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messenger-of-babel · 4 months ago

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The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

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cupcakedieabetes · 3 months ago

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DPXDC PROMPT: DEMON TWINS, BUT DANYAL NEVER REVIVED

Imagine Danyal never getting revived by the Pits after he had to battle Damian to the death. Ra's instantly destroys the body at the last breath that Danyal takes because he knows that his daughter will have a moment of weakness and he wasn't willing to let a weak one live. I'd like to put them around the ages of 5-6 ish.

Damian thought it was normal, and treated everything as fine because it was always expected of him. His twin was the weaker one after all. All emotional and soft despite the training. He has never called his brother "Akhi" bc he was weak and refused to acknowledge him as a brother

Meanwhile, Talia was grieving her son. Danyal who was just like his father where the people in League would call weak because he was reluctant to kill and was very soft at heart. That's when she made plans to remove her only remaining child from the League and overtake her father.

So Damian was sent off to his father.

Now, Danyal Al Ghul has been reincarnated into Daniel 'Danny' Fenton. He was born and raised in the Fenton's family and has no idea about his past life.

Now, I kind of want Danny to get turned into a ghost at a younger age. Maybe age 10 so Damian would be 16, so there would be an age gap of 5-6 years.

Damian has lived with the Waynes for years now. When he was younger, he didn’t and had never regretted killing his brother. After all, was it a surprise that the moment he entered the Manor, he tried killing Tim? He had already killed one brother, more over his own blood, so what is another, if not an inferior one due to having no relation to him at all?

But now, he regrets it so much. But it's been years, and he barely even remembers Danyal's face. He didn’t tell his family bc he didn't want them to grieve over a family that was long dead. That was practically destroyed the moment he died, so there was nothing left of him. He has no memories of his brother either, only his name, so how could he offer comfort to the other bats when he couldn’t even tell some stories about him either?

The bats are now tied up by a cult, and Damian was in the center of the sacrificial circle.

The cult was summoning someone of Damian's deceased family or something like plot convenience for a summoning. To use them to fight against the bats bc how sad it would be bc they would have to fight against a dead family member that was controlled by them. Damian was struggling bc it could be anyone from the League.

Then, to his horror, it was his brother who was summoned. He was suspended in the air in a fetal position asleep, but he appeared transparent with a tail.

"Danyal" He said, horrified. He appeared older for some reason, but the instant he was summoned, he knew it was him.

Batman, who was trying to reach for Damian, stared at the sleeping ghost. He appeared similar to Damian and his mind did the mental math. He didn’t know exactly when did the ghost died, but judging by his age, he looked to be about the age Damian came to the Manor. And judging by how anguished Damian looked, he came to the right conclusion that the ghost was Damian's brother, his son.

He mourned. This was simultaneously the oldest and the youngest he would have ever seen.

That is also what the rest of the bat thinks and comes to the conclusion of. They broke out of their restrains due to fury and stuff, and the circle is erased, the ghost gone before they had a chance to use him against them.

Meanwhile, (pre-Ghost King maybe) Danny just jolted in bed, confused about what happened bc he had a feeling he turned into a ghost. But he shrugged it off and went back to sleep.

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #damian wayne #danyal al ghul #Imagine the angst the bats are in and meanwhile Danny just la ti da his way #Danny does not remember anything about his past life #but maybe only once he turned into the ghost king?#The bats mourned bc they dont even have pictures of Danyal #Damian tried drawing his brother #but keeps on throwing out the drawings bc he just doesnt remember what his brother looks like anymore #due to ghost disrupting cameras the pictures arent even clear

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starmocha · 7 months ago

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☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ masterlist ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Sometimes I write fics (and share wips). Or analysis. Or I'm just rambling into the void. I write for a lot of fandoms, but only post Love and Deepspace here I'm just lazy. So...yeah. :D

LINKS: AO3 ⋆ ★ FF.Net ⋆ ★ FF.Net ⋆ ★ Dokuga

OTHER LINKS: Series Index ⋆ ★ Breeding Kink & Family Fics Masterlist ⋆ ★ Tag List

new → old

last updated: feb. 16, 2025

FANFICTIONS

ZAYNE ★⋆. ࿐࿔

you're the only one, my love do you want to build a snowman? (it doesn't have to be a snowman) Carrot Cake I For You — 《 MDNI 》 12:30 PM Checkup the day bleeds into nightfall

— DAWNBREAKER

calling your name

RAFAYEL ★⋆. ࿐࿔

and this year i promise in a gingerbread house built for two never the same

XAVIER ★⋆. ࿐࿔

you shine like the stars, you light up my heart Time-Out

SYLUS ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Be My Valentines i'm on the run with you, my sweet love — 《 MDNI 》 meet me at midnight — 《 MDNI 》 ‘tis the damn season and deck them goddamned halls to: my true love Sunday Reset want me, need me, love me — 《 MDNI 》 Bride of the Dragon King :: Prelude Little Dino Hide-and-Seek Elysium — 《 MDNI 》 Relentless Conqueror — 《 MDNI 》 it was always you — 《 MDNI 》 but if it's forever, it's even better — 《 MDNI 》 even if the stars fall down pain is all you'll find would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) yours & mine — 《 MDNI 》 Crow in the Bedroom Caller ID Rock-a‐Bye Unhelpful Company you are my favorite mistake — 《 MDNI 》 tag, you’re it — 《 MDNI 》 fly to you like birds do — 《 MDNI 》 Mirror, Mirror — 《 MDNI 》 call me master (and i’ll call you mine) — 《 MDNI 》

