#if he were outwardly cold or distant in a noticeable way then he'd be more like Snape or Phineas Nigellus Black.

[firendgold]

Hi do you see Albus as morally grey character who's also pretty cold and distant from other people? There are many interesting posts about him that describe him as such and it does make sense. He was probably someone who wouldn't let people get close to him and it would be a challenge to manage that. I can see Harry doing that but his case is special. What do you think? Was Albus a good man?

I do think Albus was a good man. Plenty of good men have to make decisions that do not weigh easily on the moral scale. A protagonist or supporting character whose methods and motives are purely good, unchallenged and uncomplicated by other players is an unrealistic protagonist or supporting character. Albus is as far from that as it's possible to be. His scheming made us uncomfortable, it made him uncomfortable, and it kept Harry alive. More importantly, he wanted to keep Harry alive, even against all the overwhelming evidence that he'd have to die.

I don't think he's cold. He is an expert at emotionally distancing himself from people, yes. But he does it in a very warm way, with little self-deprecating jokes and first-name terms and remembering your birthday and the pet you mentioned having. Albus Dumbledore knows you very well and you know Albus Dumbledore without knowing him (unless you're Harry). The average HP character would argue to the death that Dumbledore cares about people! without necessarily saying OR needing to believe that Dumbledore adored them, specifically. Albus knows how to connect to people and he uses that knowledge to appear approachable, trustworthy... when he needs to be approachable and trustworthy. Otherwise, he is holding people at arm's length so they do not hurt him.

I agree that Harry is very special. As much as Harry laments not knowing every detail about Dumbledore's early life, or why Dumbledore made the decisions he made re: the Deathly Hallows and Harry's life and upbringing, he is (and some readers are) also very blind to how close he is to his mentor despite all that.

If this is a racing track, nearly every other HP character is at the starting line, Dumbledore is at the finish line, Grindelwald might be a few inches away from him, and Harry is perhaps three strides behind Gellert with Snape breathing down his neck.

The two of them crack jokes with each other; they spend private time together without the awkward silences you get from lingering with a stranger; they trust each other deeply and speak very highly of one another. Harry got past defenses that Dumbledore had by that point spent a century building, without even trying.

I think Albus is one of very few intellectual characters who can make horrid decisions but is still very warm and kind instead of being the Cool Stoic Academic type through and through, and some people don't know how to reconcile that with the trope.

[emeritusemeritus]

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]

Part 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship}

Timeline: DH1&2- Initially set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Outside sex. Semi public sex. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. On it got a angsty. So much angst I can’t tag it all. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.

Clearly I’m in my angst era 🖤

Three days had passed since George had lost his ear in the mission to get Harry back to the Burrow safely and each day George's wound seemed to improve dramatically; it was almost completely healed now, no longer leaking or swollen and only a little sore. His overall mood however, seemed to be deteriorating with each passing day as the reality sunk in, the insecurities and sensitivities bubbling up inside of him, despite your honest and repeated confirmation that he was still your George and still gorgeous. With each day he'd withdrawn a little more, showing less affection and had even taken to sleeping on his own in the single bed. Around the others, he laughed and joked just like normal but in private he was cold and distant with you. Fred had noticed and had pulled him up on it once or twice, delicately questioning what was going off with him, what you'd done wrong, but each time George would deflect the question and find a way to avoid answering entirely. You'd hardly interacted at all the previous day, finding it too hard to be rejected and denied by the man you loved and he had even gone as far as to get Molly to change his bandage so that he wouldn't have to be alone with you. You understood, to a point. You knew he'd be feeling insecure about it and he had a lot to process in terms of adjusting to his new normal, mourning his lost ear and no doubt processing the trauma from the attack, but you still couldn't help but feel devastated that he was outwardly rejecting you, pushing you away, especially after you'd tried everything to help him.

You'd thrown yourself into research, hiding away in Charlie's old, vacant bedroom which you were using as a makeshift work space for potion brewing and research. You'd brewed a myriad of helpful, healing potions, ensuring the order would always have a full supply of whatever they should need, as far as your abilities stretched at least. Text books and old potion books were littered around you as you frantically searched for any hope that you could regenerate or replace George's ear but so far there was nothing. Cursed limbs could not be replaced. You'd been taught that over and over by both Lupin and Snape in your school years but you couldn't stop yourself from trying anyway.

You were scribbling down notes from an old copy of Moste Potente Potions, having found an interesting article about Linfred of Stitchcombe and his medicinal advancements when a knock at the door shocked you. Before you'd even had the chance to call out, the door opened and Fred stuck his head in, his eyes flicking over the mess all around you.

"Mum says tea's nearly ready," he says, casting a sideways glance at you and then returning his gaze to the mess of books and parchment that seemed to consume you.

"Thanks but I need to finish this, can't step away from it yet," you said, gesturing towards the cauldron in the back of the room that was currently brewing calming draught, in the hopes that you could use it on George to rid his shock and trauma, at least temporarily. To accentuate your point, you lifted a finger and with a quick flick, the ladle inside the cauldron stirred the blue-hued liquid, the peppermint scent filling the room even more as it stirred and mixed together.

You heard Fred let out a sigh and you caught sight of him just in time to see his shoulders droop just a little in defeat.

"He'll come around you know," Fred says quietly after a few moments of silence which you'd worked through, flicking through pages of a book you'd searched over and over. You knew he was right, but you were a ball of frustration and pain, desperately trying to keep yourself together and keep yourself from hurting anyone else around you.

"I know," you replied, your tone even. You didn't want to think about it anymore, or keep talking about it and so you gestured for the cauldron to stir once again and went back to thumbing through the book you'd pulled.

When you heard the door shut, you immediately sank into yourself and cast the book aside aggressively, tears falling from your eyes before you could stop them. Only days ago you'd woken up in your bed beside the two men you loved most in the world, completely unaware of what would happen, though of course you knew it was dangerous. Even after, you'd woken up in George's arms and everything seemed manageable, like you could navigate through it together and be there for him, only he didn't want you to. He pulled away and you felt lost, robbed and guilty for pulling away from Fred to give George some space from you, hoping he'd come around soon.

You never made it to dinner that night, nor breakfast the next morning as you agonised over your notes, feeling like there was something missing. Neither George nor Fred had been up since then and you'd worked through the night, stopping only briefly for a few hours sleep as you crawled into the bed out of sheer exhaustion, your eyes not able to comprehensively read anything anymore.

You aggressively sighed when a knock at the door stopped your obsessive reading but when Hermione's voice called out from beyond the door, you put down your book and frowned, curious as to why she would need you. You called out for her to enter and tried to smooth back your hair, particularly the strands you'd pulled out of your haphazard braid in sheer frustration.

She stepped through the door holding a glass of pumpkin juice and a plate of toast, seemingly unfazed by your crazed lair of books.

"Molly sent this," she said, placing down the crockery on the table beside you before moving to sit down on the floor in front of you, crossing her legs.

"Thanks," you said in reply, looking at her with questioning eyes, waiting for the mini lecture to come.

"Have you had much luck?" She asks, gazing at your notes briefly, "Fred said you had been brewing non-stop. Calming Brew is notoriously difficult, I've never been able to."

"Hermione," you said firmly but gently, stopping her kind but unappreciated small talk. "Why are you really here?" You walked the line between firm and rude, hoping that you were falling somewhere on the lighter side but in your exhaustion and overstimulated state, it was hard to tell. Her hands fall to her lap as she plays with them, taking a deep breath as if she's gathering courage.

"Dumbledore gave Harry a task before he died, something which we're sure is crucial to defeating you-know-who, but it's hard to know where to even start, where we need to go and what we might need," she says, not making eye contact. Even in your sleep deprived state, you can tell she's holding back information but right now you were loathe to care. "I'm trying to be prepared for every eventuality, I've been gathering things for months, knowing we might need to leave at any time but there's so much more we might need."

"And you want me to brew some potions for you?" You said, filling in the blanks. Only then does she look up at you with a slight frown, considering her next words carefully.

"Actually, we want you to join us."

You instinctively frown at her in reply, all words falling flat on your tongue as you consider her words.

"Me, why? You finally manage to ask, astounded by her request.

"Y/n," she says, a small, polite smile tugging at her lips, "you're a brilliant witch, a master of potions and the magic you produced to heal George was something I've only ever read about in history books. We hadn't asked you before because we knew you'd never leave Fred and George but it seems the three of us won't be able to do it alone, we had to ask."

You sat in silence as you processed her words, conflict building inside you as you considered your options. Truthfully, your current emotions and circumstances were guiding your decisions but you couldn't deny it was an intriguing proposal. You knew Hermione was serious from the crease in her brow that had only seemed to get more prominent with each passing day.

"I assume there's no time frame?" You ask, feeling your frantic mindset fading from you, a calmness overtaking you instead. She shook her head and averted her eyes down to the book which was laid out in front of her.

"And I can't tell anyone?" You assumed.

