#i went through similar if worse shit for twenty years so i got you

[actual-changeling]

look i know we're all here for reunion marathon sex once they don't prevent the apocalypse because they're incompetent and someone else does it, but realistically? they will both be EXHAUSTED.

aziraphale from constantly having to be on guard in heaven and crowley because he went through emotional turmoil bigger than the entirety of london. so what i really wanna see more of is them just. curling up in bed together and sleeping for a year.

and THEN they have sex for two weeks straight.

[ymaohoh]

Chrissy Cunningham is a Brat - Fic - Oneshot

Munson suddenly gripped hold of her ass so tightly she hissed. “If you’re going to behave like a brat, I’m going to have to punish you.” Jason sees Chrissy and Eddie in the woods. Jason POV. Hellcheer Oneshot.

Word Count: 1,904

No plot. Just smut.

Also on Archive of Our Own.

---

Well, your love is worse

Worse than cigarettes

Even if I had twenty in my hands

**

Jason Carver thought he knew his girlfriend. 

Thought Chrissy Cunningham was just like him. They were from the same backgrounds - nice homes, rich parents, good traditional morals and ethics. They’d been boyfriend and girlfriend since junior year when he tied his letterman jacket around her shoulders and told her thought it was time they made it official.  Over the course of that year they moved through the ranks and became really popular - he the hotshot athlete, she the pretty cheerleader - and when Chrissy made cheer captain in senior year he knew they were a cinch to be the King and Queen of Hawkins High. It was a cliche for a reason. His parents had met in a similar way. 

And yeah that popularity came with side-benefits. And yeah he often abused those benefits because some kids needed a healthy dose of ass-whooping, you know? Needed to know which rung of the social ladder they belonged on. It stopped them from getting too big for their boots. He never did anything illegal but he sure bent some rules. 

Chrissy didn’t know about any of that though and his team mates were sworn to secrecy. It was the same bro-code for their girlfriends. None of the teachers would dare make trouble either. His father was good friends with the school governors and would see they were fired if they dared try. 

Chrissy was a good girl. She had the right attitude and ideals as him. She went to church and played at cheerleading and looked good and neat in her little uniform. 

He would marry her after graduation. His parents would buy them a house nearby and she would give him a couple of kids and no talkback. She’d keep the house real nice while he went to college and in a few years he’d be fucking govenor. The wheels were already in motion. This has all been arranged before middle school. 

So when Patrick told him he’d seen Chrissy talking to Eddie Munson of all people Jason told him he was tripping. Why would anyone want to speak to him? 

Eddie Munson was a piece of shit trouble maker. Third generation trailer trash. A juvenile delinquent. 

“I know what I saw, man. They were whispering together in the library just before first period. Chrissy near jumped into the air when she saw me.” 

“Chrissy wouldn’t talk to that freak.”

“Want help finding him, Jase? Give him a reminder of what a creep he is?”

“Nah man. I need to talk to Chrissy first. Maybe he was just bugging her.”

What the hell?

But when he reached the cafeteria at lunch Chrissy wasn’t sitting at their usual table. She didn’t have one of her private tutoring sessions either. He glanced over at the freak table and his eyes narrowed when he saw Eddie wasn’t there either. 

He stormed over and clapped one of the freshmen on the shoulder. Hard. 

“Where’s your asshole leader?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t he be here making a jackass out of himself like usual?”

The kid with floppy black hair said, “Look man, he’s not here. I don’t know where he is. We don’t want any trouble.” 

He asked around his table some more and eventually got wind of a clue. People wanted to help Jason (even if they needed a little encouragement sometimes).  A passing cheerleader overheard (Stacey something) and said they thought they saw Chrissy out by the football fields just a few minutes ago. She’d been heading out towards the forest. There was a meeting spot down that way, she added, and Eddie Munson sold weed there. 

Jason waved away Patrick’s offer of help and stormed over. He didn’t need back up to take on Eddie Munson. 

He’d beat the shit out of that creep if he was selling weed to Chrissy. Or even if he wasn’t. What if he’d lured Chrissy out here on some made up pretence and was now bothering her? Chrissy was sometimes way too trusting for her own good. 

I’ll save you, Chrissy.

He followed Stacey’s directions and crept through the woods. He’d never been out here before. He couldn’t see any damn bench. 

But then he heard voices. He heard Chrissy’s voice! She sounded weird. Breathless almost. 

He drew closer and peered through the trees. The scene before him made him pause. His insides turned to raging fire. 

Jason had told her once that “ Good girls like you don’t go near creeps like Eddie Munson .” She hadn’t asked him why. 

Chrissy was with Munson, alright. 

** 

Oh, this body high

Gives me sleepless nights

It's a million times what any drug could give

And my red eyes

They go twice as wide

It might look like pain but to me it's bliss

They were sitting at the old picnic bench. Or rather, Chrissy was sitting on the top of the picnic bench with her bare knees splayed wide. Her short green and white cheerleading skirt was hiked up so high that he could just about see the creamy skin of her ass. 

And Eddie the Freak was standing right in between her legs. 

Chrissy had her back to Jason so he could make out Munson’s arms wrapped around her waist. He was holding her so tightly the line of his leather jacket was pressed against Chrissy’s cheer sweater. At least she wasn’t wearing Jason’s God-damn letterman jacket today. He stared at the entwined couple in horror. 

Jason didn’t know why he remained hidden. Maybe he just wanted to hear for himself what the hell was going on. 

“Eddie…” she sighed in a voice he had never heard before. She never said his name like that. “We have to be more careful. Patrick almost saw us this morning.”

“Fuck Patrick. Fuck your boyfriend.” Munson’s voice was unrecognisable too. Low and raspy. 

“If they find out what we’re doing, they’ll hurt you. You know they will. We have to keep this a secret.”

“It’s hard, Chriss. You know how riled up I get when I see you. Especially when you’re in that cheerleading uniform. How’s a man supposed to focus in class when those lips of yours look so fucking delictable. Makes me just want to taste them.”

Jason watched as they began to kiss but it wasn’t anything like how he kissed Chrissy. Chrissy usually held still when they made out, but this Chrissy was kissing Munson like she couldn’t get enough of him. He could see the way she opened her mouth wide for him so he could slip in his tongue. 

Munson nipped at her neck and she giggled. “Eddie! You’re not listening to me.” 

Munson’s hands were roaming across her back and down to her hips. Chrissy reached down and took his hand, stilling it. 

“I’m listening, baby. We have to be more careful. No more little looks. No more notes. No way the school can find out that goodie two-shoes Chrissy Cunningham likes being fucked by the freak Eddie Munson.”

He rocked his hips up against her and she gasped at the impact. 

“Like that, baby?”

“Mmm. You know I do.”

“Say it then. Tell me how much you like it.”

Jason couldn’t see but he could guess from the look on Munson’s face she was pulling one of her cute little pouts. She raised her chin defiantly. “Or what? You’ll walk away? I know you like this too. I can feel how much you like it. You’re fucking rock hard for me.”

Munson suddenly gripped hold of her ass so tightly she hissed. 

“If you’re going to behave like a brat, I’m going to have to punish you.”

“What are you going to do? Spank me? Pull my hair?”

Munson ceased his movements and though he kept hold of her, he drew his hips back a little to put some distance between them. 

Jason hated how Chrissy seemed to groan at that. 

“You love it when I spank you, Chriss. You always get so fucking wet from it. Remember a month ago at Reefer Rick’s where you came so beautifully on my cock? I couldn’t believe how wet you were. You made the most pretty noises, baby.”

“I remember Eddie.”

“Then what did we do?”

“I put your cock in my mouth and you went down on me at the same time.”

“You tasted so good, Chriss. Like strawberries and cream. You were gagging ‘round my cock, babe. You got it so far down that little throat.” 

Munson began tracing circles down her thighs. Chrissy was leaning into him brazenly, reaching again for contact with his body. 

Jason didn’t recognise this Chrissy at all. It was like she was one of those girls on porn tapes. He heard the gentle clink of metal as Chrissy began undoing the heavy belt. The noise of a zip being dragged down was almost obscene. 

“Oh Eddie, please. I want you now.”

“What? One look at my cock and you fall in line? Tell me what I want to hear.”

They kissed again and it was passionate and needy. Chrissy was almost shaking from want. 

“I love being fucked by Eddie Munson.”

“You missed this cock didn’t you, princess? Tell me how much you missed it,” Eddie said, his voice low and quiet. He traced her face with his fingers and tipped her chin up

“I missed it so much. I couldn’t even pay attention in class. All I could think about is how much I want you.”

“Good girl.”

Munson dragged down Chrissy’s underwear and shoved it in his back pocket. He once again wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her close to him. His other arm snaked under her knee, pushing it back so he could get as deep as possible. 

Jason heard Chrissy hiss as Munson’s cock slid inside her. 

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re so big. You feel so big inside me.”

“That’s it, baby. Take every inch in.”

“It feels so good.”

Munson began rutting up into her and Chrissy dug her nails into his shoulders. She then twisted a hand up into his long curls which made Munson groan. 

“I know. It’s why you keep coming back. Fucking Carver won’t do this, will he? Wants to wait until he’s got that ring on your finger.”

“ Eddie …”

“But Carver won’t be able to do this, Chriss. It won’t feel like this.”

“No,” she moaned. “You’re so fucking perfect, Eddie. You fit inside me so good.”

“That’s it, Chriss.”

“Make me come Eddie. Make me scream.”

“Hold onto me, baby…I’ve got you.” 

 **

Jason couldn’t watch anymore. 

Fuck this. 

A big part of him wanted to charge over there and knock that disgusting smug look off Munson’s face. Wanted to wipe away that look of utter need from Chrissy’s. But he didn’t. He turned away and stormed off back towards the school. 

Fuck that freak. Fuck that slut. They were welcome to each other. 

He didn’t see Eddie’s gaze on his back. Or the winning smirk that played on his lips. 

Well, if it's unhealthy then I don't give a damn

'Cause even if it kills me, I'll always take your hand

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

A/N: A/N: You know, writing for Jason ain't fun. He's an asshole but the actor who plays him is so nice in interviews. Ah well. Enjoy some Hellcheer fucking. Lyrics are from Unhealthy by Anne-Marie and Shania.

[dinnerwithrefi]

11.1 - First Guest In A While

Dinner: bowl of protein-enriched strawberry yogurt w/banana slices and pepitas

It's weird having dinner with somebody across the table with me again for a change. Yet, against all odds, there we were, working our way through what I can only describe as a paltry attempt at breakfast at midnight, like when I went out to Denny's with the entire cast after my old high school productions. Only, well, the quality of the food was somehow worse than Denny's, given that the yogurt expired in two days and the bananas had to be cut with a surgeon's precision to make suitably edible. I would've gotten groceries, but I didn't exactly expect you to show up this morning and this was one of the only things I could scrounge from the food bank yesterday.

It was weird, you know, running into somebody to take up the extra room in my apartment while I'm hunting for legal employment. Even weirder when you consider how similar we ended up being upon first meeting at that hybrid coffee shop and brewery downtown. A bit of a music geek with an interest in the unknown and a penchant for not taking his meds? And you're not judging me for adding a little flask splash to my red eye? If only you were more into theology than the occult, I swear we'd be kin. Then again, it would be a bit hard to mistake you for me. You're way darker than me, after all, and I don't quite have the confidence to pull off short sleeves like that yet, nor the lack of taste to maintain any hair length beyond my fingertips. Thankfully, though, we got on well enough, and with you needing a place to stay while gearing up for the spring semester, it was a blessed comfort to know someone would be able to cover half the rent with a seasonal job while I maintained mine with writing odd jobs.

Still, I hadn't exactly expected you to show up with all your shit yesterday morning. You said you could move in pretty quickly, but I expected at least a few buffer days. Guess I should've expected someone like you coming with just the living essentials in your situation, but foresight's never really been my forte, even after twenty-eight years on this planet. Even with having to climb three flights of stairs, I was happy to have knocked it all out in an hour. What I couldn't be happy with, though, was the absolutely barren state of my kitchen. I'm still embarrassed at having to serve you that, but dinner went well enough.

Conversation went smoothly enough between us, I'd say. It was weird seeing somebody still wrestling with the new Halsey project a week after it came out, but I suppose I can understand it. It was an incredibly difficult listen, after all, listening to a person essentially pen an album that very well could be their last project before death and have it be received the way it has. Pouring out your pain from the experiences of death, internal and external, the tumults of an abusive relationship, the struggle of focusing on becoming the best version of yourself that you can in such an uncertain amount of time in the hopes of leaving a good footprint in the infinite sands of time, however shallow it might be - Pitchfork and Fantano can blow it out their asses by coming at this project with the angle that it's from a place of self-centeredness or personal indulgence.

That doesn't automatically make it a good album, though. A lot of the recordings are a bit scuffed around the edges, which can lend itself to some charm, but a swan song doesn't necessarily have to sound like it's lying in an angled bed, hard of breath with glassy eyes lolled to sterile walls around them. That might just be myself talking there, though, given that the promotion for this album was so promising and, despite seeming pointless to others, caught my eye with what influences might be given homage with this record. Bowie, Britney, Bjork - a lot of wildly different hats for this "Great Impersonator" to wear, but that level of moxie felt justified after Halsey's previous albums covering so many different genres, from Tumblr pop to disco to piano ballads to industrial adjacent sounds, all covered within a decade's worth of fame and what it's sowed and reaped in the same amount of time the two of us have been alive. It's absolutely crazy to think about. Still, perhaps my hopes were just too high for what we got, even if it wasn't anything lower than, like, a five out of ten to me.

Yet that's not what you were hung up on. "Honestly," you said to me between spoonfuls, unknowingly spitting a small piece of strawberry onto the placemat, "I just hate how much of myself I hear in it." I wanted to say something more, but I felt like you wouldn't elaborate further if I had asked you to. You'd probably say that I wouldn't possibly get it.

Maybe I wouldn't. After all, I totally wasn't struggling with it either at this point, especially after revisiting it since our conversation yesterday. I couldn't possibly interpret the title as Halsey not talking solely about themself. I certainly didn't look into the story behind the album and how they were diagnosed with lupus, one of the greatest imitators in modern medicine. I can only see this "Great Impersonator" as purely human, purely entertainment, a mask changer whose chameleonic wiles are so honed at this point in their life that, perhaps, they don't know who they are right now, but they want to make one last good damn effort at being the best version of themself before they end up in an early grave. I don't see the disease it might actually be, hidden just out of view, a rabid animal prowling in the grass waiting to infect those who dare to get close enough, whether good or ill intent, making me feel so on edge because even the hand that heals could be the hand that harms again, and that's not the kind of person I want to be, but it's just how I've ended up from all the wolves biting me. I couldn't possibly get it. I've only known you for one day, Refi, and that's certainly not enough time for me to make assumptions like that.

Somehow I hope that I conveyed all that with the disinterested sounding hum of agreement I gave before we turned to what to get while grocery shopping together tomorrow.

I hope we can have dinner like this again tomorrow.

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ starting prompt: “Everything changed for me when I met her... My Beloved.”

♡ pairing: yandere! damian wayne (Robin) & fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “imagine me and you? I do. I think about day and night, it’s only right, to think about the girl you love and hold her tight. so happy together.” 

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / in this AU everyone in the batfamily is a yandere and probably has a darling so yeah.

Gotham Academy, for the wealthy and elite one might say. you were one of the lucky ones who got accepted through their scholarship programs and busted your ass off to keep your grades up all years. 

you had very few friends considering most Academy students hardly interacted those who they deemed poor. one friend you did have though was the Wayne heir himself. Damian was one of the first to introduce himself to you when you first arrived to Gotham Academy and really remained your friend throughout the years. 

the fresh morning air blew in the wind, making you pull your jacket closer to you as you tried to find warmth in it. the jackets they provided for your uniform were extremely thin and hardly held in any kind of heat. 

“hey! I think the Wayne kid is looking for you!” you heard your friend, Reagan tell you, “he’s waiting for you at the central garden!” you gave him a smile, thanking him for letting you know before running to where Damian usually was in the morning. 

your mornings with Damian, when he would attend school, would start with him bringing you your favorite coffee and switching homework assignments. 

unlike Damian, you were usually better in courses that had to do with humanities, such as history and english courses and you lacked the smarts that Damian had with science and math courses so the two of you would swap homework first thing in the morning. 

“good morning Wayne,” you said, sitting down on the bench. he handed you his coffee, blowing it to make sure it wasn’t too hot, “good morning, beloved. how did you sleep?” he asked, making sure your eye bags weren’t too harsh. 

you shrugged, “I’m okay. just stressed because of midterms and all of that. how did you sleep?” you asked, taking a sip of coffee. “great considering we fell asleep on Facetime together,” he mentioned, “I did the ap calc homework that you can finally copy!” he added on. 

Damian handed you the calc homework as he watched you scribble down the answers. he noticed that you had painted your nails a new color and touched the polish with his finger, “baby blue? that’s new,” he murmured. you nodded happily, “I love this color on me. I even brought color with me in case it chipped throughout the day!” you exclaimed. 

you showed him the bottle and he grabbed it, “put it on me,” you were taken back by the request. you didn’t take Damian was the kind of guy to dabble in wearing polish but nevertheless complied and put the polish on it before grabbing his hand and blowing on it to make it dry quicker, “I didn’t know you wore nail polish!” you mentioned. 

Damian thought for a moment. 

“I don’t but that way people will know we’re matching,” he murmured as the warning bell rang off. 

you and Damian walked slowly to your first period class. the summer going into your Senior year, Damian made it a duty of his to make sure that the two of you shared the same classes. so without you knowing, he had Tim hack into the Gotham Academy school system and pull Damian onto the rosters where you were enrolled in. 

you found the similarities to be funny, however; some of the teachers wondered how the hell they put the two of you in every class together. some didn’t care considering you were able to keep Damian from saying smart shit to someone in class and others were just weirded out by the coincidence. 

“god, I hate this class. you know Matt who sits in front of the class? I have to swear some gross comment about how great my legs look in the uniform by him at least twice every day.” 

Damian’s eye twitched at what you had said, “does it bother you?” he asked, his fist clenched. you nodded annoyingly, “more than anything in the world. I can’t go one day without hearing the comments,” you groaned. 

the two of you got to class but as you walked in, you had saw that Matt wasn’t in class and sighed in relief. Damian had told you he was running off to the bathroom before class started and just to write down whatever he missed while he was gone. 

you sat down, immediately writing what was already on the board but as the class started, Damian still hadn’t shown up. you were beginning to think that maybe the coffee had upset his stomach but about half way through the class, Damian came and plopped down at his desk. 