CALEB ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Push & Pull — 《 MDNI 》 Pillow Talk — 《 MDNI 》

OT5 ★⋆. ࿐࿔

but grandma i love him! (and him and him and him and him)

MISCELLANEOUS

Scenarios, headcanons, sometimes ask box ficlets, yapping, brainrotting, deteriorating...

ZAYNE ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Lesson Learned (?) — 《 MDNI 》 Afternoon Lessons — 《 MDNI 》 Sometimes you just have a breakdown while ovulating and that's ok — 《 MDNI 》

RAFAYEL ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Decorating Nursery

XAVIER ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[placeholder for blorbo by proxy]

SYLUS ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Beyond Cloudfall: In Another Life Daddy is a Kitty? Taking Little Birdie to the Amusement Park Sylus' reaction to his daughter making a (boy) friend at the park Horny Tribal!Sylus Thoughts — 《 MDNI 》

CALEB ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Endless Summer Sweet Little You but stay with me — 《 MDNI 》 he deserves all of my love i'm very normal about him — 《 MDNI 》 A Colonel and His Lover I'm a whore for him but I like it Caleb misuses his Evol — 《 MDNI 》 Push-ups with Caleb General's daughter!Reader's arranged marriage to Colonel Caleb AU I really am just a whore for this man tf Undressing for Caleb — 《 MDNI 》 Gaming with Caleb

OTHERS ★⋆. ࿐࿔

LADS men + Grieving the deaths of wife and child LADS men + Reader with a risky pregnancy i'm a srs writer (who is srsly horny af for caleb, zayne, and sylus) — 《 MDNI 》 reminder that i am a zayne, caleb, and sylus girlie — 《 MDNI 》 Open Secret (Zayne/Caleb) — 《 MDNI 》 Me and my hand fetish against the world (pre-Caleb; OT4) — 《 MDNI 》 LADS men's children's names (pre-Caleb; OT4) ⭐️🍎 Dormmates AU (Caleb/Xavier) LADS men being bros Acts of Love (pre-Caleb; OT4)

ANALYSIS ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Hypothesizing Sylus' dragon myth, part 1 Hypothesizing Sylus' dragon myth, part 2 Hypothesizing Sylus' myth, part 1 Hypothesizing Sylus' myth, part 2 Just me geeking out about the Greek myths referenced in the game

NON-WRITING POSTS ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Zayne post I look at to make myself sad The reason I write a lot of Sylus breeding fics Cat Zayne Post Zayne post I look at when I'm sad Sylus post I look at when I'm sad Caleb post I look at when I'm sad

All Love and Deepspace fanfics are posted only on Tumblr (@starmocha) and AO3 (loveppears (108am)). They will always be cross-posted to one another. Stories are prohibited from being posted elsewhere and I do not allow translations of my works under any circumstances. Reblogs are ok and encouraged! ♡

Thanks for reading! ☆

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #dawnbreaker x reader #caleb x reader #masterlist #fanfiction

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starshideurfics · 2 months ago

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A Mother’s Love - part 2

part one

omegaverse, pre-steddie, past mpreg, cw: child death

Marsha Harrington was proud of her work under Dr. Martin Brenner. They were doing cutting-edge research, pushing the boundaries of what the human mind could do, and ensuring the communists didn’t win.

At least, that’s what she told herself as she held a grieving mother whose baby they had stolen.

Then, she told herself she was doing it for the children, protecting them as best she could.

But she couldn’t protect them. Not really.

Two was angry, even as a little boy, and Four followed his example. Five was cold, easily molded by Brenner. Each of them did whatever Papa asked.

Except Seven.

Seven cried often, and he kept to himself. The older boys liked to make him cry. And he was afraid of the girls, like being near them would burn his skin.

He was always distressed during Brenner’s tests, so distressed that they never got good data. Brenner tried ignoring him, a “cooling off period” he called it, to see if Seven could calm down and regulate enough for testing. It didn’t work.

“He’s washing out,” Brenner said one day after a failed attempt to get Seven to guess at the pictures on the cards in Brenner’s hands. “Schedule him for tomorrow.”

One child had washed out before. Four had been a twin. 004A and 004B, but A never stood out, let B push him around. He’d hit his head, had a cranial hematoma. There was surgery, but he recovered… below Brenner’s standard. He washed out at six-years-old.

“Washed out.”

He was cremated.

And 004B became 004.

Marsha volunteered to handle 007’s procedure. She changed out the vials, gave him a mild sedative, and covered him with a sheet. A janitor helped her sneak him out a backdoor.

She brought him home, told her husband she’d leave him if he didn’t agree to adopt the boy. Richard simply smiled and nodded.