"I wiped my parents memory, they don't know I exist anymore," she said in a small voice, wringing her hands harder now, the skin of her palms turning pure white, "it was safer for them, and for me. The order don't know but Ron is telling Molly tonight. You can tell F-"

"Better not to, at least right now," you interject quickly, shooting down that line of thought. She nods in understanding and you let out a deep breathe you'd not realised you'd been holding, breathing restricted by the tension within you.

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course," she says with a smile, moving to stand as she wipes off her hands on the front of her jeans. She gives you a little smile and walks out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You begin to clear up the books and notes, placing them in a mostly neat pile in the corner, focusing your attention on the batch of muffling draught, that had been requested by Madeye before he died for Order use.

You left it barely simmering and took a seat on the unmade bed you'd been sleeping in and let out a long and drawn out sigh. Thoughts were swirling in your brain of every possible option and path. Could you leave Fred and George? What if something happened whilst you were away? What if you never came back? Being away from them when they were transporting Harry was sheer torture, could you go through that again? Or rather, could you put them through that?

The possibility of helping bring down Voldemort was incredibly appealing, knowing that the cause and the Order was more important than personal lives now, the imminent threat of an outright war seeming more and more likely with each passing day. Harry was the best chance we had of defeating Voldemort and your role in the Order was to accomplish this by any means necessary, even if it meant great personal sacrifice.

You sat stewing on your thoughts for a while, making a virtual pros and cons list in your mind, trying to plan ahead but without knowing what needed to be done, it was impossible.

A movement from outside the house caught your eye and you moved over to the window to look out into the garden and surrounding fields, seeing the Weasley men outside erecting the large white marquee for the wedding tomorrow. Fred and George were off to one side whilst Ron and Arthur stood on the other, all of them brandishing their wands in an effort to raise and set up the large tent. Your gaze lingered on Fred before moving to George, who looked in good spirits as they joked between themselves. A flash of pain ran through you as you considered walking out and helping but realising that George would probably ignore you or make excuses to leave, rejecting you once again.

You were about to look away when you noticed a figure in the distance suddenly appear as if out of nowhere, walking stiffly with a large briefcase in his hand as he strode determinedly towards the Burrow. As he walked closer to the house, his facial features and appearance began to get clearer to you, his somewhat familiar, droopy face that seemed to be fixed into a neat permanent frown and shoulder length brown hair.

Rufus Scrimgeour. The new Minister for Magic.

You hurriedly ran down the staircase and rushed into Fred and George's room, quickly throwing a fresh shirt on and began walking out into the kitchen when you saw the minister walk into the house, guided by Arthur.

"I'll need Mr Potter, Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger and Miss y/n y/l/n," he says after shooting down any small talk formalities. Almost immediately, you feel two sets of eyes land on you, both from the 6ft 3 redheads who were hovering around the door. "We'll need somewhere private," he says, looking around at the multiple sets of eyes who are all looking between themselves in suspicion.

"And to Miss y/n y/l/n, I leave my lebetum, in the fond hope that you will never need this.”

The minister then handed the black object to you, a curious looking thing, something you’d never seen nor heard of before. It was similar to the deluminator in ways, looking like the first of its kind. It was long and cylindrical, ornate in design with a fragment of misted glass embedded onto the front. You turned it over in your hand and frowned, looking down at the curious object.

When the Minister left, you, Ron, Hermione and Harry sat in silence for a few moments, all of you processing what had just happened with Albus Dumbledore's will and the bequeathments. Why had Dumbledore chosen you? The golden trio made sense and you'd been close to Dumbledore of course but it was a big surprise to be included.

"It seems Dumbledore wants you onboard too," Harry says after a moment, taking your eyes flicker to his, the glare from his light reflecting glasses shielding his eyes from you.

"Yeah, have you thought about it?" Ron asks, his hand running along the seams of his corduroy trousers, a pair that you recognised Fred abs George to have worn a few years ago, a tiny splatter of ink still visible on the right knee.

You sighed, unsure.

"Still deciding, I want to but," you said, trailing off. You pulled the sleeves down over your hands, trying to give yourself a little regulatory comfort.

"You can't leave them behind," Hermione says softly, anticipating your answer. You nod gently, not meeting anyone's eyes as flashes of Fred and George play in your mind. The thought of leaving them makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, makes you want to sob at the very thought but there was a greater good that needed to be accomplished and you couldn't let fear nor personal feelings be the reason you rejected their proposal.

"But I can't be selfish, not now, if you need me then I'm with you," you say, looking up at Harry, "this task, will it work?"

"It's the best chance we have to defeat Voldemort."

"Then I'm in."

The minute Ron told Molly about their plans, you disappeared back upstairs, away from the conflict and back up to Charlie's old bedroom. Fleur's parents would be arriving this afternoon and you needed to clear away all your stuff from the bedroom to make room for more guests. You checked on your potion and were pleased with the result, bottling it up and cleaning the cauldron with a flourish of your wand. The books, quills and parchment you'd put to one side were all cleared up and collected off the floor as you cast a quick tidying spell, cleaning the sheets and resetting the room back to it's usual setting. You carried the huge and heavy pile of books down the staircase until you stood in front of Fred and George's closed bedroom door, feeling incredibly awkward as you considered knocking, feeling unwelcome for the first time in your relationship.

You didn't knock but instead grabbed the handle and stepped in, struggling under the weight of the books as you set out to find the bag your enchanted with an extension charm.

George was lay on the bed reading when you walked in and for a brief moment you thought that everything could be normal again as he looked up at you, thinking he would open his arms for you to cuddle into, just as you always had. But that was not the case today. Instead, he shifted slightly on the bed so that his body was almost facing away from you whilst still being able to read and a fresh pang of sadness washed over you all over again. You willed yourself not to cry, at least not until you'd left the room and located your bag, placing the notes and books into the bag before moving to your other belongings.

You rummaged through your things, trying to stay quiet as to not antagonise George further before stopping and cursing, not finding the cardigan that you were looking for. You sighed and stood, walking to the set of drawers near the window and pulled out the second drawer, seeing an array of matching wool jumpers. You pulled a burgundy one out from the pile and unfolded it, seeing that it was emblazoned with the letter 'G'. In a move that upset you greatly, you folded the jumper back up and placed it back into the drawer, reaching instead for it's matching counterpart with the 'F' pattern. You closed the drawer and threw on the jumper, wanting to get out of the room immediately as the tension was much too strong and uncomfortable.

You cast a glance to George as you walk out, seeing him sprawled on the bed reading had always been one of your favourite sights, but though he of course looked handsome in the moment, you just felt empty and sad. His eyes slowly drag up to your exiting form but he says nothing and looks back to his book only moments later, apparently not feeling the need to address you at all. Anger began to simmer in you at his outward dismissal and without thought you began speaking.

"Your bandage needs changing," you say in a shockingly cold tone which sounds odd even to your own ears.

"Mum'll do it," he mumbles, barely even sparing you any attention. His words and tone only infuriate you more and you have to bite your tongue, and physically bite the inside of your cheek, to keep your composure, wanting nothing more in that moment than to scream at him. You'd seen him laughing and joking with Fred earlier, why was it just you he was so cold with? Irritation and resentment bubbled up inside of you and you had to be incredibly selective of your next words.

"I'll have to apply some potion to it tomorrow morning, help the scars," you say blankly, leaving no room for his comments as you walked out of the door, the harsh exterior falling from you the second you shut the door behind you, perhaps a little too aggressively in hindsight.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, Molly immediately recruited you to help out with wedding preparation, having you fluctuate between helping in the kitchen with her and setting up the table for the meal which would be eaten outside on account of the numerous guests staying.

After your chores were finished, you checked to see Fred and George still de-gnoming the garden with Harry and Ron, supposedly taking extra precautions to rid all of the pests from the lawn and surrounding area. Seeing that they were occupied, you took the opportunity to slip back upstairs and entered their room determinedly as you locked the door with a flick of your wand, sat at the desk and pulled out som parchment and ink.

You weren't sure what to write, not knowing the full extent of Dumbledore's task, but you knew it would be dangerous and potentially life threatening, meaning that this letter would be the last thing they had of you if you didn't make it back.

You began with Fred's letter, finding it much easier at present to tell him all the things you needed him to know. Tears slipped from your eyes a few times with the more emotional passages as you tried to explain why you'd gone and how much you loved him. You folded up the letter once you were happy with it and slipped it into a spare envelope that the twins kept in the desk drawer for their owl post orders.

You sat looking at the blank page for what seemed like hours, trying to think of what to say to George. It was hard because you were so hurt but you chose to push that aside, knowing that this might be the last time you'd ever write to him, plus you didn't know when you would be leaving and this may had all blown over by the time he reads this letter.

You placed George's into an envelope too and considered where you were going to store them until you needed them. You thought your bag at first or maybe under their pillows but both were too risky. Instead, you walked to the shelf in the nook of the room and pulled out a potions book that was left over from your teenage years in the room. In front of that was a pinned, magical photo of the three of you, no older than 15, making a snowman outside in the Hogwarts Courtyard, all with your arms around each other with goofy grins on your face. You slipped the letters into the book, not concealing them entirely but just enough, preparing your last clue that would lead them there if you left.

