face. That was the last visual he needed. Ever. 

Taking his phone, Fetu implores, “I want to meet her, Roman.” He stills, hitting the lock button after checking for any texts from Solana. “It’s bad enough I can’t have gentleman callers or anyone else come see me. The least I can do is meet your wife.” It’s a fair request, though something he’s unsure about. “I’m tired of seeing your big ears and Ava’s massive forehead all the time. Bring Solana here.”

This request, however, is not the easiest thing. He doesn’t have an answer for her right now. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” she warns. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Roman tenses at that. He hates when she jokes like that. 

He stands up, walking over and kneeling in front of her. “Thank you.”

Fetu smiles warmly, reaching over to kiss his forehead. “Ou te alofa ia te oe”.

He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate. “Oute alofa fo'i ia oe” 

-------

Translations: 

"atalii o le uso" = nephew

"uso o le tinā" = aunt

“Ou te alofa ia te oe”. = I love you.

“Oute alofa fo'i ia oe” = I love you too.

[tookhimtomypenthouse]

Hate Yourself - Chapter Two

series warnings: female!reader x oliver quick, past/implied felix x oliver, dub-con, stalker behavior, voyeurism, degradation, dacryphilia, bloodplay, gaslighting, manipulation, untagged story elements (the warnings aren't exhaustive!), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT bbgirl

summary: you’re hired as a maid after Oliver comes to own Saltburn, and find your employer to be very invested in your work

minors dni!

Lyuba had left this morning. She hugged you tightly before stepping into her cab, much to your surprise. The normally stern woman was unexpectedly tender with you that morning.

“Take care, zayka,” she whispered as she held you. “Don’t let this house devour you,” she added before pulling away and walking to her cab. 

You shiver at the thought, her words chilling. You try to ignore the eeriness of her warning as you dust the study. Dusting was gentle work and a welcome reprieve from scrubbing and scouring the other rooms. Plumes of dust kicked up by your duster shimmer in the late afternoon sunbeams, and you catch yourself watching them float around. The study is full of dusty spots – tall bookshelves, busts of important men, and an overstuffed upholstered chair. Your focus is on the chair when you look up to see one of the many hanging frames of art. 

Unlike most art decorating Saltburn, the frame doesn’t hold a stuffy oil painting of a king or lord. Instead, a sketch of a handsome young man looks back. His soft eyes and nonchalant pose invite you in. His clothes seem modern, his messy hair unfussy and tousled. The strokes of charcoal are loose and messy, giving the impression the subject wasn’t as buttoned-up as the rest. Who might he be? In the corner was the artist’s signature, a delicate cursive EC. You search around the perimeter of the sketch for a name, but there’s nothing else. Only the kind, mysterious face.

“Keep your secret, then,” you fake pout to the sketch. You’re pulled out of your examination by clicking footsteps from the hallway. You keep at your dusting, but you hear someone come into the study and rifle through the stack of papers on the desk. Turning your head, you see Oliver sit down and shuffle through a few documents, concentrating deeply on his task. Plucking up some unknown courage, you decided to soothe your burning curiosity.

“Pardon me, sir,” you start, faltering a bit as his eyes connect with yours, “but do you know who this is?”

Oliver pauses as his attention moves to the frame. A sad smile ghosts over his mouth. “Ah,” he says gently. “That would be Felix Catton.” He returns to his task at the desk, but he seems distracted.

“D-do you know him?” You ask, curiosity piquing at his visible reaction.

“I did,” he starts, stepping back from the desk and approaching the picture. “We were…mates.” He’s close now, close enough that your shoulders touch. “Met at Oxford.”

You feel your brows furrow. He’s not giving enough detail for your tastes. “How did he get a picture on the wall if he’s just a mate? There must be more to it than that.” You try and meet his eye, but he is fixated on the image. 

“His family owned this place. He invited me to stay for a summer back when we were in university and died at the birthday party they threw for me here. In the maze.” He angles his head back to you, an unreadable expression on his features. 

“Oh,” you mumble, “I’m so sorry.” An uncomfortable silence envelops you for a moment. You remember Lyuba’s clipped warning in the bathroom, and you aren’t sure how to react.

“The rest of his family followed,” he finally offers, “so his mother left me Saltburn when she passed.” The revelation surprises you, but it makes sense. You had never seen his surname in the numerous journals, paintings, or statues that graced the halls. It seems odd that an Oxford pal came to own this massive estate. Then again, you’re just a maid. Rich people do crazy things like give away houses to friends, right? Maybe people like Lyuba and you could never understand. The few precious things you own you guard fiercely, but finery probably doesn’t seem as precious when you’re constantly surrounded by it. You can understand the grief on his face, though. His prolonged, desperate look at the drawing makes your chest twinge with sadness. 

“Wow,” you whisper. “You must miss him terribly.” The weight of his gaze rests squarely on you. His presence feels suffocatingly close, especially because everyone else has so far made themselves scarce. You haven’t had someone so near to you since Lyuba left. You fight the urge to lean in even closer. 

“Sometimes,” he admits. He lingers next to you for a moment longer before stepping back to the desk and grabbing a sheet of paper. You shake your head quickly and return to dusting, hearing his footsteps move out the door and down the hallway. You give the picture of Felix one last glance before busying yourself with the rest of the room.

~

Hands on your hips, you survey the pristine room. You feel a sense of satisfaction, having made it through your to-do list earlier than anticipated. Making your way back to your room, you decide to reward yourself with a soak in the bathtub. A hot bath. The thought alone is enough to bring a dreamy smile to your lips. The days of work haven’t been too exhausting, but your muscles are sore from adjusting to the workload.

Reaching your room, you rifle through your drawers. Grabbing out your pajamas and socks, you move on to the underwear drawer.

That’s…strange.

You rifle through the contents frantically. Where did they all go? You know you brought more than this. Only a few pairs are left. You shake your head, trying to be rational. They’re just in another drawer, you tell yourself. Hands shaking slightly, you paw through all the drawers in your dresser. By the final one, your breathing comes in raggedly, and your vision blurs with tears.

“What the fuck?” You feel sick to your stomach. Who had been in your room? Suddenly, you feel very vulnerable, too exposed. You rush to the door and try to lock it. The handle jiggles uselessly. A sob breaks from your throat as you sink to the ground. Everything feels like too much.

You miss home, your shoebox room with the ugly brown shag carpet and the tiny window to nowhere. You miss your mother, the twins, your friends. It’s so lonely here. Everyone keeps their distance, and now the one sanctuary you have to yourself feels tainted. Unsafe. If you could go back home, you would.

But you couldn’t. Well, wouldn’t. The private school the twins attend has steep fees, and Mum’s cashier job isn’t cutting it. You think she has enough to worry about as tears flow down your face freely. 

“Pull it together,” you choke out to yourself. It was probably a cruel prank, hazing the new girl. You won’t let them send you back home with your tail between your legs. You’d give your siblings a shot at a life beyond the dreary little town you grew up in. They wouldn’t have to clean other people’s houses if you had any say. Peeling yourself off the ground, you resolved to take your bath. Fuck it, you weren’t going to give up so easily. You could take the silent treatment and other nonsense if it meant a future for them.

Clutching your things, you walk to the bathtub and run the water. You can’t help but feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but ignore the feeling. I’m just overthinking, it’s fine. You slip out of your work dress and slide into the steamy bath. You bring your head underneath the water, heat soothing your puffy and tearstained face. You weren’t going to let this place break you.

It’s too bad the person peering through the bathroom keyhole would disagree.

~

You sleep terribly. 

The broken lock and missing panties have rattled you despite your best efforts. You spend your nights watching the door, muscles twitching in anticipation of a confrontation that never comes. Each morning, an increasingly wan face stares back at you in the mirror. 

You decide to do something about it. Your distant coworkers have offered you nothing but wary glances and clipped responses the whole time you’ve been here, so you feel certain it had to be one of them. A good boss would want his employees to feel comfortable here, so you make it your mission to bring it up with Oliver once you finish your tasks for the day.

You wander the house looking for him, nervously popping your head into every room. You don’t think he has business outside the house today, so you get increasingly worked up with each empty room. When you end up back in the foyer with no sign of him, you stomp out into the garden. It’s dark and chilly out, but you can’t even care. You just want somewhere private to scream. The maze beckons you. You’ve never had a chance to go inside, so you trudge right inside it.

The twists and turns are dark and disorienting. You feel your anger ebb away into fear as you make your way deeper. The cold nips at you, but you press on. How much time has even passed here? You’re tempted to turn around and try and find the exit when you see a clearing. You press onward, unsure of what lies ahead. You notice a huge statue, its form monstrous but somewhat amorphous to you in the darkness of the night. It looms menacingly over the space, filling you with dread. 

You hear rustling and nearly jump out of your skin when you realize you aren’t alone.

“W-who is it?” You call out, voice trembling. You cast your eyes around and see a man’s form in the corner.

“It’s just me,” comes the response, and you almost sigh with relief at the sound of Oliver’s voice. You sheepishly walk to him, relaxing at the edge of the clearing. “Are you alright, love?” He peers up at you with concern. 

You try to clear your throat and give a nonchalant response, but your voice comes out brittle and pinched. “Of course,” you rasp out, faltering. You don’t even realize the tears are coming out until Oliver hops to his feet and gently swipes his thumb over your cheek. The unexpectedly tender gesture has all of your exhaustion and worries pouring out.

“Hey,” he breathes, gently cupping your face.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, crying into his hands. “I haven’t been well. Someone broke my lock, a-and stole my clothes, and-“

“Woah, woah, woah, it’s okay,” he soothes, stepping in close and wiping your face. “Someone stole from you?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply.