Marsha had had cancer in her early-20s, lost both ovaries in the course of her treatment. She’d gone to therapy, made her peace with it. Found a husband who didn’t care that she couldn’t have children, who liked being able to knot her without worrying about babies.

Richard did not care for babies. But Seven was already almost 5-years-old. Richard could handle that.

He was also a lawyer, so getting papers filed to adopt the boy were simple. They named him Steven, figuring it was close enough that if he remembered anything his brain could make sense of it.

Steven David Harrington.

Marsha and Richard were quiet about Steve, treating him like he’d always been around. They moved to Hawkins, closer to the lab, hiding Steve in plain sight. And Marsha kept her job.

If they ran, someone might ask questions, but Marsha wanted to save time on her commute. Who could question that?

Out of the lab, Steve calmed down. He enjoyed his routines, liked going to the park, liked swimming in their new pool with Mommy. For the first time, Marsha saw him laugh out loud, and she hoped the worst was behind them.

Then he started school.

The other children overwhelmed him, and his teacher called home 45 minutes after drop-off because Steve could not stop crying.

Marsha went to pick him up, promised they would work on emotional regulation and try again next Monday.

“Steve, can you tell me what’s wrong?” she asked on the way home.

“Hurts,” he said, sniffling and rubbing his chest. “Hurts inside. Everyone is scared and loud and it hurts.”

“Oh, my poor, sensitive boy!” Marsha pulled into the driveway, pulled Steve out of the backseat, and held him close. “Let’s see if we can figure out how to make it quieter for you, Stevie.”

When Steve went back for the second week of Kindergarten he still kept to himself, but he could manage the half day surrounded by his peers. By the end of the week, he had even made friends.

He got better control, grew up happy and healthy, and most importantly, safe.

Marsha continued to work for Brenner until one day, after nearly 20 years, she was reassigned as a specialist at the VA. Brenner said their funding was cut. That the program was finished.

Steve was almost 13 by then. Marsha was fairly certain he didn’t remember any of it. And he didn’t cry much. Not anymore. But when he came home to his mother crying in the kitchen, his eyes filled with tears. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said, throwing his arms around her.

“I know, Honey. I know.”

🫂🫂🫂

Wayne leaves Steve dozing in his nest around 4:10, and goes to try calling the Harrington’s. Marsha picks up on the third ring, voice light and breathy. Wayne tries to be as cordial as possible, introducing himself and mentioning that he’s seen her at the VA when he goes in for his physical.

“But let’s get down to brass tacks, I’ve got your son, Steve, here, in my nest, sleeping through his presentation heat. My nephew’s a freshman, he found him, and you know how teens are, he brought him to the first safe omega he could think of—”

“Thank you!” she cuts him off, sounding a little hysterical. “Thank you, Wayne! I thought I had more time before it hit him. It’s been so long since I’ve worked with pups—with teens…” she trails off, suddenly quiet. “I should have been paying more attention.”

Wayne waits a long moment, then he asks, “D’you wanna come pick him up? Or should I…”

“Yes! What’s your address?”

Wayne’s ready to give directions, but he says Forest Hills and the lot number, and she thanks him again as she hangs up her end of the call. Shrugging, Wayne hangs up his own receiver, and gets a glass of orange juice from the fridge.

Steve’s still sleeping peacefully, his face tucked into the side of the nest, fingers curled in the blankets.

Wayne crosses over to him, strokes his hair and murmurs, “Hey, Kid. Your Mom is on her way over.” He feels Steve’s forehead, still burning with his heat. He holds up the orange juice. “Need to get some sugar into you, make up for everything your body’s burning through.” He helps Steve sit up, holds the glass for him as he drinks it all.

Finished, Steve turns to hide his face against Wayne’s shoulder and whines.

“I know, Kid. This is a rough one. The first of many.”

“Can I lay back down?”

“Sure, get comfy. I’ll bring your mother back as soon as she gets here.” Wayne watches Steve sink back down to the same spot, realizes then where Steve’s nose is, and holds back a keening cry of his own.

Benny deserves to know.

But Benny wants his pup safe before anything.

Marsha must have broken a few traffic laws with how quickly she arrives, and Wayne opens the door for her before she can knock. “Thank you!” she says again, following Wayne back to his nest and running over to Steve. She rubs his back, softly says, “Stevie, I’m here. It’s okay.”

Steve lifts his head, eyes unfocused as he turns to look at her. “Hi, Mom.”

“Are you ready to go home? We’ll get a nest started on your bed and you can sleep.”

“It’s nice here,” Steve mumbles, “Smells nice. Safe.”

She sniffs theatrically. “You’re right, it does.” Then she sniffs Steve’s hair. “But don’t you want a nest that smells like you?”

Steve shakes his head, fist clenching the white undershirt, pulling it to his nose.

Marsha strokes Steves hair, bends down to sniff quietly at the shirt, and goes stock still. As she recovers, she kisses Steve’s hair and gets back to her feet. Her eyes are watery, lips pursed as she approaches Wayne to ask, “You know Ben Hammond?”

