#i am blaming YOU

[noodles-and-tea]

also what about an inverse twins in time au where ford went back to the 60's and stan stayed in the 80's?

Oh this is super interesting

[spookeart]

Wolfstar fame au🎤

Imagine seeing your first (and only) love on stage after years of being appart, and he happens to be singing about you and how he wishes things would have been different🥲

I am never normal about them and I love this AU and I love them pls send help

[lily-s-world]

Wymack was ready to propose to Kayleigh, but choose to leave to not overstep Kayleigh boundaries. Wymack called Kayleigh to know if Kevin was his and was ready to be a dad, but she said no so Wymack let it go. He sees Kayleigh everytime he looks at Kevin.

Betsy developed an unnoticed way to call Andrew's attention when he is going anxious and trying to hurt himself. That way he stops and nobody notices.

Andrew accepted joining PSU because it was Aaron's opportunity to study medicine and became the doctor their mother couldn't believe he could be.

Aaron was able to see through Andrew's denial about his feelings for Neil. Because he knew his brother ticks, expressions and mannerisms better than he let it show.

[inkskinned]

the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.

capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.

now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.

and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.

and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.

and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".

it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"

[damian-lil-babybat]

They're judging their sibling's life decisions, and they are not impressed.

(And to think Jason and Dami have pit-madness in their system)

[skyrigel]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knee deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[silencedglaive]

hotaru wishes she could stop crying. but the tears continue to flow, falling too fast, too countless to do anything other than let them. it makes her appreciate his silence even more. she can pretend that he won’t think less of her for them, think of her as weak for being so openly torn apart by his absence. she certainly wouldn’t blame him if he did. 

she expects to react when his arms encircle her. she’s ready to give voice to her objections, to press her palms into his arms & push, to demand answers for what gives him the right to hold her as if all is well. but she doesn’t. she can’t. for all the resistance she thinks she’ll have, hotaru allows herself to sink into the familiar warmth of kai, inhaling deeply & almost immediately choking on the nostalgia, the sorrow, the uncertainty. how is he always so warm ? her own arms hover over her chest, crushed in the space between them, but the slight ache is a welcome almost-distraction. 

❝ i was so … so upset with you, ❞ she whispers, almost apologetic, as if she should never have been. as if her anger had been unjustified, festering inside her & growing sharper than any knife she’s ever known. it’s duller now, certainly. but that doesn’t mean the cuts left behind have stopped bleeding. no, they’ve become more shallow, certainly - taking more & more exertion to wound her again. but they’ve never gone away, not completely. no bandage or gauze could ever heal the heart that kai’s fragmented in his absence, could ever soothe the despair turned ire turned resignation that’s lingered in her chest for so long. 

❝ i cried and i got angry but - but - ❞ & the words catch, caught in her throat, snagging on embarrassment & hesitation & the knowledge that once she speaks them aloud, gives them her voice, she can never take them back, but she can’t bring herself to lie to him - even now, she needs him to know - ❝ i just wanted you to come back. ❞

& that admission destroys the seal on the last dam of her emotions, tears coming faster, breath hitching as a sob catches in the back of her throat & she tries to swallow it, but she can’t. ❝ i missed you, i missed you so much - ❞ & she cannot bear the weight of his attention, cannot risk his gaze, burying her face in the juncture of his shoulder if only because there’s nowhere else for her to go. its humiliating, really. hotaru has never been known to allow herself to be so emotional in the presence of anyone, let alone someone who could not comprehend the weight that burdens her as a soldier. her arms are around him before she can stop herself, grasping the material of his shirt as if her fingers alone could hold him, keep him, prevent him from running away from her again. because she isn’t sure she could carry the heaviness of that grief a second time. 

what has this boy done to her ?

                                    He knew that nothing he was saying would be enough to forgive him for what he done. Kai did not DESERVE any forgiveness. The fact that she was willing to even hear him out & not just slam the door in his face & rightfully so. What he done & the way he did was INEXUSABLE, plain & simple. Rei was right, they weren't children anything & he was responsible for his own actions & feelings. No one else to DESERVES to be on the receiving end of his disregard.

                                & then, it happened. There was no way to escape his crime anymore for it was his negligence & disregard that brought him to this point. & she was nothing more than a CASUALITY of it all. Her tears fell; nothing else mattered to him in that instance. Not the tournament, not blading, not dranzer, not being the best. Its really UNFORTUNATE that in order to put priorities in order those that weren't before need to be burned. 

                           HANG HIM FOR THIS TRANSGRESSION! How dare he make her this way! & what does he have to say for himself? Well...what can he say? They were past the point of sorry & I'll never do it again. The best he could do, no, the only right thing to do was to let her get it all out in whatever way she saw fit. There was no RIGHT & WRONG in this instance.

                         & the more she cried into him & the more he made himself reflect on what he could have done different. Would have truly been that different to let her know BEFORE he left? A simple 'I am doing this thing & will be radio silent until we come back' would have been a thought REGULAR PEOPLE would have easily. Having to navigate this pesky thing love was becoming the most CHALLENGEING thing he'd had to work out to date. But, for her, it meant she'd never have to cry again because of him (OF ALL PEOPLE) he'd do anything.

                       He had a bit of a height difference on her & as she continued to curse his name Kai stayed silent. It was his signature & many people thought him rude for it. But, in the silence he listened. He observed & took mental notes. He did the same thing here because this CANNOT happen again. Not by him. Not by anyone. His hair continued to cover his eyes but Kai's gaze was still intense; he looked angry but to at her, never her.

