#kinda angst ig

[emelinstriker]

Hi there, hope you’re doing okay! I was cleaning out my closet when I found a bunch of old stuff and it got me thinking… Do our boys keep everything we give them even after we’re gone? I’m just imagining them carefully cleaning the necklaces and trinkets their previous masters have given them like once a week to make sure they stay shiny. Making sure to dust the rock collection they’ve built up over the centuries every so often. Or trying to preserve crumbling letters and notes gifted to them so they can remember every version of their masters handwriting. Or maybe they only really pay attention to the other gifts until their current master dies, allowing them to not focus on just one person but everyone that came before.

Are they even allowed to keep whatever a previous master gave them, or does someone take them away? Do our champions ever think about their previous masters when they are serving a new one? Would MK accidentally forget in those first few days of finding us and call their new master by a different name? Would Mink be the only one who remembers every master that came before? Does he have a secret section of the scroll where he preserves the memory of the masters he had gotten particularly close to or begrudgingly respect?

Ooo long list of questions requires a long post for responses-

Oh, they absolutely keep items their previous Masters owned.

Maybe not all of it, especially when a previous Master was more of a hoarder, but they do actually keep at least one item per Master as a memory. Maybe some other little things they individually keep in their own rooms when it's a Master any of them were really attached to.

But like, there is actually a room with certain items that they can always return to if there is a Master they do indeed miss. Each item represents one of their Masters, basically. It's like a collection that's become more of a shrine over time. And given how very different Masters/Readers can be, every different item tells its own story of who they were.

The palace didn't even have such a room at first, but one room was eventually dedicated to those reincarnations after Wukong and Macaque broke down due to the first death of a Master.

By default, the champions dedicate a lot more time on the items from previous Masters if they're still waiting for the next reincarnation to arrive, otherwise they're usually busy taking care of their current Master. Though if they're feeling reminiscent of a previous Master, most of them can be found inside said room. They're not exactly grieving long over the loss of another Master either. Because after having to witness the loss of multiple incarnations, even the newer champions kind of became numb to it.

Also, much like the torture chamber, they don't usually tell their Master about the room. Mainly out of fear that it might make them uncomfortable or even disturb them in some way. Another thing to note is that the items in that room are actually one of those things the champions would absolutely refuse orders on.

Like, if a Master for example finds out about the room and wants them to get rid of the items, they simply would not comply. They may get an urge to follow said orders as usual due to the bond, but they're not forced to actually follow up on it. And given that those are very much sentimental items, especially regarding Masters they may have been romantically involved with, or extremely attached to in a platonic sense, they'd be very much determined on keeping those items around.

If not for the memories or relationships, then for the respect they hold towards those previous Masters. (Though, I would not cross out the idea that there could've been at least one Master they absolutely agree with and therefore refuse to keep items from them.)

MK accidentally calling the Reader by a different name for a while at first could actually happen, but it would require him to even use their name in the first place. Usually he just calls them "Master" by default. So unless he was mostly calling them by their actual name in the previous incarnation, this wouldn't really happen. What I could also imagine is him having accidental slip-ups with nicknames.

Also oooo I like the idea of Mink having something to remember a previous Master by- Especially if he had a strong attachment to them. I'd like to imagine that if that Reader was in the Scroll of Memory before, he could absolutely find an area in there that they used to hangout in and just replicate a scene he enjoyed to remember them by- fhgnfghfnhg But if he just respected them, he wouldn't do that.

Pretty sure he would keep that a secret though, considering he'd rather keep up his attitude than have to admit that he does actually go soft for a handful of certain Masters/Readers. Like, he'd deny ever being sentimental over those certain memories.

[sassypossum]

Exes ♤ Toji Fushiguro x Ex Wife!Reader

To say the breakup had been smooth would be puting it mildly. Toji did everything within his power to make your life a deep pit of petty, dragging out the divorce proceedings as long as he could.

When you finally saw his signature on the papers underneath yours, you'd breathed a sigh of relief.

That's that.