“I’ll get the door fixed, yeah? And replace what got taken.”

“Really?” you ask, a spark of hope returning to you.

“Of course, I hate to see such a pretty girl upset,” he answers, stroking your hair. He gives you a gentle smile, and you can’t help but give him a teary smile in response. “Now, run along inside. It’s cold out here.”

“Okay,” you mumble, sniffing and drying off the last of your tears. You turn back to the entrance and walk slowly, mulling over his words. Maybe somebody does care about you here.

“Get some rest, please,” he calls after you. “I can’t have my best girl so sad.”

You stifle a giggle as you trace your way back out of the maze, slightly delirious from the attention and unexpected tears. Maybe you really will get some sleep tonight.

~

[skyward-floored]

Peggy. PEGGY. does Warriors have to go after his own family???? does he bust down their door?????? WE NEED ANSWERS 😭 (Downfall IAU)

- hero-of-the-wolf

(@hero-of-the-wolf)

...

Warriors walked down the decorated hallway, forcing himself not to drag his feet despite how badly he wanted to. The last thing he wanted to do right now (or ever) was go down this hallway, but he knew it would be even worse if he was late.

So despite the dread crawling up his throat, he kept walking, until he reached the innocent-looking door in front of him.

His fingers trembled as he knocked, but he clenched them back into a fist, crossing his hands behind him and settling into parade rest as a sweet voice called for him to come in.

Cryonis braced himself, and opened the door.

A pale-haired women sat at the desk inside the spacious office, moonlight shining bright through the windows. Purple eyes landed on him as he approached, the dim lamp on Cia’s desk lighting up the smile curling at her lips.

Warriors hated that smile with every fiber of his being.

“Cryonis, it's about time,” she said, fingers lightly tapping at her desk. The polish on them looked like blood in the moonlight. "Sit."

He sat.

Cia stared at him for several moments without saying anything, raking her eyes over him as she usually did. That same smile played at her lips, but Warriors stayed steady and still, refusing to flinch. Reacting only ever made it worse.

He hated these meetings where she got him alone. Normally it would only be a matter of time before she tried something— his brief comfort today was that this meeting was time-sensitive, and would therefore only last so long.

He hoped, anyway.

"I've got an assignment for you, Cryonis," she finally began, leaning back in her seat. "I suppose you've heard about the missing healer?"

He gave her a nod, and she raised an eyebrow, staring at him intensely.

Warriors held back a sigh. "Yes I have. I read the reports." I was required to, actually. You know that.

He briefly thought back to what they’d detailed, and felt a flash of envy for the boy who’d miraculously escaped.

I hope that kid got far, far away from here.

Cia smiled. "Good. That means you have all the details. I suppose you’re wondering how this relates to your assignment though— we've finally tracked down who helped him escape. It was the same group who assisted a known-criminal in escaping justice. It’ll be your job to handle them.”

Dread swamped over Warriors, and he swallowed. These assignments were the worst possible ones to get; arresting good people who were only trying to help, dragging supers who’d managed to get free back into this awful world they’d built. He hated it with every fiber of his being.

His thoughts flitted briefly towards who it could be he was going after, but when they veered in a rather dangerous direction, he quickly silenced them, as if even thinking of it would make it true.

Cia's smile grew like she knew what he was thinking, and she slid a paper over to him. Warriors took it and silently read what was printed there. He skimmed past the legal jargon across most of it, scanning until he reached the bottom where three names and the address of the base was.

And felt his world freeze.

No.

Please no. She can't.

I've done everything I can to hide them, I swore I'd keep them safe—

Somehow Warriors managed to keep a straight face. “Forester residence?”

Cia nodded, a barely-hidden expression of glee on her face. “Yes. They’ve been on our watch list for a while, but we now have reports of them sheltering both wanted criminals and unregistered supers. We have reason to believe they were who helped the healer escape as well." Warriors felt his heart pound faster with every word, and he wondered for a moment if he would be sick. "All of which is illegal, of course... Is there a problem with that, Cryonis?”

Despite the way he wanted to scream, Warriors still didn’t visibly react. “No.”

“Good. Take a squad and move out as soon as possible then. I’ll be expecting a full report from you when you return,” she said with a hint of a purr, still smirking at him.

Warriors swallowed back the horror and dread at the task he'd been given, the promise he’d made to himself warring with the truth that his family had finally been exposed, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He wordlessly took the file, and moved to leave Cia’s office.

“One more thing, Cryonis.”

Warriors stopped, and stayed frozen in place as he heard Cia get up, and walk towards him.

Her hand landed on his shoulder, and despite every muscle of his begging for him to run away, he stayed still when her breath brushed his ear.

“I trust there won’t be any conflict of interest here, Link,” she whispered, her fingers digging into his shoulder. “I know you won’t try anything, loyal hero that you are. Right?”

He managed a nod, and she grabbed his jaw and turned his head to face hers.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” she said in a low voice, and Warriors barely held back a shudder as she stroked a finger along his chin. She leaned in even closer, until their lips were almost touching, and Warriors bit back a plea for her to stop touching him.

She’d only do it more if he said anything.

“Do what you’re told. It won’t be you who suffers if you don’t,” she finished softly, then finally leaned back, Warriors almost crying in relief. “Is that clear?”

"Yes Ma'am," he whispered, and her fingers tapped his chin once before she finally released him.

“Dismissed.”

Warriors forced himself not to run out of her office, his mind whirling with information, skin crawling from her touch. He could feel her gaze on his back up until he closed the door behind him with a hand he firmly told himself wasn’t shaking, and then stumbled against the opposite wall, breath hitching.

Something wet slipped down his cheek, and Warriors quickly wiped it away, too many emotions for him to even sort through roaring through his head.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t.

But if he didn’t, they’d only send someone else, and Cia had made it clear that if he didn’t do his job, his family would be the ones to suffer for it.

Warriors shut his eyes, then dragged in a breath, forcing himself to still his shaking. He quickly composed himself, tucking away every emotion back where he could deal with it later, then stood straight and tall, no sign of his inner turmoil visible on his face.

Time I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Then he left to go arrest his family.

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

This Time

Everyone assumes Dick ignores his injuries on purpose. And he supposes that’s fair, because it happens a lot. But it still makes him angry, because damn it, he really didn’t mean to this time.

---

This isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s dark, his head throbs with every beat of his heart, and something warm and wet trickles up his face. (Up his face?) But Dick has certainly seen worse. He’s been through much worse.

He’s just having trouble thinking of an example with all the pressure in his head.

“-wing, do you read?”

Dick winces, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. The comm in his ear crackles like a bowl of rice krispies.

“Nightwing,” Dick responds, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again. His vision doesn’t change. If anything, it gets darker when he opens his eyes, if that’s even possible.

“Thank god,” the comm sighs. It’s Barbara, almost certainly. “What’s your 9-2?”

Dick takes a moment to think. Or try to, anyway. What is his 9-2? It’s dark. Everything hurts. And for some reason, he’s completely incapable of sitting up or moving his legs.

“Dark,” Dick manages. “Can’t move.”

“Alright,” Barbara says, only the slightest bit of frustration hidden in her tone. “I’ll find your location. Have you heard from Hood?”

“Hood…?”

Should Dick know where Jason is?

“Yes. He was on recon with you when you stopped responding.” She hesitates, and Dick can't be sure if she's flicking switches on her end or if the comm is giving out. “Aaand there was an explosion by the docks forty-five seconds ago. Why didn't I know this?”

“Maybe it was quiet,” Dick suggested. “Less like a dad sneeze and more like a kitten sneeze.”

“You're hysterical,” Barbara replies flatly. “Considering your tracker places you at a North Refrigeration warehouse, I’m betting you got caught in the blast.”

Dick tries to slow his breathing as the world spins around him. “That-” A dry cough makes his ears ring. “That might be it.”

“Health status?”

That's an excellent question that Dick has zero answers to. He hurts, sure, and it's getting harder to breathe, and his brain is about to explode, but… He just doesn't know. It'd be so much easier if he could just see-

“Nightwing,” Barbara presses. “Answer me.”

“Shh.”

“Did you just shush me??”

“Gimme a minute,” Dick grunts, blinking against the sudden flashlight in his face.

“God, do you look like shit.” Jason is smirking, his usual helmet no longer hiding his expression. He’s also upside-down, standing on the ceiling, so there are bigger concerns than a little ribbing.

“Jay, what-?” Dick doesn't even have a second to process things before up is down and his back slams into the ground. His fall is barely controlled, with Jason trying and failing to ease Dick to the ground. His head spins, ears hosting at least three bell choirs.

“Sorry, ‘wing,” Jason hums, though he doesn't look particularly sorry. “Your suit was caught on a shelving unit.”

Dick blinks dizzily, taking in his now-visible surroundings. The ceiling above him isn't actually a ceiling at all. It's a giant shelf, angled just enough to keep a mountain of bricks from crushing the brothers. Dick must have fallen onto one of its four supports and been left dangling.

“-swear to god, Nightwing, if you don’t-!”

“‘m here, O,” Dick mumbles, wishing she could yell at him a bit quieter. “Hood’s here too.” He wrenches the comm from his ear and shoves it at Jason.

Dubiously, Jason takes the comm, wipes it off on his pants (though considering the dust covering both of them, Dick doubts that did anything to make the comm cleaner), and shoves it in his own ear. “This is Hood.” He’s quiet for a moment, and even through the ringing, Dick can hear the way Barbara scolds him.

“My helmet got busted in the explosion,” Jason explains. He pauses and then- “Yeah, it protected me. I’m fine. But Wingding here looks like he fell off a train.”

Dick wants to argue with him, because that's not really fair. He just got blown up. Or… he thinks he got blown up, anyway. He can't remember too much about today’s patrol. (Were they on patrol? He's not even certain of that.)