                      Why wasn't she shoving him away? Why wasn't she telling him to leave & never come back? What wasn't she doing to him what he was SURE he deserves? It didn't make sense to him & that in it of itself, is a problem. It was not her job to teach him how to treat her. SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO. He knew that. He royally FUCKED up. ❛ If I wanted to break up, I wouldn't show my face to you ever again. But...I fear there is nothing I can do to fix this. ❜ His tone, SOMBER. His demeanor, DESPONDENT. HE HAD TO ADMIT DEFEAT. ❛ I already lost you...didn't I? ❜

                      Kai didn't wait for an answer out of fear of being proven right. He instead, allowed instinct to take over. This was probably the last time they would ever be like this & to end it in such a manner most UNBECOMING. He had to give her what she deserved. She had a right to it & not even he can keep it from her. Kai stepped alittle closer & almost shadowed her. Without thinking about it & not caring what will come to for doing it, Kai allowed his arm to wrap around Hotaru & envelope her in his embrace. Against his chest he held firm & in her neck his face buried. Any minute she'll push & kick him away & that will be ok. He braced himself for it but not before saying what needed to be said.

                    ❛ I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. ❜

                                                                       (LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!)

[mikonez]

going places, doing things, pining on the passenger seat

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[fudgecake-charlie]

"rebelle painter has an in depth brush engine to simulate traditional painting techniques" is all well and good until you only use your digital painting method. at least the impasto is really pretty

[tagerrkix]

WHERE IS HE D:

(sorry for deleting and posting this again 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️ one tiny insignificant thing was bothering me and when I edited it it wouldn't show on reblogs and that kinda made me go 😠😠😠)

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[bandzboy]

saying shit like “it’s on you women for stanning boy groups” is not helping and you are putting blame on women who had NO IDEA that this man was awful how are they supposed to know??

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I’VE ALWAYS LOVED THE WAY YOU EAT ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; suguru is a morning person. he likes the serenity of it all; the quiet of the early hours, the expensive feel of his coffee pot. more than anything, he likes bringing you breakfast in bed.

word count; 4.9k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, just comfy morning vibes, fluff fluff fluff!!, suguru being a good soon-to-be husband, lots of petnames, reader is whipped (and so am i) but suguru is even worse, i need him biblically.

a/n; this is my personal essay on why suguru geto is the perfect man and wife. bon appetit !!

something smells good.

as your eyelids flutter open, and you gradually slip out of sleep’s fuzzy embrace, you are engulfed by that one thought. that one sensation.

there’s a sweet fragrance in the air, an unnamed something you can’t place. a force of love.

soft sunrays flit in through the haphazardly closed window blinds of your bedroom, cascading across the floorboards and bouncing off the walls. splotches of sunshine envelop you in a hazy kind of glow; gentle and coaxing, stirring you awake. it feels good on your skin.

indulging in a few more slow blinks, you shift to lie on your back, halfheartedly attempting to chase the sleepiness away. tangled up in silken sheets and fluffy blankets, you stare at the ceiling — but even such a mundane task feels so nice. just wallowing in the tantalizing scent drifting through the bedroom, the flurry of little kisses that the sun smothers you with. 

it’s still early, and you’re still sleepy. outside the walls of your apartment, the sun is rising to its feet, dyeing the world in warm colours; violets and blues melting into pinks and oranges, like an egg cracked open on the canvas of the sky. everything is quiet, not a sound to be heard except for the very distant chirping of cicadas from the trees outside your window. utter peace. like time isn’t even passing.

in the midst of such a precious moment, all you want is to laze around. it’s just that kind of pleasant, mellow morning; the kind that makes you wish the sun would never fully rise.

a satisfied little sigh slips from your lips. content to soak in the heavenly feeling until it passes, your eyes flutter shut — you’re just so sleepy, and the sun just feels so warm. soothing you, making it even harder to stay awake, cradling you in its hazy embrace. sunlit and saccharine.

with the morning fatigue clouding your senses, you don’t even notice the other presence in the room. 

suguru smiles, from his spot by the door — leaning against the wall and gazing at your relaxed expression, an immense fondness reflected in his eyes. taking a moment to silently admire you.

you look so content. tangled up in blankets and pillows, with your limbs outstretched and starfished across the mattress. your hair is a little messy, and you’re drooling just a smidge, wearing his shirt; it’s a couple sizes too big for you, slipping off your shoulder and exposing your sunkissed skin. as suguru’s eyes trail over your features, the fond smile on his face only grows, shifting into something honeyed and giddy. 

you’re perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect.

a moment passes. then another. suguru continues to stare, as if trying to etch the image of you into his memory. trying to prolong the moment for as long as he can. 

until, finally, he’s had his fill. simply admiring you from afar isn’t enough — he needs to see you up close, needs to hear the sleepy little tilt of your voice. so he opts to make his presence known, voice gravelly and sweet, echoing softly throughout the room.

“good morning, sweetheart.”

softly, your eyes flicker open. the familiar voice sends a tremor of something running through your chest — and suddenly, it feels as if some of the sleep clinging to your skin has been washed away. it’s a little easier to make yourself move, shifting to your side to get a better look at the source of the sound.

and the warmth that blossoms in your chest when your eyes meet suguru’s is almost overwhelming.

(god, he’s pretty.)

suguru looks perfect, in the morning. he looks like the rest of your life. hair a little messy, tied up into a lazy half-done bun, silky black strands cascading down his neck. and wearing a pair of comfy sweatpants that hang a little low on his hips, but no shirt — showing off the curve of his tiny waist, the slight twitch of his arms when he indulges in an idle stretch. 

you try to restrain yourself from ogling his bare chest and arms too much, but it’s tough. frighteningly so. with the sunlight embracing his skin, muscles on full display, he looks a bit like a sculpture. a little too good to be real.

but he is. and he’s yours. and he’s smirking at you, lazily, affectionately — eyes half-lidded as he balances the tray that’s making the room smell so sweet. just standing there, looking so unfairly gorgeous. waiting for you to muster up the energy to respond to his greeting, more than happy to watch the way your eyes soften as they trail across his features in the meantime.