Only it wasn't. That was only the first day of this weird back and forth you had with your ex. Toji would show up to your door every six months without fail - to bother you mercilessly, only to dissappear without a word when his...'charms' failed to work.

It was never a matter of you not loving Toji - the contrary, you'd never stopped. It was the fact that he never changed. No matter how often you'd bickering and argued his eye still wandered and he haunted the casinos.

A snide remark here about a bum tip, a terse comment about his 'wandering dick' there, and you knew your house of cards was crumbling. It'd have been well enough if it were only your relationship with Toji in the balance, but you had Megumi to think of - and you'd be damned if you were going to let him be dragged down into the mire of shit that was the toxicity that lingered between you and Toji.

Better he show up ever six months and see the acrid burn in your eyes and hear the acid on your tongue when you picked him apart. 'Couldn't find enough pussy to wet your dick or something?'

He'd be sitting in his rented car after leaving your house in a huff, only to palm himself with a pained groaned. He missed you, bitchy woman that you were. And oh...oh, how he missed that sharp tongue of yours. That flash in your eyes and those barbed words were still enough to get you worked up.

He knew what exited between you, the unsaid that would remain unspoken. But he couldn't walk away. Masochistic fuck that he was, in drove Toji crazy to watch you get all twitchy when you were pissed, and the way your hips got that little hitch in them when you were unhappy?

Let's just say there were more reasons than just his kid to keep hanging around...

[emmyrosee]

Dabi is better as a memory.

He told you from the beginning to never fall in love with him, it was dangerous and too risky for you to do. He’s loved very seldom times in his life, love was a sham and nothing he was willing to provide for anyone, lust being the quick and easy patch for affection he’d occasionally need.

You were broken when he’d found you. He liked it like that. You were quick and snappy and rude to him, but it drove him more and more wild each time you’d bite. He’s a creep, he liked the way you sent him glares and eye rolls at his flirts.

He liked the way you’d finally caved, the way you’d given him plenty of fight rather than submit to his deviously dominant ways, making him work at every little demand you had to keep you satisfied.

But then you fucking did it.

You fell in love with him.

It was a slow slide, he knew it from the subtle ways you’d act from the nonchalance of first meeting; your arms clinging to him a bit more when he tries to leave, setting up an extra plate in case he came in for dinner- he might’ve done it all of twice, but you accidentally let him know you did it all the time.

Then it became him wanting you, craving you, desperate for the way your fingers weave his hair and grip at the root when he’s got you in euphoria. Eager to curl behind you under warm sheets. Rub your sore back and dodging a swift smack when his hands may wander.

But the he moment you’d let him in, take him and his ugly love in every crevasse of your soul, he knew he was in too deep. Dabi knew that emotionally, there was barely room for himself in his rotten heart.

He’s not so criminal to take and corrupt yours.

You’re good. You’re too good. You’re so good it hurts him, so good he can’t stand coming over some nights, so good that you could have any person with a pulse who you wanted, yet you chose for the absolute ugliest the world had to offer.

He can’t do that to you. He feels the way you try to cling to him for warmth when he first comes in. He knows you hate saying no to your friends invitations to hang out when he’s over- they never liked him, but to be honest, he wouldn’t spit on any of them if they were on fire, either- but it always meant you were missing out. The way you patch up his wounds and scars at ungodly hours of the night, it’s not worth it.  He sees the way you look at him after a fight, eyes swelling with tears he had no right to conjure onto you, and the way you creep towards him in a desperate plea for forgiveness you never had to beg for- even if he made you.

For a man with nothing to lose, except for you.

You’ve had enough of his lonely love, even if you don’t know it yet.

Even if it’s the hardest thing Todoroki Touya is going to do, he needs to leave you as heartless and loveless as Dabi could.

He needs to leave you. Shatter your heart into tiny pieces where you hate the mere reminder of him, where someone new can take the patience you deserve to puzzle the shards back together.

It has to hurt you. Nothing less than the worst to make you hate him more than he hates himself. 

The light from your alarm clock is dark, but he can just barely make out the red lights of 03:24; a little later than he wanted, but you were so warm, so comfortable he didn’t want to wake you up.