"Princess?" You heard from the other side of the door as someone, who you now knew to be Fred, jingled the door handle. You unlocked the door with your wand and Fred walked in with a concerned look on his face, moving to walk over to you.

"Why was the door locked? You okay?" He asks and you smile up at him, moving to stand in front of him before wrapping your arms around his waist. His arms immediately surround you as he pulls you in to his chest, cuddling you tightly.

"Better now," you mumble into his chest, feeling instantly comforted by his touch.

"Thought I'd lost you to your work," he says playfully and you pull away just a little to crane your neck upwards to look at him.

"Still here, still yours," you smile, reaching up onto your tiptoes for a kiss which he gives you without hesitation. It's short and sweet but meaningful as his left hand clutches your waist, seemingly needing this just as much as you. You smile at each other as you pull away, only to frown a moment later when George walks into the room calling out to Fred, stopping mid conversation as he realises you are there.

Your face drops and the happiness you felt only a few seconds before slips away from you as George makes no move to join you, no joke or tease and certainly no move to steal you away from his brother as they so often did.

"I'll just... see if your mum needs any help," you mumble awkwardly, stepping out of Fred's hold and walking over to the door in defeat.

"You stupid git," you hear Fred say harshly to George just as you close the door. You desperately want to stay and listen to what they are going to say but you decide not to, knowing that it will only upset you further. You can hear the muffled sound of raised voices and a telltale humming noise that alerts you to the fact that they had used a specific silencing charm and your gut twists once again, feeling like the root of the problem. You'd only reached the fourth step down when Fred bursts through the door, shaking his head until he spots you and all the anger falls from his face. He takes your hand as soon as you'd both stepped off the stairs and he leads you to the empty lounge, sitting down first before pulling you down onto the sofa so that you fall into his lap. His arms lock tightly around you and for the first time in days you feel familiarity and comfort. So much so, that you don't even realise your eyes closing as sleep overtakes you, wrapped securely in Fred's arms.

You wake up comfy, cozy and a little confused, still cuddled into Fred though you are no longer alone. George is sat beside you both on the sofa, in touching distance and you fight against your tired eyes as they threaten to close.

"Hey sleeping beauty," Fred smirks down at you, clearly having felt you shift in his lap. You shush him and cuddle into his shoulder a little more, hesitantly flicking your eyes over to George who is, rather surprisingly, looking at you.

"Nice sleep?" He asks, his tone lighter than you'd heard in days when he'd been addressing you. You simply nod in reply, suddenly sheepish at the concept of chatting with him, expecting him to say something hurtful or pull away again if you opened your mouth. His lips turn up at the edges to give you a soft smile but you don't focus on it for long, turning instead to look around you, checking of anyone else was there. You were all alone and under regular circumstances you'd relish in the time together, knowing how rare it was when you were at the Burrow but right now it just felt awkward and weird.

"I'm gonna get a drink," you say quietly as you attempt to climb off of Fred, feeling painfully thirsty after your nap.

"I'll join you," George says as you walk away and you don't even reply, just continue walking around the corner into the kitchen. Any hope that George was going to explain himself fell flat the second you walked into the kitchen and saw Molly whizzing about like her head was on fire, a couple of her children following behind her as she prepares for Fleur's family to arrive. Dinner than night was hosted outside with gorgeous twinkling lights in the trees and a lavish spread that had taken Molly all day to prepare. You sat beside the twins and though George was a little more cordial than before, you still felt distanced from him and wished more than ever that things would just go back to normal.

Later that night you lay in bed with Fred's arm protectively draped across your waist, your body pressed tightly to his front as he spooned you from behind whilst George lay on the other side, not even remotely touching you. You'd had to push the beds together to make room for the extra cot in the room, where Ron lay sleeping just for tonight, having been evicted from his own room as Bill and Charlie took his, Arthur and Molly took Charlie's and Monsieur and Madame Delacour took Molly and Arthur's room. 

Having George this close to you only seemed to make him feel further away and you cried yourself to sleep that night, tears silently streaming down your face and soaking your pillow until you eventually fell into a restless sleep.

Next

[lorichu]

Just Like the Ones I Used to Know

This is my part of a holiday gift exchange @gtypewriter and I did where we chose one of each other's stories and then selected a Christmas song to use as inspiration. I was "given" my characters from The Night Shift, and chose the song White Christmas. The art was a little extra on my part.

Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!

The distant melody of another Christmas song echoed from upstairs, as did his mom and uncle's actually pretty good singing, but John didn't move. It was all just noise to him at this point. A quiet, half-formed thought tried to encourage him to get up and go help them decorate the tree, but his entire body had been carved from a block of cold, numb stone. He slid lower in the booth's faded bench seat. Sitting before him was the equally inert empty cup of coffee he'd originally come down into the shop for, which had been drained and left to cool for some time.

John's blank expression stared at the door. Night had fallen hours ago, bringing with it the soft, hazy glow of a snowstorm. The heavy white powder blanketed the rest of the world, rounding out harsher edges and burying everything in indistinct obscurity. If you didn't already know what to expect under a particular snowbank, you'd have no way of finding out without more than a little digging. Over the past hour or so both the flurries and the wind had picked up. Together they created an intricate dance, swirling and spiraling in the shop's exterior floodlight like they were on stage. Each gust was a delicate maneuver, the entire storm a complex song.

And John was just as numb to that as well.

What did catch his attention was the crunch of snow under tires and the scraping of shovels against the pavement. Outwardly he didn't react to those either, but each one was another little jab at his heart. One more needle slipping under his skin to draw out another pinprick of blood. His body was covered in scars that matched the dried salty trails of slush across the doormat. They were rough and jagged, bright against the dark surface, and were pointless to clean away this time of year. All the scrubbing in the world wouldn't stop them from forming all over again the second someone else walked through the door.

Heavy eyelids slid lower as John continued to not put up a fight to stay present. The chilling cold of the darkened coffee shop had drained away all but the very last of his resolve, leaving him hollow and stained like the inside of his empty mug. Uncomfortable as it obviously was, he wanted to feel the pain. More accurately, he was desperate to feel anything. Each and every day had been a little bit worse than the last, but it was his Uncle Alec's return that finally broke the camel's back. Then and only then had he truly noticed how much of him had gone numb. When he couldn't think of a fix, John decided to lean into it. To really embrace the sensation fully, with both body and soul.

Was that the right choice? Probably not. But, then again, John didn't care. Right here in this moment, however long it had been, was the first time he remembered feeling something that wasn't completely soul crushingly empty.

He slouched lower in the booth so that his shoulder blades touched the seat. The stark emptiness of his mind roared loudly in his ears, and his eyes fluttered that much closer to closing. After spending such a long time dancing around the issue, John was tired. Maybe sleeping down here wasn't that bad of an idea. Sure, his body wouldn't be too happy about it, but it might give him something to help take the pain away.

All the flurries blustering about outside had been a simple distraction to dissociate to, but out of nowhere there was motion in the darkness itself. A sharp silhouette crawled up over the opposite side of the table, moving with more purpose than John had experienced in hours. The shape didn't get too close, but it did speak.

"John?" Lyra's voice was soft and yet somehow managed to cut through the static.

Had he been any more in control of himself John wouldn't have flinched so hard. It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head, snapping him out of the sleepless dreaming that had almost taken him. Scrambling to support himself, John managed to sit upright with a forceful push against the seat, but he still needed a minute to blink the daze out of his eyes.

That acknowledgement was enough of an invitation for Lyra, and she started to slowly inch closer. "Are you alright? You've been down here for a while, and we were... I was getting worried."

Even though his throat felt like it was filled with cobwebs, John's voice managed to find its way out. "I-I," he croaked, "I'm fine."

The shadows falling across Lyra's face couldn't cover up her frown. "Is that so?"

Her anger became a chisel that broke through the icy walls he'd built to barricade himself in. Dropping his hands into his lap, John hung his head. "No..." he sighed. His eyes slid shut, but that was only to stem the incoming flow of tears. "I just, I miss him."

Lyra didn't say a word. She closed the remaining distance between them by walking right up to the edge of the table. For a moment she considered sitting down, but instead chose to stand so she could be as close to John as possible.

A ragged breath filled and left his lungs. "There was so much else going on last year that I didn't really have time to think about it." His eyes opened slowly, seeking her out like a warm fire in the midst of a howling storm. "B-But, but now, all I can see are the empty spaces. All the places he should be, but isn't. And won't ever be, ever again."

Before John realized he'd moved it, his hand was on the table, loosely draped behind Lyra. She didn't appear to be bothered, and even leaned into the touch, making his fingers curl in closer. As a fingertip brushed over her hip, Lyra locked eyes with him. Her expression told him all he needed to know, but it wasn't until she nodded encouragingly that John dared to take things farther. He scooped her up with all the care in the world even though his hands were still trembling. Instead of just lifting her higher John held her to his chest and sunk into the seat again. Lyra relaxed against him, fully content and at ease despite being essentially trapped.