“He’s my best friend. Don’t you know he lives in town?”

She shakes her head. “I try not to be involved, for-” She cuts herself off, pauses. “You know, don’t you.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Call him. Now.”

🫂🫂🫂

“Benny’s Burgers, how can I help you?” Benny drawls into the receiver, expecting a to-go order.

Instead, it’s Wayne. “Benny, you need to come over right now.”

“Wayne, no. Dinner rush is about to start, I’ve already got a few early birds, a couple te-”

“Benjamin Hammond, this is serious!”

That wasn’t Wayne, the voice too high-pitched. Feminine and familiar.

“Marsha?”

“Hi, honey. God, I owe you a million apologies. More even.”

“You do.”

“But Wayne said you know, and he needs you.”

Benny’s heart races. “Wayne needs me? Marsha, what the hell is going on? Is Br-”

“Wayne is fine. He needs you.” Marsha is being careful, keeping him from saying too much over the phone. “Please, can you come to Wayne’s? Now?”

“Yeah, just gotta close up.”

“I’m so sorry, Benny.”

“Save it for later, Marsha.” He hangs up, hurries the customers who have already been served. Orders everyone else out with a barked, “Emergency closure. Come back tomorrow.”

Benny hops into his pickup, drives to Wayne’s, confused for a moment by the BMW parked next to Wayne’s truck. But his brain catches back up, and he parks right beside it.

As soon as he’s through the door he can smell it: Peaches, light and sweet. He shouldn’t be able to, with the strength of Wayne’s cinnamon mixed with cigarette smoke, but he does. Peaches mixed with the fading milky scent of a pup.

Wayne and Marsha are in the kitchen, both staring at him.

“I’m so sorry, Benny,” Marsha says again. “What we did to you was unforgivable. What we did to the pups was worse. But I got Steve out. I kept him safe.” Her voice is shaky, but her eyes stay dry, never looking away.

“I wanted to name him David,” Benny says in little more than a whisper.

“I know. His middle name is David, but Steven was easier for him to adapt to.”

“Adapt?”

“Brenner gave them numbers.”

That doesn’t surprise Benny; Brenner was always so clinical. Methodical. But it clearly shocks Wayne. “Numbers. Y’all didn’t even give them names?”

“His name was Seven.”

Marsha glances at Wayne, sees the disgust there. “Brenner thought it would make it easier for us to see them as subjects than as children. But they were always children to me. And Steve was sensitive, stubborn and scared. I got him out, and Brenner thinks he’s dead. As long as he doesn’t call any attention to himself he should be safe.”

“Talking to me will call attention to him, won’t it?” Benny asks, heart and mind racing. For a moment he considers grabbing Steve and running god knows where, but he can’t do that to his pup.

“Not that much. Brenner shuttered the program. I don’t work for him anymore. I’m just a nurse at the VA. And all your files are secured and confidential. No one should be watching you.” Marsha takes two steps, crosses the tiny kitchen, and tentatively reaches for Benny’s shoulder. “And he needs you. His heart still knows you.”

“I think my heart would know him anywhere. No matter what.” Tears stream from his eyes, and Benny nods down the hallway towards Wayne’s room. “I have loved him every day—every minute—of his life, and if you let me in, I’m not leaving. Ever.”

“I know. We’ll figure it out. Keep him safe. Together.”

Marsha takes his hand in both of hers, squeezes once, and lets go. “He’s sleeping, but I think he’ll feel better if you’re nearby.”

Benny panics, suddenly struck with all his worst fears. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

“No more than any other omega on the day they present,” Wayne answers gently.

“Oh.” Right, the peach scent. Benny’s grandmother smelled like peaches. He misses her. She taught him how to bake.

“He found your scent token in my nest right away,” Wayne adds.

“Oh,” Benny says again, his legs beginning to shake. “Oh.”

Marsha guides him back to the nest. To his pup.

Steve is asleep, a plain, white shirt clutched in his fist, held by his nose. The exposed skin of his back is covered in a sheen of sweat, and his cheeks are pink. Too warm all over from his presentation.

Slowly, Benny sinks down to sit at the center of the nest, and he carefully places a hand on top of Steve’s, aims his wrist towards his boy’s nose.

Steve purrs and nuzzles towards it, and Benny purrs in response. His hand moves to grasp Benny’s forearm and he mumbles, “Good, safe.”

“Yeah, Baby, you’re safe.”

🫂🫂🫂

Steve wakes around 9 that night, his cramps intense. He lets out a whine that sounds pitiful, even to his heat-addled mind. “Mama?” he asks softly, even though he hasn’t called his mother that since he started grade school. “Mama?”

“It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay,” she soothes back, petting his cheek.

Her powdery scent fills his nose, mildly floral, and he whines again. His belly cramps harder, an ache that radiates through his pelvis. He turns, seeking out the comforting scents of Wayne’s nest, only to press his nose into the palm of a callused hand.

Steve breathes in deeply. Apples and warmth.

He whines again, wordless and high pitched, both hands reaching, grasping. Steve feels safe, feels loved. Desperately. Overwhelmingly.