“No,” Jason continues. “No. We were checking the old North Refrigeration warehouse on Smithon. Penguin’s back to smuggling weapons. Maybe there was a shipment with… I dunno, like a lot of C-4.”

After another pause, Jason nudges Dick’s arm. “Hey, still with me?”

Dick hadn't realized he’d closed his eyes. He opens one, and wow, Jason looks worried. Which is weird, because the helmet usually hides all that. Dick wonders what he’s so scared of.

“Babs sent out the troops. Batman and Robin are on their w-”

Jason never finishes his sentence. Or maybe he does. Dick can't remember. All he knows is that it’s dark again, and everything still hurts. But at the very least, he’s not upside-down this time.

And he’s not alone either.

“Jay,” Dick mumbles, pushing at the arm on his chest. “Jay, get off.”

But Jason doesn't reply.

“Jason,” he says louder, fear creeping into his blood. He feels down Jason’s arm to his shoulder and then to his neck. He fumbles as he blindly searches for Jason’s jaw and presses the skin beneath it.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

It's a bit slow, but a pulse is a pulse. From there, Dick finds Jason’s nose and feels the heat of his breath.

Heartbeat, check. Breathing, check. Responsiveness… definitely not a check.

Dick tries to sit up and assess the situation, but his left side is trapped under Jason. Instead, he finds Jason’s ears. Neither ear has the comm. It must be on the ground somewhere.

Dick throws his right arm out to the side, feeling around for the missing earpiece. His left arm tingles with jealousy (and maybe lack of blood flow), still pinned to the ground.

Babs sent out the troops, Jason had said. Batman and Robin. Dick isn't sure what their plan is, but he holds out hope that rescue is imminent. All Dick has to do is keep Jason alive until that happens.

Easier said than done.

The weight on Dick’s side feels unmoveable (heavier than Jason should be, even in Red Hood’s body armor). It doesn’t matter how much Dick struggles. He’s well and truly trapped.

With his locus of control shrinking to the size of a grape, Dick tries to find something productive to do. He closes his eyes, trying to listen for outside noises. Passing cars or the airhorn from a barge or a grumpy Batman grunt. But the ringing in his ears is still too loud. All he hears is pain.

Something in Dick’s chest snaps. He can’t be sure if something really broke or if it just sounded that way. Regardless, it feels like someone is crushing his ribcage in a vise. Panic spikes as he realizes that neither of them are going to survive long like this. He tries to ignore the pain, ignore how hard it is to breathe, ignore every alarm bell in his brain. He needs to keep his mind clear if he wants to get out of this.

Dick reaches up to feel Jason’s breath again. It’s still there. Still warm. There’s still time.

Then he throws his arm out again to search for the comm. It's gross and painful, dragging his bare fingers through dirt and shards of glass, but he does find something. It's too big to be the comm though. Feels more like a-

“Please let this work,” Dick begs. With a push of a button, the screen of Jason’s phone miraculously turns on. Reception is horrible, or maybe the SIM card is busted, but the flashlight illuminates the space with little trouble. The area is even smaller than before, with bricks spilling through the gaps in the shelf. Jason is thrown over Dick, rubble crushing his right side. His face is only inches to the left of Dick’s eyes, so it’s difficult to assess his health status. But what Dick can see? Blood. Dick knows that head wounds usually look worse than they are, but he's not so sure about this one.

Dick isn’t nervous. At least not on the outside. He can’t afford to lose it right now. Once the danger is past, once this is all over, then he can freak out. So he really can’t explain the shake in his fingers as he pinches Jason’s shoulder hard.

Jason grunts in what Dick can only assume is annoyance. He bats away Dick’s hand and starts spouting off curse words in the world’s most pathetic mumble.

Dick has never been so happy to be cussed out in his life.

“Hey, Jay,” he greets, hand moving from the shoulder to Jason’s wrist, not-so-subtly checking his heart rate. “Y’okay?”

Jason doesn’t reply right away, trying and failing to shift off of Dick. Every movement sends shockwaves of pain through Dick’s chest. 

“Augh, okay, okay, okay,” Dick wheezes, vision white as he just tries to get Jason to stop. “Relax. It’s okay.”

It’s definitely not okay, but Jason doesn’t seem to know the difference. When he speaks again, his voice is different. Not confused or in pain.

Relieved.

“Bruce?” he rasps.

“I mean, I know we look similar,” Dick replies, instantly defaulting to jokes, “but how long will it take you to tell us apart?”

But Jason isn’t listening, doesn’t understand, or simply doesn’t care. “Bruce, I thought you’d… I didn’t think you’d…” He’s lost for words.

“It’s okay, Little Wing,” Dick soothes, feeling Jason’s neck for a pulse again. (It’s slow. Why is it so slow?) It isn’t worth the hassle of trying to explain who he really is when Jason is so clearly out of it.

(When Jason is so obviously dying. He’s dying-)

“N-no,” Jason fumbles. “No, it’s okay… ‘cuz y’made it. Y’made it this… this time…”

Dread pools in Dick’s stomach, filling his blood with ice. He sweeps the ground for the comm, desperately flicking the flashlight’s beam in every crack and crevice of the rubble surrounding them. “C’mon,” he mutters under his breath. “C’mon, please.”

“Bruce?” Jason’s voice is desolate. Tearful. Even in his frantic search to get help, Dick can hear the terror in his words. “I… I was so scared, Bruce. The… The Joker was… He was…”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Dick can’t hide his panic anymore. He checks and double checks the phone for reception, holding it as high as he can. The movement makes his ribs shriek in pain, but Dick can’t let that stop him. “Come on.” Why hasn’t help arrived? What’s taking them so long??

And then the rubble above them cracks and moans. The sound is so sudden that - had Dick been able to move - he would have jumped out of his skin. Rocks rain from above, and Dick covers his face to avoid getting dirt in his eyes. And then there’s light so blinding that Dick has to keep his face covered, eyes watering from the sudden appearance of the sky.

“Nightwing?” It’s Bruce’s voice, but Bruce can’t help him right now.

“He needs help,” Dick says instantly, speaking up and out of the rubble at the man who just lifted a whole warehouse with his bare hands. “Head injury. Slow pulse, altered mental status. Get him out of here now.”

Superman doesn’t waste a second. In less than the blink of an eye, Jason and Superman are gone. A ruined warehouse and a small puddle of blood are all that remain of the nightmare. To fill the sudden, aching silence, Bruce reaches down and helps Dick up. Without Jason or the mountain of debris on top of him, it’s laughably easy.

“Nightwing, report.”

Dick sighs heavily. It seems you’re never too old to be ordered around by Bruce. It also seems you’re never too old to obey an order from Bruce. He responds almost immediately, like the knee-jerk reaction that it is.

“Hood and I were investigating a sudden increase in illegal weapons in Gotham. Breadcrumbs led us to Penguin’s old smuggling racket. An explosion went off tonight in a North Refrigeration warehouse while we were inside. A secondary device followed. Lapsed time unknown. Hood was injured in the second blast and was unresponsive for an unknown period, at least ninety seconds. Bradycardic, GCS of… nine or ten. I don’t know.”

Bruce “hn”s. The cowl stares at Dick, though Dick can’t be sure what Bruce is actually looking at. Maybe his eyes are closed. Who’s really to say?

“And you?” Bruce asks carefully.

“Fine. Minor bruising,” Dick replies, barely even processing the question. His mind is almost solely focused on Jason and his delirium. On what exactly Jason was seeing. What he was thinking.

Another “hn.” Bruce uses one gloved hand to carefully turn Dick’s head, checking for unspoken injuries. But, seeing nothing, he nods once. “Check in with Alfred before you turn in tonight.”

“Sir, yessir.”

The cowl stares at him for another long moment.

“What, B?” Dick’s voice is harsher than he intends. Like the frustration and anxiety and fear from the day have possessed his vocal cords.

Bruce’s lips remain in a firm line, but his posture stiffens. “It's bad.” It’s not a question. He knows too, even from that brief glimpse of Jason. It only makes the whole situation worse.

Dick nods. “He’s… It doesn't look good.” But Dick really doesn't want to discuss it, so instead, he walks towards the nearby lot, hoping his bike didn't get caught in the blast.

“Where are you going?” It's Damian, disdain and all. “The Batmobile is the other way.”

But Dick just waves him off. “I’ll take my bike. I need the air.”

Dick can feel the judgment even with his back turned. Can feel their unspoken questions. But neither Batman nor Robin try to stop him, so he keeps going. He doesn't stop or turn around until he's on his motorcycle and speeding off.

Batman had ordered Dick to get checked out in the Cave’s med bay. But Dick didn't become Nightwing by following orders. And besides, there’s too much swimming in his head. He needs some space. So instead of going to the Batcave, Dick finds the nearest safehouse. It isn't untraceable (Barbara just has to check the safehouse access logs to realize where he’s gone), but that's okay. Dick doesn't want to hide. He just wants to be alone.

And a shower. He really needs a shower.

Dick parks his bike in the lot behind the safehouse and climbs the fire escape. This particular safehouse is situated above a crowded, notably grimy dive bar. While someone dressed as a vigilante would probably not be the most surprising event of the night for the bar patrons, Dick still worries. He'd rather climb the building than risk his identity on the first floor.

The safehouse (safe-apartment, maybe, but that doesn't have the same ring to it) is dark and quiet. The ringing of Dick’s ears has ebbed quite a bit, and he welcomes the silence. It's also stocked at all times, though the food is usually canned or packaged and the clothing is almost always ill-fitting. But Dick would like nothing more than to cinch a pair of sweatpants right now.