“morning,” is all you can rasp, eyes closing as your cheek sinks deeper into the mattress. a bit too tired to talk to him properly, and a bit too unguarded to look at him without feeling as if your heart is about to leap out of your throat. 

he’s a little too pretty, like this. framed by the hazy sunshine, like something out of a dream. all soft clouds and gentle caresses, the scent of dried lavender, the pitter patter of rain against a windowsill. all things kind and comforting. 

you’re afraid that your heart might give out, if you look at him for too long.

suguru doesn’t seem to mind. he only chuckles, voice deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. his lips quirk up into a smooth kind of smile, and he’s quick to make his way to your side; crouching down to meet you at eye level after placing the tray on the nightstand.

a hand comes to caress your cheek. the rough pads of his fingers smooth down your jaw, gentle and doting, as if coaxing you out of hiding. as if you’re made of porcelain. suguru always treats you like you’re fragile, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

(because you are, he thinks. more precious than the expensive vanilla extract he used to make the waffles on the tray, more precious than the diamond-clad ring he’s hidden away in a drawer of the guest room. more precious than anything this world has to offer.)

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you nuzzle into his palm. suguru leans forward to smear a kiss against your forehead, overcome with fondness; warm lips lingering on your skin.

the sensation strikes you as just a little heavenly. his touch is so tender, every caress so full of love. instinctual, the way his love bleeds into his touch, trickles down his veins to the tips of his fingers — smoothing along your skin. such a heavy thing, but he just makes it feel so light. 

“still sleepy?” he hums, a little teasing. eyes crinkling, voice bordering on a coo.

and it’s infuriating. the amusement that flickers through his eyes, the way you can tell he’s itching to tease you for being so groggy and tired.

between the two of you, suguru’s always been the one to get out of bed first, to your grave annoyance. and he’s so smug about it. you want to tell him that waking up so early on a saturday isn’t normal, that he’s the weird one for not being sleepy — 

but when he’s cupping your cheek so gently, all you manage is a meek little murmur of mm. one that has suguru stifling a coo, lips curling up into an adoring smile. 

look at you. his sleepy little baby, dyed in sunrays and tiny specks of dust. so effortlessly pretty, tangled up in fluffy blankets, an image so precious he almost feels like he shouldn’t be looking at it. yet he continues to do so, mesmerized.

(suguru doesn’t mind being a little greedy, when it comes to you.)

“i made you breakfast,” he continues, as you melt into his touch. an absentminded action, but almost brimming with trust; the trust you have in him to treat you well. one he’ll always, always affirm. “your favorite. wanna eat with me?”

breakfast.

something in your brain visibly reacts to the sound of the word, shooing away a little of the morning fatigue still clouding your senses. before you know it, you’ve forced yourself into a sitting position, with groggy movements and a soft groan. rubbing the skin beneath your eyes and kicking the blanket off your legs, a little clumsily.

suguru breathes out a soft bout of laughter, low and amused, as you lazily stretch and indulge in slow blinks. his hand goes to ruffle your hair, and all you do is lean into it.

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he teases, eyes full of fondness. you crack a sleepy smile at his amused tone of voice.

suguru’s hands are big, and a little rough, but still so very soft. you could spend hours tracing them — from the tips of his fingers down to the veins of his wrist, across his knuckles littered with small scratches and barely visible scars. stories of his childhood, that he loves telling you about, almost as much as you love hearing them.

you love his hands. they’re so pretty. so warm and grounding, as they smooth down your hair, unmistakably caring. the weight of them is a comfort, as his fingers card through your bedhead, scratching softly at your scalp. a sensation that makes you feel all fuzzy inside.

suguru is just so good to you.

and you’re only further reminded of that fact when your gaze trails over to the assortment of breakfast foods he’s prepared, neatly stacked on the nightstand. all your favorites, made with so much love; and it’s so evident, even just in the presentation. the freshness of the strawberry slices, the perfect amount of syrup spread over the waffles. the cup of coffee made just the way you like it.

maybe it’s the morning fatigue, or just the softness of the moment. the intimacy, so palpable you can almost reach out and touch it. or maybe it’s something else entirely — whatever the cause, you feel your eyes get somewhat glassy. 

a meek little sniffle leaves your lips, and it catches even you off guard.

suguru blinks. suddenly alert, his morning-fatigued brain trying to comprehend the sight of your teary eyes. brain spinning in circles, not sure if it should be telling him to panic just yet. something in him constricts, twists and turns, a desperate kind of yearning to protect you.

but before he can even reach out to wipe away the wetness with his thumb, you’ve latched yourself onto him.

arms snug around his waist, face tucked under his chin. fitting into him like a puzzle piece. breathing in the remnants of the cologne on his neck; a nice bergamot mix that you like, so he sprays on a little extra just for you. so close to him that you can feel the patter of his heart against you, as you soak in his body warmth. 

and his arms find their way around your form just as naturally, without him even having to think. like every bone in his body was born with a desire to cradle you close. like he was crafted in the image of someone made to soothe you. 

being in suguru’s arms is pure bliss. the most grounding sensation you know, one that never fails to calm you down, no matter how stressed or anxious you’re feeling. with his broad chest and strong arms, his bergamot-scented skin. so doting, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, trying to console you. his hair tickles your cheek a little, but it’s comforting.

”what’s wrong, honey?” he questions, voice set on a low, particularly soothing lilt. coaxing, almost cooing — a tone that buzzes with safety. his big hands go to rest on your head and back, smoothing down your spine.