He reaches for it with his heart, touches that love with his own, and cries out. A love so big it hurts.

His fingers catch on soft cotton, body-warm because it’s being worn. He clenches his fists, whines as he pulls himself closer.

Steve’s not sure if he imagines it when he hears his mother say, “See, he needs you,” so gentle. When he hears a shaky gasp in response.

Then big arms lift him up, holding him like a pup, cradled against a strong chest. A warm hand guides his head down, positions his nose so he’s hit with the most intense burst of apples and love. Of sweetness and safety.

He snuffles closer, wants only this. Feels himself relax.

He does not understand yet, but he knows. His feelings have always been too big, but here they can be. He can let them be big, because here they are only love. Only joy.

Steve drifts to sleep in his mama’s arms for the first time, and for that moment, all is right with the world.

Part Three

#steddie #omegaverse #fanfiction #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #stranger things fic #omega wayne munson #omega benny hammond #mkultra benny #Steve Harrington has powers

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awhoreintheory · 2 months ago

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I need someone to write a feral 14-year-old, freshly dead uncle, angry at world, pre-vigilante Peter ending up in gotham

Because??? Can you imagine the chaos???

Peter gets dragged into DC, maybe a switch up of the circumstances on how he ends up in gotham? I'm thinking like. Either a futuristic science thing or magic, and Dink's DNA is placed in it (deliberately or not) and it's supposed to pull the closest alternate variant, but it malfunctions and knabs whatever shares the DNA

Peter falls through a portal and immediately starts cursing people out, maybe he punches someone, who knows

"Who is this spicey teenager and why are they calling me a bitch?" And Bruce looks at him and he's literally his first Robin

OR flip the angry grieving teen and you can have a complete shut down??

Honestly, however you think a newly super powered and grieving teen would react in general

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astracora · 4 days ago

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Drunken Confession - Xavier

Characters: Xavier x gn!mc

Warnings: Very Drunk MC, Xavier's Myth Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2428

Written: 25th February 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship, with Xavier and the main MC I write for. Me giving MC bad coping mechanisms and bad grieving habits? So likely. Incredibly likely. Help. It was accidental I swear. They're so messy... I love them. (they get better)

Masterlist AO3

<- Caleb <-Zayne Rafayel ->

Xavier is pleasantly asleep at his desk, when he's shaken awake by a worried Tara. He blinks himself awake, rubbing at his eyes as she peers down at him frantically. He pulls back, stunned at the way she leans into him for a moment. A grumble escapes him, but she does not seem to notice or care.

"Xavier, have you seen them? They handed in the mission report and now I can't find them anywhere?"

The drowsiness and soft embrace of slumber disappears in an instant, and he digs around for his phone. When he finds it, on the floor where he must have knocked it off earlier, he finds it quiet. You've not sent him a message, and you always let him know when you're about to head home if you're at work together.

It's become a routine to walk back to your shared apartment building, after buying some snacks from the corner shop. You wouldn't just forget. Whenever you show him what you've bought, normally some limited edition snack that looks like it will be an adventure for you both, with a mischievous smile and a dare in your eyes.

He enjoys it, even when you shared those vile pocky with him. His luck to always draw the worst one, seemed to carry on to roulette jellybeans, and mystery chocolate. Though your laugh… it almost makes the horrible taste of fish sweets worth it.

So he sends you messages.

Where are U?

Are U ready to leave?

Are U ok?

Tara is next to him, chewing on her pen lid, staring down at his phone like it'll offer answers. When it stays silent, he turns to her, "What happened?"

She shakes her head, hair falling over downcast eyes and fidgets, "We had a support mission, some kids got caught up in it, one got hurt. They had to be transported to Akso. I just got the call that they're alright, they just need some time to recover, but I can't find them."

He thinks about times he's failed to protect people, the guilt holding him down. Chains around his legs, slowing each step. He's had to forcibly break them time and time again, just to keep moving. Just to keep walking towards you. Xavier's life is you and fighting wanderers. He knows yours is just as focused on putting your life into your role as a hunter.

It wears down the soul, it always has.

"I'll go find them." He stands, he doesn't know where to start truthfully, you may have gone home, so he'll start there.

"Tell them-" Tara pauses, fidgeting, and then gives Xavier a smile he knows is meant for you, not for him, so he makes a note to inform you of it when he finds you, "they did everything right, we did everything we could."

Xavier thinks it goes without saying, of all the things he admires about you, the drive to keep being better is one of those things. When it counts, when it matters most, you do not stop, and you do not give up.

It is one thing of many, but he knows what Tara is thinking.

You're blaming yourself.

He knows how that feels. Meteor showers, and wounded heart in the catastrophe he could not hope to stop.

Guilt settles strong and heavy, and he needs your hand to help raise his own. You need his, he hopes, to raise yours.

He leaves the Association quickly, teleporting as soon as he's outside onto your balcony. Normally he'd be more conscious of your personal space, but his worry and his anxieties bite on his heels. He can't lose you, not again.

He can't lose you.