He isn't lucky enough to find sweatpants, of course. After raiding the bedroom’s dresser, Dick is rewarded with a worn pair of jeans and an unfortunate studded leather jacket from Bruce’s biker phase. (Dick really can't judge; he once tried to pair corduroy and velvet.)

Upon entering the bathroom, Dick is greeted with a horrific sight: his own face in the mirror. Blood has dried and crusted along the side of his head, matting his hair. Dirt coats every inch of him, grime broken by trails of sweat. And he looks, in general, horrible. He knows he hasn't been sleeping enough, but the pallor under the dirt seems extreme.

Bruce, I was so scared. The Joker was-

The ghost of a voice hits him suddenly and without warning. Dick has to swallow back acid. Jason had thought he was Bruce. He’d thought he was still Robin, still dying- 

And only part of his deduction was wrong.

Dick shakes his head, as if physically ridding himself of the thoughts. He can't think about it right now. He can't.

His suit takes effort to peel off. Sweat and grime have practically fused the body armor to his skin. And once it's finally off, Dick kind of wishes he’d never taken it off at all. His whole body - arms, legs, torso - is peppered with dark purple. No wonder he aches. The bruising is the worst across his abdomen, no doubt what he’d landed on during the first explosion, and up his left side, where the rubble (and Jason) fell on him during the second explosion.

No, it's okay. You made it this time, Bruce. You’re here.

Dick steps in the shower. He needs to get this done quickly. The adrenaline is still carrying him through most of the pain, but Dick can feel it fading. He doesn't have much time before it’ll hurt too much to move.

Bruce, I was so scared. I was so scared. I was so scared.

Dick feels lightheaded. Jason had been alone when he died. And now, he’s okay with dying so long as there's someone around to talk to him. It's… Dick hates that he didn't find out until later. Much, much later.

He stays in the shower until his knees start to shake. Then he drags himself out, clinging to the towel rack with a white-knucked grip. It's painful how slowly he towels off and pulls on the salvaged clothing. With no real shirts in sight, Dick has no option but to zip the embarrassing leather jacket up and endure the chafing. It's barely noticeable under the ache in his muscles.

Sufficiently clean and too tired to stand anymore, Dick heads to the couch. It's only after he collapses that he notices the shadowy figure by the window. He jumps up, muscles shrieking, but the figure waves him off, stepping into the light and perching on the edge of the couch cushions.

“Oh,” Dick mumbles, dropping back against the dusty pillows. “Hey, Cass.” It bothers him that he didn't hear her come in. Of anyone to sneak past him, it would be Cass, but even so, it's disconcerting. Maybe he hit his head harder than he realized.

Cass hums in greeting, watching Dick carefully. She's incredible at reading body language - it's her whole MO - but Dick still foolishly hopes that she can't tell what he’s thinking, how he's feeling.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

“You weren't in the Cave,” Cass explains. She continues to watch him, expression unreadable. It's a good way to pressure someone into talking. Dick isn't immune.

“Yeah. I wanted a shower.”

But Cass doesn't nod or hum her assent. Her response is obvious: The Cave has showers.

Much nicer showers, at that. But the Cave also has something the safehouse doesn't:

People.

Or so Dick thought, anyway.

“Look, I’m… I just needed a second alone.”

“It's been a second.”

Dick offers a flat look. Cass doesn't smile, but her face incrementally softens. “Okay, so I needed an hour or whatever. I’ll call him once his patrol’s over.”

“It’s morning. His patrol is over.”

…

What.

“No, Cass, I just… It hasn't been that long,” he insists, because that can't be right. He only got a shower. It couldn't have taken him all night. And yet, the sunrise is clearly visible from the window. Dick can feel the beams of light warm his skin. It's quite obviously daytime.

“It has. Bruce is worried.”

“He’s always worried,” Dick replies absently. He just can't understand how it can possibly be morning. He wracks his brain for explanations. Did he fall asleep? Or maybe he really had hit his head that hard. What has he been doing all night?

“You’re okay?” Cass tips her head, her short locks brushing her shoulders.

“I’m… Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I must’ve… fallen asleep. Or something.”

“You look tired.” Cass stands up and rocks on her heels.

“I’m fine,” Dick repeats, standing up after her. Every inch of him burns in pain, but he ignores it. “Is Jason okay? What happened to him?”

“Critical condition.” Her response is blunt and succinct. Cass has never been one to dance around the truth.

Dick feels dizzy. He takes a deep breath. (Ow. Actually, maybe he’ll breathe a little shallower for now.) “He’s still at the Cave, right?” A tiny part of him worries that it’s much worse than that. That Alfred and Leslie have deemed Jason too unstable to keep in the Cave. That a Bat finally requires a real hospital.

Cass nods. “The car is outside.”

That makes Dick raise an eyebrow. “I didn't even know you could drive.”

But Cass ignores him, already heading out the window and down the fire escape, movements graceful and silent. By comparison, Dick’s stiff, aching muscles make his every step just shy of a sonic boom. But Dick can’t bring himself to care. Already, he’s undoing the work of the shower, sweat trickling down his neck and back. (He shouldn’t be sweating this much. Why is he sweating so much?) By the time Dick sees the van, he's just happy to get in. He slams the passenger door behind him and jumps. He hadn't realized there was someone already at the steering wheel.

“They were out of cinnamon, so I had them put ginger in instead,” Stephanie explains, reaching back to hand Cass a coffee cup. Then she looks at Dick, expression frozen somewhere between pity and amusement. “And you get chamomile tea.”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Not that I’m not grateful-”

“Uh-uh,” Steph interjects, shoving the cup into his hands. “You need to relax. I can see your blood pressure from here, and it's killing the Spoilermobile’s vibe.”

“You can't see a blood pressure, Steph.”

“My van, my rules. You're stressing me out, so drink your tea and be quiet.”

“What’s going on? Did Bruce put you up to this too?” Dick mumbles into the cup. It smells great, but he knows that the second he starts drinking it, he's going to pass out. What he needs is really strong coffee.

“No,” Steph insists. “Bruce put Cass up to this. I just wanted coffee. Now buckle up.”

“Did something happen?” Dick has a belated rush of adrenaline. He’d assumed that Jason was in a similar state to when Dick had last seen him, but what if things had gotten worse? What if Cass and Steph were trying to gently break the bad news to Dick? The news that Jason is dead again-

“What did I just say?” Steph shakes her head, takes a long sip of her coffee, and then continues. “You're stressing me out. Just chill, okay? Jason doesn’t look good, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”

There’s a sad irony to that statement, but Dick doesn’t have the energy to notice it. “Oh.” The brief flood of wired energy disappears from his blood just as quickly as it came. He falls back against the seat (ow) and fumbles for the seatbelt with numb fingers. “Okay.”

Stephanie snorts humorlessly, guiding the bulky van down the narrowing alley. She keeps glancing at Dick from the corner of her eye, but she doesn't say anything. And with Dick too tired to talk and Cass rarely speaking to begin with, it makes for a quiet car ride, even with the blaring horns as Steph speeds down the road.

Despite his clear desire not to and despite the hairpin turns and abrupt, gut-churning brakework, Dick falls asleep after ten minutes. He wakes up with two warm fingers against his throat.

“M’good.” Dick squints blearily, and Cass sits back, a clear frown tugging on her lips.

“You're obviously not,” Steph grumbles. “The hell was that?”

“Fell asleep,” he says, mopping his face with a hand. “You know, it's that thing you do when you close your eyes and stop talking.”

“Yeah, no. That wasn’t sleeping. Normal people usually stop sleeping when they spill hot water on themselves. You didn’t even flinch.”

Dick glances down. His jeans (or… whoever’s jeans these are) are drenched, and Dick can feel a delayed burning sensation, practically imperceptible under the pounding of his head and the aching of his muscles. The coffee cup is on its side on the floor. Absently, Dick realizes that his socks are soaked. He must have dropped the cup when he fell asleep.

And then didn’t wake up. For some reason.

“Look, you can be a pain in the ass about it, and we’ll figure out what the problem is, or you can admit now that something’s up. Your call.”

“I’m fine,” Dick hisses.

“Yeah, guess I should have seen that coming,” Steph muses.

Dick drops his forehead onto his palm, closing his eyes and trying to will away his headache. “Hey, um… sorry. Do you-?” He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes to find Cass holding something out to him.

“Oh. Thanks, Cass.” Dick takes the pills from her, noting the telltale brown of generic painkillers. He doesn't ask how she knew. He just dry swallows the pills (because his tea is on the floor) and leans against the window.

Stephanie chews her lip. Dick can see the war in her mind, fighting to keep from pushing the issue. “What happened back there?” she asks instead. “At the docks?”

Hell if Dick knows. But he forces his eyes open (he’d shut them without noticing again; he needs to stop doing that) and sighs. “Penguin was dealing weapons out of his fridge front again. Jason and I were due to bust a deal tonight - last night, I mean - but someone must have known we were coming. First blast shook us up. Second blast knocked Jason out.”

“Could you wake him up?” The question is hesitant. Steph knows it's a tricky subject, but her curiosity has her in a death grip.

“Yeah,” Dick replies, but he doesn't elaborate. “Superman got there pretty quickly.”

Not quickly enough - Dick can still feel the glass in his fingers, the knot in his stomach as he desperately searched for the comm - but still quick by most standards.

It’s okay, Bruce. You made it in time. You made it this time.

“You coming?”

Dick can’t help but jump. Steph is watching him through the passenger door window, lips pouted and arms crossed. Cass taps the window. How long had they been standing there? And when had they entered the Cave?

“Yeah. Sorry.” Dick fumbles with the seatbelt and pops the door. He slides out with all the grace of a stick figure, body furious that he’s standing again.