”nothing,” you sniffle. feeling a little silly. ”you’re just too perfect. ‘s not fair.”

a pause. 

then, a chuckle bubbles up from suguru’s throat. something fond and delightful unfurls in his chest, a kind of relief; a feather-light amusement.

(you’re so ridiculous, he thinks.)

but you only nuzzle further into his neck, all sleepy and affectionate — and it stirs his heartstrings in a way that makes him feel rather helpless. crumbling beneath your touch. gazing at you with soft eyes, a happy little hum buzzing in his throat.

he takes you in, in all your clingy glory; so impossibly sweet. maybe he should have sprinkled some sugar on the strawberry slices, just to see if the taste could ever measure up.

”ah, is that so?” he drawls, a lazy amusement flickering through his eyes. playful. ”i’m sorry, baby. i should be the one saying that to you, though.”

but you just shake your head, arms tightening around his midriff. as if offended that he’d have the audacity to brush off your objectively correct statement, to even think to deny how perfect he is. 

and suguru raises a brow at you, in tandem, a mild protest resting on the tip of his tongue — offended at your blatant disrespect, shaking your head at his factually correct words, as if disagreeing with your own evident perfection. 

but before he can even begin to fight you on the topic, you part your lips to speak.

”thanks for breakfast, sugu,” you sleepily murmur, biting back a yawn. still a little meek, but oh so loving. ”i would die for you.”

he stills, once more. then another soft bout of laughter escapes his lungs, rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm. it makes you feel so terribly safe.

“there’s no need for that,” he assures you. ”don’t you wanna eat instead?”

to his surprise, he’s met with another soft shake of your head. so snug in his embrace that you could practically live there, only clinging to him a little tighter with a huff.

”just wanna hug you first…” you yawn, arms squeezing at his waist affectionately. shifting in his hold until your lips find their way to his neck.

”i love you,” you mumble, kissing down his jaw and collarbone. sleepy, open mouthed pecks, trailing over the expanse of his pretty skin. ”so much.”

it tickles, a little. suguru digs his teeth into his cheek, ever so slightly, just to hold back the giggle that threatens to break out from his throat.

and it’s maybe just a little too sweet, the sensation that blossoms in his chest, something honeyed and flowery; fluttering deep within his ribcage, like a dragonfly buzzing and trying to break free. it gets him a little weak in the knees.

to distract himself from the voice in his head urging him to go get the ring in the guest room drawer right this instant, suguru scoops you up. cradling you close, as he plops down on the mattress, legs crossed to give you space on his lap.

you don’t protest, only snuggling a little closer — as if yearning to tuck yourself away within his ribcage. 

and suguru chuckles, the deep tremor of his voice reverberating through his chest, echoing in your head as you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. rubbing your back with a teasing smile, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“i should make breakfast more often if it’ll get you like this,” he grins, basking in the warmth of your body against his. 

a little whine falls from your lips. muffled into the curve of his shoulder, against his bare skin. “it’s not about the breakfast,” you pout, looping your arms around his neck. “it’s everything you do…”

a heat rises to your cheeks, a little embarrassed at the sappiness you’re exuding. but the sun feels so nice on your skin, and the bedroom smells so good, and the whole world feels so kind. 

inhaling the fragrance of bergamot and coffee, you can only fall apart at the intimacy of the moment. 

“i’m really grateful…” you murmur, resting your lips against his skin. buzzing with a warmth that has him shuddering. “‘m just bad at expressing it.”

suguru’s eyes soften. melting into a tender hue, like that of a creamsicle sunrise sky. a dreamy look smoothes over his features, and a fond hum buzzes in his throat.

“nah, you’re fine,” he drawls, squeezing at your hips affectionately. pulling away ever so slightly, just to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing your bangs away with a certain bleeding tenderness. “you don’t need to say it out loud. i know, anyway.”

and he does. suguru understands you better than anyone; a point of immense pride, for him. knowing you so deeply that he can practically hear your thoughts before you speak them, knowing what you need at a single glance. just from a certain furrow of your brows, or the slight tilt of a smile you’re trying to hide. 

always one step ahead, folding your laundry on days you’re feeling particularly stressed out, or giving your hand a comforting squeeze when he notices that you’re nervous. always so attentive. it’s a little overwhelming, but also so comforting — to be so thoroughly understood.

his eyes are warm. full of pure affection, a devotion so heavy it makes your heart stutter in your chest. all you can do is glance down, shyly, slumping your forehead against his bare chest. 

your voice comes out a little strangled, still raspy. a little wobbly in the wake of your adoration.

“i wanna appreciate you…” is muffled against his skin, your lips curled down into a soft pout. and suguru breathes out a flustered little breath, amused — somewhat delighted.

“you can appreciate me by eating a hearty breakfast,” he suggests, a teasing tilt to his husky voice. cradling you just a little closer, as if even the miniscule distance between you is unbearable. as if he needs your hearts pressed together to keep himself intact. “how about that, hm? or would you rather give me a kiss?”

a moment passes, and a sleepy hum slips from your tongue. he feels your lips touch the soft skin of his neck, once more; then you muster up the strength to pull back from his embrace, slumping against his shoulder with your back against the headboard. it takes concentrated effort.

and suguru chuckles, again. odd, how a man who’s normally so put-together can’t seem to ever hide his joy whenever you’re around. but suguru is just a little too weak for you — he can’t help but let you strum his heartstrings along, however you want. any kind of melody you desire.