Like the warmth of smoldering embers, Lyra's love melted through another layer of John's walls. "I know Uncle Alec always comes for Christmas," he murmured, "and I'm glad he's here for Mom, but he," John's entire body shuddered, "he just makes the emptiness bigger, because my heart knows it's supposed to be the three of them up there. Laughing, singing, decorating... This is as close to complete as their group can ever be again. Nothing they, or anyone else can do will ever be able to change that."

Burying her face into his shirt, Lyra took a deep breath. "Filling in the blank spaces doesn't make them go away," she agreed. "No matter how much the substitution might check all the right boxes, it just isn't the same."

It was rare for Lyra to ever speak of her many losses, regardless of who was gone or how long it had been. As they'd grown closer together, John had come to accept that some parts of her would always be inaccessible to him. However, that slight peek behind the curtain brought a gentle touch of ease to his grief ravaged heart. These were not hollow condolences given out of obligation. Lyra was empathizing with her entire being by reaching into the darkest places that could only hurt her. She had not come down into the coffee shop to force him back upstairs, but to connect with him in a way only she knew how.

His thumb bent in to lightly rest on the top of her head. "I keep waiting for his car to pull up," John mumbled on. "Like all this time he's just been out helping someone. That happened a lot, especially this time of year." He filled his lungs and exhaled a powerful sigh. "My heart can't stop believing that eventually he's gonna open that door with a laugh and burst of snow, then tease me about w-why I'm down, down here, and n-not ups-stairs..."

Sobs filled his throat, choking out his voice. John curled inward, draping his other hand over Lyra as well and mindfully clutching her to his chest. That messy blur was back and stronger than ever, but now he had the most powerful shield in the world. Lyra was the only thing keeping him sane, his literal last line of defense against the bellowing grief boiling within him. The animalistic desire to wail his overwhelming feelings would do nothing but scream his throat raw. Any release he could get from that would just cause him more pain beyond this instance. By simply being here, in this moment with him, Lyra was protecting him from himself.

Painful as it was to keep speaking, the entire process was oddly cathartic. "A-And, then," John rasped, "then we'd go up there t-together. To Mom and Uncle Alec." As more words came out his throat felt looser. "There'd be a pot of peppermint hot cocoa on the stove, and the same old CD of Christmas music would be playing. First we'd decorate the tree, then the rest of the house, until f-finally we'd come down here to do the shop. When we finished it'd be at least midnight, but everything would look amazing."

The pressure on her hadn't been unbearable, but Lyra wasn't able to actually calm down until it lessened. "That sounds like a lot of fun. What a wonderful tradition." More of John relaxed around her, and she rolled over onto her stomach in an attempt to look him in the eye. "I can confirm that there is hot cocoa brewing, and Pam dug a really banged up CD out of the closet."

After feeling Lyra move, John repositioned so he could see her. Now that he was out of his mind and back in the present, he smelled the faint waftings of peppermint and heard the familiar crooning of a song he'd listened to every year as far back as he could remember. John watched as Lyra settled more comfortably beneath his hand, sharing what little warmth she had with him. The sight of her so perfectly at ease cast a bright but pleasant light on the corners of his mind, chasing the shadows away.

"What do you think about going up there and joining them?" John asked, his stabler voice already sounding more like his normal self.

Lyra's slight frown just barely furrowed her brow. "Are you sure? I don't mind waiting if you need more time."

Shaking his head, John freed his left hand and braced it against the booth seat to sit up. "Don't worry, I'll be alright. Hiding out down here isn't gonna do me any good. Right now, what I really need is-"

The dull crunching of a car plowing through snow turned into the parking lot. They both froze, now suddenly back in John's sorrowful musings, and they held their breath as the extra diffused illumination from headlights shut off. A door opened, then slammed shut with a snow-muted thud. Softer, dampened footsteps marched towards the shop, bringing with them a familiar face just barely visible through the window.

Gently letting Lyra off on the table, John shuffled over to open the door. "Bret?" he muttered as the bundled, snow-dusted figure scrambled inside. "Did I miss a text or something?"

Bret shook his head, sending a small squall into the air as the door was shut behind him. "Nah, your mom invited me." He started unbuttoning his jacket and took off his hat. "If you didn't know I was coming, why were you down here?"

Walking back over to Lyra, John shrugged and rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. "Just needed a little break from the festivities, you know?"

A believable enough lie, but even in the dimmed lighting Bret could see the puffy rings around John's eyes. Despite that truth staring him in the face, he'd happily take the offered bait instead. "You always did say that decorating night could get outta hand," Bret joked. "And actually, this is kinda perfect." His gaze wandered to Lyra, who stiffened up ever so slightly.

"Why's that?" John asked in her place, shifting a little closer to her out of habit.

Not realizing just how much his crypticness was hurting the situation, Bret reached into his jacket's inner pocket. "Because I have something to give Lyra."

It didn't matter that so much time had passed, hearing him say her name like that still gave Lyra chills. She almost started inching closer to John, then immediately thought better of it. 'Don't show him anything's wrong,' she reminded herself. 'Everything can be turned into a weakness. Don't give him any more to take advantage of.'

An entire lifetime of better memories wouldn't be enough to outweigh or erase everything that happened to her at the museum. Lyra knew this, and so did Bret. However, as the one who hadn't been on the receiving end of years of torture, Bret wasn't always as quick to pick up whenever he inadvertently crossed that line. She knew he was trying his best, and the effort was appreciated, but the iron-clad instincts that had kept her alive wouldn't allow even the smallest slight to pass so easily.

When Bret's hand reemerged, it was closed around something small. He looked at Lyra then John before stepping up to the table and extending his arm just as slowly. Fingers pulled away quickly to reveal the little object, and while John was left squinting to figure out what it was, Lyra gasped. "W-Wait... Is that?"

"Your bag," Bret answered. "The one you had when I found you."

Lyra clamped a hand over her mouth and wrapped her other arm across her body. "How? How do you still have this when he asked you to destroy it?"

Bret needed to stabilize his balance by bracing a hand on the table. "Because I forgot." A groveling apology was building up inside of him, but instead of caving to that, he just went on with the story. "Amos wouldn't let me throw it out in his office because that would be too suspicious, so I just put it in my pocket. There was so much else going on that I completely forgot about it until I got home. I needed to stay on Amos's good side to keep my job, so I wanted to wait for the best time to throw it away. Until I found that, I decided to just stash it in my desk drawer... where I forgot about it again."

"I can't believe you kept it," Lyra mumbled, taking a shuffled step forward. This felt so much like a trap, but she just couldn't help herself. "After all this time."

Because she was getting closer, Bret wanted to pull his hand back and move away from the table. Thanks to his momentary indecision though, it looked like he'd missed his chance. 'She's already too close,' he grumbled. 'If I move now, it'll just freak her out. Probably enough that she won't accept it.'

So he stayed rooted in place and watched as the tiny Mintran woman knelt down to reunite with her timeworn pack. Lyra delicately unhooked the latch and drew in a sharp breath when she saw the stash of her old possessions. "It's all here," she murmured. "Everything..." Distant memories of the life that was stolen from her condensed into tears that stung her eyes. A choked down sob rocked her shoulders and her fingers dug into the thick fabric as she hunched lower.

Seconds later her head snapped up. Just as quickly she tossed the bag aside and jumped to her feet. The heavy stares following her weren't enough to stop her from breaking out into a full-on sprint, and she never wavered as she raced over to Bret's hand. She wrapped her arms as far as she could around his wrist and fully leaned into the hug.

"Th-Thank you, Bret," she whimpered, smearing tears over his skin. "You don't know what this means to me."

Now utterly terrified to move, Bret tried to hold his ground. "You're, um, you're welcome." The way she was clinging to him made his mind dredge up images of her begging for her life, which was a habit he'd broken her of long ago. He could hear echoes of mournful cries ripping through her raw throat. Each one dug into him as well to leave a festering scar that would never fully heal. Over time the wound had gotten easier to ignore, but that didn't mean it had stopped hurting.

Her joy couldn't hold her fear back forever though, so Lyra broke the embrace first. She shuffled backwards to the bag, refusing to take her eyes off Bret after voluntarily getting so dangerously close. He remained just as statuesque and didn't appear to take a full breath until she'd reached down to grab the bag.

Lyra offered a timid smile. "Seriously, Bret, thank you."

"Course," he muttered through a similar grin. "Merry Christmas."

The ache that had brought John down into the shop felt like a fading memory of an old nightmare. He hadn't fully recovered, but there was a new layer of warmth wrapped around his heart like a thick blanket. That warmth was holding him together, bundling up the pieces of him into a single place where they could be protected and cared for. Love was all around him, holding the door open to let him in out of the cold dark of loneliness. It was definitely something to do this time of year, but John knew without a doubt that everyone in this house would do the same things all over again even if it was the middle of summer.

John wrapped his hand behind Lyra's back again and gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze as he looked Bret in the eye. "We were just going upstairs to join them, and since you already talked to Mom, I know she'll be expecting you too." Lyra leaned back against him, and he knew that was his cue to pick her up. He didn't need to look down to scoop her off her feet, but he still sent a quick smile and wink her way. "They've probably already done a good chunk of it by now, but I'm sure there's more left to decorate."