Stephanie doesn’t say anything, though Dick can see the question in her eyes:

What is wrong with you?

Cass doesn’t deviate from a neutral gaze, but her hand does dart out to pat him once on the head. She told him once that his hair was soft and felt nice. But Dick is pretty sure she’s doing it more for his benefit than her own.

Rather than explain himself, Dick ducks his head and pushes forward, trying to ignore Steph’s eyes on his back, burning holes through the leather jacket.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Thanks, Dami,” Dick replies, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Where's Jason?” He already knows the answer. He knows that he knows the answer. So why is he asking?

“In the med bay.” Damian shoves his hands in his own pockets. “Pennyworth requested no visitors for the moment.”

Dick isn't sure whether that's a good sign or a bad one. But it doesn't really matter because his ears are ringing again.

It's okay, Bruce. You made it this time.

“Got it,” Dick mumbles. He feels nauseous, but rather than run to the bathroom, Dick goes to the showers. He has a change of clothes in his locker, and he needs to get out of this jacket. He can feel sweat trickle down his neck and back, and paradoxically, he shivers.

Changing is its own challenge. It was difficult to change when Dick had the adrenaline to carry himself through. But now? Hours (apparently) since the explosion?

Moving at all feels like he’s tearing himself apart. It takes him ages to change, and though he's glad he's not wearing the biker look anymore, he's not sure it was worth the pain. He collapses on a bench and rests forwards on his arms, staring at the floor.

Dick isn't sure how long he stays there when a voice breaks him from semi-consciousness.

“Hey, you okay?” Tim is watching him with curious eyes, one hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, I’m…” Dick sits up immediately, and his vision darkens, sparking with pinpricks of light. He tries not to let it show. “I’m okay.”

Tim looks unconvinced. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Why don't we go to the med bay?”

“I said, I’m fine,” Dick grits out, but he doesn't move to stand up.

“To see Jason,” Tim clarifies.

“Oh. We can do that?”

“Alfred cleared him for visitors an hour ago.”

Dick is getting a headache from all the random time changes. He isn't sure how long he's been in the shower room, but certainly it hasn't been an hour.

… has it?

“Okay,” is all Dick says. He doesn't have the energy to argue. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the energy to stand up either.

Tim waits ten seconds. Then he gets impatient and moves to pull Dick up. But the pulling on his ribs makes Dick cry out and wrench his arm back, curling it across his chest.

“Knew it,�� Tim mutters. But he doesn’t revel in his genius for long. He’s suddenly sitting next to Dick, trying to pry Dick’s arms away from his body.

“C’mon,” Tim groans. “Let me see. What’s wrong?”

Pain ebbing from agony to a dull, dangerous ache, Dick straightens, shaking his head. “Just… Just my ribs.”

Tim doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to. His doubt is palpable.

“Swear,” Dick promises. “Got crushed in the second blast.”

“And you know you don’t have a concussion or internal bleeding because…?”

“Not puking blood. Didn’t pass out.”

Tim folds his arms, nose scrunching in disdain. “That’s it? Those are your only gauges?”

“I’m fine, Tim.”

“You already admitted to broken ribs. I wouldn’t consider that ‘fine.’”

Dick is running out of strength to argue back. The last thing he wants is to worry Tim, especially with Jason the way he is, but everything is starting to blur. Sweat trails down his back. His stomach is killing him.

“It’s okay,” Dick replies weakly. “I’m-”

Bruce, I was so scared. The Joker was-

“-let Alfred look you over?” Tim is talking over the haunted voice, like it isn’t even there. Like he doesn’t realize the gravity of the words. And of course he wouldn’t realize. He wasn’t there.

You weren’t there either, Dick. You didn’t even try to save me. You were off with the Titans, too busy to save your family.

“-please?”

The Joker tortured me. He beat me until I had more broken bones than not. And you know why?

“Dick, talk to me. You’re scaring me-”

Because I’m.

“-Dick, I swear to god-”

Not.

“-open your eyes-”

You.

“ALFRED!”

He wouldn’t have killed me if I was you. He was just mad that B was expanding the nest. He missed his old game. His old playmates. Me not included.

“-bleeding. Has he been in-”

If you’d stayed, I wouldn’t be dead.

“-should have taken him straight to the Cave-”

Dick is sorry. He’s sorry, he’s sorry, he’s sorry. If he could go back, he would. If it would save Jason’s life, he would. If he even could have known that Jason was in trouble, he would have dropped everything to save him. If only he’d known-

“-can’t believe it… Well, I can believe it, but-”

If you’d stayed, I wouldn’t be dead.

“-in and out all day-”

If you’d stayed, I wouldn’t be dead.

“-lucky he stayed, or I’d be dead.” A dry laugh. “Again.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It is not.”

The voices that rouse Dick are familiar in their own ways but sound completely foreign together. One is Bruce, Dick is absolutely certain, but the other is trickier to place. It isn’t Alfred or Tim or Damian. Is it Jason?

Bruce, I was so scared. The Joker was-

Definitely, definitely not his little brother, waiting for a fate written by Dick’s own selfishness. The voice is too gruff. Too knowledgeable.

Silently, Dick listens on, but the pair has stopped speaking. So Dick cracks one eye open, trying to interpret his hazy surroundings.

High ceilings. Harsh artificial light. Starch-white sheets tucked up to his chin. Bruce, pacing, agitated. And a young man, dark hair with a white streak, looking pale, alive, and inexplicably bored.

It takes Dick many seconds more to remember that this is Jason now. Not the broken little bird in red and yellow. Not simply the Boy Wonder. Jason is a man, haunted and bold and tough as hell.

“Jay…?” His voice is shakier than he expected.

“So he does speak,” Jason muses. “You're a dick, you know that?”

Dick raises an eyebrow, half-lidded gaze rife with judgment. “It's… in the name.”

Jason looks like he might punch Dick, but he stays in his chair. He doesn't look great. His eyes are tired, face slightly green. He’s clearly making an effort not to move his head.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, suddenly appearing at Dick’s side.

“I’m…” Dick runs his tongue over his teeth. His mouth feels sandy. “I’m not great, but…” Something is nagging him. He's forgetting something. What is it? What is he forgetting?

It’s okay, Bruce. You made it in time. You made it this time.

Jason is hurt. Jason won't open his eyes. Jason is trapped and thinks he's in that warehouse in Ethiopia-

“Dick?” Bruce's eyebrows lower in concern. “What is it?”

Dick looks over at Jason, who looks pretty concerned himself.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks him.

Jason rolls his eyes but humors him. “Fine. Pretty good concussion, but I’m getting better.”

“What… What happened?”

“You collapsed two days ago,” Bruce replies factually. “Internal bleeding. Broken ribs. Mild concussion.”

“Oh.” Dick feels his face heat up, but he isn't sure why. “Two days ago?”

“Yeah,” Jason cuts in bitterly. “Cuz your dumbass didn't let Alfred look you over. What was it this time? Some martyr act in my honor?”

It wasn't. Or… Dick is pretty sure it wasn't. He felt guilty about Jason, but he'd only wanted to be alone. He wanted to be alone because…

“B, could you step out for a sec?”

Bruce tips his head, lips drawn. But then he nods. “Sure.” He pats Dick’s ankle and leaves the med bay without further complaint.

Now Jason just looks suspicious. “What’s this about?”

“In the explosion, you said some stuff.”

“I don’t remember much. Not after the second blast.”

“You thought I was Bruce,” Dick explains hesitantly. “You thought you were…”

But Jason has little patience for this. “Were what? Dying? I probably was.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, you thought you were… y’know dying. The first time, I mean.” He’s rambling, and he isn’t sure how much sense he’s making.

But Jason’s expression shifts from irritation to stony understanding. “Ethiopia.”

Dick nods, twisting his fingers in the sheets. “You were relieved that Bruce made it. You… you told me that it was okay.”

Jason's lip curls up, the lines around his eyes turning to stone. “I… I don’t remember that.”

“I’m… sorry he wasn’t there the first time. But he… he did show up at the end this time.”

For a long moment, Jason is quiet. He stares at the wall, then considers the ceiling. He presses his knuckles to his lips. Frowns thoughtfully.

But Dick doesn’t like silence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I was… I was selfish. I chose my pride over you and Bruce.”

And that gets a reaction from Jason. He scowls harder, looking Dick in the eyes. “The hell are you on about? You didn’t even know I was there.”

“I should’ve been paying attention.”

“You seriously blame yourself for what happened? Seriously?”

Dick squirms, unsure if the nausea is from the conversation or the pain meds. Maybe both.

“It happened,” Jason says plainly. “End of story. You had nothing to do with it.”

Dick doesn’t believe that, and Jason must know this too. He carefully stands up and approaches the bedside. “I didn’t have anyone in Ethiopia. But I did have someone on Friday. You were there for me. Let’s call it even, huh?”

Broken ribs be damned, Dick does his best to hug his brother. “You’re not alone anymore,” Dick assures him.

Jason sighs, a hot puff of air against Dick’s neck. “I know.”

[briarberrythornedhart]

Near Drowned in Amber

BriarberyHartfield Published:2024-04-09

Summary:

Claudia had moved to Hawkins, Indiana when Dustin was in fourth grade. But it wasn’t the first time she’d been there.

🦋

An observant person could spot that Claudia Henderson visibly jumped and cringed/winced every time she heard someone mention ‘Eddie Munson’.

Anyone who knew Claudia well might interpret this as fear for Dustin’s safety or worry that Dustin would be associated with Edward Munson - who was as good as accused of murder.

But that wasn’t really what was going on in Claudia head, not at all.

It was the surname 'Munson' that got the big reaction.