(it just so happens that no melody sounds prettier than a joyous one, when it’s falling from his lips.)

a lovesick smile painted on his face, suguru watches as you finally dig in. and he thinks it’s precious, the strawberry juice smearing your lips, the contentment in your features as your eyelids flutter shut. a mellow kind of pride swells in his chest with every satisfied hum that you grace him with, every giddy declaration of how delicious it all is. 

there’s something about it he can’t quite explain, can’t put his finger on. something almost otherworldly, in how fulfilled it makes him feel, like he’s lived his entire life just for this moment. just for the sake of making you breakfast and watching you wolf it all down.

suguru doesn’t think there's a single better way to show his love for you than this; cooking for you, putting every last drop of his love into everything he makes. from beverages to pastries, each of them carefully chosen to suit your tastes.

there’s an intensity to the labour, something that brings him great joy. the care and excitement in something as small as the flick of his wrist when he pours sugar into your coffee, or the weight he puts on the kitchen knife while cutting the fresh strawberries he spent four minutes picking out at the market.

there’s something about it that’s just so, so tender. that earnest wish to see you happy and healthy, to make sure you never go hungry. taking care of you. it's pure, domestic, love incarnate. he’s so weak for it, so sappy, but he just can’t help it — suguru loves watching you eat his cooking more than anything.

that, and your blissful little expression is a sight to behold. sunkissed by the morning rays flitting in through the window blinds, suguru thinks you look something like an angel, soft and fleeting and so beautiful it makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. heavy thumps of blood; warmth trickling from his heart to his wrists to the pads of his fingers, as he rubs absentminded circles into the skin of your thighs.

and he thinks to himself that all the happiness he needs is right here in front of him. in this moment, with you tiredly munching on the breakfast he made, sipping slowly from your cup of coffee and savouring every last drop. smiling at him so sweetly, so positively precious that he simply can't resist leaning down to taste the caffeine off your lips. 

everything feels so wonderful, so completely and utterly right. the world feels so kind, like this. a world where all that exists is you, and him, and the sun. heaven on earth.

all of it sends a tremor running through his heart, every slight change of the scene reflected in his eyes. the soft smile on your lips, the way you lean your head against his shoulder and bite back a yawn, the expectant look in your eyes as you feed him pieces of your food with a giddy grin —

suguru thinks to himself that he’d sooner die than give it up. 

as much as he loves sleeping in, loves indulging in your warmth until the sun sits comfortably on the blue canvas of the sky, he loves this even more. loves dragging himself out of bed before the sun even has a chance to peek out beneath the horizon painted pink and purple, tired and groggy, and so disgruntled at the warmth that leaves him when he pulls away from your skin. loves making his way to the kitchen almost in a daze, moving around the open space so very naturally; fingers curling around the lid of the espresso machine, and the crinkled paper bag of pastries, and the carton of orange juice he bought just for you.

just watching the world wake up, basking in the peace and domesticity of it all. basking in the thought of you — you, with your messy bedhead and droopy eyes, always blinking up at him so sleepily when he returns to you in the morning. he loves it all.

the soft little frown that sometimes tugs at your lips when you’re still lost in dreamland, blindly and subconsciously reaching for the empty side of the bed when he gets up to stretch. the weight of your arms around his waist, hugging his back on the somewhat rare occasion that you make your way to him before he makes his way to you. the grumbles against his skin about how he always abandons you on your days off, even if he only does it so he can make you both coffee.

you, in all your glory — now resting against his shoulder as you plop the last strawberry into your mouth, closing your eyes with a blissful little sigh.

and suguru feels so lucky. so very honoured, to be the one you chose. the one and only person who gets to see you like this, when your voice is still raspy and your hair is still messy, and you have crumbs sticking to your soft lips that you're too sleepy to wipe away.

he does so, himself, with an amused little huff that’s really more of a sigh laced with adoration. thumb smoothing over your skin gently, a silent i love you hanging on the tip of his tongue. his fingers find their way to your skin so effortlessly. like they belong there, like they exist solely to trace the softness of your jaw and to cradle your cheek.

”thank you,” you beam up at him, grinning sweetly. 

and suguru knows that you mean it. he knows that you’re grateful, knows not a moment goes by when you don’t notice his affections, no matter how subtle. he thinks you're a little bit silly for worrying that he doesn't. but he thinks you're even sillier for not realizing that you deserve all of it and more, that just that sweet smile of yours alone is more than enough to make up for it.

more than anything, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that you know the opposite is true as well. that he appreciates every single thing you do, notices everything you do for him, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you.

you're so good to him. always have been. how could he ever bear to not repay you in tenfold?

”you’re welcome,” he smiles, soft and saccharine and genuine. his lips brush against your forehead with a soft peck, one that has your body melting into his just a little more.

breakfast passes you both by in a flurry of warmth, splotches of sunlight and content hums, until you’re lying side by side beneath the blankets once again. curled up close to each other, with you resting on suguru’s chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart. his arm rests on your back, cradling you closer.

”that was delicious,” you chirp, something soft buzzing in your voice as you bite back a yawn. stretching your limbs out lazily, a honeyed smile on your face. ”as always.”

suguru’s a little too tired to fully hide the soft grin that crawls up to rest on his lips, almost smug. awfully happy with himself, and your words of earnest praise.

“yeah? ’m glad,” he hums, looking at you with affection swimming in his eyes. ”i haven’t lost my touch yet, then.”