You toss an arm over his torso, and he cringes because he knows it’s the last damn time. Your cheek nuzzles into the scarred skin of his chest, and even if he knows he shouldn’t, slender fingers gently stroke the warm skin of your shoulder. 

You’re so fucking perfect when you sleep, your mind and body restoring the heartbreaks of the day.

He sniffs the air for courage. He blinks up at the ceiling he’s already killed countless spiders off of, the dark remains dried on the plaster. Your blankets never felt heavier, weighing him down and drowning him like rocks tied to his ankles.

All the while, next to him, you grunt in your sleep, resting easy.

He looks at the clock, brows furrowing in frustration as he’s already spent three minutes doing nothing.

Fuck. It’s time.

Before he changes his mind like a fool.

His head pounds as he takes the agonizingly slow sit up, the darkness of your room just barely mapping out a path he can take to sneak out the fastest. His arm slips out from under your head, and he lets out a tight breath when you roll onto your stomach.

With a soft sigh of relief and a nuzzle of your hair, he pulls the blankets higher on your shoulder so you keep warm, his rough hands smoothing down your back to soothe you into an impossibly deeper sleep. You smell sweet, you always do. Dabi prays to whatever entity to at least allow him to keep the memory of your addictive aroma in his mind.

He balls his hands into fists and stands up with haste, grabbing his jacket and trying his hardest to tiptoe silently out of the bedroom.

A floorboard creaks. The gods clearly don’t want this to be an easy task.

“Touya?” You whimper, and he winces at the familiar name that passes your sleepy lips.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Whe’ ya goin’?” You ask, voice still drunk with sleep and warm against the cold air, and he furrows his brows and snarls internally at the knowledge that you know he’s leaving for somewhere.

He wanted this to be a simple band-aid rip, a quick flurry of anger and tears, before succumbing to your scorn for his mere soul.

“Goin’ to piss,” he lies, shuffling back over to the bed to plant a kiss to your temple. “Go back to sleep.” He hears you hum happily, and you curl deeper into the pillows. He grits his teeth, fingernails biting into his palms as he lets out the quietest and most genuine “I love you,” he can muster. It’s not something he says often, but he may as well say it before he leaves your life for good.

“I love you, too,” you murmur back. You don’t ask or tease him about the random confession, nor do you seem to question it, and he decides to use that to his advantage. He takes one more long, selfish inhale of your addicting scent before working up the courage to push up and off the bed, long fingers scooping his coat once again before tiptoeing down the hallway.

Trembling fingers find the small amount of stationary next to your fridge, and he scribes a small little note so you can have the smallest bit of closure. He hates doing this at all, but it’s for the best.

Keys in the mailbox. Didn’t want someone comin in to steal you.

Im sorry. But you’ll be happier.

TT.

He tries not to imagine the way you’ll crumple to the floor and cry. He tries not to imagine the way you’ll spend days pleading, asking yourself what you did wrong when he knows it’s all his fucking fault. He doesn’t want to think of how you’ll now put every guy who wants you against him; he knows you’ll always put him on the highest tier.

He’s done so much already.

His shoes lay long discarded by the door, and he gnaws at his lip when he toes them on. He heart aches for you, the life you could’ve had, and he can only pray to whatever will listen that you can go back on the path you were supposed to take before he crashed into your life.

Until then?

He hopes you can despise him for doing this to you half as much as he does, himself.

He toes on his shoes. Takes one more longing look up the stairs. He shrugs on his coat and takes the spare key to lock up. 

He walks down the driveway that you’ve run down to greet him so many times. He places the key in the mailbox he helped fix when little rat-ass kids hit it on their bikes. He takes another look up into the window the peers into your room where in a few hours, you’re going to sob and shake and plead and scream and ask the air why he’s gone and if he ever even cared, where you’re going to call him the most obscene names and taint every single memory you share with your heartbreak.

He soaks it in.

And then he walks down the street.

And he doesn’t look back to see the light in your room suddenly flick on.