It made her think of a sweltering Indiana summer 15 years ago. It made her want to find a pack of Virginia Slims (when she hadn’t smoked in yes 15 years) and a light beer or two … and take a very cold shower.

It made her think of Al Munson’s gifted hands. His stamina. What it felt like to sit in his lap on his long legs in that dive bar he loved, and have her hair played with and be felt up when no one was (probably) looking.

And most of all she thought of Al’s lips. Warm kisses you felt for hours afterward.

🦋

In the summer of 1970 Claudia was working in Indianapolis, she was studying to be a RN and working at the Methodist hospital connected to the University.

Al Munson had come in one night shift busted up bad, but salvageable. A bar fight he said. ‘Defending a lady’s honor’ he said.

From the start he called Claudia, ‘Butterfly’ and ‘Sweetheart’. He flirted with her outrageously when she bandaged him up and had been wildly handsy for a man who’d nearly bled out and was on an IV.

His eyes were the prettiest she’d ever seen. The lashes that lowered when he flirted. The wink that hit her with deadly accuracy.

They looked violet in the hospital light when she checked on him every day.

They turned to amber when she saw him in the sun and she’d nearly drowned in them - there in the parking lot - when he leaned in to kiss her. A token of my gratitude, he said.

She finally saw that his eyes were changeable, mottled tortoiseshell (like his illegal guitar pick) when she agreed to go out on a date with him. They never seemed just plain brown...

One week of generous sex that blew her mind and sweetness that seemed true and natural as breathing, she thought maybe he’d settle down with her and get serious but he was never that.

They always used condoms.

Always.

Except that one time, which she never really regretted.

She loved being a mother even if she never saw Al Munson again.

She only saw Al in Dustin’s small resemblances. The curly brown hair, the cheeky confidence, and the pretty eyes.

When she took the test and got a positive, Claudia tracked Al to a house in Hawkins, Indiana. A strange little town.

She found out that Al was in and out of prison (in again at present) and he’d been married to another woman the whole time, that he had a curly haired little boy named Eddie just five years old. A little boy who didn’t deserve his life blown to hell because Claudia couldn’t resist big amber-brown eyes and too good to be true lies.

🦋

So, Claudia found a steady man with a steady job and married that man before he could do the math.

When Dustin and his buddy Steven Harrington brought Eddie Munson to Claudia’s house he was busted up worse than Al had been, but just as salvageable.

Dustin said it was coyotes? Steven said it was earthquakes?? They were both clearly lying. But it didn’t matter. This was Dustin’s brother. And family was important.

So she got out her first-aid kit and got to work.

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S02E16 - Flare of the Dog

Ah. Title puns. Okay, fine, that's decent, in my opinion anyway. What a good episode, though. I'm a fan of whump. Did I mention that?

"You know that real cops drink their coffee black". You've only had lattes all season, what the fuck???

Jesse is once again manning the office on his own. I hope they're paying him some overtime at least.

If you actually pause the screen when the arsonist is ready to throw the Molotov cocktail, then it's case closed.

RIP Charlie Hudson.

What do you mean, he got away without a scratch (and a busted ankle)? That blew up on his face! Oh, I know. Rex's tongue has healing properties.

I'll take your word for it, Joe. Since we didn't see it at all.

Dude expects to be instantly fine after that. Again, you're lucky you have your face intact.

Why no Sarah, by the way?

Um, are you serious? He just woke up.

I imagine it was the part where you told him to shake it off. Make up your mind, Donovan.

That might be the most thirsting anyone has ever done in this show.

Bud's wife is so sweet. And the scene is so sad.

That's putting it mildly, actually.

A firefighter who appears for the first time in an arson case AND flirts with Sarah? Yeah, who else could have done it? This is how I mostly find the culprit now. Through extensive experience in crime show plots.

"This is a secure area. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave". We are the police, Miss Red Herring.

We're stealing brownies now. Rex and Charlie are so bored.

Nurse: "Looks like you're diagnosed with lateral malingus". Charlie: "Malleolus". Nurse: "Yeah. Mallegolus. Magolus". I'd be feeling so safe in that hospital after this.

You wish. They're actually from the guy who tried to murder you. Charlie's disappointed "Ah" after that is closer to "ew".

Rex, my favorite judge of character. Except for that one time with Eva, although I believe they said that he was drawn to her because she was sick and he could sense it? Something like that.

Rex: What is your wannabe murderer doing in your hospital room and flirting with my wannabe mom, and also can I bite him?

Charlie: *notices the flirty vibe* I was literally gone for like half a day, what the fuck happened?

Oh I forgot that Joe's shotgun survived until S2 apparently. Might not be the same one, though.

Show, don't tell. In what way, shape, or form has that been showcased so far?

Jesse: [Charlie] would agree that this is a Bible verse. Charlie: I'm guessing it's an acronym. Oof. Tough loss.

IMHO means in my humble opinion? Not in my honest opinion?

It won't hurt you to sit your ass down for a few days. Or, well, it will, but it won't be the rest. Just the murderous psycho.

That's cute.

Good news, Jesse. You get to interview someone.

Oh, he's totally doing this on purpose.

*Charlie sees Sarah's caller ID* Charlie: Hey Sarah ☺️☺️☺️ Rex: ☺️☺️☺️ Sarah: I'm here with *longest pause ever* Asher. Charlie: 🙄🙄🙄 Rex: 😠😠😠

"Maybe the police should stick to investigating and the fire department should stick to inspections". Yeah, I bet you'd love that, Charlie. Jeez, the jealousy.

Charlie: Rex lost a partner. Rex: Don't tell my tragic backstory to him!

I think I can see the makeup cover work for John Reardon's arm tattoo.

Jesse: "This is nice. You know, you and I just figuring stuff out together. I like playing the Charlie". Sarah: "I'm the Charlie in this situation". lol. Also, what was it with that look, Jesse?

And now the mafia is involved.

"You could take Rex". Subtle way to get your partner to look out for the woman you like.

Listen, I might be making some shit up but I'm not making this up.

I'd say it actually looks pretty bad but given the very bad makeup work I've seen lately on 911 that should be better than this show, I'll just say this: Either get your actors to agree not to get tattoos in easily visible places or work the tattoo into the story, which is the normal thing to do. There's nothing in Charlie's backstory that suggests he'd never get a tattoo so I don't see what the problem was, and they eventually did it anyway.

"I'm gonna get all the head rubs I can before that guy runs away with my mom."

They took our case! Oh, well, we'll still investigate.

Drama queen Charlie Hudson, everyone.

She declared St.John's to be in a state of emergency for that? Just for that?

Okay, seriously, the "special police" sounds ridiculous. I hope that's not actually a thing, Canada.

Jesse: "And this is where I remind you that every time I go out in the field, something bad happens. I've been shot! I've been drowned!" This is actually a level of awareness that most crime show characters are incapable of displaying. Including Charlie.

"Our greatest weapon is Rex and Rex runs on snacks" lol

Jesse: Rex track! Charlie: Not now, Jesse. Rex: Rex don't track?

You know, yay for the whump and all, but I'm not a foot fetishist and we've seen Charlie's feet get too much screentime.

What's he looking at? God?

Charlie is in danger! *cut to commercial*

Jesse: I'm the Charlie. Rex: Fuck this, I'll just solve the case like I usually do anyway.

I like that in the scene where Sarah realizes Asher is the arsonist, one of our classic background tracks is playing and right on the moment she comes to the realization, it abruptly stops. It's the little things.

Oh, yeah, we're fucked.

Delicious. Finally some good fucking whump.

Asher: "Stop, Charlie. It won't do you any good". Well, he'll die for sure if he doesn't try so it won't do him any bad either.

Ouch. One with the floor.

"I'll toast at your funeral, Charlie". Motherfucker, up until that point you hadn't reached piece-of-shit levels because I've seen too many villains but after that, I wanted to watch you die.

"I'll take care of Rex for you". Like anyone would let you. I half expected him to say "and Sarah".

Sad AU where the reveal didn't happen, Charlie was killed and no one suspected Asher. Asher and Sarah started dating, Sarah adopted Rex, who of course never warmed up to Asher but he brushed it aside as, "he's just missing his partner and he thinks I'm replacing him in some way," which to Sarah doesn't even make sense, because she didn't know that Charlie liked her but Asher had realized it the minute he had stepped into that hospital room. Time goes by, and Sarah is noticing more and more things about Asher that don't add up, odd phone calls, smoke smell when he's not on duty, and such. She goes to Joe to share her suspicions and along with Jesse, they quietly reopen the investigation. The truth is, of course, shocking. That man had been to Charlie's funeral, had dated Sarah for months. There is no good ending, I mean, how could there be in this case? After arresting Asher, he tells Sarah that he's certain Charlie had a thing for her, which makes her feel even worse. Then Sarah goes to his grave with Rex and tells Charlie that they finally got his killer. But even as she tells him, she can't stop thinking of all the times that she'd gone to Charlie's grave with flowers and Asher had insisted on accompanying her and Rex, Rex's low growls and whines every time Asher went with them, and she now knew it was because Rex could tell: Asher had been practically dancing on Charlie's grave. [Sorry about that.]

Oh, I enjoyed Jesse whacking him. It wasn't much but it was something.

And closing the episode by making friends at the fire department and making Rex an honorary firefighter.

We literally never saw them again.

Aside from everything else, I also liked how the rest of the team took up roles that they don't usually do when Charlie was incapacitated. That was fun to see.