Perking up more into his normal self, Bret nodded. "I'm here as long as you need me."

Nothing else had to be said as they hurried through the darkened coffee shop. When they opened the door at the bottom of the stairs the music changed. Without missing a beat, Pam and Alec were already singing.

"I'm, dreaming, of a White, Christmas..."

[muutos]

[ calm ]   your muse telling mine to  ‘ just breathe ‘ . — loghain having a bad night and maric being there to comfort him and talk him through it ...

BAD DREAMS, AGAIN.. EVIDENTLY. he's alone with maric in his bed, rivulets of sweat dripping down his clavicle. BARE CHEST STRUCK COLD, SURROUNDED BY STONE.. AND THE DAMPNESS OF HIS PERSPIRATION ONLY MADE IT WORSE. he supposes rightly that no matter how much one might steel themselves to their own experiences, ABLE TO MENTION THEM OBJECTIVELY WITHOUT SO MUCH AS BATTING AN EYE, they are still haunted by them in such moments of little to no control.

IT IS NOT AS IF NIGHTMARES STRUCK HIM OFTEN. in-fact they were quite rare, if not staved away by long nights ignoring his exclusion, or trying fall so deeply into fatigue that by the time he laid his head upon a pillow, such folly would not befall him. HE KNEW ROWAN DEALT BETTER WITH ALL OF THIS. but how could she not? he loved her so much as he did the king, however no matter who she was with -- whether one or both -- she was always the one whom belonged. perhaps he shamed her with the rumours their arrangement has produced, though if he had she does not let him know... he and rowan understood each other perhaps more deeply, in that they shared similar traits. ones which maric was rather inept at dealing with. SHE WOULD HAVE DEALT WITH HIM IN A MORE KNOWING, AND SILENT MANNER. yet, he does not -- or tries not to -- fault maric for trying. it was.. endearing, if nothing else. and for what it was worth, HE TRIED NOT TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE AS HE HAD. taking the man for granted, when he twisted and prodded at his nerves.

he looks half disgusted, a flicker of disturbed fear lingering in his faraway stare. LIP IS CURLED UPWARD, and brows are in a similar state. furrowed over icy blues, distant in their stare across the room, AS MARIC'S WARMTH SPREADS THROUGHOUT HIS HIP AND SHOULDER IMMEDIATELY. THAWING HIM FROM THE OUTSIDE IN. he notices it right away, even if he tenses a bit at the intrusive touch. not recoiling, but flinching. a soft flex of his features produced, and press of his jaw shifting cheeks.

WHAT HE DOESN'T NOTICE HOWEVER, WAS HOW QUICKLY HE WAS BREATHING, UNTIL MARIC SPEAKS IT. wills the sickening feeling of nausea prickling the back of his throat, and the base of it as well. but instead of looking at the face framed in gold, he instead shuts his eyes as he wills himself to do as he's told. HEAD TURNING TO THE OPPOSITE SIDE AS FINGERS GRIP THE BRIDGE OF HIS CURVED BEAK. "yes, maric. you don't say." he begins, "and here i thought i might have held my breath instead..." maybe it's the vulnerability which had him acting such a way. DOESN'T LIKE TO SHOW IT SO CLEARLY THAT IT'S SO EASY TO TELL. perhaps because he'd rather maric stayed asleep and left him be. however, he still appreciated what he was trying to do.. NOT WANTING TO FACE THE WOUNDED LOOK HE USED TO RELISH IN. outwardly cringing at his own harshness.

"i'm sorry, love." perhaps it's a rare apology, but one he allows in the quiet. he lets his nose go and finally turns. HIS FINGERS SWEEPING HAIR FROM THE KING'S FACE, AS HE SHIFTS UPON HIS HIP. it seems his own hair has curled from the damp, and he shifts his knee up the bed while cool eyes thaw if only by a little. "but i'm fine. there are worse things that have tried to get at me than my own mind, as you well know." he shrugs, fingers falling to the other's lap... but he does not go so far as to try a smile...

@apostated. non-verbal acts of dominance.

[adoringhaikyuu]

omg i love the 'bringin up divorce during an argument' so much maybe bcs i can reallu see myself as y/n??? if ever u have time, please do another part if it's okay! thankyou so much and more imagines/scenarios/headcannons to come <333

YOU BRING UP DIVORCE DURING AN ARGUMENT WITH THEM | 3

characters: kenma + kyoutani + ushijima + (gn!reader)

warnings: none

notes: thank u sm!

part one / part two / part three

kenma:

kenma had been kind of distant recently because he was too focused on his work

and you knew that it wasn't necessarily easy, there was pressure with being a public figure

but part of you constantly reminded yourself that he was essentially ignoring you to play video games all day and that really put you on edge

you got into an argument with him about it and since he was so tired, it just felt like he wasn't listening to you and was basically invalidating your feelings

in reality he just didn't want to fight with you, so he shut down, hoping that letting you vent would make you feel better

but it felt like he didn't care

so you snapped and let out your intrusive thought

"if this is how it's going to be, we might as well end things here, kenma."

his eyes widened immediately, his mouth dropping open as he froze in place, suddenly feeling stuffy in his oversized hoodie. his hair was already up, but he felt overwhelmingly hot...and cold? was it possible to feel both at the same time?

while he was going through this turmoil in his mind, his silence only made you believe that he truly didn't care. maybe he was happy to be getting rid of you. but just as you made a move to walk away, he came to his senses somehow and stepped forward.

he grabbed your hand hesitantly and you finally looked into his eyes, noticing the panic in them. "please..." his voice was quiet, but as strong as he could make it, despite the erratic beat of his heart in his chest. "i don't want––please don't leave me..."

you paused, honestly a little shocked by his words. he never was one to outwardly show affection, he stuck to subtle actions.

but you sighed, "it just feels like you don't even want me anymore ken..."

he closed the distance between you and placed a hand on your cheek, looking into your eyes. "i don't want you, i need you. i need you now and i'll need you forever. you're what gets me through everything––" he looked down sheepishly, his tone apologetic. "i'm sorry i haven't been showing it enough, baby. but i promise i'll do better. please let me try."

though you wish he'd realized sooner, his words did soothe you and you couldn't help but accept. you nodded and bit your lip, "okay."

the relief was clear in his eyes as he sighed and gave you a small smile. "thank you." he pressed his lips to yours softly, keeping his eyes closed when he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours. he didn't say more, but you could tell in his head, he was saying i love you, i really do.

kyoutani:

you and kyoutani were both bold characters

not afraid to say what you were thinking––or rather you let your emotions get to the best of you and speak as soon as the words came to mind

he lost a match today and he already wasn't in a bad mood

so that put you in a bad mood

he said something stupid and that fueled the fire

so now you were both basically shouting at each other, fumes flying out of your ears

"i'm tired of this shit, taro! you need to watch your temper!"

he was storming away from you but you were nowhere near done with him, hot on his tail. "oh yeah that's real funny coming from you!" he practically growled as he made his way into the bedroom. “i’m tired of your shit too! you think you’re so perfect?” he scoffed and you rolled your eyes, having had enough.

your fists were clenching at your sides and you blinked back your tears furiously before letting out a sharp breath. “you know what?” your voice was icy and though it got his attention, he didn’t turn to face you, only continuing about his business.

“if you’re so sick of me then we should just get a divorce.” as soon as you uttered those words, you both froze for different reasons. you knew you didn’t mean it, you would never—sure he got on your nerves sometimes but you loved him to death. you were just so wound up that your fight or flight reacted too quickly and spoke for you without giving you a chance to think.

kyoutani’s body became rigid as a rock within a second. he swallowed audibly, almost feeling a sour taste in his mouth just from your words. surely you didn’t mean that, right? ”what?” his voice was as quiet as a whisper, it lost all its bite.

he turned around to find you staring at him with wide, teary eyes, confusion clear in them. “you want a…” he couldn’t even say the word.

you shook your head, your mouth closing nervously. “i didn’t—i don’t want that.” you sighed, defeated, bringing a hand up to cover your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. “i didn’t mean to say that i was just upset.”

you tried to blink back the tears again and cursed quietly when one of them slipped, dropping your hand and looking up when you felt a hand cradle your jaw, a thumb swipe your cheek.

kyoutani was looking at you fiercely, a mixture of emotions pooling in his eyes. "...i'm sorry that i made you this upset––" his voice was gruff, regretful. "i never want to hurt you."

your bottom lip trembled and you stepped into his arms, pressing your face against his chest, holding him tight as he did the same to you. he leaned his cheek on your head and sighed, "i'm sorry."

you could feel him sigh in relief as you sunk into him. you knew he was tired, disappointed in himself for not winning tonight. you gripped him tight. "i'm sorry too."

ushijima:

when ushijima was tired, he was often dismissive without even realizing

now, you never shouted at each other

so your (rare) fights usually consisted of sighs and eye rolls and even silent treatments

and somehow that felt worse

it just felt like he wasn't listening to you today, and you had already had a stressful day at work

so you were really just talking without thinking

you sighed for the fifteenth time in the past ten minutes, throwing on your pajamas as you and ushijima argued. "you're not listening to what i'm saying––"

he raised a brow, "i am listening, i just don't see the problem. because there is none."

you rolled your eyes so far back you felt as though they would get stuck in the back of your skull. you tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself down, but the little devil on your shoulder was just shouting at you to be petty, to lash out.

in all honesty, you were hoping to mutter it to yourself at most, but it came out way louder than intended and he managed to hear it from across the bedroom. "well maybe the problem is that we need a divorce, how about that."

you paused, your hands straightening out your sweatshirt slowing down as you blinked, suddenly feeling a faint urge to throw up. your back was turned to your husband but you could feel his eyes staring at you, practically burning through your clothes, piercing your soul.

you felt him step up behind you hesitantly. "...is that what you really want?"

you swallowed and turned around slowly, choosing to focus your gaze on his chest. you shook your head, the words taking a while to form. you felt guilty and small under his gaze, you didn't mean to say something so cruel, something you didn't mean.