“where were you? Jackson nearly had a fit because you were late!” you muttered to him. he shrugged, taking out his pen and notebook before leaning over to copy what you had on yours.

it took about another twenty minutes when another teacher ran into the class frantically, “Matthew Harrison was just found in the garden, unconscious and is barely hanging onto his life!” the teacher told your teacher, making all of you gasp in surprise, “call an ambulance!” 

you stared to Damian wide eyed, “my God, that’s insane! we were just there. I wonder who did it,” you told Damian, chewing your lip nervously, “I hope whoever did it doesn’t come for any of us.”

Damian could tell you were scared from the news and he quickly grabbed your hand, “I think you’re safe, beloved. you shouldn’t worry about it,” he assured you. you nodded, going back to writing down the notes, “hey, he finally got what he deserved for harassing you, right?” Damian mentioned. 

you laughed shaking your head, “I guess but I mean, I hope he doesn’t die or anything,” that was the last thing you said before the both of you got to working on the work the teacher assigned for the class while she was gone.

Damian could tell you were shaken by the news but at the end of the day, he did what he had to do. someone was harassing his beloved and he’d be damned if they got away with it. it took every ounce of self restriction to stop himself from actually killing the idiot but the beating he actually gave him did more than enough to satisfy him for the time being.

two broken legs, a broken nose, and making him go blind in one eye was more than enough. the great thing about Gotham Academy was that because of how old the building was, cameras weren’t installed anywhere outside and any cameras that were inside were just in the upgraded part of the school which happened to be the front of the school and the gym. 

the end of the day came as Damian had offered to take you home. you denied the request, telling him you wanted to walk to get some fresh air before you trapped yourself in your room for the rest of the night. 

Damian was hesitant on letting you but at the end of the day, you weren’t his...yet. he knew his feelings for you weren’t exactly normal. far from it, actually. 

when his feelings for you boiled over to damn near obsession, he confided in the one person he trusted the most and that was Dick. he practically confessed how he needed to be near or around you every day or else he would go insane. even if it was just seeing you from afar made his day a 100x better. 

Dick laughed at his brothers confession because he knew it was about time it happened to him. he had gone through the same feelings when he met his now wife and so did Bruce, Tim, Duke, and Jason. 

when Damian was finally confident enough to tell everyone else, they finally let him in on the family secret. these feelings were nothing to be afraid of. he should embrace them and hell, make his feelings get even ‘worse’. it was his job as your protector to feel that way and act on his instincts for you. 

Damian got home, seeing his father and brother watching the news. they were covering what happened at school and a part of him laughed seeing the coverage. 

“did you see what happened?” Dick asked his brother. Damian nodded, kicking off his shoes and laying on the other couch, “of course I did because I was the one who did it,” he said nonchalantly. 

Bruce and Dick stared at him, wide eyed and shocked, “the scum was messing with my beloved. he was making disgusting comments about her and degrading her in a way she and I didn’t like. the piece of shit deserved more than what he got,” he stated, not even bothering to look at them to see their reaction.

“so it’s best we don’t investigate this, I assume?” Bruce asked, “you would assume right,” Damian replied. 

Dick got off the couch and went on one knee to look at his brother, “Damian, you know the implications that comes with how you left him. you know that, right?” he stated. Damian stared at Dick with no fear in his eyes, “everything changed for me when I met her... my beloved. I would kill for her if I had too.” 

Bruce sat in his seat, proudly smirking at what his son said. Dick nodded, walking back to the couch as Damian stood up to go to his bedroom, “it’s only a matter of what before I make her mine so expect her to be around soon enough,” he told them.

+

a few weeks had passed since the incident with your classmate. since then, you had gotten clingier to Damian, not wanting to be at the end of the beating. Daimian had no issue in it, he was practically basking in the touches and side hugs you were giving him. 

you and Damian had decided to head back to his place after school to get some studying done. Friday nights were usually reserved to studying at your place but Damian had offered to make you dinner at his place and study before watching a few movies. 

you had never been over the Wayne manor before and frankly, you were kind of scared to run into his father. THE Bruce Wayne would most likely be in attendance and meeting the most powerful man in Gotham would probably scare anyone. 

Damian unlocked the gate, quickly taking your backpack as you snuggled into his jacket. you were immediately welcomed by his butler, Alfred who offered to put both of you bags in the hallway so no one would step over them. you thanked him profusely, making Damian mutter to you that that’s why he was here. to serve you. 

“so, what would you like to eat, beloved? I can make you anything you desire,” he boasted. you looked at the cookbook that was laid next to you and flipped through the first few pages, “this sounds nice,” you pointed to the plant based steak with veggies.

Damian quickly got to work, making the veggies first as he offered for you taste them every now and again. you would usually relay a kiss on his cheek as he finally got to cooking the steak. you couldn’t help but wonder how he got to be such a great cook, however; as he was finishing plating the food, you saw his father as well as you assumed were his brothers. 

“uh Damian?” you mentioned, pointing to the three men who walked in. Damian sighed knowing that of course his brothers were going to come and annoy him, “who’s your friend?” Dick asked, putting his chin on his hand. 

“this is ( your name ), my beloved,” he told them proudly. you were a bit taken back by the nickname he so easily used on you, “ahh, we’ve heard so much about you,” Tim continued, “she’s so pretty....she’s not like other girls,” Dick mocked. 

your face felt a burning sensation as Bruce told his sons to be quiet, “nice to meet you ( your name ),” Bruce introduced, “welcome to the family,” you barely caught what he said as Damian excused the two of you to go up to his bedroom. 

“your family is...nice,” you tried to say without sounding nervous. Damian rolled his eyes, “they’re bunch of idiots. that’s what they are,” he muttered, not bothering to look back at them. 

once you got to his room, your mouth dropped a bit. you had never seen such a luxurious bedroom before. satin sheets, the coldest pillows, his bedroom could probably house a family if he really wanted too and the fact that this was his bedroom, you were taken back. 

“wow, so this is how the rich and famous live?” you joked, sitting down on his bed. he shook his head, “all this means nothing to me...as long as you’re with me, I’d be the happiest person alive,” you stared at Damian, wondering if what he said was really true. 

the two of you ate, mostly in silence as you tried to take what Damian had said. there had been rumors floating around Gotham Academy that Damian might’ve liked you. you tried to dispel the rumors, claiming that someone like you was no where near Damian’s type but now that you were hearing the words he was telling you, you were more keen on acting on his feelings. 

after finishing dinner, he offered for you to join him on his bed to watch a movie. you had never actually gotten to hang out with Damian outside of school. since you were always so busy doing schoolwork and Damian always had things to take care of, as he put it, you two never relaxed together. 

the aura in the room was cozy as he offered you a very expensive looking blanket to cover you up from the chilly air coming from his window. the movie the two of you picked was some random rom-com, it felt kind of stupid to be watching this kind of movie with Damian but at some point, you stopped paying attention to the movie and looked up to him. 

“did you really mean what you said earlier?” you whispered to him. he gave you a confused look, “of course I did. would I ever lie to you?” he said back, kind of offended that you would even accuse him of lying. 

you sat back up on the bed and turned to fix yourself as you finally gave him a kiss. Damian’s eyes widened, not expecting you to do that to him. regardless, he immediately pulled you on top of him and deepened the kiss by pushing you up against him. 

Damian slid his hands in the back pocket of your skirt, finding it a bit confusing why the uniforms even had pockets on the skirts. he gripped your ass a bit, making you moan in surprise as Damian tried his hardest to contain himself but failing as he slipped his tongue into yours. 

the two of you remained kissing for what felt like hours. you knew your lips were bound get bruised from the amount of tugging Damian was doing but by the time you pulled away, you could see the faintest of blushes appearing on Damian’s brown skin. 

“wow, didn’t know you felt like that for me,” you muttered shyly. Damian chuckled, giving you a quick peck, “I have feelings you wouldn’t even begin to understand but one day....one day you will,” he replied. 

you didn’t pay no mind to his reply as he had brought you down for another kiss. what you didn’t catch was the smirk playing on his face. he knew that once graduation came, there would already be a ring on that left ring finger and soon enough, you’d be baring his heirs. 

the Wayne’s got what they wanted. it didn’t matter what they had to do to get it but what the Wayne’s wanted, they got. 

[oumaheroes]

I love how you describe Ireland and the organized chaos of his house, if you ever wanted to write a little ficlet or drabble about someone (maybe someone used to England's specific brand of hoarding like Canada, or someone overly neat like Prussia) walking into That for the first time and their reaction or some things they notice, I'd eat it for breakfast without any milk 💕 I feel like Ireland is also kinda protective of his space, so he doesn't let just anybody in his house and he doesn't particularly appreciate uninvited visitors. (There are of course exceptions and different levels to this, like I don't think Scotland has needed an invitation for decades, but England should at least call first)

Word count: 1k

Characters: Ireland, Germany

---

‘Whatever you’re thinking of, it will be worse.’

Prussia’s warning was the first thing Germany thought of when Ireland suggested that they take a detour to his house.

‘Forgot my wallet,’ Ireland had told him apologetically as the day’s events wrapped up in Dublin, ‘So we need to swing by mine before we head on out.’

‘I don’t mind paying fo-‘

‘Ah! No you don’t there,’ Ireland looked offended, ‘You’re my guest, I’m not letting you do that. No no, we’ll just pop in to mine and I’ll grab it. It’s not too far anyway and there’s a nice pub nearby- we can eat and drink there before carrying on.’

Germany didn’t really have any reason to argue. Running through old European social rules he’d memorised to see if he was somehow breaking one of them (there were, irritatingly, so many), he couldn’t think of any pertaining to Ireland and so he went, content enough for the brief walk after the long day.

Ireland’s house just outside of the centre of town was nothing fancy- not too large or prominent but a decent size for someone to live in for a few centuries without getting sick of the place. Clean brick amongst similar looking siblings with a neat front garden it looked ordinary enough.

‘Shit everywhere.’ Prussia had said, ‘Stacks of stuff all over the place and never where it should be. That was what pissed me off the most.'

At the time, Germany had pictured a ramshackle house with bits and pieces of it littering the garden and spilling out of windows, odd assortments of items all over the place like a table in the bathroom or clothes in the shed.

This had been about a hundred years ago, so who really knew.

Prussia, as he was far too often for Germany’s liking concerning the ‘old world’, was right.

Inside was chaos.

The door opened up into a foyer. The large windows which would have made the place nice and bright held an assortment of plants, leaves flopping over each other and onto the floor. An old phone table stood nearby; ancient phone dwarfed next to a very ugly looking iron candelabra. In the kitchen beyond, Germany could see a printer open on the floor by an island counter, its innards gone to instead hold what looked to be an assortment of cables. The counter itself-

‘Sit yourself down and get comfortable,’ Ireland said, closing the door behind them and ushering Germany inside, past the kitchen and through to a living room, ‘Want a tea?’

‘…I’m alright, thank you.’

‘You sure? Wee drink won’t do you any harm. How about coffee?’

Germany eyed up a teetering stack of books on an armchair. He got the feeling that etiquette dictated that he was supposed to accept, ‘A coffee sounds good, if that’s alright.’

‘Perfect, wait here a moment.’

Ireland disappeared with a whistle, leaving Germany to search for a place to sit. Aside from the armchair, there was a large sofa which would have been ideal but there was a computer on it. Not a new computer, either a modern laptop or desktop, but one of the fat, old beige-coloured monitors from twenty years ago. It was upside down, the back of it missing, and was empty inside.  Next to that was a suitcase, half packed or unpacked with clothes.

He looked about for somewhere to move them to.

The room was very cosy, if nothing else. Mismatched rugs covered the floorboards, half on top of each other, and a generously sized fireplace was covered in photographs, different size and coloured frames higgledy-piggledy on the mantlepiece or hung on nails. Two large bookcases stood flanking it packed with books, CDs, and DVDs, and then paintings covered the remaining walls (a tasteful light green wallpaper, when it could be found).

The more Germany looked, the stranger things became.

On the shelves between some books appeared to be a collection of ornate spoons in a pint glass. On another shelf lay a very large hammer, the Scottish flag rudely scored on the handle. Draped along several others were numerous ties and then one lone hat crowned them all, jauntily placed on a fat tome on the top. On the side facing the back garden, an empty easel stood in front of the large bay windows, a large handsaw balanced against the spine and a watering can resting at its feet.

Germany hesitated. He had to sit somewhere; it would look incredibly impolite of him to be still standing stiffly in the middle of the room when Ireland returned. There were side tables next to the sofa and armchair but these were also full, and there was a TV stand but instead of a TV stood a very ugly wooden carving of… a gnome? A child…? It was something. Handmade, concerningly. Either way it was large, taking up the whole table greedily with beady eyes and clawed hands that may or may not have been holding a very misshapen baby.

Incredibly unsure of himself, Germany carefully put the computer monitor on the floor and perched delicately on the edge of the sofa.

‘Jesus, you look stiff,’ Ireland told him when he returned minutes later, ‘You alright? Do you want a lay down or something upstairs?’

‘No, thank you.’ Germany forced his back against the sofa. To his surprise, it was incredibly comfortable and he sank back fully against the cushions, ‘I’m perfectly fine, actually.’

'If you say so.' Ireland balanced his own mug amongst one of the bookcases and picked up the stack of books off the armchair with a frustrated tut.

'These are all Arthur's,' he told Germany, 'I've had 'em for months and he hasn't even noticed; you should see the amount of tat he has. Hoarding bastard.'

---

AN:

Hope this fits what you were wishing for, Anon!

And you are totally right about Scotland and England regarding visiting Ireland. Scotland happily pops over whenever but England has never felt as though he's had the right to do that and Ireland doesn't really invite him over anyway. If there's work needed in Dublin, Arthur usually flies or takes the ferry home unless they're there for a while, in which case Ireland would begrudgingly offer to put him up.

(The odd statue is another Wales creation- they all have one somewhere)

[thetriggeredhappy]

@sniperscout-ship-week I GOT THERE EVENTUALLY

Day 2: Spot

(no warnings)

-

“No, seriously, you’re gonna love it!” Scout insisted, adjusting his bag on his back before starting to haul himself up the rocks before them. “Climb’s only, like, twenty more minutes.”

“Didn’t you say that ten minutes ago?” Sniper asked, staring doubtfully at the rocks Scout seemed to so effortlessly scale and wondering where he should even start.

In his defense, Scout wasn’t rushing him along, and had volunteered to carry the bag since he was a little more in practice climbing things. He was clearly used to moving up these cliffs much faster than this, and besides a lot of bouncing on his heels while he waited, he didn’t make any smart remarks.

The first five minutes, Sniper had been fine. Walking uphill, climbing a few boulders, all simple stuff. He had to climb plenty of ladders in his day job, this wasn’t much different in terms of exertion. It was the ten minutes after that, and the ten after that, where he started having a problem. It wasn’t a strength thing, it was an endurance thing, and that’s where Sniper was rapidly learning his weak point was.

He’d really thought he was pretty in-shape overall. Apparently not.

“Look, we can take a second if you want,” Scout said carefully, helping pull Sniper up to the next ledge. “It’s, uh, kind of a lot of climbing and walking and stuff.”

For a second, Sniper considered brushing him off and saying it was fine, but then it took him a moment longer than he expected to find his footing again and he decided to just shelve his pride for the moment. Clearly Scout could already tell how rough this was. “Yeah, I’ll… yeah. I’ll just—“ He took a seat, pushing his hat back to rake a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his face. God, it was hot out.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem.” Scout took a seat too, shrugging the bag off his shoulder and starting to dig through it. “Uh, here, if—if you want.” A water bottle nudged against his knuckles, and he accepted it, taking a swig. “These cliffs get pretty, uh… pretty toasty. Only start really cooling down, like, an hour before the sun goes down. Shouldn’t get any worse than this.”

“Couldn’t have waited another hour or so, then?” Sniper asked, glancing over at him.

Scout shrugged. “I mean, I dunno, then we’d, like, have to climb in the dark, and I’ve already had to hit the Medbay way too many times this month from busting my ankles out here.”

“That often?” Sniper asked, blinking in surprise.

“Heh. Yeah, I’m a pretty huge klutz sometimes. And, y’know, just doing laps around the base gets boring, so I started heading out into the… everywhere else. Out here.”

Sniper nodded, not understanding in the slightest.

“Uh, anyways. You, uh… I dunno, I just figured, didn’t you say something about how you like hiking and stuff?” Scout asked, now looking doubtful.

“Hunting, more than hiking. Just occasionally,” Sniper corrected.

“Similar thing,” Scout said, and Sniper shrugged after a moment, because Scout wasn’t wrong, persay. “Anyways, I, yeah. I dunno. I, I just, I figured you probably wouldn’t bite if I tried to suggest we go, like… I dunno. I’m just usually pretty much the irresponsible type and you’re… not, so, most stuff I like to do I think you’d probably hate, so I figured…”

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” Sniper deadpanned.

“I, I dunno! Bar hops and fast food and causing trouble and shit just don’t seem like your speed so I wanted to like… suggest something you’d actually like. Like hiking. Since jogging out here and stuff is kinda like hiking.”

Sniper thought about pointing out how Scout had just essentially tried to connect jogging to hiking to hunting, a thing which Sniper hadn’t even actually done in a good two years or so, but decided against it, if nothing else because Scout already seemed to be feeling pretty stupid from the dejected expression he failed to hide, face tilted away and down towards where he was scuffing his heel through the dirt. He tried to think of something else to say. “You don’t, er… need to worry so much. About whether I’ll… like, things,” he managed, stumbling on his words. “I like going out and all that, just… I’m just quiet, mate. Doesn’t mean I don’t have fun.”

He wasn’t sure whether that made sense until Scout nodded a few seconds later, brightening a little. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” A pause. “We’re, uh, we’re almost there, you wanna keep—?”

“Sure,” Sniper sighed, hefting himself back to his feet. Scout practically bounced to his own, and Sniper wondered at the miracles that regular exercise could accomplish. “Might as well.”

Oddly enough, now that he was pacing himself, it really wasn’t so bad. Scout was right about it cooling down, at least, and with the sun going down they were out of direct sunlight, which helped as well. Scout seemed to be in better spirits, too, increasingly excited as they apparently got nearer to wherever Scout was taking them.