[yarnnerdally]

Falling in Love in a Bakery - A Series

A vignette into the love life of Imogen Quinn and Nokto Klein

Characters: Imogen, Nokto, Aurelia (Imogen's sister) Setting: Quinntessential Baked Goods bakery Rating: Teen Word Count: 1,223

     It was a fairly quiet day in Rhodolite and Imogen was glad for it. Just the week before she had baked her heart out for a wedding in which the couple insisted on not only having cake, but profiteroles, macarons, and rose water shortbread cookies. After a few days off (in which Nokto was visiting nobles in Benitoite, much to her displeasure) the bakery was back in the swing of things as usual. With a self-satisfied smile Imogen pulled freshly baked strawberry rhubarb tarts out of the oven. They were small, only consisting of two bites to finish one, but they were one of her best-sellers.

     ‘And Nokto’s favorite,’ she mused to herself, smiling fondly. It’s not like they were dating. But… things certainly seemed to be headed that direction. He visited the shop in any of the free time they had and even the knowledge of him busting his backside to spend time with her made her feel as warm as a freshly baked pie. The bell on the door chimed signaling that a customer had come into the shop. Setting down the tray, she went to the front of the shop to see Nokto looking quite thoughtfully at the display case.

     “Nokto!” She was surprised to see him a full day earlier than when he said he would return from his duties in Benitoite. She went to him, untying her apron and placing it on the counter so she could give him a proper hug. “What are you doing back? I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow!”

     Nokto’s shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw Imogen, a soft (if weary) smile gracing his face as he hugged her back. “Got done just a little early. Figured I’d swing by to see my favorite baker before heading back to the palace,” he said, tapping the tip of her nose. She chuckled a little and withdrew from him.

     “Wait right there. I have something for you,” she said, disappearing to the back room again. The tarts had just barely cooled down enough where she could package a few of them for him and came back out with the box. “They just finished cooling down. Had to make another batch since the first one sold out at 10 this morning,” she laughed. Nokto opened the small box and made a small ‘o’ shape with his mouth.

     “I’m going to have to smuggle this into the palace, you know. Otherwise Licht and Jin will scent these out like a bloody hound,” he mused. He looked at the box pensively for a moment before deciding to indulge and take a bite of one of the tarts, groaning softly as he savored it. “Anything new and exciting while I was away?”

     Imogen shook her head and shrugged. “Not new, necessarily. Jin actually dropped by yesterday. That was about it.” Nokto’s chewing slowed as he heard his brother had come by the shop and immediately became suspicious.

     “Jin? What for?”

     “He was getting a bunch of his favorites. The coffee roll, the chocolate spice cake,” She went on, sitting at one of the stools next to the counter. She debated telling him what else happened but her conscience won out. “He asked me on a date.” There was a tension that lingered in the air for a moment. “I politely declined. He, uh… told me to keep him in mind if my prince charming never comes along.” She could see Nokto bristle a little at that but quickly tamp the emotion down. It was only a split second, but it was there.

     “Why are you upset?” She asked softly.

     “Upset? Why would I be upset?” Nokto asked, brushing the question off and scoffing before putting the rest of the tart back in the box. This wasn’t the first time he simply wouldn’t come clean with his feelings and Imogen felt she was at her breaking point.

     “Y’know,” she began, picking up her apron and beginning to put it back on, “for all the intellect you have, you lack any and all wisdom,” she huffed, turning to head back behind the counter until a hand stopped her by her wrist.

     “I lack wisdom?” he questioned, his own temper spiking at her sudden shift in attitude. “Tell me, then, what wisdom do you expect me to possess at this moment?”

     “That I rejected Jin because I’m in love with you!” She had turned to face him, the words flying out of her mouth before she knew it. Once she realized what she had actually admitted to, a hard blush began to spread across her face. Nokto stood there in a stunned silence, his hand still around her wrist though his grip loosened considerably.

     “What?” He blinked, any traces of annoyance gone from his face now as he stepped closer to her, her back now against the display case. Imogen sighed a little, verdant eyes meeting ruby. His brow furrowed, attempting to ascertain whether or not he was in a dream. “Say that again. Please.”

     “I…” why did she suddenly feel like she was out of breath with him so close? His hand was cupping her jaw and another settled on her hip. “I rejected Jin. Because I’m in love with you.” She watched as his breath caught in his chest, hope and light springing to his eyes in the split second before his lips descended upon her’s with a fierce hunger. It was another moment before she realized Nokto was kissing her. The information finally processed in her brain and she melted like sunwarm chocolate into his embrace. She brought her arms around his neck to hold him as close as she had always wanted, her hand buried into his silver locks. The rest of the world fell away as he kissed her breathless, gently pinning her against the display case. Nokto pulled away just slightly when they heard the sound of the back door of the bakery opening.

     “That'll be Aurelia,” Imogen murmured, swallowing thickly as her hands rested on his chest.

     “Then I suppose we should make ourselves more presentable,” he murmured into her ear, leaning down to press a kiss just under it. “Alternatively…” Imogen giggled, her cheeks stained a pretty shade of pink.

     “Alternatively I would ask her to run the shop for an hour or so but if I know you…” she brought her hands up to his face, holding it softly. She watched and grinned as he flushed ever so slightly at the contact. “Once you have me properly alone, it'll be more than an hour.” Nokto laughed softly, pressing his face into her touch.

     “You know me well,” he murmured, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “And… for the record. I'm very much in love with you, too.” Imogen felt warmth bloom in her chest as he admitted his own feelings for her, her eyes tender. As much as they didn't want to, they parted. Nokto had things to finish at the palace and the business day was not over for the bakery. Nokto pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek before leaving and she watched him head down the street from the doorway.

     “Sooooo…” Aurelia smirked as she put her elbows on the counter, her chin resting on her hands as she watched her little sister at the door. “When's the wedding?”

I couldn't remember if I asked before about people wanting to be tagged in OC content, so lmk if you'd like to be!

[strawberraemochi]

Narumitsu Week day 3: Free Day!

Happy Narumitsu day guys!! Love these losers. May they stay together forever and ever and ever <3 (they will).

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 4 | Day 5

[ID: A three panel comic. The first two panels are in black and white, while the third is in color. The first panel is split into three by diagonal lines. The first of those three depicts Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright in court. They are wearing their typical canon outfits from the first Ace Attorney game. Edgeworth is on the right, looking smug with his hands, palms open, in front of him. Phoenix is on the left, facing toward Edgeworth and away from the viewer. He has both hands, palms down, on the table. The second of the three depicts Edgeworth sitting in the defendant’s chair. He is facing directly forward with a slightly-mortified expression. In front of him is Phoenix’s outstretched arm, pointing. The third of the three simply depicts Edgeworth’s desk with a note that reads, “Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death,” in cursive. On the right, next to the note, is Miles’ Signal Samurai keychain. The second panel depicts Miles and Phoenix during the seven year gap. They are wearing their canon typical outfits for this time period. On the right, Phoenix turns his face away from Miles, on the left. His hands are in front of his face. Miles looks at Phoenix with a frown. Miles’ hand is on Phoenix’s shoulder. The panel only shows the two of them from the bust up, and Miles’ eyes are out of frame. The last panel is in color, and depicts, from left to right, Miles, Trucy, and Phoenix. They are all in formal outfits, with Miles and Phoenix wearing off-white (In Miles’ case, closer to red. In Phoenix’s case, closer to blue). Miles and Phoenix’s outfits are a recreation of their canon outfits, except for the color change. They all face toward the viewer, implying that they are posing for a picture. Miles is rolling his eyes slightly but lovingly. He holds Trucy’s hand with his left hand, which bears a gold wedding ring. Trucy has her eyes closed with a gleeful expression. There are happy-tears in her eyes as she smiles with her teeth visible. Her hair is the same as it is in the game, but she is not wearing her hat. Her outfit is a simple blue dress with a dark blue belt/sash. She holds Miles’ hand with her right hand and Phoenix’s with her left. Phoenix is looking directly at the camera with a victorious smile. He holds his left hand aloft in front of him, showing off his gold wedding ring. This panel is framed by an off-white (closer to purple) box, implying that this is a Polaroid. At the bottom, cut off, is written, “Just Married,” in cursive. End ID]

[britcision]

Happy WIP Wednesday again friends! I have some more of chapter 17 for you after last week’s break (it has been a fucking BUSY week too holy shit)

Just a lil snack while the lore churns in the background

—————

Well You Did Get Down On One Knee part ii

The evening was beginning to draw in, the sun getting low over Gotham city. Between her patrol the night before, helping Signal out with a case, and then that brief group heart attack about Jason, it had already been a really long day.

Spoiler cracked her neck a couple times and sighed, then sunk into the shadow behind a gargoyle.

It was smaller than usual… and occupied. Robin glowered up at her, leaping up to sit on the gargoyle’s head instead. He looked for all the world like he wanted to hiss at her like a cranky cat, which diffused all of Spoiler’s tension (but would only make his worse if she mentioned it. Maybe tomorrow).

Sighing philosophically she settled back against the base of the gargoyle, tipping her head back to see him.

“Hey… what are you doing out so early? Usually you lot wait until sundown to swing from the shadows,” she pointed out (rather fairly, she thought).

Robin just scowled disdainfully down at her, then twisted his head away to glare at the city instead.

“As if I needed any more reason to be out than you do,” he sniffed archly.

Spoiler grinned, puffing herself up. She did have an answer for this one.

“Hey, I was actually requested today. Signal needed a second pair of eyes on the back door of a bust. Didn’t see you there,” she added innocently, a brow rising.

It was technically possible that Robin could have suited up and left the manor in between Bruce’s message and Tim’s response. Spoiler wouldn’t put money on it though.

He’d have had to be on his way down already, and while they could all change quickly, there were no rushed or sloppy patches to her experienced eye.

His hair was even neatly slicked back into the traditional Robin spikes, one every Robin but her and Duke had used during their time as the baby bird.

Nah, he’d not rushed out in a panic, even if he was still more tense than he should have been. Every line of the kid was tight with… Spoiler cocked her head thoughtfully.