"i...i don't want a divorce, i promise." you sighed, and he tilted your head up to look into your eyes, making you take notice of the fear in his. "i'm just overwhelmed, and it slipped out." you looked at him earnestly, "i promise i would never want that."

he blinked a few times before nodding once, "okay." he stared at you for a moment, his heart aching at the thought that he wouldn't be able to call you his anymore. "i'm sorry, truly...can i hold you?"

you gave him a small smile, immediately stepping into his embrace. "you know you don't have to ask, ushi."

he held you tight and pressed his lips to your forehead. "i'll do better from now on, i never want to lose you."

[avanalae]

Skyfire

Title: Skyfire Fandoms: Batman (Preboot) & Katekyo Hitman Reborn  Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne,  mentioned Alfred Pennyworth Rating: Gen Pairings: None but you can see whatever you want in this ;) Warnings: mentioned but pretty blatant child abuse, angst and self-doubt, happy ending~  Wordcount: 5,383

_____

Tim has always been cold. Perhaps not outwardly, but inside. His heart feels frozen, like he is shattered, feels as if he's empty and the cold has crept into the crevasses left behind. 

He's missing something but he doesn't know what.

It tears him apart as a child. He struggles to make connections with other children. He fumbles and struggles, only getting such excellent grades through sacrifices and because he knows the consequences of not doing so.

He doesn't remember the last time his parents hugged him and he's actually fine with that. His father's arms were always weak and uncertain, giving him a feeling of passivity and discomfort. He doesn't like his hugs. Now, his mother…?

Janet Drake doesn't hug. She consumes, encapsulates. Her hugs are warm, a strange warmth that makes something in his soul cry out. But that warmth has a piercing edge to it, an edge that cuts at him at every touch. It burns and freezes and something in him hates it and that only makes it more aggressive. 

So as he grows he becomes more distant. It's not hard, what with all the trips they go on. But he becomes lonelier than ever.

He remembers one year. It was fall, the start of a new school year. He'd made a friend and there was something building in him, lightening his heart when they were around. He was so happy.

They came home from their latest trip and he knew he'd done something wrong when he looked into his mother's eyes. He just didn't know what.

They talked and caught each other up, Jack doing most of the talking. He couldn't help but brighten a bit when he started talking about his new friend. But a few sentences in he knew he'd made a mistake. 

Mother never showed her anger. That's what made it so terrifying. But Tim could see it - could see it in her eyes. 

A few days later his friend and their family had disappeared. Gone, left to chase a new job and move states. The school was sad about it for a while but Tim felt broken.

Something in him shattered and he couldn't find the pieces to put himself back together. 

So he didn't. 

And life went on.

_

Bruce is… hard to describe. He covers the city of Gotham under his proverbial wing and is fiercely protective of it. Of all the residents within, no matter their moral status. He drifts from day to day, finding better ways to strengthen himself and to improve the lives of his people. He's like a cloud covering the city, everywhere at once in some ways and always watching.

_

Dick is refreshing. His sunny and friendly personality draws people in and his kind and enjoyable words and mannerisms keep them there. He's like a soothing wind on a hot day calming and fortifying all at once. 

_

Jason. Jason is a storm - a forest fire, a flash flood, a hurricane. He burns, he smokes, he flares, he's there and he won't let anyone ignore him or forget him. He is kind but rough around the edges, a scruffy street boy hiding a heart of gold. When he goes out in a blaze of fire Tim despairs but finds it oddly appropriate.

_

Stephanie is attractive. She pulls attention to herself, all eyes upon her, and that makes Tim nervous. It's how she gets into such terrible situations with far too much frequency for Tim's comfort. She pulls him in, too, and his cold heart burns but it breaks once again when she's gone.

_

Cassandra is quiet. So quiet and calm. She's vicious, though. She was raised by Cain, after all, so it's to be expected. She hides in the shadows, dances through them. She avoids enemies with the finesse of a cat stalking its prey. When he's with her he feels like he sees more around them than he's seen before, his running mind is pulled in by hers and he calms. It’s easy with her because others see what she wants them to see.

_

Damian is a demon. No, he tries to put that aside. He is young and Talia was not good to him. How is he supposed to know better when that's all he's known? Because he can see it, he can see the gentle star hiding behind his loud, cruel words. He watches as his small hands treat animals with the greatest kindness. He sees his hands create and bring mere paper to life. He hides behind that terrible mask that is expected of him - except that it isn't and he desperately wants to free him from it.

_

Tim has always been unusually perceptive. If there's one thing his teachers notice aside from his intelligence, it's that. He knows many things. He sees and extrapolates and just knows instinctively what to do in certain situations 

It’s what kept him safe on the streets when he was following Batman and Robin. It has helped him more times in his career as a vigilante than he can count. This is one of those times.

Batman and Robin ran into Red Hood on a case, interrupting each other in handling the situation. The situation escalated when a certain villain arrived on the scene. When he heard from Oracle what happened, he knew. His mind screamed and he bolted towards their location.

It was the Joker. Because of course it was. Things are going terribly and Tim starts to panic. Then his body goes cold as the Joker points something at Jason and he leaps -

"No!"

They collide and Tim gasps in agony as the bullet tears through his armor into his side. He screams as something starts to burn inside him. There's something in the bullet - something terrible and it hurts it hurts it hurts but his very soul accepts it gleefully even if his body doesn't. 

He doesn't register anything except the burning, soul-wrenching pain. Not Joker's laughter. Not Bruce and Jason slamming their fists into the villain at the same time. Not Damian grabbing him by his suit and yelling. 

He's writhing, something's building in the air. It builds and builds until something gives and he screams, hands tearing at his chest uselessly before he's restrained by someone or something, not that he can register it.

His very soul feels like it's ripping the ever-present coldness away and he burns. He feels like he's on fire, burning away into nothing. It's terrible and all-consuming until-

There's a flash of red behind his eyes and there it is, a strand of red fire streaking through him to his heart and latching on. He's burning but there - oh, there - he's not alone. Warm, he's so warm and the red has tied itself to him and he whole-heartedly accepts. Drags it in, curling up in its familiarity and its fire.

He thinks he's stopped screaming, but he still can't move. Everything is dark except the orange-gold of his heart and the blazing red now connected to it. He is probably being taken somewhere. He thinks he's being carried. He wraps himself in red when he spies hostile, uncertain yellow and fearful, wrathful violet. He reaches out to sooth and feels their shock and surprise. But that's the last thing he remembers as everything fades away.

_

"-bound. We don't know how long, possibly his whole life."

"Oh god, really?"

"More than likely. The outburst nearly leveled the-"

He fades back out. 

_

There's someone holding his hand and it feels so right he wonders where it's been all his life. He struggles to open his eyes but it's a losing battle.

"Hey, it's okay Tim. You're safe."

I know, he wants to say. I know because you are here.

A thumb runs across his knuckles and he fades out again.

_

"Do you think he would… That he'd…" The voice groans in frustration, "Why is he so eager to accept me?"

"It's Timmy, Dami. I'm not that surprised though now I know more about the reason behind it." A huff, "though I guess the question still has some merit."

Blue and yellow. He wonders where red is before he sleeps.

_

He feels consciousness returning but it's a slow process. He's only aware that he's warm, at first, which in itself is unusual. Then he's comfortable. Then he feels a hand on his. It's much larger than his own, he notices.

"Come back to us, Tim." A voice murmurs so desperately that he tries. It's a struggle but at some point he opens his eyes just a crack. Its dim in the room but still bright enough to be uncomfortable.

He feels movement and there's a noise at his side. He shifts, and the hand on his tightens. "It's time to wake up, Tim."

"Br'c?" he manages a rasp.

"Yes Tim, it's me. You're at the manor in your room." Bruce's other hand comes up to rest on his forehead. He runs his thumb across skin, "Let's wake up now, if you can."

“I…” he sighs, half inquiry and half resignation.