The balcony door is locked, but there are no lights on. He knocks, and hears nothing. There's a moment, where Xavier is staring at the door, debating breaking the lock, when he hears his phone go off.

Starlight.

"Wh-" He barely manages to open his mouth, when you giggle down the phone.

"Xavi, what's up?"

"Where are you?"

You're quiet for a moment, and he tries to imagine the possible answers. Spiralling into distress the longer it takes for you to respond.

"Are you ok?" He tries again, but you're still quiet.

He thinks about the times you've been uncomfortable in front of him, wavering on the edge of speaking. Mouth opening, closing, thinking and stirring. Running over and over in your head. He swallows down his words, and forces himself to still.

"Do you remember Fluffy?"

He remembers every little thing he's shared with you, everything about you, every thought and word. He will never forget a single thing, especially because you didn't remember. Instead he says, "Of course."

"I'm where we met them. If you want to join me?" It's a question, unsure and hesitant. You don't sound sad, but then it can be hard to read your feelings based on your physical and verbal interactions.

Xavier never has to think too long on time spent with you, sad, or happy, he'll fly to you at a moment's notice. "I'm coming. Wait there for me."

His ability to teleport, truly is a relief, when he appears in the garden, to see you lay down. You're staring up at the sky, a flower in your hand, pulling the petals off absently. Fluffy is chirping nearby, but mostly minding their own business.

You reach out a careful hand to pat Fluffy's head, humming to yourself, phone still resting in the other.

There's silence as he approaches you, sits down next to you, and holds himself back from reaching out, to take your hand. Instead, he watches as you turn your face to him, and smile. He feels the anxiety settle, but as he lies down to join you, he can smell it. Alcohol on your breath, faint but there.

He doesn't speak, isn't sure what to say, not for a second. There's a lot he wants to ask, or affirm. He wants to comfort you, he just can't work out where to start, so he starts with Tara. "The kid is ok." He offers.

Watches as your eyes widen, blinking and then you smile. Really smile at him. Relief colouring you. "Good. I'm glad." You turn on your side, releasing your phone, so you can pillow your head against your arm. Hair falls over your eyes, so he reaches out to push it behind your ear. Twisting a wave for a moment around his fingers, and then pulling back before he aches for the heat of your skin. "They shouldn't have to suffer for my mess up."

"You didn't mess up." He knows that, he knows it for sure. He knows it in the pride of Captain Jenna when she talks about you, he knows it from Tara's assurance, he knows it from what he sees everyday. He knows it as easily as he knows you're his beacon.

You sigh, "I should have been faster. They should never have gotten hit."

When will you learn you're just one person?

"Just a kid…" There's a flash of agony, and he thinks about the catastrophe, when he'd stepped in to protect you. The fear and pain of a child facing a creature that was too dangerous, too powerful, and too hard to understand. "No kid should have to see something like that, let alone be hurt by one." Your voice is breaking at the edges, guilt tying you down. You close your eyes to escape from him.

He moves closer, so that his arm gently touches yours, you're so close. The brush of contact makes you open your eyes, and this time he catches your gaze with his own. He hopes you hear him, "Sometimes-" He swallows, and your free hand brushes his where it rests between the two of you, "we can't do everything we want to do. Sometimes, we fail where we think we should have succeeded."

A monster in a forest, and a protocore thrown back at a man he'd learned to hate.

A body under a meteorite shower, and a protocore too late to be worth anything.

The bodies of those he was supposed to lead, driven to bestial rage and betrayal.

"You did everything you could, even if you had failed, which you didn't, you did everything you could." He takes your hand in his, squeezing it once, before going to release. You don't let him, holding onto his hand, entwining your fingers, moving closer so your breath warms his cheeks. "It's ok."

"I just want to help Xavi. It feels like everytime I can't do it right, perfectly, I'm… I'm not doing enough." Tears fill your eyes, trembling on lashes. Waiting to be given permission to fall, and you fight it, like you always do.

"I don't think it ever feels like enough." Is his honest answer. It certainly feels like no matter how many Wanderers he fights, he'll never make a dent in what leaves a scar on this world. On your home. "We just have to keep trying." Even if he's tired. Even if he aches.

Even if he feels himself struggling to stand up.

He has to keep going.

Your eyes search his face, and he hopes he's not showing his weakness to you now. So you will come to him with the fears you refuse to share, that alcohol has carried on the breeze to him now.

Whatever you find, you move closer, and on reflex he extends his arm out for your head to rest on. Arm carefully settling over your waist. You close your eyes to get comfortable in his arms. His fingers twitching with the urge to hold you even closer. Against his chest, against his heart. "Thank you, Xavi."

He doesn't respond, just hums as he rests his head next to yours.

"Maybe I should take some tips from Lumiere." You mumble against his arm, and he flinches, brows furrowing as he looks down at you. Your one eye cracks open to see him, and you laugh. Once, loudly, and then breakdown into giggles.

His mild irritation, and not so mild jealousy, eases up as he watches you relax. As the guilt sheds away, in favour of a feeling he's all too familiar with. The need to keep moving forwards.