”of course not,” you exhale, somewhere in between a huff and a chirp. “you could start a whole breakfast diner with your skills!”

the words are teasing, a little much, but laced with a syrupy sweet sincerity that has suguru’s heart doing laps in his chest. thump, thump, thump — strumming his heartstrings along as you please, conducting the orchestra inside his ribcage. but he’d much prefer to think of you as his muse.

a low chuckle rumbles through his body, akin to a purr. buzzing right by your ear, as his fingers curl around yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of your hand. ”you think so?” 

an eager nod, as you gaze up at him happily. the sight makes his lips twitch upward, and he can only hope you don’t catch the way his heart skips a beat.

smoothing a large palm over your head, he tousles your hair fondly. ”yeah?” he chuckles, again. “you'll be my first customer, then.”

the smile on your face widens. ”will i get a discount?” you ask, a fuzzy contentment in the way your eyes glimmer. ”since i’m your favorite.”

suguru grins. a husky puff of laughter seeps out of his throat, filling the air with a palpable fondness. it’s almost overwhelming, the affection that simmers in his chest, a cup overflowing. he wants to reach over and smother you in kisses, wants to coo at you. wants to tell you how irresistable you are, like this; so cute and sleepy that he thinks you could probably coax him into giving you every star in the sky.

but that can all wait for another time. he doesn’t want to break the peace of the mellow moment, the subtle intimacy that lingers in the air. the playfulness in your words.

”of course,” he simply says, indulging you with a sweet smile. ”you’ll get all the discounts you want, baby. nothing less for my favorite customer.”

suguru’s eyes crinkle, brimming with love when he hears the happy little giggle that tumbles from your pretty lips. so pretty that he can’t resist pulling you a little closer, to give you another kiss — relishing in the way you soften against him. like you could fall asleep just like this, so safe and comfortable. breathing him in.

sunlight shines in through the window blinds, engulfing you in that familiar heavenly hue. your bedroom almost seems to glow, like a hazy polaroid, a moment that feels too precious to put into words. 

you look stunning, he thinks, with your droopy eyes and sleepy yawns. absolutely breathtaking. soaked in a brightness rivaling that of the sun herself, the most precious thing this world has to offer.

and suguru thinks to himself that this might just be it. that this might be all that he needs, all that he’ll ever need — but he already knew that.

he thinks of sunrises. of soft embraces and fluffy blankets, of expensive coffee pots and diamond rings, of the way your lips curl up every time he kisses you. he thinks of the light of morning, how it always seems to devour everything else. how it makes every sliver of darkness seem so inconsequential.

he thinks of how your presence always seems to do the same. 

when suguru looks down, pulled out of his lovesick stupor by the sound of a little snore, you’ve fallen back asleep. cheek squished against his bare chest, drooling a smidge as you dream so prettily, your chest rising up and down in a rhythmic serenity.

his heart flutters. fleeting and giddy, a little dove trapped in his chest. with a sweet coo, he reaches over to caress your skin with the back of his hand, careful not to wake you — so gentle that he holds his breath, as if afraid that even a single exhale could disrupt your well-deserved rest. 

butterflies dance in his stomach, when he sees the way that makes you smile. a whirlwind of them, wings fluttering eagerly, as if attempting to fly out of his throat. he gulps them down again, but he can still feel them. just like he could when you first met.

butterflies that still haven't gone away, despite how long you’ve been together. butterflies that never will go away, as long as there are plates to fill and breakfasts to be made.

in other words, they're there to stay — forever and ever.

(suguru’s gaze falls on your ring finger. he thinks of the secret in the bottom of the drawer, and wonders what kind of breakfast he should make for you when it’s time to bring it out.)

[aealzx]

(continued ideas from this post, with the end part added in because of @silverspectre51 's comment about wanting a reunion scene)

The first time Danny had spoken to Jason he’d asked him not to tell anyone he had been there. He knew that the only reason his new family was safe from the enemies of his former life was because no one there knew about it, and no one outside of them knew he was still alive. So he’d asked Jason to keep his existence a secret, and was grateful when he agreed.

That didn’t stop him from taking Jason up on his offer that he was welcome there any time. Danny tried not to leave too often, for his sister and friends noticed when he was gone too long and tended to ask where he went. But sometimes the chaos of his life needed the stillness that was only brought by the small memorial Jason had made.

It also helped that Jason was a really cool older brother figure. He was gruff, and stand off ish at times, but it was easy for Danny to tell he was just awkward with emotions. There was always some sort of treat at the memorial when Danny arrived. Cookies, a candy bar, leftover chinese food. Danny always ate anything that was left, and Jason never asked how it was possible. They sometimes talked, but Danny never interacted much with the environment. It was easier to keep his presence hidden if he remained intangible, and Jason just assumed that’s how ghosts were.

It was because of the few visits that Danny found out Damian was targeted. Learned that whoever had targeted his twin had gotten the jump on him, and Jason and others had received a distress signal from him.

Danny was there first.

Being a ghost meant he didn’t have to strictly follow the laws of physics, and as Jason ran to his motorcycle Danny left him behind. His subconscious mind told him he should wait and only appear if he was actually needed. He hadn’t been needed so far afterall, so whoever these people Damian knew were, they had to be good. But the active part of Danny’s mind told him he could get in and out without being seen. Especially since when he arrived at the burning warehouse Damian was already unconscious, his limp body having been tossed to the floor.

Danny didn’t let the enemy get closer. He couldn’t make himself known as Phantom, couldn’t allow others to know Phantom had left his haunt of Amity Park. And so he allowed his true ghostly form to manifest. The one that manifested his accidentally begotten crown and matching wings, as well as the uniform he’d first died in, and the mark of his grandfather’s hand that had choked the life from him. Not even Sam or Tucker had seen this form, so he figured he would be unrecognized.

His appearance came with a distorted clap from the sound barrier being bent, his half alive form muffling the noise as though it were caught in a void but doing little to alleviate the pressure that came with it. As far as the enemy knew Damian was alone, and a blink of the eyes later a solid figure was half hovering above him protectively, an otherworldly sphere of energy held in his other hand.

“BACK OFF!”

Danny’s belted command came with a tiny burst of sonic waves echoing the ghostly screams of wailing dead. Just enough to reinforce his point and potentially burst some eardrums, but not enough to even come close to exhausting him.