Frustration?

Definitely not unusual, Damian didn’t have Dick’s temper but he’d spent pretty much all of his first few years in Gotham unbearably frustrated with them all. It had just been a while since she’d seen it so… visibly.

And for all Steph was a gleeful little shit and loved poking at trouble, she wasn’t cruel. There was no point in pushing Robin if he was already on edge.

So she shrugged nonchalantly and looked forward instead, reaching back over her head to pat him gently on the foot. He didn’t dodge, which only cemented her decision.

“‘Course, no rule against taking a daylight run if you’re in the mood. See anything interesting?” She asked nonchalantly.

Kid wouldn’t admit it if he had been worrying.

Silence reigned for another long moment, and then Robin huffed and dropped down to the rooftop beside her, folding himself back into the sharper shadow the daylight provided.

“No.” Short and sweet, unlike the kid himself.

But he also hadn’t left, and Spoiler was gonna call that a win.

“Will you be out tonight too?” She asked instead of pushing, reminding herself yet again; he’d open up in his own time.

Hypothetically.

Robin made a soft, disgusted noise, glowering at the smog filled sky. Probably even in the right direction for the Watchtower.

“I intend to be. Someone must keep an eye on things,” he grumbled, and Spoiler made an effort not to take it personally.

B had been majorly distracted with all this Amity Park business, not even breathing down their necks about the usual nightly reports. The rogues hadn’t exactly noticed yet, but the goons had.

The big Bat himself not making an appearance for a couple of nights usually attracted some comment, and an up-til-now entirely Bat-free new year?

The guys she’d helped Signal grab today had been muttering about it right until they ran into her arms. Fists.

They’d mentioned not seeing Stabby Robin either though.

Which she might as well also mention.

“Weren’t you out last night too? I saw your gear missing when I dropped by at the end of the night,” she added when he tensed again, hands wedged in her utility belt. “Didn’t hear you on comms though.”

And that was more than just rude; it was bad protocol, and Robin, for all his other faults, respected the strictness of protocol.

He stayed silent, not looking at her. Spoiler decided he could use just a little push.

“Y’know unless you went out tech free I can just ask Oracle,” she pointed out gently, giving his shoulder a gentle bump.

It got him to glower up at her anyway.

“I was not on patrol,” he grumbled, whites of his mask narrowed before returning his glare to the city at large, “like I am not today.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Spoiler flipped a mental coin. Figured why not; they were already doing well.

Kid must be on the verge of having to, dread the thought, ask for help.

“And what would you be doing out and about if not patrolling…” she began, then stopped when a piece clicked suddenly into place.

Robin, Damian, was about as social as a feral cat. And about as friendly with anyone who got close to those he considered his.

Right now, Danny Fenton and his friends had more than half the family utterly wound up. All except Bruce in a good way, Spoiler was the first to admit, but Robin wouldn’t see it like that.

The only trick was, how to word the question.

Spoiler liked blunt. It made her stand out from the bats, who all played way too much mental and emotional chicken to be healthy. She’d always been more of a bird that way.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with Hood’s little disappearance today, would it?” She asked instead, grinning broadly when Robin twitched.

Hit the nail on the head.

——————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 5 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence e @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog g @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear r @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook

[nyoomfruits]

hey dear, i hope you're doing well! as much you should definitely finish the magic helmet au, i'm demanding more of your writing so from the prompt list: saying “i love you” completely randomly -- lestappen, pre-slash? -- if you're up for it! x

hi!!!! i am!!!! i am definitely working on the magic helmet au later today BUT this prompt was wayyyy too tempting not to tackle so!!! here you go, lestappen crash angst (with a happy ending dont worry!!!!) :D

When Charles flings open the door of the medical building, about four faces turn to look at him in bewilderment. “Where,” he starts, clearing his throat. “Where is he?” When he gets a few blank stares in return, he adds, “Max, where is he?” He’s trying to stay calm, but there’s panic crawling at his throat, panic he can’t really explain, but that he knows is only soothed by seeing Max is okay.

The crash keeps playing on a loop in his brain. One second, Max is right in front of him, and the next he’s careening into the barriers, hitting them with a gut wrenching crash.

“Oh,” one of the nurses says, a little unsure, “uh, through here, Mr. Leclerc.” She points through a door on the left. “But I don’t know-“Charles doesn’t let her finish, striding forward and throwing the door open.

Max is sitting on the examination table, scrolling through his phone with one hand as the other is held up in an arm sling. Aside from the sling, there’s no visible injuries, and with the way Max is smiling down at his phone, he seems mostly fine.

“Fuck,” Charles breathes out, feeling the relief wash over him.

Max looks up at the sound, and his smiles widens when he spots Charles. “Charles!” He says, putting his phone back in his pocket. “What are you doing here, aren’t you supposed to-“

“Are you,” Charles interrupts, feeling it all rush out of him. “Are you okay?”

Max shrugs, “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. The hand’s a little busted, but they’re pretty sure it’s not broken so that should heal soon enough. Actually, I’m-“

And it’s just. There was a second there, as Charles watched Max’s car smash into the barriers, where he didn’t think they would be here right now. There was a few moments after as well, where no one could tell him if Max was okay, where he couldn’t stop thinking ‘What if he doesn’t make it out?’

It’s that fear, that all consuming realization that this is their one shot at life and it could really all just be over in the blink of an eye, that has him blurting out, “I’m in love with you.”

Max’s mouth clicks shut. His eyes are wide, and he’s not saying anything, and Charles can feel the panic crawling at his throat again. “Shit, I mean, fuck. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you right now, you’re clearly in pain and I’m just, I don’t know, throwing love declarations at your head while you have so many other-“

“Charles,” Max says, now his turn to interrupt Charles. Charles stops talking, wonders if it would be weird if he just ran right back out. The nurses must think he’s insane at this point. “Come here,” Max says, and he extends his good hand towards Charles.

Charles goes, because of course he does, because this is Max, even though everything in him is screaming at him to run for the hills, to hide and never come back out.

Max pulls him in, until he’s slotted between Max’s legs, his thighs bracketed by Max’s knees. They’re close, so close, Max’s fingers still tangled with his, their chests almost touching, their faces only inches apart. He forgets how to breath for a second.

“I love you, too,” Max says, into the limited space between their mouths. “I’m sorry I scared you today.”

Charles, who’s still very much trying to process what on earth is happening right now, makes a needy little noise in the back of his throat. He wants, he wants, and it’s all right in front of him right now, looking up at him with sparkling eyes and a soft smile. His hands find Max’s face, because he needs to touch, needs to make sure he really is okay, that he’s really here.

Max’s smile widens, and then he’s leaning forward, closer closer closer, and then he finally closes the gap between them, pressing their lips together in a kiss that’s both desperate and soft and all the things in between.

When he pulls away, he presses his forehead against Max’s, needing to exist in his space a little bit longer. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, quietly.

It sounds just as much as an ‘I love you’ as the words he spoke earlier.

[merge-conflict]

who else would ever stay?

(this is an alternate version of marked for death, which didn't hit the highlights I wanted it to but is still pretty good. short. ~500 words)

On the second day after Saburo-sama’s death, Goro wakes up in a dark, strange room. Those first few minutes of tired confusion are the best ones he’ll ever have again, unburdened as they are by the knowledge of his greatest failure. He feels half-dead himself, not only from the wound in his side but from the loss of so much of his cyberware functionality that he wonders how he will even begin to do all that must be done, alone in this disgusting excuse for a city.

He’s managed to prop himself up when the door to the room opens, and the ripperdoc who has pulled him back from the brink of death enters. Exhaustion seems to have aged him nearly a decade, but he dutifully sinks into the chair next to Goro’s bed and pulls up the diagnostics on the tiny portable panel next to his cot.

“Really shouldn’t be sitting up just yet,” he says, distractedly. “I know you’re tough but you’ll heal even faster if you take it easy.”

“It is not safe for me to stay here.”

“Well nobody’s come busting in during the ten hours I was working on V so another six to eight probably won’t kill you. If you want to try to crawl out of here, be my guest.” The ripperdoc gestures vaguely to the door, without looking up.

Goro tenses, considering sitting all the way upright before abandoning the idea. He doesn’t need his diagnostics display to know he’s still low on blood, or that the synth skin patch on his side is still anchoring itself, with that familiar and maddeningly tender itch. There is nowhere for him to go, no way for him to defend himself. If he tries to leave now he will die a painful and pointless death.

“No,” he says. “You are correct. Please forgive me…I am in your debt, but I do not even know your name.”

“Viktor Vektor,” the ripperdoc replies. “You can just call me Vik. For now I think it’s best you don’t tell me who you are or what you were doing with V.”

“I am sure there will be a bounty on my head. You may be tempted–“

“Not the way I operate.” Vektorfinally looks up to meet his gaze. His eyes are puffy, visible even through the tinted glasses he wears. He’s not just exhausted, but grieving. “I’m not part of a corp, alright? All I’ve got is my reputation. Surely that’s something an Arasaka soldier can understand.”

“I understand,” Goro says, ignoring the slight. He is in no position to take offense. “And V?” If he can reclaim the Relic to present to Hanako-sama then all may not be lost.

Vektor’s frown deepens. “Lost her a few times,” he says, gruffly. “That damn relic just kept rebooting her. She’s stable now.”

A chilling twist of fear and hope runs through Goro’s gut. “She is…still alive?”

“Yeah. Still alive.” Vektor stands, shoving the data display aside. “Everything looks good here. I’ll be out there if you need me. Try and get some rest.” He wanders out, like a man caught in a fugue.

Goro lowers himself back down to think but instead falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. He’s not alone.