You'll be ok, and he will too. You have each other to help move forwards, and one day you'll come to him first with your stress and strain, and not seek out relief anywhere else.

Though he certainly doesn't dislike how close you are, even though he fights back his urges like they are barely chained. "I'll come with you on missions instead." He grumbles, leaning forwards to rub your nose with his, gently.

You open your eyes properly to look at him, bright twinkling mismatched gaze that reminds him every moment what he's fighting for. Your smile is small, but your laugh is music to his ears. A comfort and a joy. "The best partner one could ever ask for." You say on an exhale, he's close enough to feel the heat off your cheeks as you say it.

He lies with you there for quite some time, resting and listening to Fluffy's song. While your eyes close, and you relax, he watches. It's rare he gets the chance, but sleep seems to evade him.

"I like it here." You speak, cracking open an eye, and he almost flushes from being caught staring at you, but you don't comment on it, simply add, "It's the first place I got to know you a little better."

His heart thumps, skips, skitters. His throat tightening. You speak about wanting to know more about him sometimes, often in frustration. When he disappears, when he doesn't share something with you. It's the times you get closest to arguing, he thinks. He wants you to know everything about him, but there's so much, and it's so heavy to carry. He's not sure he's ready to find the words.

Xavier hopes he'll be ready one day. He hopes you'll accept him regardless when that happens.

He is not one for faith. Not anymore. Not since the foundations of his belief were crumbled at the hands of his own family's cruelty.

He thinks he can believe in you though.

Your eyes close again, and he extends his hand. Wanting to touch you again, place his hand on your cheek, stroke over skin, run fingers through your hair. He wants so much, all the time, the yearning a deep pit in his stomach of so many years without you. Not lost. Never lost, when he seeks you and finds you again. He has so much to catch up on though, but he's scared to push his luck. To test your limits, and lose you.

"I want to know you better, Xavier. You're important to me." Your lips brush his arm when you turn your head, getting comfortable when the exhaustion from the day catches up with you.

He's shown you so much already, all the way in the past, and now the you in front of him, but he will show you everything. Whatever you ask, he would offer you. If you wanted him to be your knight, he would.

Important could not begin to describe how precious you are to him. Could not touch on the undeniable adoration he holds for you.

He will give you everything, he will. If you can be patient, if you can give him time. He will. He swears it. You're already asleep when he finally finds his voice again, when he feels the ache of hundreds of years subside. When he stops feeling every guilt and shade and shadow on his shoulders.

When your breathing evens, and he strokes over your cheek like he wants to. Just for a moment. The smallest fragment of time, the briefest heat of your skin. You'll move forwards tomorrow, and you'll be ready to keep fighting again. He'll watch you be strong, and he'll fight alongside you as long as he is capable of doing so.

"You're everything to me, Starlight. One day." He promises, holding you closer, so that the chill of the evening breeze will not wake you from sleep you do not find easy.

Whether you forget him tomorrow, or forget this evening. None of that matters. Your future is what he cares to protect, and he'll keep doing so, as long as he can, until he cannot fight for it anymore.

And if he gets his way, forever. At your side.

#love and deepspace #lnds #lads #wonder writes #lads x reader #lads x mc #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #xavier x mc #xavier shen #xavier #xavier lads #lnds xavier #l&ds xavier #xavier x you

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ominous-horse-noises · 10 months ago

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im ab to be annoying ab dimension20 fhjy but im genuinely loving the character arcs for the bad kids this season?

kristen going from self-annihilatingly stupid to trying to build a genuine bridge with the man who not only wielded the religion that traumatised her (bobby dawn), but also was trying to ruin her life, just bc she thought a grieving father ought to be comforted in some way? her genuine distress at being unable to revivify buddy even though the two had only had negative interactions, or her biting her tongue in front of her parents so she could better look after her little siblings? grappling with the fact that she still, on some level, expected practising religion to be easy and convenient for her as a holdover from an entire childhood spent being a Chosen One, and finally putting her nose to the grindstone and committing to working her ass off for a deity that couldn't even benefit her for a hot minute? making an effort to be cordial with tracker's new gf and letting go of that codependency? the kristen applebees from ep20 would NOT do all the same stupid shit as ep1 and i love that.

fabian being humbled by the narrative again and again has been an absolute treat for his character. the whole ivy/mazey situation was great: freshman/sophomore year fabian would've gone for ivy no sweat, i mean her character seemed pretty similar to pre-redemption aelwyn and he had a huge crush on her then. but this time, when he realised he'd hurt a genuinely great person, and intentionally swallowed his pride to make it up to mazey, even though it required him being 'uncool' with the whole twister thing. his general arc of learning that earnestness and humility doesn't make him less of a man felt like a natural extension of fabian defining his own version of masculinity- sure, a 'maximum legend', but also someone deeply involved in the arts, and someone who is less afraid of saying sorry and being vulnerable in front of someone he likes

fig. fig fig fig. what a woman. its been absolutely fascinating watching build her sense of identity over these three seasons. at her core, fig is a character that loves so deeply. in freshman, she was terrified of the depth of her own devotion, so she tried to distance herself emotionally from everyone. in sophomore, she built herself around that love for other people. in junior year, fig's arc has been learning she can do both: that she's defined by her love for others, but not solely by it. ik emily wanted to retire the character before this season but i think fig's paladin arc was the best capstone to her journey possible.