“We’re like, super close, seriously,” Scout urged, all but dragging Sniper by the wrist, smiling in that wide way of his.

“Alright, alright, take her easy,” Sniper tried, going for grumpy but just landing somewhere in bemused. It was nice, sometimes, seeing that genuine enthusiasm for life that Scout tended to have.

Then he rounded a corner, and squinted for a moment at the shift in light, then his eyes widened.

Stretching out before them, the entirety of the Badlands. The cliffs were cast in crimson, shades of red and pink, violet in the shadows and almost shimmering as the sun set clear out at the horizon. Scatterings of things just too small to decipher hung in shadow in the distance, shadows magnified and spiking towards them, a few lonely clouds just to one side giving a sense of scale to everything that almost gave Sniper vertigo.

“C’mon,” Scout insisted, now actually pulling him along, urging him up just one more small climb that led to a ledge, flat, on top of which were a few things. Camping chairs, for one, dusty and rusted in some places but otherwise intact. A rock that was clearly moved over there at a height that could almost make a table.

“Wow,” Sniper said, mostly because he was surprised.

“Yeah! Nice little spot, huh?” Scout asked, adjusting some things. “Usually I’m out here around sunrise, and sometimes I just like to chill out here. Like, on weekends and stuff if I don’t sleep in. Don’t gotta put up with Soldier and his trumpet thing, or any of the guys stomping around. It’s all peaceful and stuff.”

Sniper nodded, taking a seat in one of the chairs. Scout took the other one, starting to pull stuff out of his bag. Granola bars, mostly, and water. Sniper settled in to look at the view some more, slightly amazed with how different things looked from this high up. Higher than any of his nests, for sure.

“It’s really nice, though, kinda havin’ a space like this. Because Doc has the Medbay, y’know? And Hardhat’s got that workshop and Heavy has his little place with the—the heater, thing, where he makes his bullets? Melts metal? That thing, and Demo’s got his place he makes bombs and, like, pretty much everyone has like a place they get to just hang out in, but I’ve really got nothin’ like that, so, this place kinda rules. If it wasn’t kind of a hassle to get up here I’d probably be up here, like, all the time. You gotta make sure you don’t tell anyone about this place, by the way. Like, they’re not gonna wanna walk this far probably, but still. Unless I like, go missing or something. Then I probably fell off a cliff. Oh, one time on a weekend I went all the way up here and was just hanging out, like, reading my comics and stuff, and I straight up fell asleep up here and I woke up with the worst sunburn in my life—“

Sniper drank water and nodded along as Scout started in on his rambling, eyes drawn to the view more than his wide gestures. And if he, too, ended up falling asleep up here, needing to be shaken awake by Scout an hour or so later, that was his own business.

And even as he filed away the spot to try and see it later, if Scout wanted, he suggested that maybe next time they go get fast food somewhere, because god did his legs hurt the next day.

[ethanesimp]

THE OAK TREE // ZERO E.T. 

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Just Ethan and Y/N behaving like children, mentions of killing someone (as a joke), swearing.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

TEASER

A/N: This is the first chapter of The Oak Tree! I hope you guys enjoy :) Huge thanks to @night-girl-301​ for proofreading this and cheering me on! I was like... scared as shit to post it so yeah.

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you):  @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio​ @ethan-torchio-angelo​ @unitermoonshine​ @everythingisdefinitelynotfine​

It was only a few minutes past two-thirty when you managed to open the door that led to the greenhouse. The key, more often than not, would get stuck in the lock, and you’d have to spend a few minutes trying to yank it free, but this time around luck seemed to be on your side.

You placed your large black backpack on the stool that was always by the door before closing the entrance again. Mr. Murphy was still watering the plants, completely oblivious to your presence thanks to the loud music coming from the small stereo he kept near the gardening tools. You tapped his shoulder gently not to startle him; it wouldn’t be the first time you’d come into the place unannounced and you didn’t want to be the reason why he had to walk around with a cast on his arm again. 

He smiled fondly at you and adjusted his large glasses that were starting to slide down his nose. Mr. Murphy was an old man with long white hair and kind blue eyes, he’d been in charge of the greenhouse at the Oakes Academy for almost twenty years and had been the first person to show you kindness after you first arrived at the place years back.

“I thought I told you to take the afternoon free, Y/N,” He shook his head disapprovingly and you could only shrug. You had to work at the greenhouse at least three hours a week to maintain your scholarship per the Academy’s rules and it’d been long since it stopped being a task and instead became your favorite part of each day. 

“We were let out of Philosophy earlier so I thought I’d come by before I go study. Can I help with anything?” The older man sighed but nodded. He adjusted his glasses once again and wiped the dirt from his jeans.

He pointed at the corner where all the pink anthuriums were kept, shielded from direct sunlight, “Please water those, put a bit of fertilizer on the ones that arrived on Wednesday, and if you’ve got time, can you please feed the worms?” 

“Sure thing, anything else?”

“Just those three things. I’ve got to go help unload the groceries so please lock up both doors once you’re done,” He asked with a smile on his face as he buttoned his coat and grabbed his walking cane from where he’d dumped it on the floor right next to him. Back when you’d only known him for a few days, you’d always rushed to his side to pick up his cane and help him, but quickly realized it was a thing that annoyed him because of how independent and stubborn he was. “Oh and, before I forget, the kid’s outside. I don't want to come back and see you two trying to tear each other's heads off."

A laugh escaped past your lips and you shook your head as you tilted your head to the side so you could look through the hole in one of the windows. Just like he’d said, the boy with the long hair was sitting outside by the oak tree reading a book. You looked back at Mr. Murphy and shrugged, "No promises."

"I'm serious. You're smart Y/N, and I'm pretty sure you could easily find something you've got in common. That much hatred isn't good for either of you." Those were Mr. Murphy's last words before he walked out of the room.

You stood by the plants for a few minutes as you played around with the headphones that hung around your neck. You’d already sort of been startled by the topic you’d seen during Philosophy that day and you hoped that being at the greenhouse would serve as a little distraction but Mr. Murphy’s words hadn’t helped much.

You huffed and looked around for the hose to water the pretty anthuriums to get your mind off of everything that had gone down that day.

-

Hours later, you were still unable to shake Mr. Murphy’s words off. It wasn’t the first time he’d insisted on voicing his thoughts against that rivalry you had going on with the person standing between you and your biggest dream coming true. The thing that pissed you off though, was that his words had reminded you of what your best friend, Rory, had told you just the previous night while you did your usual hate rant. According to them, it was a good way to destress yourself.

You scoffed at the thought alone and let your chin rest on your palm as a frown appeared on your forehead. There was not a thing you could name that made you even remotely similar to the person sitting only a few feet away from you at the quiet school library. Ethan Torchio, a.k.a. Your archnemesis, the person you disliked the most in the face of the earth, was biting on the tip of his pencil as he concentrated hard on the thin black book he was holding up. Those dark eyes that shone honey whenever light hit them just right and those long strands of hair that graciously fell down his back accompanied by his signature turtlenecks and pretty smile were enough to make someone’s knees weak, but they only made you gag. 

You were sure he felt your eyes bore holes into the dark depths of his soul because it didn’t take long for him to look over his shoulder and meet your stare. Ethan smirked and his eyebrows shot up as he sent you a wink and a small wave. You knew that expression of his, he was teasing you, riling you up, hell, maybe he was trying to intimidate you. As crazy —and maybe a bit pathetic— as it made you sound, a simple smirk wasn’t just that when it came to him, never had been. Those dark eyes of his communicated his devilish intentions to you while he looked like an innocent child who’d never break a plate to anyone else.

You held his stare and mirrored his expression, which made him chuckle softly. It was nothing more than a silly game you’d play with one another to see who’d get tired of it first. The stare-off didn’t last too long that time around because his attention was stolen by one of his friends, Thomas. You simply shrugged and went back annotating on your copy of the black book. It was nothing more than one of those books written for the sole purpose of boring people to death. You loved reading, but when it came to those school-issued books that took around three pages to describe the sky-blue sofas in the main character’s living room, you couldn’t read more than a few pages before wanting to aggressively chuck it out the window. 

In a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the book that did nothing other than make you feel miserable, you stood up. You walked over to the large window that went from floor to ceiling. To your delight, the curtains were drawn back, which allowed sunlight to illuminate the otherwise dark library with its beautiful hues of orange and yellow. The librarian was a grumpy woman that loved when the curtains covered all the windows and blocked any source of light that wasn’t the soft glow of the lamps placed all over the dark room. You were almost convinced this woman had never felt the warmth of the sun against her pale and ashy skin, sometimes you even thought of her as a vampire that’d burn to death if she dared to stand outside for a few minutes. 

You looked out the window and admired the green gardens that adorned the front yard of the Academy’s largest building. The Oakes Academy was old and had been around since 1057. However, unlike most ancient schools like this one, the school board hadn’t been too interested in renovating the place outside of simply reinforcing the structure enough to fulfill the basic safety guidelines and the installation of optical fiber wires for a better internet connection. Even then, it was still considered to be one of the most prestigious schools to study at, and if it hadn’t been for the generous scholarship you were offered, you wouldn’t have been able to afford it anyway.

“Still plotting that little plan of yours to end the human race?” You bit down on your bottom lip to stop the colorful curse words from spilling as you turned sideways to look at Ethan. He’d decided to wear one of those annoyingly tight black turtlenecks of his and a pair of plaid trousers that made him look taller than he already was.

“Yes, and I’ll start with you first,” You smiled sarcastically at him, “In fact, I’ll swing by your dorm and murder you in your sleep,” You added while you choked the air for dramatic effect.

Ethan laughed and rolled his eyes. He had that spark of hate in his eyes that was always present when he was talking to you. That look alone told you that all that hatred and disgust you felt towards him was returned in the same magnitude. This rivalry of yours that consisted of dirty looks and constant arguments had been going on since eighth grade and it just seemed to get progressively worse as graduation approached. 

Everyone at Oakes knew how much Ethan and you despised each other, it wasn’t a secret. Even the Head Professor had been a witness of plenty of your many petty fights and you didn’t doubt that the people in charge of the Student Welfare department were sick of the many reports you’d filed against each other for breaking the ‘student rules of politeness’. No one remotely important cared much about your reports anyways because they were far from serious and, more often than not, childish.

“How cute. Although I don’t think that’d work too well for you, would it amore? If something were to happen to me they’d know it was you,” He commented. You shrugged and bit your lip in anger at the nickname he knew very well you detested. 

You casually leaned against the window, “Meh, it’d be worth it if I knew I wouldn’t have to see your face again. Now please get away before someone starts getting the sick idea that we’re friends.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but backed up a few steps either way, “God forbid someone would think such a horrific thing," He scoffed and raised his hand only to show you his middle finger when he knew the librarian wasn’t looking.

Before either of you could utter out another word, Damiano, one of Ethan’s closest friends, walked up to where you two were standing, effectively ending the conversation between you.

He waved at you and offered you a kind smile, which you immediately returned. Unlike his best friend, Damiano was a delight to be around. He was one of the kindest and nicest people you had ever met. You were quite close thanks to the fact that he’d been dating Rory for a while and you got used to spending long nights with the two of them doing silly things like playing board games or watching films. You were basically their third wheel, but neither of you minded much, if at all. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Damiano smacked Ethan on the shoulder as he started a conversation with him. You took it as your chance to leave and just awkwardly walked away after mumbling something about having to find Rory. They had told you something about eating dinner together, and while you’d initially refused because you were supposed to finish the book and start on your report, you were tempted to accept their offer and forget about the stupid book for a little bit more.

Just as you were about to leave the library, your phone vibrated inside the pocket of your warm cardigan. You took it out and chuckled when you read Rory’s message about their new phone but groaned when you realized they wanted to see you after curfew. You sighed and left the library as you tried to think of a great excuse to tell your roommate Emilia so she’d cover for you while you snuck out.

Ethan had his eyes focused on your figure as you left the library but turned back to look at Damiano when he spoke up, “If you’d only talk to them Ethan, I-” He sighed and interrupted his best friend, already irritated by the conversation he’d had with you.

“No, I will not talk to them, okay? Not like we can even talk because we start arguing like two toddlers,” Ethan mumbled out the last part and took a deep breath in. Truth be told, no part of him wanted to talk to you. You were annoying, rude, and didn’t seem to have more than one brain cell in his eyes, so why lose his time talking to you? Not like there’d be anything to talk about.

“They’re just so exasperating!” He spoke up and Damiano rolled his eyes as he saw his hate rant start approaching. They were both aware that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, “I just- They try so hard and it’s annoying. Like I swear they’re also a huge hypocrite. I know you don’t see it but I do, I’ve never met anyone mo-”

Before he could end his last sentence, he felt a body slam into his and arms snake around his waist. Ethan huffed at the impact but wrapped his arms around her frame once he noticed it was Adeline Rossi, or Addie as everyone liked to call her. 

She pulled back and looked at both Damiano and Ethan excitedly, “You will never believe this but the craziest thing just happened… Hey, where’s Vic?” She trailed off as she started looking around for her friend.

Ethan chuckled lightly when he saw Thomas quietly approach Addie while she was distracted. They all knew she was the easiest person to scare, so it didn’t take more than a slight push and a soft boo for her green eyes to go wide and for her to jump. She was quick to turn to where Thomas was standing and didn’t think twice before smacking his shoulder with the heavy book she was carrying.

Thomas put his hands up in defeat as he took a step back and rubbed his shoulder, “Okay, okay shit. Stop, that actually hurts,” He whined and Addie only shrugged as Damiano and Ethan watched the whole interaction with amusement. 

“Right, so, ignoring all that,” Addie spoke up once again and shifted her attention back to Ethan, “Since she is nowhere to be seen, could you please help me with some stuff? It’s just this little interview for one class of mine and I’ve already interviewed Damià and Thomas but I need just one more.”

He nodded and said a quick goodbye to his two best friends before following the shorter girl out of the library. However, while he was walking, he felt his phone vibrate inside the pocket of his jeans. He fished it out and frowned as he read the text that had just been sent to him but laughed once he noticed it was only his girlfriend Emilia from her new phone. 

Then he sighed and rolled his eyes once he realized she wanted to see him past curfew again and he knew Will would ask him for money in exchange for not ratting him out. He quickly texted her back and slipped his phone back into his pocket as he followed Addie to her dorm.

Next

GOOGLE DRIVE 

[professional-dikut]

Here’s a super sweet Echo/Crosshair fic req from an Anon!

( i couldn’t decide between Cross and Tech, but Cross flowed better for some reason, so i went with him :D) I hope you enjoy ☺️ (slight TW for vomiting and sum self-destructive thoughts<3) Fic under cut ⬇️

Word count: 3339

"That should be all." Nala Se spoke slowly, turning away from the arc trooper and dropping the bacta shot into a waste bin.

Echo nodded and hopped off of the examination table as the Kaminoan turned to put a data pad away.

He glanced down at his legs as he tugged his sleeve back over his flesh arm.

Nala Se had given him another anesthetic—the second one this week—after he had stepped funny on one of his prosthetics during a course down in the simulator facilities. He'd taken a pretty un-graceful fall and accidentally tripped Hunter, sending the two of them tumbling down a ramp. Hunter was fine, but Echo's leg had been sore the entire day.

In fact, Crosshair had to catch him in the dinner-line when he'd almost toppled over from standing on his leg in a certain position for too long.

The sniper had given him a look and told him to go to the med-bay—no exceptions.

So here he was, in the med-bay, again, with his second painkiller of the week.

It was starting to become... troublesome.

He began to put his armor back on before deciding that he would just carry it back to the barracks since the batch would be going to sleep soon anyways. Well, Hunter, Crosshair, and Echo would be going to sleep. Tech and Wrecker usually stayed up to do their own thing for a bit before actually heading to bed. 

Sighing, he scooped up the plastoid in his arms and began to make his way out of the med-bay.

The bright hallways of Tipoca City seemed to burn through his eyes and into his newly peaking headache, causing him to squint as he turned a corner. He knew his way around the city, it was sealed into his brain after getting lost many times in the previous years, before he joined the bad batch. Before the thing happened.

The thing.

The thing that was becoming harder to keep up with day after day, becoming harder and harder to push aside. Harder to ignore. Harder to hide.

It was getting harder and more exhausting to fake being fine around the bad batch, to ignore the constant headaches and bothersome pains where his limbs were supposed to be. There had been so many times where Echo had skipped meals because he could barely stand, telling the rest of the batch that he was just worn out—which wasn't exactly a lie. Sleeping was becoming more difficult as well.

His nights were turning into readjustments, shifting around, blanket-no blanket madness. He'd stare up at the ceiling in the barracks, and pray to the maker that he'd be able to fall asleep for hours on end. Sometimes he'd sit up in his bed and scroll through a data-pad, looking at old rules and regulations to see if he could still recite them like he used to. It was all so different now, but all so similar at the same time.

The Batch was so understanding. They understood Echo. They helped him when he needed it, and they welcomed him as one of their own. 

But he wasn't one of them.

He was more machine than man. 

That was nothing like them.

The regs knew, the batch knew, and Echo knew. It was obvious. They knew what they were getting into when they accepted him into their squad. 

Echo's stomach lurched as he turned a corner, and another wave of pain flowed through his temples.

He was becoming the exact thing he told himself he wouldn't.

A liability.

A burden if you will.

All Echo did was slow the squad down, and mess up their flow. He couldn't do anything right without getting himself or one of the batch hurt. It was like a curse, that he literally couldn't function without. Without his prosthetics, he'd be of zero use or need to the squad, and would most likely be cast away to work in the medical facilities, or decommissioned.

So really, The bad batch was the only reason he was being kept alive.

And he just kept screwing it up.

They always told him, that he wasn't a problem, that he wasn't slowing them down, or burdening their team. But what if they were lying? Echo wouldn't be surprised if that was the situation. Tripping Hunter during the simulation wasn't the first time something like that had happened, it it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

So why did they keep him?

A weight began to settle in Echo's stomach as he turned down the hallway that the batch's barracks were in. 

He exhaled, and almost put his lunch on the floor.

He froze, and dropped a few pieces of armor as he slapped his hand up to his mouth. The sound of the plastoid clattering to the floor sounded in his ears much louder then they should've, knocking another pulse of discomfort through his skull. He turned away from the noise and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ground himself as a bitter taste filled his mouth and bile bubbled in the back of his throat.