They didn’t back off. Because why would they? Damian was no small prize to let go so easily.

And so Danny met their attack, his hand subconsciously scooping up Damian’s blade from where it had fallen. It had been a long time since Danny had fought someone fully alive. But his body remembered the training he’d been given. It was one of the reasons he didn’t fight with a weapon as Phantom. The blade flowed too easily for him. It was harder to be lethal with bare hands. But with a blade even someone with a form as small as his could overpower the brute that had targeted his brother. In moments he had the man on the floor, any goons he may have had having long fled as Danny raised the blade above his head, eyes locked onto the invisible target on the man’s throat.

“DANNY?! WHAT- STOP!”

The command didn’t halt Danny’s hands from plunging, but they did miss their target. The blade stabbed halfway into the concrete next to the man’s throat as Danny’s full consciousness returned to the front of his mind.

He knew that voice, and she shouldn’t be here.

“...Jazz?”

Danny’s voice shook in a whisper as he turned to look at this sister, somehow standing near the entrance of the warehouse. She wasn’t supposed to see him like this. He wasn’t supposed to do this anymore. With a gasp he flinched away from the hilt his hands had a death grip on, his form jerking away as though it had burned him.

“Is this where you’ve been sneaking off to?” Jazz demanded, her entire frame shaking from adrenaline from seeing her baby brother almost murder someone. He looked so different when she’d gotten there. So foreign to the Danny she knew. But she had long known that he had a past none of them knew about, and could only think this had something to do with it. “Have you been coming to Gotham to murder people?” she demanded. She would regret the phrasing of her question later, that obviously wasn’t the right thing to ask. But it was a little hard to think straight right now. She had followed Danny there, but she hadn’t meant to confront him about his escapades until later.

“N’no- I was just,” Danny stammered, suddenly feeling like thousands of unkind eyes were watching him, and shifting his gaze to his clawed hands.

Someone else arrived. A purple suit and blonde hair, dropping from the ceiling and running towards Damian. “Robin?!”

It drew Jazz’s attention to Damian, the hero name easily familiar. “Robin?” she asked, voice significantly quieter as she turned to look as another figure dropped in while the first started to pick Damian up after making sure he was safe to move. “Danny, were you…”

Jazz had a lot of questions that Danny didn’t want to answer. But if they stuck around there would be more people with even more questions he couldn’t answer. “We have to go,” Danny cut off, floating down to start ushering Jazz out the door. She protested, but Danny barely heard her. “They’ll take care of the rest. Please. We have to go before-”

He was frantic, not wanting the time limit to run out before someone else who would recognize him showed up. He wasn’t expecting the other time limit to run out.

“Danyal?”

The voice that spoke was barely a whisper of recently regained consciousness, but it caused Danny’s heart to slam into his throat with a harsh gasp. Danny’s old name dragged his attention from his new sister to the one who had spoken it, small frame cradled in another hero’s arms as the rest of them stopped to follow Damian’s gaze.

“...Dami?”

Danny’s response came without him wanting it to. It caused Damian to double his efforts to remain conscious, which in turn exponentially increased Danny’s panic. He shouldn’t be there. So he wouldn’t be there.

“I can’t do this,” Danny gasped with a breath his lungs didn’t have, his hands reaching to rest on his throat before he fled as quickly as he’d arrived.

___________

Jason hadn’t been the first to the site to rescue Damian, but he was the only one who knew what Damian’s frantic babbling was about. Demands for the others to let him go back to the warehouse, refusing treatment even though his ribs had definitely been cracked. He’d only started to behave when Jason got there, firmly holding him on the bed to keep him from making his injuries worse. No one knew what they were talking about when Jason promised to take care of it. No one else knew why vague words of reassurance, and a promise to handle everything was enough to calm Damian down enough to stay still. And no one else was given any more answers as Jason left to return to his apartment after asking Stephanie what she had seen when she’d first arrived at the warehouse.

The presence Jason was starting to get familiar with was behind his apartment door again, as he’d thought Danyal would be. But this time when Jason quietly entered the room instead of sitting quietly near the window Danyal was curled in a tight ball in the corner, sobbing. He also wasn’t see through. Something Jason noted as he silently closed the door and approached Danyal, sitting on the floor across from him.

At first Jason wasn’t sure what to say, and Danyal seemed too distressed to be the first to speak. So instead Jason reached forward to cup his hand under Danyal’s elbow, noting how the lad jerk in mild startle, and how he felt a strangely chilled warmth from him. “C’mere,” Jason coaxed, pulling Danyal towards him gently.

It didn’t take more than that for Danyal to lurch forward, crashing into Jason’s chest and wrapping him in a tight hug. It wasn’t something Jason was used to, but it didn’t stop him from doing his best to comfort the lad, resting his hands on his small back and rubbing gently. “It’s okay. Damian is safe at home now, and police are taking care of the rest,” he tried to assure, trying to guess if that was what had Danyal in such states.

It took several attempts being cut off by sobs and hiccups before Danyal got a response out. “I s’screwed up! S’she w-... wasn’t sup’posed to see. He w’wasn’t supposed to see me.”

Jason wasn’t sure who ‘she’ was, but he guessed Danyal meant Damian for the second person. It was something that had confused him for awhile, why Danyal didn’t want to see Damian, and he couldn’t help asking. “Why did you run from Damian? I thought you got along.”

It was a question Danyal hadn’t had an answer to, even for himself. He’d wondered at first why he’d asked Jason to keep it a secret that he was there, even from Damian. But he’d never been able to answer it. He wasn’t angry with Damian, like Jason had first asked. He didn’t blame Damian for anything that had happened. He didn’t resent Damian at all. But for some reason the thought of seeing his twin brother filled him with dread. He didn’t want Damian to know he had a different family now. Another life, away from him and all they had grown up with. Not because he thought Damian would ruin it, or try to get him to leave it behind, or anything like that. He realized now it was because of an overwhelming feeling of guilt.