Bruce runs his hand through his hair and he relaxes. “You’ve been out for about a week. You’re in your room in the manor.”

He stares at Bruce for a moment when he can open his eyes a bit more. “Y’r p’rpl.”

“What?” Bruce blinks, “Purple…? Oh.” He sighs and returns to petting Tim’s hair. “All in time, Tim. We will fill you in when you’re more awake.”

Speaking of being awake, Tim feels like he’s fading again. He tries to stay awake, tries to blink but his eyes don’t open back up. He wants to know, though.

“Hush, Tim. Rest. We’ll be here.”

As he falls asleep, he breathes out, “Jay…” The grip on his hand tightens.

_

Finally, after a few more close encounters with consciousness, he finds himself to really be awake. 

And no one is near. 

He can’t bring himself to sit up but he can at least survey his surroundings. It is his room though there are a few additions. There are remotes by his bed and he presumes at least one of them is some sort of call button but he doesn’t know. And IV drip is set up, connecting the saline bag to his left hand, the side away from the door. There are two comfy chairs set up on the other side. There’s even a table between them and on it is a steaming mug. 

So someone has left just a bit ago and plans on returning. He wonders who it is. 

His hand comes up to rest on his chest, as if to feel the warmth that burns inside him. He can feel it anyway, from the tips of his toes to his scalp. He feels warmer than he ever has before.

He sighs, reveling in it. Then startles when the door opens. 

It’s-

Jason.

Something in him aches and he finds himself reaching out before he can think about it. Jason notices and instead of mocking him or jeering as expected he nearly vaults over the chairs to his bedside and grabs his hands.

“Jay- Jay- Jason- Jason-”

“Shh, shh. Hey babybird,” Jason mutters soothingly, “Hey, I’m right here. You’re fine. I’m here.”

“Jay…” Tim sighs, something in him calming, “What… What happened?”

Jason pets his right hand, thumb running across the inside of his wrist as he gently maneuvers the other to rest at his side. 

“Well, first of all Bruce fucked up. But that’s not unusual.” Tim rasps out a chuckle and Jason grins. “There’s not just regular ol’ humans and metas in this world, Tim. Even regular ol’ humans have access to a certain power. A power based in our souls.” 

Tim gives a slow blink, trying to show his incredulousness and Jason laughs, “Yeah, I know. It is unusual, though, because it takes a near death experience and a strong will to live to draw it out usually.”

“Ah,” Tim concedes. “That… expl’ns things.”

Jason hums and makes circles in Tim’s wrist. “So, everybody has access to this power, but it comes in… let’s say different varieties. They are called flames and there are seven different shades. Sky, storm, cloud, rain, lightning, sun, and mist. Some are more rare than others but the rarest of all are skies.”

Tim feels Jason’s other hand start to play with his, but he’s too focused on the man and his words. 

“Skies are… everything. They have a special ability called harmonization and it can bring elements together with the sky as the center. They are strong and capable and many other things and that makes them dangerous. So many times a sky will be…” Jason clears his throat, “They’ll be in bad situations due to circumstances out of their control. People will try to control them, take advantage of them, blackmail them… It’s a terrible thing. But having a sky is most any flame user’s dream.” Jason looks almost wistful and he finally makes eye contact with Tim, who is starting to get the picture. “You… You’re a sky, Tim. A sky who… who was bound and hidden away.”

“Oh,” Tim sighs out, not sure how to react. It’ll likely take time to come to terms with it. He looks at Jason, who seems to have a hard time looking away from their hands. “You’re red. Do you have flames?”

Jason looks up and blinks in surprise at that. “Red? You can see them?”

“Mm.”

“I… hm. Have you always seen these colors?” Tim hums out a negative. “Okay, so a recent development. I’m, uh, I’m a storm. Storms have the, uh, the power of… Disintegration. That’s the name of it but it’s more complicated. Same with the other elements, they all have different abilities.”

Tim closes his eyes and just enjoys the attention and Jason’s voice. He’s uncertain, obviously, but Tim doesn’t really know why. He’s probably missing something. Hopefully Jason will mention it.

“Like I said earlier, skies have the power of harmonization and can draw in other elements, usually just six others, one of each type. Once they are bonded, nothing short of disaster or complete rejection can break it.” Jason is nervous, so obviously nervous so Tim turns his hand until their palms touch. He stutters out a breath. “I… when Joker shot you, the compound in it activated your flames and sent them into turmoil. I… I reached out to you as an anchor and you accepted me... “ Jason’s voice fades at that. 

Tim opens his eyes again and watches as Jason finds his words. 

“You just, you grabbed me and pulled me in with no hesitation and I…” He clears his throat, “We… We bonded. So I’m your storm. If you want me. If… I know we’ve had a rocky relationship. I understand if you want to- to-” Jason looks close to tears at this and it’s distressing so Tim twines his fingers through Jason’s and holds his hand. Jason swallows and stops talking.

“Thank you, Jay.”

Jason lets out a shuddering sigh and he brings their entwined hands up to rest his cheek against the back of Tim’s hand.

“Thank you.”

_

The next one to visit is Cass. She doesn’t move to wake Jason, who is sleeping with his head on his crossed arms, leaning onto the bed. It can’t be comfortable but Tim hadn’t wanted to wake him.

She smiles at him, coming to stand at his side. “Good?”

He smiles back a slightly more tired smile, “Jason explained a lot. I think I get most of it.”

Cass nods, then holds out her hand, “Can I be next?”

Tim blinks and looks to her hand, not demanding or hesitant, just there for Tim to accept or reject. He looks at her. “You’re indigo. Mist, right?” She nods, not moving her hand. He smiles more widely at that and reaches for her. “You’re the only one for the job, Cass.”

Their hands connect and they reach out, meeting in the middle as their flames curl together. He tugs and pulls a bit of her into his heart, holding her there. Adding a strand of indigo to his orange-gold inferno in his chest. He tugs her forward a bit so he can reach her from where he’s sitting propped up against the headboard.

He kisses her cheek and she kisses his, their hands clasped. They seperate enough to look at each other once again and they smile.

“Welcome home, Cass.”

“I am yours.”

Indigo burns in his soul of orange fire. 

_

He finds out that his flames have already claimed his family in a sense. While bound, they still fought and managed to “mark” them in a way. So with his flames free and if the other person is willing, the connection between them is instantaneous. Tim doesn’t push, would never push, but oh he wishes they would come to him. 

He wants them all so badly. 

_

Stephanie had been the next one to bond. They talked about it first, Tim making sure she knew he wouldn’t force it, resulting in several eye-rolls. 

“I know, Tim.”

“I just…”

Stephanie sighs loudly to stop him before looking down at her lap and twiddling her thumbs. She’s seated on the side of Tim’s bed, with Tim leaning against the headboard. He’s off bedrest officially but he still gets tired too easily. Tim Drake-Wayne is making careful appearances but Red Robin hasn’t been back on the streets yet.

“I never thought I’d have a sky, you know. I never thought that… That the option would be there. Staring me in the face, even.” She huffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m just the daughter of some criminal, worthless and with nothing to offer.” Tim tries to sit up to protest but stops on a choke when she raises her hand to stop him. 

“I know, Boy Wonder. But you can’t fix that way of thinking very quick.” With a quieter sigh she brings her hand back down to her lap. “I just… me? I’m not the best lightning out there, you know. There are plenty stronger out there that you could have. Stronger and better and just… more compatible. I just don’t want you to make a mistake.”

Tim stares at her for a while before leaning forward and reaching out to take one of her hands in his. She still doesn’t look up.

“Steph, we didn’t work out as girl and boyfriend. True. That may be because my flames were bound or just that we work better as friends. But we’ll never find out if we don’t try.” Tim rubs the inside of her wrist with his thumb like Jason did to him. “I don’t want another lightning. I want Stephanie. I want you.”

His other hand comes up to wipe away the quiet tears that fall fast from scrunched eyes. Her nose is running and her lip is trembling and there’s a softness in his heart when he sees it. It’s uncomfortable in this position but he leans forward to press a short kiss to her forehead. 

“Will you be my lightning? Be a part of my family? Be mine?”

She nods and sobs and her green fire joins the others, burning bright.

_

Things are going well, for sure. Jason and Stephanie spend a lot of time in educating him about flames and going over its relationship to the criminal and the civilian worlds, how flames affect superheroes and so on. Cass helps him learn how to access his flames, not how to manipulate - not yet, just to access. 

His ability to see flames is very unusual but not unheard of, and Tim wonders if it’s one of the reasons his mother sealed his flames. He knows it was his mother and he can accept it to an extent now.

It will be a long while before he’s over it, however. 

_

He hadn’t expected Dick to come around very easily. He hadn’t, to an extent, but after a few weeks he came back to the manor after some time away. 

It’s like he came in, dropped his things, and came straight to Tim from the looks of it. It surprises him. He sets his book down next to him on the table next to the comfortable sofa in the library. It’s a good thing he does because Dick strides over, falls onto the couch, and drags Tim onto his lap. He laughs at Tim’s helpless yelp and wraps him up in a tight hug. 

Tim melts.