Echo's mind began to race as he stood as still as possible for a minute.

Clones were not supposed to get sick. He knew that for a fact, and had never met or seen a sick clone in his entire time being alive. It was threaded into them as mere test tubes, and continuously kept up as they grew, and went out to war. Clones were a species with one of the strongest immune systems in the galaxy, so there was really no reason for Echo to be feeling this way.

Well, there was always the thing. 

With most of his humanity stripped away, it was possible that some of his genetics and artificial health that the Kaminoans had pumped into him since birth was failing now. He was eating whats in the cafeterias—most of the time—which contained the nutrients and medicines that kept them all healthy and ready for battle at anytime. So why was his stomach betraying him?

He opened an eye and stared at the blank white wall for a second, before looking to the barracks and considering his options.

He could, go back to Nala Se and ask for some stomach relievers, or possibly another bacta shot, or, he could go into the barracks and attempt to fake his way till sleeping time, and hope that he didn't vomit all over Tech's equipment.

Nala Se was most likely already closing everything up and putting all her supplies away, so it was possible that he could catch her before she finished up. Although, she might consider his condition... unreasonable. If he kept coming to her with more problems, it would give her a pretty good reason to send him to the medical squads, where he would be less bothersome to her, or even to the decommissioning facilities.

Shit.

He wasn't even sure he could make it all the way back to the med-bay at this point. His hand was shaking, still over his mouth, and the nausea mixed with his splitting headache was doing nothing for his attempt at grounding himself. If he did go into the barracks, he'd have to make it to the bathroom before any of the squad saw him. 

Unless... Was the squad even in there?

Echo tried to remember what day it was through the thick fog that seemed to have settled in his head, and thought about what days the squad went to train in the sparring rooms.

It was... Taungsday? No. It was Centaxday. On Centaxday, the batch went down to the sparring rooms at around twenty-hundred, and trained till twenty-two hundred-thirty. So, if he could just...

Echo glanced down at the pieces of armor he'd dropped. 

His bracer and comm were on the ground, and his bracer had a chronometer on it. 

Slowly, Echo forced himself to swallow and took a deep breath, straightening himself out and closing his eyes for a moment. He leaned over, and hissed as another piece of armor tumbled out of his arms. He picked them back up and attempted to adjusted them with his prosthetic arm, before clicking the chronometer on.

It read twenty-hundred twenty-nine. Perfect.

Echo swallowed again before taking a step towards the barracks door. He kept his gaze straight ahead as his vision started to swim in front of him while he walked. Desperately, he reached out to the door with his prosthetic, jabbing the button on the panel next to it, dropping more armor at the lack of support.

A disgusting wave a nausea crashed over him as he stumbled into the wide room when the door hissed open.

Crosshair snapped his eyes up to Echo from his bed as he stepped down the stairs un-gracefully, dropping pieces of armor on the way.

He-

Crosshair.

Echo did a double take, whipping around to face the sniper on his bed.

He was the only one in the room. Perhaps he didn't want to spar tonight? Or maybe Echo got the days wrong...

"Echo?" Crosshair spoke from his bed, shifting his rifle to his other side as he cleaned it.

Echo opened his mouth to answer, but instead, dropped his all of his armor completely, and darted into the fresher to vomit. 

His stomach tensed, pushing up everything he'd eaten in the last few hours right into the toilet. He crouched down, taking a quick breath before throwing up more. His throat burned, and tears sprang into his eyes as he gripped the edge of the toilet. 

He repeated that, two or three more times, before sitting back on his heels and sagging into the wall next to him. 

He breathed heavily, holding his flesh hand over his still aching stomach as he let out a cough. A gross taste burned in his mouth and he grimaced, swallowing down another urge to vomit before letting his head tilt back to rest against the wall.

Why the fuck was Crosshair in the barracks.

"What are you doing." The man in concern said flatly, suddenly standing at the door of the small fresher.

Echo groaned, before leaning over to heave into the toilet once again. 

Pain pulsed through his head as the muscles in his stomach squeezed and cramped together, making everything about the situation ten times worse then it needed to be. A tear rolled down his cheek as his face heated up, humiliated in front of the experienced sniper.

"Are you okay." Crosshair said from behind him, voice literally emotionless.

Echo shouldn't be this weak. He was an ARC Trooper for kriff's sake. He was supposed to be the strong one. The leader. And here he was, barely able to make it through the day with out getting hurt or sick.

Another tear rolled down his face, and then another, before he was full on crying while emptying his stomach in the small space. 

"Echo." 

Echo coughed as his stomach stopped for a moment, giving him a second to breathe. He tried to wipe his tears as he heard Cross step into the fresher.

"What." Echo croaked, clearing his burning throat and lowering his head as he leaned away from the toilet.

The sniper suddenly crouched down next to Echo, resting his forearms on his thighs as he turned to look at him.

Echo looked away.

"Are you 0kay?" Crosshair asked again. He was only in the bottom half of his armor, his top half covered by his blacks like Echo was.

Echo looked up to stare at him. 

Crosshair blinked.

"I-" Echo tried, his voice watery. "I'm sorry."

He sniffled, wiping his face with his left arm as he leaned back into the wall again.

"For what?" Cross asked, his face completely neutral.

Echo breathed, trying to inhale through his stuffy nose, before looking back up at Crosshair again. 

A  broken sob escaped his lips, and then all hell broke lose from there. 

Echo cried. He cried hard. Weeks of built up emotions, all poured out in front of him like he was some scared cadet all over again. Tears streamed down his face as he cried into his hand trying to cover his weakness, only to cry harder as everything hit him right there. All his unprocessed thoughts, all the lingering emotions that hadn't been dealt with, all of the situations he couldn't prevent because of his condition. He sobbed harder, wishing he could just be normal, with out complications, or ever present headaches that liked to come at the worst times.

And Crosshair got to witness all of it.

At some point, the man had shifted to sit next to Echo against the wall, which only made Echo cry harder. Cross showed no sign of any emotion the entire time, just sat next to him, in his presence. It was kind of reassuring, but it was hard to focus on when a sob racked his body every five seconds.

Slowly, Echo's body began to calm down as he tried to take a few deep breaths. 

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he got himself to a point where he was just wiping silent tears away from his cheeks as he sniffled. His stomach felt a little better, at least.

The two of them sat like that for a good five minutes before Crosshair spoke again.

"What just happened?" He questioned slowly, turning to face Echo.

Echo gave a shaky sigh before attempting to speak again.

"I'm- Im sorry, for everything," He started, choosing his words carefully. "I'm supposed to be better, I shouldn't keep messing up like this. I know I'm slowing your squad down, I'm becoming more of a burden everyday, and I'm sorry. I keep getting hurt and hurting you guys, I keep getting sick and I can't do anything about it and I'm afraid I'm gonna get culled if this keeps happening and-"

Echo was cut off abruptly cut off by a hand turning him and pulling him into a tight hug.

Crosshair had pulled him into a hug.

Oh.

Even in the uncomfortable position, the hug shot right through Echo's chest and made even more tears spring into his eyes. 

He sniffled again, before burying his face into Cross's shoulder and letting out an annoyed whimper. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, holding each other like it was the end of the world, and all they had were each other. Cross was usually cold and awkward with physical touch, but in his arms he felt warmer and more comfortable then usual. Echo sighed and relaxed into his arms as the sniper held him tighter.

"You are not a burden."

Echo laughed bitterly into Cross's shoulder.

"I dont-"

"You're not."

Echo looked up from his shoulder, pulling back to look Cross in the eye.

His face was level and relaxed, but his brow was furrowed in seriousness. The tattoo over his right eye was creased like it always was when Crosshair was being genuine, and Echo had to stare for a moment just to make sure. 

"But, I-"

"No." Cross said. "You are not a burden, you don't slow us down, we get hurt all the time, and you're doing fine. You don't need to do better."

Echo continued to stare as the sniper spoke with zero hesitation.

"You're fine just the way you are, and you absolutely will not be culled." Cross stated, giving a small nod as confirmation.

Echo blinked and stared at him.

"And you're most likely not sick, it's probably anxiety. Makes Tech sick sometimes too." The sniper said with a small shrug.

He sounded so real, and honest. There was no reason for Echo to not believe his words, but still, something in his head held him back. 

Echo grumbled a response as Cross took his flesh hand and gave it a squeeze.

"We'll work on it." Cross said, as if he’d read Echo’s mind. 

Echo gave a weak laugh as Cross pulled him close again, cradling the back of his head in his hand. Echo held on to him too, relaxing into Cross's calm and trying to get his legs into a more comfortable position. They were annoying, but he could deal with it if it meant getting to cuddle with Crosshair—which was a very rare thing known to the whole squad.

Crosshair pulled away for a second this time, and Echo looked at him, a flash of worry crossing his face.

The sniper cocked an eyebrow at him before smirking and getting to his feet, pulling Echo up along with him.

"You need sleep." Was all the man said before hitting the button on the toilet an dragging Echo out of the fresher and towards the beds.

"Cross, I'm not gonna be able to." Echo sighed as they closed in on Crosshair's bunk.

Sleepless nights were starting to become normal, and Echo wasn't seeing any hope for them stoping anytime soon.

"Sit." Cross said, gesturing to his bed as they stood next to it together. 

He rolled his eyes, and plopped down in the bunk as Cross wandered away to get something. Echo turned to glance at the target posters on the inside, and then to the neatly made sheets, and then the soft pillows. It was cozy, and also the same as Echo's bunk, but... definitely more cozy.

Echo began to remove his prosthetics as Crosshair came back with a cup in his hand.

"Here, drink this." He held the cup out for Echo as he set one of the prosthetics down.

Echo took the cup while Cross sat down next to him and began taking of the rest of his own lower half armor. 

He took a sip of the drink as Cross unsnapped his last thigh plate off before setting them aside along with Echo's prosthetics. The liquid was cool, and felt soothing in his stomach after the horrible nausea. His head was still hurting, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it was just ten minutes ago. Now that he had calmed down some, he was starting to understand Cross's suggestion about anxiety.

Echo was fine.

Or, at least he was going to be.

Downing the last of his drink, he leaned to the side to set the cup on the ground, and caught a glimpse of his scattered armor at the door of the barracks. Sighing, he facepalmed and began to turn to ask Cross if they should pick them up, but a pair of arms snaked around his torso before he could finish.

"We'll pick em up in the morning." Cross hummed into his shoulder, pulling him back into him.

Echo chuckled as the two of them fell back into the bunk in a spooning position. Crosshair pulled him close, tightening his arms and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck as he pulled his blanket over them. Relaxing into his arms, Echo felt his nausea begin to trickle away, leaving behind a content and warm feeling in his chest and stomach. Crosshair’s warmth and arms comforted him from their place around him, and he suddenly felt more grounded then he had then entire day.

A relieving sigh made its way out of Echo’s lungs as he listened to the harsh rain against the long window in the barracks.

Slowly, he let his eyes flutter shut. His head still ached, but it wasn’t as prominent, and more easy to ignore. Maybe he’d actually be able to sleep tonight.

The sniper fell asleep quick, almost immediately relaxing and settling into Echo’s back. He rested his left hand on Cross’s hand, and traced circles around the back of his palm until he started to slip into unconsciousness himself. His eyelids began to get heavier as his breathing steadied, and soon, his whole body relaxed—for the first time in a while—as he slept in Crosshair’s arms.

[jwritesandrambles]

“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head  did some really cool art for this! 

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back. 

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in. 

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy. 

“Hood,” The teen greeted. 

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing. 

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence. 

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled. 

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch. 

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat. 

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind. 

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets. 

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission. 

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch. 

“Um... yes, that’s all,”  the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling. 

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed. 

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him. 

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return. 

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city. 

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that! 

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested. 

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice. 

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask. 

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before. 

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation.  No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn. 

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all. 

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister. 

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips. 

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned. 

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper. 

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this. 

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason? 

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas--  inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though. 

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk-  His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for. 

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet. 

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips. 

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal. 

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply. 

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away. 

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.  

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips. 

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry. 

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him  seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs. 

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience. 

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room. 

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk. 

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus. 

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step. 

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?” 

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.  

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again. 

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!” 

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father. 

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. 

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it. 

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead. 

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath. 

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case. 

He quickly scooted across the floor to him. 

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

 “I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands. 

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly. 

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands. 

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s. 

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips. 

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling. 

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head. 

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

 “I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile. 

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.” 

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

[ivanabaqero]

Since I just returned from rehab, here is my.. idk, emotional journey on my chronic illness + mental health or wtf ever u wanna call this. This is the most personal thing I have ever posted but I need to get it out. 

Before you read, I guess I gotta tw this for suicidal thoughts and descriptions of my symptoms.

I don’t even know where to start. It feels like all of this happened in one week and at the same in a span of several years. But no idea, time just kept passing and more shit happened. 

Last summer was pretty cool. I worked hard and made a fuckton of money - not really considering the consequences of the fact that I overstepped the boundaries of my body every single day. Either way, I regret nothing it was pretty cool and another experience I am glad I could make. Well, but when I came back home, I started to notice a few things. Among some weird shit nobody wants to know about, I noticed a change of my eyesight. There was a cloud right on the vision on my left eye and it got blurry. At first, it started with minutes and then it passed. But I knew my body responded to exhaustion in an odd way so I let it slide. As doctors have instructed me, only when it lasts over 24 hours it’s an actual episode/flare and I should go to the ER -- to elaborate this further, I have been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2015 and have not had any bigger flares since, only the regular symptoms like fatigue, etc.

 I got treated with the regular medication; cortisone. This shit gave me some energy boost for a few days and then, things went back to somewhat normal. The blurry thing in my eye has changed into a weird ass thing called nystagmus. Basically, my eyeball was twitching. It was better than the blurry sight and my doctors told me that physical therapy was the only thing to help me with that, and up until some weeks ago this didn’t stop, at the moment it’s gotten way better though - a relief because that caused me mad headache and made reading really difficult.

Anyway, that was the smaller problem. A few months later, in December around Christmas, I have gotten really weak and have been constantly dizzy. As usual, I let it slide for some days. Up until that point when I couldn’t move from the bed or look at anything else but right up at the ceiling or I would get fucking dizzy. Back to the ER again, the same procedure began. Cortisone  resulted in a massive push of energy that lasted for some days, but after that, all the symptoms slowly returned. Not only that, but it started to get worse. I have been dragging and limping with my left foot since months but I still managed somehow to walk and get around. In January I had a major panic attack when I noticed that I couldn’t walk on my own to my doctors, which is merely an 8 minute walk away. I had to call my mom to bring me back home because I couldn’t go any step more. My doctor sent me to the ER but the next day, I decided that I was fine and being over dramatic and everything was perfectly fine. The whole thing kept getting worse, I could not walk anymore, I kept feeling dizzy all the time unless I was staring at only one spot: my laptop or phone. So that was what I did, ignore my symptoms. Adding to my chronic fatigue, dizziness, inability to walk and my eye problem, a sensitivity problem spread all over my body from the chest downwards. My hands hurt and my fingers cramped up and got stiff, I lost all feeling in my feet. I had an appointment at the neurologist thank god, or else, I would have let it gotten worse and kept telling myself that I am being over dramatic and nothing is actually wrong. Delusional? Maybe. I don’t understand myself there either.

The neurologist decided to keep me in hospital for a whole ass week, getting cortisone every day. I got in there with the ambulance in a wheelchair and left out of there walking again. Not perfectly, but I thought things were looking up. Of course, once the high dose of steroids begins to wear off and you slowly come down from it, you first catch sleep. Steroids this time have been given to me five days in high dose instead of three and in addition, I had to take pills that I had to reduce slowly over another two weeks. I did not sleep in those three weeks more than 3-4 hours per night and then I finally could. To make this more understandable; my brain was tired but my body was buzzing. I also had a tremor that has still not entirely left me as a wonderful side effect from the medication. 

That time stationary they finally put me back in a MRT and found 2 bigger new lesions. One of them in my cerebellum and the other in my spinal cord. Each of them causing me all those massive problems. Back at home I had physical therapy every day, but despite all of it, I had to rely on a wheelchair. I got my wheelchair in march and named him Otto because he is the best man ever. Next time in hospital, I was mentally and physically just fucking done and tried to just ignore how much my mental health was going downhill along with my body, the neurologist offered me stationary rehab at a very well known center where they treat several physical as well as mental illnesses. I said yes, and luckily got a place in July.

The initial plan was to stay there for four weeks, but the doctors suggested to extend to six. I did. And good that I did. I made slow progress. Very slow. To imagine, in twenty minutes at the first day I could barely walk 130m with four  breaks in between, with walking aid and what not - and my last day I made 640m in the same time with no breaks. I know this doesn’t sound like a lot but fuck -- I made it out of a fucking wheelchair. I am walking again. Not perfectly or any good, but my legs are used for their purpose again; to get me through this world. For someone who loves hiking and going for little walks alone, this was such a big deal to just not be able to anymore. 

The day I had the panic attack was the day I realized that in 2015 I made a promise to myself that if I ever have to rely on other people, I would end it. But I felt selfish for not wanting to end it. I felt selfish  for wanting to live and being a burden to people. I know, none of this is my fault and I am the first to give good advice, but am I good at handling my own shit? Absolutely not. 

With all the physical therapy I did for six weeks every day, I also had a psychologist that helped me understand myself better and deal with the trauma this experience brought me. I have to find another psychologist at home as well, because I didn’t feel the one I have helped me at all. I had to make a lot of promises to myself, such as accepting and asking for help and that it’s no shame in doing so. I feared losing my independence and I still do. But fuck, this experience was an eye opener in so many ways. I made new friends in rehab as well, which was one of the coolest things. And I got hit on by two attractive men - can you believe? I was in a wheelchair, dressed like absolute shit and not making any kind of deal of how I look! But yeah, my interest wasn’t really there to get involved in anything. I’ve got a lot of love to give but I need to give it to myself rather than pour it out on someone else.