“I abandoned him,” Danyal choked out, answering the question for himself as well as Jason. “I left him alone in that shit hole of a family, to be used as a toy, as a weapon just to kill people. We were just kids and I left him all alone.”

The revelation caused Jason’s grip to tighten around Danyal, anger towards Ra’s smoldering brighter in his soul. But this wasn’t about him, so Jason stifled that flame in favor of something that would be of greater use. He could try to tell Danyal that Damian didn’t hate him. That they both apparently felt the same ill begotten guilt, believing that they had somehow failed each other despite having only been children. His own words to the others came back to his mind. 

‘I was just a kid you know.’

They were just kids. They were still just kids. And shouldn’t have to deal with such grief over something that had been caused by adults. Jason knew he could sit there and talk, and try to convince Danyal that he was wrong, and his feelings didn’t have to be what they were. But he also knew there was a much easier way to solve this, and a lot of other tasks.

“...Danyal,” Jason spoke, getting his attention. “Can I ask you to trust me?”

“...W’what?” Danyal asked, his sobs thankfully starting to quiet as Jason piqued his curiosity.

“Will you trust me? And allow me to take you to Damian?” Jason repeated, hoping the hold he had on Danyal was comforting instead of smothering. “Trust me that I know Damian, and know this will help both of you?”

It was somehow a simple request in Danyal’s mind. Trust Jason, the only brother who Damian trusted enough to tell him about his dead twin, to know how to help them. For some reason it was easy for Danyal to turn his brian off, and agree. “...Okay.”

___________

Jason soon learned that Danyal wasn’t a ghost. A comment about finding a hoodie to hide his white hair for the trip led to Danyal revealing that he could easily switch forms between human and spirit. A ring of light briefly passing over his form, and Danyal had black hair, regular green eyes, and completely lost that intimidating presence. Now he was just another regular boy. And he looked exactly like Damian.

He still asked for the hoodie.

The trip back to the Wayne manor was quick, and silent on Jason’s motorcycle, the spare helmet shoved over Danyal’s head. He seemed reluctant to take it off when they stopped, and Jason couldn’t blame him. He seemed very keen on not being recognized.

“Don’t worry. Not even media cameras make it here. Bruce likes his privacy,” Jason assured, resting a hand on Danyal’s back in what he hoped was reassurance even as the kid pulled the hood lower.

Unfortunately because of the recent circumstances the manor wasn’t empty. But Jason ignored the others with short quips when they got nosy. It was only Alfred, the one who always looked after them when hurt, and who was just leaving Damian’s room, that they stopped for.

“Welcome home, Master Jason,” Alfred’s usual greeting was the first words exchanged. “Might I ask who our guest is?”

Alfred didn’t sound like Danyal was unwanted, but he didn’t miss the protective tone subtly in his voice.

“A visitor for Damian,”Jason responded simply. A half answer. It would take too long to explain, and they weren’t there for the others.

“Are you sure this is the best time for visitation?” Alfred asked, knowing that Jason was well aware of Damian’s current health status.

“Trust me. They both need this,” Jason confirmed, his hand never leaving Danyal’s back even as he kept his head low and face away from curious eyes.

“Very well,” Alfred relented after a small pause, stepping aside and gesturing for them to pass.

Jason thanked Alfred, and took charge of firmly leading Danyal through the open door. He could feel Danyal’s body tensing with rattled nerves, and didn’t want him to suffer in second guessing any longer than necessary. So when Bruce turned to look at them from the bedside where Damian was refusing to fully rest, Jason took care of introducing their arrival. “Couple of dead boys, here to visit.”

It was certainly unexpected, but while Bruce’s expression scrunched in confusion Damian stubbornly sat up and a tiny snort escaped Danyal. The humor was almost out of place, but appreciated, and Danyal allowed Jason to move him forward a little before taking the hood from his hands.

Letting the fabric that was hiding his face slip from his fingers, Danyal lowered his hands to replace it with the front of the hoodie instead, giving a shaky, nerve wracked smile as he clenched the oversized hoodie. “... Hey, Dami.”

The greeting was easier than Danyal thought it would be, and he didn’t have to wait long for Damian’s response. Despite the protest of his battered body, Damian ignored all the rules he’d been given to stay in bed in favor of launching himself towards his twin. “Danyal!”

Danyal’s breath left him in a slight huff as a figure the same as his own slammed into him, arms being thrown around him without any hint of hesitation. As Damian babbled broken chatter, Danyal found he couldn’t fully focus on what he was saying. Just the familiar voice from half a lifetime ago, slightly different with just a bit of age, echoing in his ears. It was easy to return the hug, Danyal’s hands remaining gentle in consideration of Damian’s ribs, yet also squeezing as tight as he dared. Fresh tears caused his throat to tighten once more, but this time he didn’t mind. Even the brand new voice behind him did little to deter his desire to stay right where he was.

“Holy shit! You have a twin!”

“Shut up, Tim. You’re ruining it.”

______________________________________

Friggen huge post but I'm not planning on making this an extended fic so just splatted it all out in 1 post X'D

The first part of this is what that design of Danyal I did was for. And a day of brain fog and just the right kind of positive motivation got me to actually do this.

I feel really out of my element because I only know the DC group from Wayne Family Adventures, and a few fan content things my sis reblogs |D I hope they're not too out of character.

[spotted-salamander]

im having heart palpitations his fucking smirk!!!! he looks so COCKY and SMUG god i need him