gorgug's arc has been about establishing clear boundaries for himself and i love it. im aware there's been some Discourse ab the mango soda scene but to me that was pretty easily chalked up to teenage insecurity. a big part of gorgug's arc was trying to believe in himself when everyone around him told him he was too dumb to follow his passion- imagine struggling in an area that you have no natural aptitude for, and someone comes along and also trounces you in the one area you thought you were the best in. i'd be petty and reactive too (gorgug follows up calling her a freak with the fact that she beat the shit out of him, so its clearly him just still smarting from a bruised ego and not actual malice). in general, i've really like gorgug learning to put his foot down and say enough is enough without completely losing his gentleness.

adaine hasnt had an obvious arc, but considering she addressed most of her baggage in the first two seasons, i'm not surprised. i would've liked to see the other bad kids address her 'teenage adult' behaviour, but her self-awareness about it and relying on fabian to pull in clutch for the oracool stuff still felt like she'd learned to rely on her friends at least + her reaching out to aelwyn and the two of them healing from their parents together has been rewarding it its own right.

riz is perfect and has learned nothing. his neuroticism is part of his natural swag

#fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #dimension 20 fhjy #dimension 20 #adaine abernant #figeroth faeth #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #kristen applebees #riz gukgak

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mrs-saturday · 6 months ago

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🏹 The Archer (LS2)

♥ my masterlist!

♥ pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

♥ synopsis: The aftermath.

♥ a/n: Im so upset. Im broken. This is my grieving process

Combat, I'm ready for combat,

The pre-race ritual has always been the same for Logan and you. In front of the mirror, your hands slipping around his toned midriff, nails tracing the evidence of gym sessions beneath his race suit, his helmet on its stand, air at a standstill, as his head falls back onto your shoulder with a shaky exhale.

He knew it, and you knew it.

Zandvoort was the last one, and even though no one knew that for certain, and Vowles hadn't called the meeting, hadn’t thrown down the gavel on the blonde’s dream, you both knew it and it sat in your stomachs like a weight.

He picks his head back up, and turns to face you, planting a small kiss on your nose, and you do the same.

His nose is awfully cold, but you watch him slip the helmet on, and pray that it warms him through.

I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

Watching him spin out was like the nail in the coffin.

Watching orange tongues lap at the rear of his car was enough to drive you to a Hamlet-like state; to jump in his grave, pull the casket lid wide, and scream to the onlookers your love.

When he’s back from medical, he looks at you, a silent acceptance of the end of his career quite literally going up in flames. He runs over, head buried in your chest as silent sobs wrack through his trembling frame. “Logan…” you mutter into his hair, about to ask what he thought would happen to his seat.

“I don’t even want it anymore…” he cries

“But, what if you do?”

'Cause cruelty wins in the movies,

He was told he was out 2 days before they announced it. The young Argentinian with his head hung low in the meeting room, unable to look at Logan. The cold fist of Vowles telling him what he’d been expecting, but the thought of him ruining this young boy’s career filled him with rage.

How dare he do this again. How dare he do this to another bright star, to ignite his explosion all too short of a supernova.

I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

You try to get him to stop for a moment, but he’s sat furiously typing. He has to get it all out, he says. Too many thoughts, he says. He types and types as you hold him. Every frustration, every late upgrade, every lost nugget of feedback, every false promise, the results of which spilled into the American’s notes app like he was a teenage girl, feeling her heartbreak through lines of shower thoughts and ill-placed rhymes.

When he finished, he exhaled, and looked at you, with a weak smile, and hit delete on the note.

Easy they come, easy they go

You two don’t stay in the UK long. The boxes are full the day it’s announced and the flights to Florida only a few days after.

“Home” he had begged on that night, “If the track can’t be, I want to make home with you”

And you agreed, you packed up your life in England alongside him, the helmets and trophies of past delegated to a manila coloured box labelled “FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE”

They would stay there.

For a while, at least.

I jump from the train, I ride off alone

The last thing he does is visit Oscar. Or at least, he tries to. His rosy knuckles tap on the Australian’s door one last time before he realises Oscar is not answering, despite the party going on inside the house. He is far too busy living their dream to remember to answer to the door to a boy delegated to a photograph on his mother’s refrigerator.

I never grew up, it's getting so old, Help me hold onto you

It’s like he’s 11 again, in his parent’s living room, watching ‘Top Gun’, and eating popcorn. No one has bought it up. Not you, not his parents, not Dalton, it hangs in the air like the wheel had clung to his car by a wire’s length. Instead, you all ignore it for the simple pleasure of family. You laugh as he throws popcorn at his brother like they’re children. And you smile to yourself.

He never got to be a kid, really so why not hold onto that freedom now?

I've been the archer

He’d been the winner

I've been the prey

He was the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling?

You could never leave him, darling.

But who could stay?

Home always stayed.

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