I learned so many lessons, about my body and about my mind. My brain is an idiot and I have so many fears I was never even able to see until now. I thought optimism could beat everything and well... while it helps me a lot to get through every day life, every now and then I just need a slap in the face to look at things in another light. Not everything is fine if you tell yourself it is, no, you are not over reacting and you are allowed to feel sorry for yourself when life is dealing you a bad card. It doesn’t matter that other people have it worse -- it doesn’t mean your own shit is any less valid. And with that, I am going to wash my face and stop crying. I am still in a shock of reality state because I am  back at home now and everything is different. And I got to admit, I feel a little lonely. But I don’t want to reach out to my old friends at the moment with whom I felt like the “sick friend”. I want more friends in similar positions as me so I don’t have to feel bad for... well, feeling bad, and I don’t want to hear any more optimism monologues from healthy people who have absolutely no idea what it is like to have chronic pain, fatigue and overall; an illness. Whether it be mental or physical.

If you really read all of this, thank you. There was no need to, but I appreciate it. I honestly just needed to let it out. Because I haven’t done so properly since all of that started. 

[bippityboppitybibuck]

@valleydean As of the start of writing this it's nearly 3:30 in the morning, I am almost exactly 13 hours away from the minute I was born on this day 23 years ago and I am awake thinking about Dean fucking Winchester so here you go. As a weird birthday gift from me to you on my birthday, I present mild angst but also of course fluff. By the time you get this my birth minute will have passed and I will be 23 ((oh my god just like Dean and Cas AGS.)) As with all of my ags posting this contains spoilers for the story, you’ve been warned!!

Dean’s 27th birthday snuck up on him. Well, as much as a date that comes around every year without fail can sneak up on a person who also has a solid five people clamouring to remind him. Somehow even Jack memorized the date after he heard Cas talk about it one time years ago and now the kid won’t stop bringing it up, which yeah is cute as hell but also Dean’s never been one to make a big deal of his birthdays before.

But 27 fucks him up. And hard.

He’s officially lived longer than Dean Wesson did, which sure, he technically did when he made it to the end of December, but the milestone feels bigger now that he’s 27. He’s 27. Dean’s never been 27 before because Dean Wesson never made it to 27.

It shouldn't mean anything, Dean Wesson is as much him as he is, even more so now that there’s no door keeping the memories from the light of day, but as he'd watched the clock flick from 11:59 to 12:00 with Cas beside him ready to give him his first of 27 birthday kisses something within him had felt morosely finalized.

A chapter closed, one that he’ll never be able to reopen the same way he did the first time around. Dean Wesson’s story is over. Dean Wesson’s story is his, but a part of it, the largest, hell only, part of that story came to a close when those red numbers switched over.

He doesn't know what to feel. He doesn’t know how to feel the loss, he died so young, he died with so much life still to live, he died and left Sam to live his decades out alone. He was young.

It never registered, even back then, how young he was, and he’s sure that with every birthday he has going forward that feeling is only going to get worse.

He and Charlie spent the Halloween of their 21st year watching the clock in a similar way. Waiting for the moment they lived longer than the Potter’s did - Charlie's idea that Dean went along with without putting up a fight - and it felt like this did. A shock to the system, a race won that you hadn’t known you were running. The realization that they were barely adults and now you are there living past what they ever got to.

Except, this time, it’s him he outlived. He outlived himself. It’s different for Cas, or at least Dean thinks it is, because there was never that separation, that differentiation within Cas of his two lives because there was no distinct difference when it came to his knowledge and understanding of his old life - and therefore no disconnect from himself in that way. Cas’ disconnect came in another way but Cas has already outlived himself sorta… it’s hard for Dean to tell when technically Cas has only really been alive for a short time but still was resurrected at the age he died at. Either way, Cas never made a fuss about being older than his past self.

The clock reads 12:02 now, Cas is sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his middle and Dean can’t think of what to say. 27 isn't a big birthday milestone, there's no grand party waiting for him with cards that list his age or balloons or any of the hooplas that 30 or 50 gets but this birthday feels more momentous than any he’s had or will ever have. He just doesn’t know how to deal with that yet, so he just goes and grabs it all right by the horns.

“I’m older than he was,” he says into the stillness of the dark room.

“Who? - oh, yes I suppose you are,” Cas responds, dropping his chin against Dean’s shoulder and resting it there.

“You never loved me at 27 before, is it any different?” There's a fear there he can’t name, something brought forth from etches in his bones that whisper that Cas may never love him like he did Dean Wesson, shared memories be damned, years spent together be damned.

“Mhmm, no it’s not, I love you all the same. Maybe even a little more now. A little more love with every year we get together that we never got before. Also, I’m loving you right now, that counts as loving you at 27 doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” He drops his head back against Cas’ shoulder, their cheeks brushing gently together with the ebb and flow of their breathing.

“Do you feel any different?” Cas asks lightly, tentatively, as though he knows Dean is struggling with this new reality.

“Outrageously so. But I couldn’t begin to tell you why. There's just this thought that he’s not there anymore, he doesn’t have any side-by-side memories now. I don’t have any memories anymore… I sorta got used to them always being there, following me through the things I experienced in real time. But now I’m going to do things and I won’t be able to think back to what I did before. He’s not felt so separate since before Dorthey and the manor and I don’t really know what to make of it.”

“You know you can mourn him Dean. That is allowed. You can mourn that loss of yourself. Grieve for the future you didn’t get before.”

“But why should I? I mean I’m here now, with you, Sam, Mom, Charlie, Kelly and Jack too even if they are thousands of miles away. I’m getting to live, I’m getting my future and Dean Wesson is getting it too because he’s me, I’m him. I just - he feels disjointed within me now and I want the peace back but I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to get it when from here on out Dean Wesson stops being there alongside Dean Winchester. I’m moving away from him and like everything that dies, he’s stuck perpetually at 26. He’s stuck and I have to leave him behind.”

Something thick coats his throat with the words, a darkness that seeps in and threatens to choke him if he’s not careful. Grief is such a finicky thing.

“You don’t have to Dean, same as you don’t have to leave your middle school self behind or your pre my resurrection self behind. It’s all you in there still. You get to pick what you carry with you for the rest of your life. If you don’t want to leave that part of yourself in your past, then don’t and keep it with you.”

Dean’s quiet for a while, thinking about a lot of shit, including how the hell Cas managed to get so good at this shit, because that little speech would put Dr. Phil to shame in an instant. But then of course Cas would probably have had to do the very thing he’s telling Dean now.

“Do you remember how we spent my first 25th birthday?” Dean asks.

“Hmm, I do, and I gotta say the frozen ass I got from the fence was completely worth it.”

Dean huffs a laugh into the darkness, picking his head up from Cas’ shoulder as he asks, “Do you think that for the first birthday he won’t have we could do that again? Fly back to Amherst, maybe see Kelly and Jack too?”

“Absolutely, but no smoking this time, even if I did get a rise out of you back then.”

“You bastard, I knew that was intentional!”

“You caught me,” Cas says, the phrase all but dripping in sarcasm. “Jack will be thrilled to see us again, Kelly too.”

He smiles picturing it. Cas playing with Jack, running around the backyard of the duplex Kelly bought only a year ago, smiles wide, Jack’s blonde hair sticking haphazardly out of his puffball touque, Cas’ hair tucked into a hat he’ll surely steal from Dean. Their joyful shouts echoing around them all. So like they used to all those years ago when Jack was barely five, and now he’s almost double digits and Dean can’t remember the years flying by until he looked back and they were already so securely in the rearview.

“I’m old now,” Dean says a little while later.

“If it makes you feel any better, regardless of what that fake ID you made says, my birth year is technically 1845 so… I’ve got you beat in the old age department.”

“Oh Cas, you don’t look a day over a hundred and twenty, you’re fine,” Dean jokes, Cas’ light mood rubbing off on him.

Dean gets a pinch to the ribs in retaliation and awards Cas an indignant squawk and a begrudgingly given laugh before he settles back against him, his eyes slipping closed though he wants not for sleep.

“What should we do now, I’m not particularly tired, and I feel certain in assuming that you aren’t either,” Cas murmurs lowly, breath dusting the shell of his ear soothingly.

“I dunno, maybe we should just keep sitting here,” Dean says, a memory playing behind his closed eyelids. In the heat of the room, frozen air bites at his skin just as it did back then.

Cas answers this time around, but instead of using words he pulls Dean in for a kiss - the second of his 27 birthday kisses - and within that press of lips Dean knows he remembers too.

Their skin pressed firmly together, neither move, their eyes kept forward, staring through the window at the still portrait of the winter stars.

[gwynrielendgame]

Nyx x Tamlin’s daughter part 3

Y’all cannot stop me from writing this series 😭😭I want to write more gwynriel, but the thought of a love triangle has angered me once again, so my hyper fixation has transferred elsewhere.

If you have any suggestion for future fics leave a comment below.

"Do you think mates are as rare as the Fae say? Everyone in my life seems to have a mate, yet lore claims it to be rare." Nyx turned his head from his spot next to Isa in the meadow. They laid right next to each other as they stared up at the sky. Close enough to touch, yet not feeling it necessary in the moment.

"That iz odd that your entire family iz mated." She laughed. "Your family are the only mates I have ever met, so I would say it iz rare for everyone except them." He sighed deeply.

"What troubles you?" Isa turned her head away from the sky to look at Nyx.

"What if I never get a mate?"

"Then you never get a mate."

"Isa, I am being serious right now." He groaned as he lifted himself up onto his elbows, so that he could look at her without the grass getting in the way.

"I am too. It will happen or it will not happen. No point in fretting over it." She shrugged as if it truly did not bother her. Nyx did not understand her.

"You really do not care if you ever find a mate?"

"I do not need a mate to find love or pleasure."

"But what if you find your mate while with someone else?" He felt the need to point out. He could not love someone while his mate was still out there. Nyx thought it selfish to love someone with the knowledge they were not his mate. What would they do once he did find his mate? What would he do?

"Like my father and your mother?" Isa raised an eyebrow at this.

"Well not exactly like that, but yes I suppose." Nyx laid himself back on the grass and looked back up at the sky. Isa turned her head away after a minute as well.

"Well if they were truly my mate, then they would wait for me. And if the person I was with is not my mate, then fate has us ending at some point, no? I would let everything occur naturally I suppose."

"If you were my mom, would you have left Tamlin for my father if he had not been awful?" Nyx had always been curious about Isa's opinion on the matter. She always seemed so spiteful of Feyre that perhaps she had heard a different story than what Nyx knew to be true.

"Yes. I would have found myself unhappy with life as a wife. I was made for so much more than that." She let out a deep sigh. Nyx contemplated her answer. He supposed that to be true. He could not imagine Isa playing house wife to anyone, but especially one that expected her to pop out babies and display herself only when beneficial to them.

"Would you ever marry?" He asked. She seemed quick to offer a marriage proposal to Nyx when they first met, but that had obviously been a joke.

"For love?" She shrugged. "I am far more likely to marry for political power than I am for love. I am strides behind with alliances among the seven high lords. When I take power the Spring Court will be weak simply because I am unknown of. Other courts will test my strength and intelligence."

"That is strategic." He also felt it was sad. She clearly was not a romantic at heart like he was. "I want more from life than power. I want what my parents have. Is that too much to ask for?" Nyx found himself frustrated with the fact that he had not found his mate yet. He had to keep reminding himself that it took his father five hundred years and his grandfather nine hundred years. It might make him mad if he had to wait that long though.

"I shall pray to the spirits about it."

"About what?"

A noise interrupted them before she could respond. Both of them stood quickly to surveil their surroundings. They saw nothing, but moved to put their backs to each other so that they could not be blindsided. Isa pulled her two short swords from their sheaths as Nyx prepared his ax and shield.

"What was that?" He whispered to her. She shushed him as they turned simultaneously with their backs still firmly placed together.

"Let's get out of here." She finally responded back but before he could respond a figured winnowed right in front of each of them and blew a powdery substance onto them. They winnowed away again just as Isa lifted one sword.

"Shit." She muttered. Nyx tried to winnow only to discover that he could not. Fucking faebane he thought. Nyx's hand went slack around his ax, and then a group of six males approached them. They came at them from Isa's side so Nyx turned to face the males. He stumbled a bit. The line of Fae males stopped about twenty paces away. Nyx did not recognize them. It was possible that Isa did, but she did not say otherwise as they stood across from them. Each male was armed with a weapon and a shield.

"I will take the three on the left. You got the other three?" She asked. He did not respond as she ran towards them. He wanted to wait to let them make the first move, but after she started running, the assailants came forward as well.

He seemed caught in a trance, watching Isa fight. One of her swords clashed with the tallest male while she simultaneously swiped at another one of the fighters. The tallest one swung his arm out, almost decapitating Isa, but she bent backward at the last second. She sliced an artery in one of their legs before checking her surroundings. Nyx assumed she was looking for him, but he had not yet moved for some reason. The second of distraction allowed for the tall one to cut her arm. It was so deep that Nyx swore he could see the bone all the way from here. The only acknowledgment of pain from Isa was a grunt, and then she ran her sword right through him. Nyx was jostled from his trance by an approaching fighter. Surprisingly, he walked up to him at a leisurely pace. Isa, once again, glanced back.

"Nyx!" She shouted as the male lifted his weapon. Isa tried to run back towards Nyx, but was tackled to the ground as she started to flee. Right before the male delivered the killing blow, his face started to droop. Nyx stared in horror as his face appeared to be melting off. The assailant went to grab at his face as he stumbled away from Nyx. His screams would haunt Nyx's nightmares for a very long time after this. He looked for Isa again. She was slicing the neck of one of the males on his knees. To his surprise though, her tattoos were glowing. She used witch magic, he realized.

"Move your ass, Nyx." She shouted from where she engaged all three males.

He continued to find himself surprised that they focused all their attention on her. He was not proving to be much of a threat, he supposed. He willed himself to move towards Isa, but something stopped him. He wanted to help his friend, he truly did. Her use of blood magic made things complicated. He did not want to be associated with the mayhem that was bound to be the consequences of it. As she took out her fourth male, the last two winnowed away. He watched her take a deep breathe of relief. Their eyes made contact, but before she could start berating him, the males reappeared right in front of Nyx.

"Fight!" Isa shouted. Nyx assumed his reflexes were worse than he originally thought because he did not move a muscle. The males smiled at each other and then they burst in flames. It horrified Nyx to watch them burn, to hear their pleas and screams. He could do nothing to stop it. He flicked his eyes to Isa as she intently watched the burning men. Her tattoos were glowing still, and she was reciting something. He could not hear her, but watched as her lips moved. After what felt like an eternity, the males were nothing but ash. He could hear their screams echoing in his ears though.

"Vat da fook vaz dat?"

It was the thickest he had ever heard her accent which meant she was spitting mad. He could not necessarily fault her for her anger, but he was in shock. Even in war, he had not quite seen brutality to that extent in a fight. Nyx continued to stare at the body with the face that Isa melted off. His eyes flickered back to her. She was breathing heavily and had a deep cut on her arm that she was now trying to twist around with a ripped piece of cloth from her dress. Her tattoos were no longer glowing, but several new ones appeared on her hands and fingers. They looked similar to her others, but now they were bright red and irritated as if someone had scratched them into her skin instead of tattooing ink. She wiped sweat and dirt away from her forehead and roughly pulled her hair away from her bruised face in a messy updo.

"Are you actually insane?" Isa asked.

She was more composed now as she slipped into strategic mode. She was planning on what to do now since Nyx was obviously going to be of no assistance and they could not winnow for probably a few more hours. He continued to stare at the bodies, thinking of how easy it seemed for her to do this. Even now, she seemed unbothered.

"I mean when Lucien said you were a mediocre fighter, I assumed that meant you vould at least fight. Not just stand there as I did all the work."

She was digging through all their pockets rather roughly. She was looking for any identifying information from their attackers, but it only managed to annoy Nyx. She did not have any respect for the dead if this was how she handled their bodies.

"You melted his face off." Was all he could say. Her head snapped up to glare at him harder than she ever had anyone else. She was upon him in an instant, shoving him by his shoulders.

"To save your unhelpful ass!" She screeched.

"You set these two on fire!"

"Well I apologize that in the heat of battle I did not consider more humane methods of death." She turned to walk away.

"My father was right." He muttered to himself. Isa stopped cold in her tracks, slowly turning around. Her face was void of emotion.

"Say that again." Her voice was deathly calm. It unnerved Nyx after what he had just witnessed.

"You have claimed that witch magic is not malevolent. Clearly, your definition is a bit skewed."

"I make no apologies for how I save the people I love. And you have no right to pass judgement when you just stood there and watched! You vould have let them butcher me, yet I am the immoral one?"

They both recognized what she accidentally admitted but neither of them was willing to call attention to it or address it.

"Why did it have to be like that though? You could have used any method."

"That iz not how it works." She grabbed at her hair, clearly frustrated. "I request the help from the spirits and they oblige. I do not get a choice in the manner of their help. But trust me, it iz not without a price."

"What is the price for this?"

She pursed her lips. She would not tell him what she must give for saving both of their lives.

"You have been waiting to throw this back in my face, no? Waiting for one moment where you could prove your parents were not in the wrong?" Isa was pacing back and forth at this point, but her tattoos had finally stopped glowing.

"Trust me, I never expected something like this from you." Nyx spat at her. He wanted to reel in his anger. However, he found it almost impossible.

"Do not zit on your high horse and pretend your father would not have done the exact same thing for your mother."

"We are not my parents." He reminded her. She tried to compose herself before Nyx could see her reaction. Unfortunately for her, she was not fast enough. Nyx watched her flinch at his vehement response.

"Vell you are certainly right about that. Neither of your parents would have stood and vatched as the other risked their life."

He had no excuse for why he stood there. Normally, he would have fought side by side with her. He had fought in battles before and he thought he had seen all the evils war had to offer. This was a completely different level. While they had been outnumbered, the males were unskilled and untrained. Isa could have held them off alone with no magic. It may have required more effort, but Nyx believed any magic was unnecessary. As much as he wanted to help, for some reason his body refused to move. The faebane the attackers used did not allow for them to winnow away, but Nyx had never heard of it impacting the body physically.

"You could have shape shifted." She laughed almost hysterically at that.

"If you knew what my other form vaz, you vould realize that death by it vould not be lezz brutal."

He shook his head and finally moved from his position. He started scouting the area to make sure there were no more assailants hiding anywhere.

"Oh, zo now you are helpful?" It was full of sarcasm as she rolled her eyes. She plopped herself down on the ground and closed her eyes.

Nyx was not exactly sure why he was so angry. Perhaps it was because he felt embarrassed that she saved both of them while he stood there like a statue. Perhaps he felt lied to like everything she had ever defended was really just a scheme to win over the Night Court. But truly? It had more to do with the fact that if he had aided Isa, she would not have felt the need to use her witch magic.