Now with his flames unbound he can feel the tranquility and happiness that Dick practically projects more clearly. He’d felt it before but never understood it and now… Oh how Tim yearns. He sighs and relaxes impossibly more into Dick’s hold as the older man rubs his cheek against the top of his head.

They spend perhaps a half hour there, content and comfortable. Finally Tim can wait no more. 

“Why did you leave?”

Dick twitches and his tranquility seems to stutter. Tim doesn’t move and gives Dick time. He relaxes eventually and sighs into Tim’s hair. 

“I was scared. I…” Dick lifts a hand and runs it through Tim’s hair. “I’ve never considered having a sky before. I didn’t like the idea of being tied down in any way.”

Tim waits, trying to be patient when all he wants to do is protest. It’s like the situation with Stephanie and he hates that they feel this way. Wants them to know he’d do anything for them, even let them go.

Though he’s sure he’d break again, he’d let them go if they asked.

Dick must read something in his silence. “But you’re not like that, are you, Timmy? I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. You’re my baby brother and I shouldn’t have run off like that. It’s something we should talk about and I was just putting it off.”

Tim looks up as Dick shifts them until Tim’s sitting on his lap and they’re facing each other. “So Tim, What are you thinking?”

Tim takes Dick’s hands into his - it’s becoming a thing, he thinks, holding their hands - and holds them gently. He interlocks their fingers, “I want this. I want you as my family, as my rain. But I will not force you. If you come, I’ll be here ready and waiting.”

Dick smiles so softly at him that Tim can’t help but feel shy. They both tighten their grips and they chuckle together at that. 

“You’ll wait?” Tim hums and nods. Dick takes a deep breath and it comes back out in a whoosh. “Well you don’t have to.” Tim blinks and Dick raises their locked hands to his lips and smiles against them. 

With a sudden move Dick frees his hands and locks his arms around Tim once again, pulling him tight. “If you will have me, I will come.” 

And blue ties into his soul with the others, fitting in just right.

_

Damian is a little ball of conflicted rage. Tim does his best to not treat him much differently, though he is more patient. Damian doesn't know what to do with this.

It's the process of months of time and acknowledgement and patience before Tim can approach Damian without risking his neck. It helps in some ways when Damian walks in on him with one of his bonded. It makes him upset often in the beginning but patience wins out.

More often than not Tim invited Damian to spend time with him and whoever is with him at the moment. With Cass it's either spent sparring or doing each other's hair (it took a long while for Damian to be comfortable with that). Stephanie chats to fill the silence, not expecting answers but acknowledging them when they come. Jason teases and talks sometimes, but mostly drags them off to watch movies or read. Dick, of course, is all for cuddle time. Things mix up when Tim is with more than one of them, too, so there's always something happening.

So slowly they get Damian to open up and Tim is so happy with that. He loves the moments that Damian initiates interaction. His favorite things to do involve being creative or logical. Puzzles, drawing, things like that. Tim can't draw for the life of him but he tries for Damian.

One day he comes to Tim when he's alone. Tim smiles from where he's reading a case file on his tablet at the kitchen counter, mug of coffee at his elbow. "Hey, Damian."

"Good afternoon." Damian settles next to him on another barstool. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing well." And he is. He's fully recovered and is adjusting very well to his flames. Time Drake is out along with Red Robin. Things are wonderful now that he's warm and busy. He's not over certain things yet but he is hesitant to get counseling. "Things have been rather quiet lately, haven't they?"

Damian nods firmly, "Indeed. It has, perhaps, been too quiet."

Tim hums, mostly in agreement. It's hard after all these years to not expect the other shoe to drop at some point. "Here's hoping things don't escalate." Tim raises his coffee mug and takes a sip of lukewarm coffee.

They sit in silence for a bit, Tim on his tablet and Damian seemingly staring into space. Then Damian speaks up and hope starts to bloom in Tim's heart.

"Why do you reach out to me?"

Tim plays down the tablet and slides it forward enough to be out of the way. He doesnt turn fully to Damian but he makes sure his attention is fully on the young boy. "In what sense are you speaking of?"

Damian huffs and mutters, "All of them. Why spend time befriending me at all?"

Tim taps a finger on his arm. "Why shouldn't I?"

The boy practically emits waves of frustration. "Timothy, I tried to kill you! Multiple times!"

"Ah, yes." Tim props up his arms and rests his head in his hands."I don't blame you, is all."

"What?" Damian exclaims.

"I don't. Not really. You were thrust into an unfamiliar environment that you didn't know how to react to with a whole bunch of people taking up your father's attention." Tim's arms fall down to rest crossed on the counter again as he turns his head to look at Damian. You were well trained and you could wield a sword better than emotions and it was obvious."

"I-" Damian starts but it fades on his tongue. Damian has mellowed. He's still rather vicious but it's much more restrained. 

Tim looks away again, admiring the backsplash of the kitchen counter. "So no. I don't blame you and if I don't blame you, why shouldn't I give you a chance?"

There's another bit of silence but Tim merely sips at his coffee instead of going back to the tablet. This is a pivotal moment.

"That… that explains some things but you've been ready to accept me for years. Why?" Damian sounds so insecure and Tim's having flashbacks and is trying to keep his hands from grabbing Damian's.

"Believe it or not, I thought this way even before the… incident. So I've always been ready." Tim smiles, "There's not anyone else I'd want."

He tightens the cross of his arms to extend his left hand far enough to be an invitation. "I'm not gonna push, Dami. But I'll be here if you want me."

Damian looks up, a determined look on his face. "I swear to be the sun to your sky for as long as you'll have me."

Tim smiles softly, "Always, Dami."

Damian takes his hand and yellow streaks in to take its place among his family.

_

Tim had known the moment he learned of his bond to his family that Bruce was never going to approach him about it, if he approached Tim at all.

He's always been a stubborn ass even in the best of times.

Apparently it's a bit of a cloud trait.

But Tim has Alfred on his side.

_

"So, Bruce," Tim taps the pointer against his palm. "You're probably not wondering why I have you here."

Bruce is tied to a chair, drugged just enough to remain conscious but unable to move. Alfred had drugged his coffee and Jason and Dick helped move and secure him. They are standing to the side behind the chair, hiding smiles.

He whips the pointer to the side, the tip smacking against the projector screen to point at the title of his presentation.

The title is "Get Your Head Out of Your Ass."

It was Jason's idea.

He picks up the clicker and changes the slide. It's an outline. "First off I'm going to talk about how I'm not going to force you into bonding, which is different than drugging you to get you to listen to me." Bruce manages a scowl. Tim merely taps the points on the screen as he mentions them. "Then we'll talk about compatibility, then how just because you hate yourself doesn't mean your be bad for me. Then we'll go on to the benefits and downsides of a bond in the field and out of costume and the options we would have in public if we bonded."

Tim smiles at Bruce, "There are a few other little things I'll mention but I'll try not to be too long. We only have so much time, after all.

_

He makes it through the presentation before Bruce can escape so he counts that as a win. Now all Tim has to do is wait for it to digest while making subtle references and motions that will remind Bruce of their conversation.

He thinks it's going pretty well. Sometimes Tim will tap something against his palm and Bruce will flinch minutely. It's rather amusing.

What's not amusing is that it still takes Bruce three weeks to get the hint and approach him.

He looks grumpy when he walks up to Tim in the garden but he's not scowling so Tim is pleased. He just hopes Bruce didn't prepare some speech about how it wouldn't work.

He did. Of course. Tim glares his most frightful and unimpressed glare and Bruce shuts up. He nods in approval and gestures for Bruce to sit down on the grass with him. 

Once they're comfortable, Tim speaks up. "Stop fighting it Bruce. I understand your hesitancy but I can't condone it. If you really don't want the bond I won't force you, but…" Tim looks straight at Bruce, "You've never once said you don't want to bond."

Bruce's eyes widen just a bit as he realizes it. He hasn't.

Tim smiles morosely, "I've had enough time to gain some confidence in myself, Bruce, and I know what I want. I want my cloud to come home."

Bruce fights for words and Tim can see the denial on his face. So he scoots a bit until they're sitting face-to-face, cross-legged. He grabs Bruce's hands in his significantly smaller ones. 

"Don't turn away from me, B. Please. I need you just as you need me. I just want to make it official." He tightens his grip on his hands. "But this is it, Bruce. It's either yes or no right now because I can't allow this anymore. You're only driving yourself down and I don't want to be a burden to you. So say no and that will be the end of it. I'll leave you alone."

Bruce is staring at him, his hands trembling so lightly that Tim can barely feel it.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes. Please." Bruce closes his eyes and bows his head over their hands, bringing them up to press the back of Tim's against his forehead. "I- Yes."

Tim feels a wave of relief so great that he almost burst into tears. He tilts his head forward to rest his forehead against the top of Bruce's head. "Bruce, thank you."

He pulls back again, nudging Bruce until he's looking up again, watery eyes meeting.

"Be mine?"

"Forever."

Tim gently pulls violet into his heart.

_

There's a rainbow in his soul and he's never been better.