"Damn-ti your parents to come retrieve us." She demanded after laying down on the grass and covering her eyes with the crook of her arm to block out the sun.

Now why could he not think of that before? Just another thought to make him feel guilty. He almost corrected her enunciation like he normally did, but he stopped himself in the last second.

"Oh and next time, a zimple thank you vould suvice."

                                           ***

"What the hell happened?" Tamlin shouted as Feyre and Rhysand winnowed in Isa and Nyx. Isa was looking worse for wear, but since neither of the children were talking, the high lord and lady did not have an answer. Tamlin zeroed in on Isa's hands and the new tattoos that were present.

"Oh Isa," his voice changed and was suddenly much graver than it had been. "What have you done?"

"Vat I had to." She snapped as she dropped herself down on the couch in Tamlin's study. She was exhausted after the fight and just wanted to sleep.

"Well you look fucking fine." Tamlin turned his glare to Nyx from where he stood in front of his desk. "Care to explain why you leave with my daughter in perfect condition, and return her home on the brink of collapse?"

Nyx clenched his jaw. He did not want to say anything in front of Tamlin or his daughter. He wanted to go home and talk to his parents. Though, his parents kept giving him nervous glances, so he was unsure if they would be willing to do that right about now.

"Just leave it." Isa muttered. Her eyes were closed with her good arm thrown over her face. Rhysand scanned Isa's entire body. His eyes rested on her hands like Tamlin's had.

"What did you give? To protect our son?" His voice was soft and his eyes were sad. He must have known more than Nyx about potential consequences of witch magic. Feyre sat next to Isa on the couch to grab her hand. Nyx was confused by his parents change of heart where Isa was concerned. Previously, they had always been antagonistic towards her, but now they were being...soft.

"My first born." She muttered. Feyre sucked in a harsh breath as Tamlin closed his eyes in frustration. Nyx did not know how to feel. She was willing to give up her first child for him? He felt that only proved his point further. What kind of female was willing to give up a future child for a male she barely knew just three months ago? And one that was not even her mate? Nyx furrowed his brow.

"I never asked you to do that." He defended, but he was only met with three pairs of glaring eyes that told him to remain quiet. Isa must have been exhausted though because her response was understanding.

"I know."

Tamlin did not understand, however. He pounded his fist on the desk.

"Isabelle, you are my only offspring. It is your responsibility to continue the family line. There will be no one to succeed after you die, if you do not conceive multiple children. You know how difficult this is for the fae." Something he said ignited a fire in Isa. She immediately sat up from the couch to glare at her father.

"That iz not a fair responsibility to put on me! You could have more children! All you would have to do iz stick it in a different woman everyday until one stuck."

"Isabelle, watch your mouth." He scolded her as though she were a child. Tamlin walked back around the desk and took a seat. Isa took a long, deep breath before speaking again.

"I do not," she paused nervously, looking around. "Think I vant children." She finished. Isa rubbed her hands together in a way that she normally did when she felt anxious. Suddenly, Nyx felt his parents and him should not be here for this conversation. It felt private. Nyx never knew Isa may not want children. They had never really discussed it, but had assumed- as much as Tamlin did, apparently- that she would have at least one to continue the line.

"Oh." Tamlin awkwardly shifted in his chair. He made eye contact with Feyre and tried to motion to her to say some words of comfort. Feyre patted Isa's arm gently.

"You might change your mind once you find your mate?" Feyre offered unhelpfully. Tamlin put her on the spot and she was unsure what words of comfort Isa may be seeking. Those were not it if her reaction was anything to go by. She huffed loudly.

"Does not matter now, no? I cannot have children without sacrificing the first one which I vill not do. Besides, I am no mare meant for breeding. I vas meant for something more than being stuck at home caring for and nurturing a child."

"That is hardly a fair assessment of motherhood Isa." Feyre shook her head as she said this. "You can still do great things and be a mother."

"Are you to tell me that you took trips to the Court of nightmares to handle izzues while Rhysand stayed home and breastfed Nyx?" Isa raised her eyebrows at his mother. "That you vere able train amongst Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel while pregnant? Vould you have ever earned the title 'cursebreaker' if you had been a mother at the time?"

"Motherhood is not without challenge." Feyre once again defended.

"And that is what I speak of. I do not want challenge. I have too many obstacles to overcome as it is. I do not want to add the obligation of a child to that." Isa pulled at her hair. Nyx felt it best that he stay quiet. There were too many emotions flying as it was, no need to add fuel to the fire.

"Enough." Tamlin declared. "Isa, you are right. I should never have put that responsibility on you. I could just as easily have another child."

Isa let out a breathe in relief. Nyx could see that she feared disappointing her father. He wondered if she would have had multiple children if Tamlin had insisted on it. Luckily for Isa, Tamlin seemed to have changed his ways from when his mother and him were together.

"I think it is best if you were to leave." Tamlin suggested as he stared at Nyx's parents. "I need to check on Isa's wounds and continue this conversation...privately." Feyre nodded before walking over to where Rhysand stood.

"Thank you again, Isa." Rhys murmured before grabbing both wife and son and winnowing away.

"Thank fuck." Is all Isa managed to say.

[moonlitwings1]

Icing on Top

Christmas cookies were a tradition in the Mayfield house, and Max isn’t going to let two obnoxious Hargrove men ruin it this year. They didn’t do it the year before because someone thought that cookies would be bad for his cholesterol. Old man problems, Max thinks. If Neil doesn’t want his cholesterol to increase or whatever, why doesn’t he just not eat cookies. Seems simple enough to her. 

Thankfully, Neil’s not here right now. He’s with her mom going last minute Christmas shopping. She could’ve gone with them, but she doesn’t have anymore money to buy anything, spent it all on the arcade last week. She’s just going to give Neil and her mom cards, same as last year. Thank you for being the best mom! Max internally cringes. It sounds so fake every time she writes it. It’ll be even worse to write one for Neil. For Billy...well, she doesn’t know what he likes besides music and being an asshole, so he’ll get a card too.

She doesn’t believe in Santa anymore. Stopped believing when Billy ruined that for her literally the day they met. Laughed in her face and told her she was stupid for not realizing her mom’s the one who puts the presents under the tree. She remembers going to her mom and crying because the new boy just told her Santa’s not real. Turns out, when you stop believing in Santa, you also stop getting gifts from him. So for a couple years now, Max has only gotten one gift under the Christmas tree instead of two like she used to. No more presents from Santa, but at least Neil was happy about that. He said that he never thought this Santa business was any good for kids. False idols or whatever. Religious shit she doesn’t care about. Neil acts like he’s oh so religious, but they go to church about five times a year, and the entire time Neil’s only focused on Billy, who is doing everything in his power to annoy Max.

Well, tomorrow’s Christmas and her mom bought a horrible red dress with little white fluff across the edges, the same kind she’s seen too many little girls wear. She’ll have to convince her mom not to let her wear that. Later. Right now, she has a different focus, cook book stuffed underneath her arm as she searches for the ingredients. 

“Flour, sugar, baking soda, butter, eggs,” she mutters under her breath, repeating the ingredients to herself over and over again. Sounds easy enough. She’s never made cookies by herself before, but wherever Neil is, her mom is, and she doesn’t want Neil to get in the way of her Christmas festivities, as he likes to call them. So for now, she’s going to have to figure out how to do this by herself. She’s definitely not allowed to use the oven without an adult, but tonight, she’s planning to prove that she’s not a fucking child. 

She had just gotten started on the wet ingredients when she hears the back door slam shut, making her flinch hard. You’ve got to be fucking kidding. They haven’t even been gone for ten minutes. Neil must’ve forgotten something. She thinks she’s screwed and frantically starts hiding the bowls when she realizes those steps were far too heavy and obnoxious to be Neil’s. Max almost lets out a sigh of relief when Billy struts into the kitchen. He’s an asshole, but at least he’s not Neil. 

She doesn’t know where he went, probably went to hang out with some girl like he always tells Neil, but she swears the cologne he’s wearing smells vaguely similar to the one Steve had on the other day. Maybe they’re friends now? Nah. Must be some new popular teen cologne, she thinks, rolling her eyes. She won’t give it much more attention. 

“The fuck are you doing?” he asks, the scarred eyebrow lifting. He sounds more interested than angry.

“Making cookies. Go away,” she spits before turning her back to him and bringing her focus back to the wet ingredients.

He hums, amused like he always is when he’s annoying her, “Don’t think you’re supposed to be making anything by yourself, Maxi.”

She pauses what she’s doing, closes her eyes, and lets out a long sigh, tries to control her temper. “I’m not a fucking child, Billy. Go away,” she repeats. “I can handle it. And don’t call me that.”

He peers over her shoulder to look at what she’s making. She tries to ignore him, but she can literally feel him breathing down her neck, and he’s standing way too fucking close to her. She knows he’s doing it on purpose. 

“Maaaax,” he whispers. 

She continues ignoring him, mixing the bowl furiously, but after another minute of Billy just standing behind her, he snorts like somethings funny. And that pisses her off because nothing’s funny right now. He’s just an asshole who’s ruining her Christmas. 

So without warning, she spins around, slams two hands into his chest and pushes him as hard as she can (which isn’t saying much, but she’s not going to admit that). Billy didn’t see that coming. She can tell because he actually stumbles a little bit. So she doesn’t stop there, tries to push him out of the kitchen completely before he regains himself. She wasn’t fast enough.

When he realizes what she’s trying to do, he laughs. It’s not even the scary laugh that he made while beating up Steve last year. He’s laughing at her. The fucking asshole’s making fun of her, and it does nothing to soothe her frustration. This time, she aims a slap at his face, but he catches her wrist before she could do anything. She gasps aloud because ow that stung.

“Ouch, you jackass! That fucking hurt!” 

She starts hitting him with her left hand, gets in a few good hits before he snatches that one away too. If he were any closer, she would bite his wrist. She considers kicking him in the dick, but he must see what she’s thinking because he spins her around and bear hugs her from behind, trapping her arms to her side. They’re both panting now, but one from exertion and one from laughter. 

“Jesus Christ, Maxine,” he laughs. “I didn’t fucking do anything to you. The hell blew your fuse?”

“Stop laughing,” she huffs, struggling in his arms and trying to glare at him, because he still has a sleazy grin plastered on his face. She can fucking hear it in his voice. “And get off of me!”

“You cool?”

She’s totally not cool, but she’s not going to tell him that. “Yes I’m fucking cool.”

“You su-”

“YES IM SURE, BILLY.” 

He chuckles one more time before letting her go. “Whatever you say, Maxi-pad.” 

She decidedly ignores his comment and rubs her shoulder from where his arm pressed into hers. “Can you leave now?”

“Not until you tell me what you’re making.”

“I already said cookies.”

“What kind?” Max knows he’s not actually interested in her cookies. He just wants to find a reason to bug her longer. 

“Sugar. What else would I make for Christmas, dumbass.” She’s lucky he doesn’t immediately attack her for calling him ‘dumbass.’ She probably shouldn’t push it anymore. 

“I want you out of the kitchen in an hour,” he snaps, “And you better not burn this house down.” He strides out of the room before she can reply but not before giving her a stony look that warns of death. Asshole. 

Alone at last. Even if Billy’s home, it’s not like he’s going to leave his room anytime soon. He’ll lock himself in there and stay put for hours. She wonders what he does in there for so long and slightly winces when his music starts vibrating through the house. Max lets out a long sigh. She forgot about that. He usually doesn’t put it too loud when Neil’s home. 

She tries to block out the music and focus on the task at hand. Do they have any more eggs? 

---

Twenty minutes later, Max is staring at the oven proudly, hands on her hips. The cookies are currently baking, and she has a good feeling about them. They’re not pretty, and they’re oddly shaped (since they don’t have any cutouts), but she’s sure they’ll come out ok. She’s not, however, looking forward to cleaning up the entire kitchen. Its a mess, bowls everywhere, and the hand mixer is dripping onto the floor, but she can clean it up later, preferably before Billy comes out of hibernation and screams at her about it. But for now, she deserves a fucking break.

She heads off towards her room, and lounges around for ten minutes, looking through some comics, while waiting for the cookies to finish.

Things were going so well. So fucking well until the fire alarms starts blaring and makes Max jump out of her skin. She hears Billy’s music suddenly shut off. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She’s too scared to move. She doesn’t move when she hears loud footsteps walking towards the kitchen, and she doesn’t move when the fire alarm stops ringing. She definitely doesn’t move when those loud footprints start getting increasingly louder, coming closer to her room. She’s going to die. She’s going to be murdered by her own brother. She shoots a quick prayer to whatever god out there that maybe she’ll survive this one long enough, so she can tell her mom goodbye. 

Her door bursts open. 

“MAXINE.” She recoils from his voice.“ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?”

When she doesn’t say anything, his voice goes deathly quiet. “I leave you alone for barely an hour, and you manage to fuck it all up.” 

Max still doesn’t say anything. She imagines she looks like a deer in headlights because she’s totally frozen, sitting on her bed just staring at him. It must piss him off though because he starts towards her. Thankfully, something turns on in her brain and she immediately goes and stands on the other side of the bed where he can’t easily reach her. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m not going to do shit to you,” he says, running a hand over his face. When she still doesn’t move, utterly unconvinced, he continues. “I just want you to see what a bang up job you did of making those fucking cookies, so get out here.”

She’s still not totally convinced, but if she stays there any longer, he might try to drag her out himself so she’s just got to suck it up. She moves cautiously towards the door, side-eyeing Billy to see if he’s going to pounce, but he doesn’t. 

Thank God nothing besides the cookies were burnt. If anything was actually damaged, she wouldn’t even be alive right now. 

“I-I don’t know what happened, Billy. I literally followed the recipe so don’t try to blame me for this,” she snaps, turning around to glare at him.

He scoffs at her. “What happened,” he growls, grabbing the open cookbook and stabbing a finger into the page, “is that you didn’t read the fucking directions correctly and set the oven at 450 degrees instead of 350 degrees.”

Max looks at where he’s pointing and her spirit drops when she realizes that he’s right. It says right there, Preheat the oven to 350°F. She internally curses herself. How did she not see that? If she had just paid attention, she wouldn’t be in this mess. 

He watches her reaction and snorts. “Someone can’t read,” he says, and reaches out to ruffle her hair. She tries to slap his hand away, but it just makes him ruffle her hair harder. 

“Now clean-” But before he could complete his sentence, Max storms out of the kitchen, taking a wide turn around Billy so there’d be a smaller chance that he’d try to grab her. 

When she looks over at him though, it doesn’t look like he was going to anyway. She doesn’t know why he’s like this, why he always switches emotions every two seconds. Five minutes ago, he had barged into her room, murderous, and she was sure she was going to die. Now? Now he’s fucking joking with her. He literally just ruffled her hair like she’s his sister. She hates it. Why can’t he just be normal? 

She slams the door behind her and locks it as she walks in. Thankfully, Neil still hasn’t taken away her lock like he’d done for Billy, so she still has a semblance of privacy. She’s almost in tears, and she doesn’t know why. She’s just...frustrated. The sound of heavy footsteps come her way, and she immediately dives under her covers, pulling the duvet up and over her head. She’s embarrassed from her stupid mistake that Billy will inevitably make fun of her for. Thinking about it just makes more tears sting the corner of her eye. She wants to be left alone, but Billy’ll never let that happen. 

He pounds on the door. “Maxine, open up.”

She doesn’t answer, digging her head into her pillow harder. Maybe if she ignores him, he’ll leave. In the back of her head, she knows that that’s not what’s going to happen. 

"Hey shitbird, get your ass out here,” he says again, back to asshole mode and pounding harder on the door. “Did ya see the fucking kitchen? You better clean that shit up before Susan and Neil come home.”

She still doesn’t say anything. 

“Max,” his voice goes deadly quiet, “if you don’t get your ass out in the next ten seconds, I’m going to-”

“GO AWAY BILLY! I JUST WANTED TO MAKE COOKIES WITHOUT ANYONE BOTHERING ME FOR ONCE AND YOU JUST HAVE TO GO AND RUIN ANYTHING!” 

“You ruined that shit for your-”

“Leave me alone, Billy.” Her voice cracks when she says his name, and he must hear it because he does. She knows she’s going to have to clean the kitchen up eventually, but she can’t bring herself to right now. Maybe it’s because she’s going to start her period any second, or maybe it’s because Billy’s just a jerk, but she feels abnormally upset. Unreasonably miserable. Billy’s antics don’t usually put her in this bad of a mood, and she feels stupid for letting it. 

Ten minutes later, she hears him stomping around the house and the jingle of keys. The back door slams shut, and she knows he just left the house, probably to cool himself down before he actually murders her. 

She’s alone. 

----

Max wakes up startled from her nap with the sound of someone picking at her lock. She looks around widely for the time. An hour has passed, who’s-

The door burst open, and there stands a triumphant looking Billy. “HAH,” he shouts. “I’ve opened the door!”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. He sounds more stupid than usual. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t see him with a smile on his face very often. 

“What are you doing?” she asks cautiously because she doesn’t want to accidentally piss him off. 

“Come out here,” he says. Oh, not this again. She huffs and plops her face right back into the pillow, turning to her side so she’s facing away from the door. She’s not dealing with this again. If she wants to be locked up in her room, why can’t she?

“Max,” he calls, walking closer to her. “Get up, I’ve got stuff for you.” That peaks Max’s interests, and she raises her head a little, getting annoyed when she sees the smirk on Billy’s face. He knew saying that would get her to pay attention. 

“What?” 

“I’m not telling you until you get up,” he says, tugging at her blanket now. She smacks his hand away, and plops her head right back down. 

“Then I’m not getting up. You’re literally the fucking grinch so it’s not like it’s going to be anything good anyways.”

He laughs at that. “So if I’m the grinch, who are you? Cindy fucking Lou Who?” 

Max covers her smile with the duvet. “Just tell me what you got.”

“Nope,” Billy says and walks his annoying ass straight out of her room. 

She decides to stay in bed, refuses to give in to Billy’s obvious plan to get her to come out of her room. But curiosity catches up to her when she hears him banging around the kitchen, and five minutes later, she’s dragging herself out from under the covers and walking into the room. She stops when she catches Billy red handed, literally, with two of his fingers dipped into a small bowl of red icing. 

When he sees her watching, he grins at her, teeth stained red and gross. “Oh hey there Maxine. Didn’t see ya there. I’m really enjoying this lovely frosting,” He waggles his fingers at her for emphasis. “Better take it away from me before I eat it all.”

He’s about to double dip his nasty fingers into the frosting again before Max can’t help herself and has to cut in. 

She runs up to him and smacks his hand away. “Oh my God. Billy, that’s literally so unsanitary. Give it here.” She takes the can of frosting from him, and mumbles you’re so gross under her breath. The cover of the can features pretty sugar cookies all covered in red frosting and sprinkles. If only she still had her stupid cookies. Now they’re at the bottom of the trash can, all black and burnt. 

“Why’d you buy this anyway? Not like I’m gonna be using them anymore.”

Billy drums his fingers on the counter. “It’s so you can decorate your little cookies,” he says. “You’re lucky I’m craving sugar right now.” She hasn’t properly decorated cookies since California when she was with her dad. It might not seem like a big deal to him, but she’s getting excited over it. He can probably tell by the smile that has just spread across her face. 

“I’m giving you a second chance, so don’t fucking screw this up. You hear me?” he’s glaring at her now, all threats and ager. Of course, he immediately tries to ruin the moment. 

 “So you’ll let me make them again?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they come out shit again, though. You can’t cook to save your life.”

She huffs. Totally not true. “We don’t have any more butter though.”

He pats the plastic bag on the counter. “’s all in here.” 

She looks over at the bag he touched. So is that where he went while she was sleeping? 

“You went to the store?”

He grunts in response. “Figured you’d need more shit after your first failed attempt.”

“Ok, thanks,” she says, already making a grab for the hand mixer. “You can leave now.” 

“Ungrateful ass,” he snorts. “Last time I left, you burnt the fucking cookies and set off the fire alarm so I don’t think so.”

Max sighs. “So what? You’re just gonna stand there?”

He smirks at her, leaning against the counter. “Hand me the mixer.” 

---

Apparently Billy’s good at baking because ten minutes later he has all the ingredients combined and the dough rolled out on the table. She didn’t roll out the dough during her attempt so it makes sense now why her cookies were ugly even before they got burnt. 

They only bickered a couple times. Once because Max questioned him about how he smells suspiciously like Steve. She didn’t expect him to get so defensive, but he immediately snapped at her and told her not to get into other people’s business. His defensiveness made her think that him and Steve were friends now, and he’s just embarrassed to admit it. Or maybe they’re...more? When she suggested that though, he nearly shoved her head into the dough so that’s going to be the last time she investigates on that. 

The second time, they bickered over whether or not they should add food coloring to the dough. I payed good money for this, shitbird, so we’re using it. They eventually decided to make different batches, some with dye and some without.  

“Do we need to cut them into circles now?”

“The fuck are you thinking? Circles are boring.”

Max rolls her eyes. “Oh I’m ever so sorry for offending you, master baker Billy,” she says sarcastically.  “What do you suggest we do to spice up this atrocious dough.”

Billy points his head towards the plastic bag. “Look in there, junior baker Maxine.”

She reaches out for the magical plastic bag. It’s already given her butter and red frosting. What else could be in there? Her entire face lights up when she sees a can of green frosting, four different cookie cutters, and so many sprinkles. 

“Consider this your Christmas present because you’re not going to get anything else.”

She gapes at him. He’s never done anything nice to her in her entire life. Ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but it’s definitely a once in a blue moon occasion. 

“Thank you,” she says, still gaping at him. She doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Yeah well stop staring at me like that.” He reaches across and flicks her mouth shut. “And close your mouth. You’re gonna catch flies.” 

She doesn’t say anything to that, but stares down at the plastic bag again. She’ll decorate a cookie for her mom. A red one with green sparkles. She wonders if Billy’ll decorate one for his dad. Probably not. Guess he’ll go cookie-less. Better for his cholesterol anyways. 

Her thoughts are disrupted when Billy’s fingers smudge bright, red, frosting across her face. She flinches and tries to shove him off but he does it again, icing smeared across both cheeks now. 

“You asshole,” she laughs, reaching inside the plastic bag and pulling out the green frosting. “You’re so on.”

By the end of their frosting battle, they’re both covered in red and green icing. At one point Billy even started showering her with sprinkles. It’ll take forever to get it out of her hair, and there’s barely any frosting left for the cookies, but there was just enough to make it last. 

Their parents were appalled when they walked in on their children covered in sugar, but it was worth it. Neil wasn’t even that upset since her mom was seemed happy enough. Susan followed them around with a camera, trying to convince them to pose together. You guys look so cute! C’mon just one picture. They retreated to their rooms to hide. 

Max ended up with two Christmas presents under the tree that year. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Soldier Boy (Part 2)

Summary: The reader spends the day with Dean getting to know him some more when she catches him in a lie and discovers one of his most dark secrets...

Masterlist

Pairing: Superhero!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, mentions of death, angst

A/N: Enjoy!

____

“So how old are you, Solider Boy?” you asked the next day as you walked around the park. 

“Thirty,” he said with a smirk.

“Solider Boy’s been around since the second world war. So. How old are you really?” you asked.

“I was eighteen when I was injected. I’ve aged very slowly. I do age, but it’s slow. They...I shouldn’t talk about this stuff,” he said, kicking at the ground with his boot. “Ah, fuck it, it’s in the news anyways.”

“The compound V?” you asked and he nodded.

“First successful try right here. I was still going through puberty so it took,” he said. “I guess. The science is very complicated they said. They just said you want to serve your country and I signed up.”

“What year were you born?”

“January 24th, 1926,” he said. You paused and he chuckled. “I know some women aren’t into older men.”

“I must seem like a child to you,” you said, walking again and crossing your arms.

“You’re twenty nine. I’m thirty. What’s such a big deal about that?” he smiled.

“You’re sweet,” you said. You dropped your hands by your sides, Dean taking one of them in his. “Old man ain’t wasting his time.”

“Keep it up, kiddo,” he laughed. You laced your fingers together with his hand and smiled as you looked at him. A flannel and t shirt. Jeans and boots. A baseball cap on his head. He looked so ordinary and yet he was the first superhero in existence. “I’m sure you’re wondering if I ever had a family.”

“A bit. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you said. 

“No, I want to. I don’t talk to anyone anymore. Aside from the people at Vought to try and get in The Seven but that’s like beating a dead horse at this point,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently I’m too similar in the market sector as Homelander. Go ‘merica and color scheme and that shit. I didn’t ask to be the leader or anything. I just...want to get off the kiddie squad, go do real shit out there, help people, not the stupid stuff I do now.”

“Maybe that’s why you don’t fit on The Seven. You want to help people, you don’t care about the photo op,” you said.

“I’m gonna keep trying,” he said. “But to answer your other question you didn’t ask, no, I never had a family. I had parents and a brother but they’ve all passed away. All my friends are gone. It never seemed right to love a girl and have a family and watch them all grow old and...honestly I didn’t want to watch my children grow older than me and die. I can’t imagine anything worse than outliving them.”

“You’re a good man, Dean.”

“I had the occasional acquaintance, don’t get me wrong. But it was always casual, no titles, nothing formal.”

“Is this casual?” you asked. He shook his head and you bumped his shoulder. “What’s different this time?”

“A chemical made me this way. Maybe a chemical can unmake me this way. We are so advanced now compared to back then. Maybe I can age normally with some other combination. Maybe I’m stuck like this forever. I just know that the numb pit inside of me woke the fuck up when I met you and it has been quiet for a very, very long time.”

“My mom’s quiet a bit older than my dad. Age gaps don’t scare me,” you said. He chuckled and you held onto his arm. “You don’t sparkle like the twilight guy though right?”

“Oh my God, no,” he laughed. “No sparkles here. I do make sparks when bullets bounce off of me though.”

“Well now you’re just bragging,” you said. You rested your head on his arm, thinking back to a movie you used to watch as a kid, Solider Boy the lead in the thing. “Dean.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you just lie about not having a family?” you asked, pulling away from him. You knew you could have let it go, should have let it go for the sake of the mission but damn you were pissed off at him for lying to you. You crossed your arms and he frowned, going over to a nearby bench. You sat down next to him, Solider Boy rubbing his hands together. “You were in this movie my brother loved so I watched it all the time. He was a huge fan and he would never shut up about you. I never paid much attention but I remember. You had a wife and kids once.”

“You’re gonna leave after I tell you this part,” he said, a sad smile on his face.

“I’m gonna leave if you don’t tell me the truth right now. You will never see my face again. You promised you would not lie to me. Out with it Dean.”

“I wasn’t always a good person. It’s very...difficult to stay good when there’s so much bad around you. When there’s no consequences.”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“My son and daughter died hating me, thinking I was a monster. They died because of me. That was the breaking point for me. I walked away after that, I started over. I’d turned into this thing I didn’t recognize. I became Soldier Boy. Dean Winchester...he died back in that war. Not until the nineties did I realize what had happened to me. So I left. Went away from the world. Brought Dean back to life and Soldier Boy came back but different. Good this time. Greed, corruption. It’s not happening this time. Then you said...you made that comment about me being naive, that I’d turn eventually into an asshole supe like the rest of them. I’m terrified of that happening to me again. Maybe that’s why I like you, cause you’ll remind me not to be a monster again.”

“Why do you call yourself a monster?” you asked quietly.

“The first time I killed someone, I was mortified. The last time I did it, I laughed. It made me happy. I hurt him before I did it even. I stopped caring about people. My wife wanted a divorce. I thought she was hot, she fit my image. I told her I didn’t want one so she took some pills and told me she’d rather die than live with the devil. My kids were young adults, late twenties. I snapped at them when they blamed me for their mother’s death. My son hit me so I pushed him and he hit his head. My daughter ran out, afraid of me and was hit by a car. They died because I didn’t want to lose my image. I wasn’t even that upset at first. I thought a widow superhero, that’ll boost my numbers.”

“If that didn’t…” you said, Dean running his hands over his thighs. “What made you change?”

“I found a drawing my daughter had made me when she was small,” he said. He took out his wallet and unfolded a laminated sheet of paper holding it out to you. It was done in crayon, a few stick figures with one of them wearing a superhero outfit and the word “daddy” written above it. “She loved me once. I ripped it away from her. I found that cleaning out the house and I realized what I’d done. I’m worse than any bad guy there ever was for doing that to them. I stopped caring. When you stop caring is when you lose those bits of your soul. They break off until there’s nothing left. I am a monster, Y/N. Nothing I ever do can make up for it and save whatever shattered pieces are in there. But I owe it to my kids to be good and stay good.”

You handed the sheet back and he tucked it away, his wallet going in his pocket as he stared out at the trees across the path. 

“I understand if you would no longer like to see or speak to me again. Or if you want to slap me in the face. That’s also acceptable,” he said.

“What year was all of this?” you asked.

“They died in ‘92. Then I ran away to Kansas, worked as a farmhand for a while,” he said. He rubbed his palm and stared down at his lap. “Just...be careful at night and try to stop walking down alleys for me, okay?”

“Why are you saying that?”

“I’m never going to see you again after you get up from this bench.”

You stood up and he let out a sigh. You took a step to your left and sat down closer to him, turning your head as Dean looked so horribly confused at you. You couldn’t walk away. It wasn’t an option. But while you knew you couldn’t walk because of the mission Butcher had you on, you didn’t want to. There was so much self-hate inside of Dean he hid well and part of you ached that he considered himself sub-human.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Dean. What happened to your family was horrible but they were accidents. Your daughter, your son. Your wife, did she even let it sink in for you before she did that? If I was married to someone and they suddenly asked for a divorce my gut reaction would probably be no too. I’m not saying you didn’t play a part but those were her actions that trickled down and affected the rest of you. Letting yourself become corrupted means you’re human. We all make fucking mistakes. Yours are a little big, I admit that. But you try to make up for it. All you can do after the fact is try and you’re doing that. There’s a soul in there Dean. If there wasn’t this wouldn’t be eating you alive. Cut yourself a break. I gotta process everything you said but I’m not walking away. Promise you will never lie to me again and I can promise you that I won’t judge you, no matter what you’ve done.”

“I’ve been around 95 years and I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said. “That’s a good thing. I will never lie to you again. I swear. I’m sorry. I was...frightened of telling you who I was deep down. I like you. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s the first bit of happiness I’ve felt in a long time and I don’t want it to go away just yet.”

“It’s okay that you were scared. Maybe on our third date we can have a less intense conversation. We can talk about how you’re older than sliced bread,” you teased. 

“You youngin’s don’t know how good you got it,” he chuckled. You took his hand into your lap and he smiled. “Not a monster to you?”

“No. Just be a good guy and I’ll be happy,” you said. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, Dean looking you up and down.

“I wish I knew you when I was a dumb kid that let them shove that stuff in me. I never would have said yes if I had a girl back home.”

“Well, from now on, maybe just ask if you think I’d be proud of what you were doing. If the anwer’s no, maybe don’t do it,” you said.

“I’m gonna keep that one,” he said. “Also did you subtly drop that I’m getting another date despite all of that?”

“You told me the truth, even though it was hard. That’s why I like you too,” you said. “Plus you’re really old so you must have like, sex down to perfection by this point.”

“Gonna blow your fucking mind,” he teased. “Eventually. I know things are different nowadays but…you’re special. You’re not a hookup.”

“When you’re ready, you let me know and we’ll go from there, okay?” He nodded and you gave him a hug, Dean hesitant at first but he quickly relaxed into it. “You alright?”

“Been a long time since I had a hug is all.”

“You need one, just come to me,” you said. You sat back and he smiled. “So. Let’s go do something fun. You look like you could use it.”

“Night,” murmured Dean as he kissed you at your doorstep that evening.

“Night,” you said, not moving away from him just yet. His ears perked up and he forced himself away. “Trouble?”

“Yeah. Nothing major. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“Bye Dean,” you said, watching him take off running far faster than any human man could. You smiled as you locked up, a loud thud coming from your kitchen. You unlocked the door and looked around. “Hello?”

“For such a nice house you have an incredibly small kitchen,” said Butcher as he walked out with the bottle of your nicest bourbon.

“Oh come on, that was a housewarming present,” you said.

“I swipe you some more,” he said, taking a long swig. “How’s it going?”

“Good. We got close today but Butcher you seriously can not come back here again. Dean was this close to coming inside tonight.”

“Dean. I thought he was Solider Boy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You want to wind up like his last broad did? You give him the puppy dog eyes and then we make a move,” he said.

“I’m starting to think we might get further with sugar over spice. Billy he wants to make up for his past. If he gets into The Seven he could be a serious asset.”

“Are you going soft on me?” he asked, an edge in his voice. 

“Let me work him the way I know best. Trust me,” you said.

“Don’t forget what this is for. You call when you’re ready,” he said. “Don’t take too long.”

He left out the back and you sighed, running your hands over your face. Sure, Dean had done some bad things in the past but who hadn’t? He wasn’t playing you, he had no reason to. The part of you that wanted revenge was still there but he didn’t cause your brother to die, not really. He was simply a prime target at the moment.

You swallowed and went to the kitchen, taking the bottle of alcohol to the family room. You sat on the couch and took a swig, letting it burn your throat.

You didn’t want him to get hurt. You liked him. A lot. Maybe you could convince him to go away, be someplace safer. Your head turned when you got a text, the alert saying it was from Dean and him asking you if you wanted to get out of the city and go hiking tomorrow.

Maybe that’d be a good time to tell him the truth. He was bound to find out eventually and if he got mad, at least you’d be the only one in danger. Billy’s voice was at the back of your head but you ignored it. He’d been angry for too long, couldn’t see the good in people anymore. Dean wasn’t what you thought he was at first. He was good deep down.

You’d tell Solider Boy the truth tomorrow and hoped you lived to see the next day.

______

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

[missjanjie]

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 9

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~2.9k (this chapter) / ~27.2k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), BVK (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo/Kameron Michaels), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E TW: mentions of alcoholism

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: In the wake of Lemon's outburst at the club, those closest to her process the fallout and realize something needs to be done before she spirals to the point of no return.

-

“Okay, I think that’s the last box,” Juice remarked as she dropped herself down onto the couch. “So, why’d your cousin kick you out again?”

Lemon scoffed and rolled her eyes as she piled up the empty boxes. “She didn’t kick me out, we both decided it was time for me to move.” She decided her college friend-turned-roommate didn’t need to know about the argument she had with Rosé. And she certainly didn’t need to know that she’d rejected her ultimatum of, “if you want to stay here, you can’t keep getting drunk every day.” It had been a week since the incident at the club and she was going to recover from it on her own terms.

“Alright, cool,” she shrugged as she took out her phone and began aimlessly scrolling. “You wanna do something tonight?”

The blonde perched herself on the armrest of the couch, swinging her legs. “We could go to a club and get shitfaced,” she suggested.

Juice shook her head without looking up from her phone. “You can. I mean, I’ll totally go with you and turn shit up, but I don’t drink.”

“More for me.”

Her friend looked her over with a concerned expression, eyes finally pried away from the screen. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently. “I mean, I know you’ve been through a lot, have you considered talking to someone about it?”

Lemon shook her head. “I’m fine, I don’t have the emotional capacity for therapy.” She got back up and looked around. “Shit, I guess you don’t have any liquor in here then. I’ll be back,” and after putting her shoes on and grabbing her purse, she was out the door, leaving a concerned new roommate in her wake.

------

Rosé sighed as she passed the joint back to Mik. “This doesn’t make me a bad person, right? I mean the last thing I want to do is make Lemon’s issues about me. But god, that really is what made me realize that I have to do this.”

Mik shook her head as she took a hit. “It’s not your fault, you saw a trainwreck and realized you needed to keep your ass on the tracks.” She finished off the joint and put it out. “Listen, the last thing you wanna do is be that girl who pines over the person she’s sleeping with until it’s too late.”

“You’re right, I know. I’m gonna talk to her,” she exhaled deeply as she pushed herself up. “If Lemon comes around, please don’t have sex with her.”

“Oh fuck off,” she huffed, “that delayed her mental breakdown by at least a week.”

Rosé rolled her eyes as she left. She wasn’t mad at Mik for that, if anything maybe it did help Lemon temporarily by giving her a distraction. But she had so much more on her mind, things that have been brewing since the club incident.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on Denali’s door, evening out her breathing while she waited for her.

“Hey Rosie,” Denali smiled warmly as she opened the door, leading her inside and shutting it behind them. “What’s up? You usually text me when you’re on your way over.” They sat down on the couch as she spoke, a tinge of concern in her voice.

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “I know I’ve been distant lately with everything that’s been happening with Lemon. But through all the chaos, I realized something, that keeping your feelings bottled up is dangerous.” Another deep breath, this time she forced herself to look into Denali’s eyes, eyes that she found warmth and comfort in every time she gazed into them. “What I’m trying to say is that I have feelings for you. I don’t just wanna be fuck buddies, it’s not enough. I need all of you.”

Denali blinked, taking her time to process Rosé’s confession. At first it was pure surprise, but once she let it sink in, it clicked that she felt the same way, that she had been falling for her all along without realizing it. “You have all of me,” she told her, cupping her face and pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

In that moment, a weight lifted from Rosé’s chest. If only for the duration of a kiss, she could pretend nothing in the world existed outside of Denali’s apartment. She could stop thinking, stop worrying. It was only them, everything else faded to black. “Are we alone?” she asked against her lips.

“Mhm,” she nodded, a slight smirk tugging at her lips, able to fill in the blanks from there. Her hands traveled down Rosé’s body, tugging off her shirt in one swift motion, her own following suit, though they took their time undressing each other, letting their fingers and lips gently caress each other’s skin.

By the time they were both completely undressed, they had gotten each other thoroughly worked up. Rosé had Denali sit up on the couch, then got on her knees in front of her, pushing her thighs apart. She moved in between them, dragging her tongue along her pussy before circling, then sucking on her clit as she eased a finger into her.

Denali’s head lolled back to rest against the back of the couch, a pleased moan escaping. “Mm, Rosie…” she exhaled, her hips pushing up when Rosé slid in a second finger. “Baby, just like that, feels so good.”

She basked in the praise, continuing her movements, occasionally switching her tongue and her fingers, but never leaving her unattended. She was focused and fervent, bringing Denali to an orgasm as quickly as she could, as if she were setting it as a challenge to herself. Once she’d won her game, she pulled back with a smile, gazing up at her. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re sappy,” she teased affectionately, leaning down to kiss her. “Come on,” she got up and pulled Rosé to her feet, “we can cuddle until I gotta get ready for my shift.”

------

Nicky watched Jan with a concerned expression. She wished she knew what to do, how to talk to her and help her. Ever since the incident at the club, she had been quiet, withdrawn, two words she would never think to associate with the bubbly woman she loved so dearly. It killed her to see her girlfriend hurting, enough for her to put her aversion to emotional conversations aside as she sat beside her on the couch, gently taking her hand. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t been the same since what happened with Lemon and I’m worried about you.”

Jan chewed on her lip, her gaze downcast. Logically, she knew she couldn’t avoid this conversation forever, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Lemon is like a sister to me and I’m worried about her. I know what alcoholism looks like… and I know what it can do to someone, it’s not pretty.”

She furrowed her brows, shifting closer to the younger woman. “What do you mean?”

“Well, um…” she swallowed thickly, “my dad’s five years sober now, but it hit a nasty low before it got better. I-I don’t know what that low would be for Lemon, I’m afraid she’s hit it, but I’m even more afraid she hasn’t.”

Nicky nodded as she listened. She had suspected Lemon might have developed a bit of a drinking habit, but not the severity, and certainly not the effect it would have on Jan. “I am so sorry about your father, and about Lemon. Is there anything we can do?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “My dad went to rehab while I was away at college, but I imagine my mom laid down some ultimatums, but I don’t know if Lemon thinks she has anything left to lose.”

“There has to be some way, and I'm going to help you find it,” she promised.

------

“Thank you all for meeting me here,” Juice said as she looked around the two pushed-together tables in the diner. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Julia - Juice - and Lemon moved in with me about four days ago.”

“What happened?” Rosé immediately asked. “Is she okay?”

The blonde hesitated and looked down at the table. “Technically yes, she’s nursing a hangover at home right now but otherwise fine, unless she’s started day drinking. But there’s a bigger issue, and I’m sure you guys have started to suspect as much. What I’m trying to say is she’s developing an alcohol problem, and if we don’t do something about it now, it could get much worse.”

Everyone else had similar expressions - sadness, concern, anxiety. But none of them were surprised. “What do we do, then?” Rosé asked, breaking a tense moment of silence.

“Listen, I’m not claiming to be an expert. I’m twenty-two, sober for eight months now, so I can relate to how she’s feeling. What she’s going to need is everyone to rally around her, because it won’t be easy to convince her to get help.”

“So can we stage an intervention?” Jaida asked. “Do you have someone we can talk to?”

Juice nodded. “I can talk to my sponsor and have her put us in touch with someone who can get her into a detox, put the whole thing together. It goes so far beyond just telling her to stop drinking, especially in a club environment.”

“Speaking of the club environment,” Gigi chimed in, “we have to address the elephant in the room. What are we gonna do about the Priyanka situation? She told Crystal she’s taking a day job until things cool off, but if Lemon gets help… maybe that’ll expedite the process.”

Jackie sighed, but agreed. “I can open auditions to take on another dancer temporarily, I don’t know how long she’s gonna need, but assuming she chooses to get help, I want her to know she has a place to come back to.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m going to reach out to Priyanka too, I know she hasn’t been answering most of our calls or texts, but I think I might be able to get through to her.”

“My god, we’ve been so caught up with Lemon, we’ve barely kept up with Pri. Are we bad friends?” Jan asked, feeling a mix of guilt and sadness.

Juice shook her head. “No, of course not. Everyone here is doing their best. You guys reach out to Priyanka and figure out a way to get Lemon to the intervention when the time comes, I’ll do what I can on my part.” From there, they all just had to hope for the best.

------

Jackie took a deep breath, making sure she was calm and collected before knocking on the door. When a woman with black hair and tattoos opened the door, she greeted her politely. “Hi, you must be Scarlett. Um, can you tell Priyanka that Jackie’s here to see her?”

Scarlett nodded, disappearing back into her apartment. There was a solid few minutes of waiting, but Priyanka eventually came to the door. “Hey,” she greeted meekly and led Jackie inside.

Jackie sat at the edge of the bed in the guest room Priyanka had been staying in. “How have you been? You know we’re all worried about you.”

Priyanka’s gaze never left the floor. She picked pieces of lint off of her shorts as she sat down as well, swinging her legs aimlessly. How could she even begin to tackle that question when everything she had ever known had changed overnight? How can anyone process that sort of thing? “Scarlett convinced me to try therapy. I’ve had a couple sessions so far… It helped, I think, but it’s just scratching the surface, you know?”

She listened attentively, nodding along. “I’m proud of you for that. How did your family react when you and Mark broke up?”

“It’s funny, as angry as he was, he didn’t out me. He said it’s clear I have my own problems to work through. My mom was furious that the wedding was called off, so I threw in the ‘I like girls’ news because, well, it couldn’t get any worse,” she sighed. “I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet. She asked me if it was an excuse to get out of the wedding. I haven’t heard back since I told her it was the truth, and I haven’t heard from my dad at all.” She laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I couldn’t even say that I’m gay. It’s too much, I can’t just be gay,” she sat back up and grabbed a tissue, quickly dabbing the corners of her eyes. “How do you get past it, Jackie? How do you stop being afraid of yourself?”

Jackie pressed her lips together as she tried to articulate an answer. “There’s no easy solution, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. I don’t think I was ever ready to be gay, one day I just came to terms with the fact that I was miserable trying to avoid my own truth and that the only way I was ever going to be happy was by loving even the scariest parts of myself.”

Priyanka went quiet again, crumpling the tissue in her hand and staring at it as if the answers were there. “So you don’t think I’ll be able to be fully happy until I embrace being gay?”

“That’s for you to decide. But think of it this way; when you think about your future, best case scenario, what is it in your life that’s making you happy?”

The answer for that wasn’t in her hand, it was in her heart. It made its way into her throat, choking her from the inside and making her pulse race. After everything, it nearly made her angry that it felt inevitable. “Lemon.”

------

“Juice just texted me that they’re on the way,” Rosé read off her phone, her free hand squeezing Denali’s tight, her leg bouncing anxiously.

The woman they’d brought in to help Lemon, Widow, nodded calmly. “Remember, at the end of the day we are here to help her. We’re not punishing or lecturing her, but we have to be firm.”

After another review of the plan, they heard the door open and looked up to see the two girls walk in, Lemon’s expression immediately becoming confused as she looked around. “Are you guys fucking intervention-ing me?” she asked as she took the empty seat to the right of Rosé.

“Lemon, your friends and family are here because they care about you and are worried about your health,” Widow explained. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘this bitch wants to send me to some random rehab until I come back sober for good’, but this isn’t like that. We get that you’re twenty-one, fresh out of college, no history of addiction.”

“So why am I here?” Lemon interjected.

Rosé arched her brow. “Well, for starters, you haven’t been sober a full twenty-four hours in nearly three weeks, you’ve been acting completely unhinged every time you get trashed. You’re actively trying to alienate yourself from everyone who cares about you, you-” She stopped short when Denali squeezed her hand, her cue to reel it in. “You’re going down a dangerous path and we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“This isn’t one of those ninety-day programs either,” Jackie chimed in. “It’s only three weeks, and the first five days are just for detoxing. We’re not saying you have to be sober for good, this isn’t AA, it’s a program that’s going to give you the support and help you need to still enjoy things in moderation instead of relying on alcohol as a coping mechanism.”

Lemon nodded and listened as the rest of the group said their pieces to try to convince her to go. And she took it in, but she was also looking around and at the door. After a while, it became clear that she was waiting for - hoping for - another person.

“Priyanka wanted to come,” Jackie told her. “But we weren’t sure how you would react and decided it would be better if she waited at least until after you detox to contact you. You have to know, though, she really does care about you.”

She sunk further into her chair, not angry, but embarrassed. It shouldn’t have had to come to this, she knew that, knew better. And she hated that everything they said was right, that she did need help. “Fine,” she mumbled, “I’ll go.”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the tension dissipated throughout the room. “Rosé and Juice will go back with you to your apartment so you can pack, we’re going to get you checked in tonight,” Widow explained. “The facility is in Westchester, you won’t be more than an hour away and visitation is every Saturday.”

Rosé looked at her younger cousin and could tell she was doing her best to cover her fear and anxiety. She wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly. “You’re going to be okay, baby,” she promised, “they’re gonna take good care of you, and you’re gonna be better than ever once you’re done.”

Lemon nodded quietly, wiping her eyes. “I just wanna get this over with,” she mumbled, still unwilling to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of everyone, though the group anticipated that from her and let it be. All any of them could do now was trust the process.

[ad1thi]

2020 fic recs!! [Part 1]

this idea was stolen from @iam93percentstardust cuz i just,,,thought that this year was absolute shit and it would be nice to make a fic rec list of fics from this year that helped me through it. this will be over a range of fandoms and ships, but all fics were written this year. 

fics are ordered by the month they were published. ive tried to keep to five fics per month, but this is not obviously all the fics ive read that month - i just didn’t want to make this insanely long. 

im releasing the first half of this on the 1st of December, and the second half on the 1st of January 2021 - because otherwise it would just get so long (and also so i will actually have fics for December)

happy reading!! hopefully you find fics on this you haven’t read yet

***

January

The cat is mighty dignified (until the dog comes by): @five-wow

Steve and Danny find them on the pillow in the corner of the dining area, where Eddie is on his side, ass half on the floor because the pillow is more cat-sized than lab-sized, and Pickles is nestled between Eddie’s front legs, essentially being spooned and looking very I-got-the-cream about it. Pickles’ head is tucked into the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s head slots perfectly on top of Mr. Pickles’, like a furry jigsaw puzzle.

“They’re cuddling,” Steve points out, unnecessarily.

Or: There is a love story unfolding under the McGarrett roof.

Captain ‘Socialist Rage Muffin’ America: @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

It takes three months of dating Steve Rogers for Tony to understand why Aunt Peggy once shot at him in sheer frustration.

Alternately titled, Honey, I committed treason again.

The Best Laid Plans (Of Mice and Men): @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

Fourteen Million to One: @tunastorks

Six months after Thanos, six months after Tony’s death, six months after Steve returns to his own timeline, Tony Stark turns up on their doorstep.

Brewed Awakening: @iam93percentstardust

Two years after he comes out of the ice, Steve is drifting through life. On his teammate's recommendation, he decides to go back to school where he meets the grandson of an old friend. He finds happiness with Tony but Steve won't be in Boston forever and someone is out to hurt the Starks. Will Steve and Tony be able to reach their happily ever after?

February

the young, the reckless and the foolish: @bruciewayne

In most universes, they don't know each other, not in the slightest, or they hate each other, in a way that's perfectly logical for anyone who were to find themselves in a similar situation.

In this one, they've known each other since they were four years old and naively idealistic.

This is them over the years, against the odds.

a giant sign: @areiton

“Think you can get him to open the weapons division up again?” his CO asks, his voice hungry and Rhodey laughs because this--

“No. Tony hung up his weapons.”

“That’s not what the suit says,” his CO objects, and Rhodey shrugs.

Tony has always had rules, rules he expects the entire world to live by.

And then there was Rhodey, slipping under them.

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast: @nethandrake

Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual.

He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either.

What is unusual is that the stranger is silent.

(One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Just A Cold: @/delighted 

There’s a new text waiting for him. It’s from Steve of course, and it’s vaguely threatening as most messages from Steve are these days. Still Danny ignores it, and now he’s really playing with fire. Maybe it’ll burn the cold out of him.

Or, Danny’s sick, and Steve can’t stay away. The usual comfort fluff. With a little cameo from a gently meddling Grace.

An Unexpected Guide: @/Rachel500

Danny Williams has hidden his Guide status to keep being a detective, but his time of hiding is up when he unexpectedly finds his Sentinel, Steve McGarrett in the midst of a tragedy.

March

Why don’t we (Collide the spaces that divide us): @five-wow

When they finally catch sight of each other again through the milling crowds, they’re both a little worse for wear. Danny’s left side is covered in glitter and every time he brushes a hand over his hair, more blue and purple confetti rains down. Steve is- Well, Steve is randomly shirtless, which is all things considered not excessively remarkable, but he’s also covered in smudges of colorful paint and has a very nicely printed bloodred lipstick kiss mark on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Danny asks, because it looks like Steve had a lot more fun than he did.

Or: Steve and Danny accidentally end up in the middle of something entirely new.

A Little Unsteady: @finduilasclln 

Written for the Tumblr prompt meme : "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Tony lashes out at Bucky for eating his dessert. Only, it really isn't about the dessert.

a national treasure: @starklysteve

Steve isn't looking for an apple and Tony decides his passion is to inspire young souls. -x- OR: the AU where Tony is a Youtuber and Steve is Captain America and somehow they still save the world together.

April

cycle through: @ambivalentmarvel

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Stark disappeared from his family home a month after the tragic deaths of his parents, Howard and Maria Stark, leaving a billion-dollar tech conglomerate without an heir and the world wondering what happened.

Twenty-three years ago, HYDRA gained another super soldier.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker’s parents died in what is ruled as a home invasion gone wrong but he knows was murder, plain and simple, because he spoke to the killer.

And in the present, Project Insight fails, and the Iron Soldier pays the price.

FOREVER-LOVE YOU-I: @/Eudoxia

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Especially for Tony's soulmate.

--

Companion piece to my fic Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended. This is Steve's POV, with a few extra scenes, as a treat.

(Edit: Sorry if you guys get multiple notifications for this. I just realized (about two hours after posting it) that I fucked up the grammar in the title and I HAD to fix it. YOLO, I guess.)

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you): @nethandrake

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

ua haʻalele ʻoe iaʻu (a ua hoʻomālamalama ʻoe iaʻu): @just-fandomthings

"The truth is, I was shot in the chest and nearly died, and not even three days after I was released from the hospital, you up and left-- and of those two, I'm not sure which one hurt me worse!"

(Coda to 10x22 because come on, we all need a better ending than the one given to us.)

Title loosely translates to: "You left me in the dark (you lit me up)" -- inspired by the brilliant song "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

May

A Piece Of The Past: @hddnone

It had been so many years since Bucky had gone undercover in the Stark family's mob, he thought he'd gotten away clean.

Then Tony Stark slid into the seat across from him at his breakfast diner, and Bucky's boss has a new case for him.

the privilege of loving you: @starklysteve

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It’s a desperate plea, half-shouted and half-whispered, Steve’s voice cracking at the end. Tony stops in his tracks, halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t dare to turn back, and he really doesn’t want to fight, or to leave, to spend the last month of his life away from his husband and their son. But Steve can’t know, can he?

-x-

Or: Tony has palladium poisoning, but he doesn't tell Steve and Peter

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance): @firebrands

When Bruce is 13, he decides to go to boarding school. It's an opportunity for him to learn about other people, and how to interact with them.

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

IMPORTANT: This fic has them meeting at 14, then progresses slowly until they’re 17. Includes underage drinking and kissing.

This is set before Bruce becomes Batman and Tony becomes Iron Man and I have no explanation as to how or why they just DO Canonically, Bruce is 17 when he finishes school and goes around the world to train, so we're sticking with that

The Real MVP: @sword-and-stars (part of a series)

[“I have saved this Tuesday!” Sokka announces, rattling the bag upon reentry.

Zuko doesn’t even look up from his phone as he deadpans, “It’s Thursday.”

Okay, so Sokka is still having trouble getting his days right without checking. At least he’s gone back to sleeping at night! Going to bed at night is way easier when you have a cute, cuddly boyfriend who starts falling asleep around eleven o’clock. It also helps that he and Zuko are on solid gold butt-touching terms.

It’s been a while since Sokka has been on butt-touching terms with someone and it’s amazing.]

Or,

Sokka knows a guy, gets laid, and introduces Zuko to the merits of an afternoon delight.

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it): @riotwritesthings

There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch.

And one tiny little bed.

June

Nice Fingers: @anthonyed

A single compliment given by Tony stirs Bucky restless until he caves in and asks him out on a date.

With Steve’s help of course (whether he likes it or not).

The Darkest Touch: @starkrogerrs

This is the story of how Steve finds that it has been ordained that he is to marry a monster he cannot resist aka the God of Love himself, Tony.

It's Cupid x Psyche retold, but with thrice the amount of porn.

The Night Shift:  @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Wind Beneath My Wings: @iam93percentstardust

Sam first meets Tony Stark in 2005 when he joins the EXO-7 Falcon program.

In jest: @/apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)