-

@reverie-starlight IM NOT SAYING I RLLY WANT YOU TO READ THIS FOR ME BUT-

[jalluzas-ferney]

Cooking smth get ready

[powerosewaterpuff]

uhm. ok so uhm. ok firstly not enough sevika. secondly, vi and jinx r ur emotional core of the show and they just systemically stripped me of any potential more scenes with them as sisters and their bond and everything for things that DO NOT MATTER NARRATIVELY! you can implicate and you can dodge but you built a story where these two little girls were all each other had for most of their life excluding vander, and esp with vi being the one to protect jinx and love her—from what jinx/powder can remember honestly vi is EVERYTHING and jinx is everything to vi as well! and i’m weirdly irritated that after her LITTLE SISTER ‘DEATH’ we were not shown vi’s grieving but i was given intense fucking show and tell after her two week situationship hit her and left. and ig yeah cait was there to ease the grieving process but it should be so much graver THATS HER LITTLE SISTER. she spent years in prison wanting just to be reunited with her even when she thought she could be dead. her whole reason for working with cait was for jinx. and then i got some cobbled up shit that honestly did not do the story the writers themselves built justice. like ok. we got jayvik being ambiguous. timebomb au in the fucking show WITH VI DEAD (SO CLEARLY SOMEONE IS THE JINX HERE). the sex scene. and maddie dying thank god fuck that hoe. and mel being amazing per usual along with the black rose shit and ambessa getting curb stomped. like i’m just. i’m just ugh. maybe if the fanfics were more and stronger i’d be less iffy but ugh. just ugh. (jinx isn’t dead. there is no fucking point of the stupid blimp shit if she is so she’s not so not entertaining that one here but it doesn’t matter bc WHY PUT THAT IN IF UR NOT GONNA DO ANYTHING WITH IT). anyways ill stfu abt arcane now sorry yall! i’ll go back to my cave!

[mistymisfit]

So long, Marianne III

Summary: Reader is a spy working undercover in Gotham when she meets Jason Todd, who despite her better judgement she forms a very close friendship with. This story follows their escape from Arkham asylum, their fall out and the times they run into each other as they get older.

Relationship: AK!Jason x Meta!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of reader being at the beach and wearing unspecified swimwear, mentions of Jason being taller than reader, the shittiest vaguest smut you'll ever read (it's separated with ** in case anyone wants to skip it), mentions of past SA, and graphic descriptions of depression (like straight out of my psychopathology textbook). So minors DNI!!!!

Word Count: 6,5K

Read on ao3

Masterlist - Mobile masterlist

Years passed and you got better, better at handling your feelings, at smothering them down so you wouldn't make the same mistake again. Countless identities after and you haven't even been close to getting involved with someone the same way you did with Jason. Now you lived and moved under the name "Penny Lewis", a fake identity as a journalist that would allow you to move around countries to wherever they sent you.  You wouldn't lie to yourself, it was lonely and on some nights you wished you would've said yes to him. But you wouldn't have forgiven yourself if you let your life be defined by him. You knew the consequences of deserting and any happiness a life with him could've bought you would have been overshadowed by guilt. You heard of Joker's death from some people you walked past last time you were in the States, realizing he finally died of whatever disease he was making you slow down on the very same night you escaped. You also found out Batman was still alive and kicking, after that you wondered were Jason was, wasn't he hellbent on killing him?

Now you were stationed in Venezuela, the closest headquarters of your agency were in an entire different country so you were all on your own. Your only company being the agent who you got partnered with, a serious guy, with not much muscles but was a tech expert. The cover was that you were a regular couple on a holiday, but what you were really doing was investigating, someone was training people and forming an army there. You had to find out who and why. You've felt bad about certain missions before, especially when after getting the information you needed your bosses decided not to do anything about it because they deemed the situation was "not important enough", when you were there available and ready to stop a tragedy. What would be the reason for someone to form a secret army in a country under a dictatorship? Maybe they were just trying to get their rights back, free their country. But you sighed and pushed it all down, at least you get to enjoy the sea for a moment.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being observed from a distance . He was doing a routine perimeter check by himself, using it as an excuse to take a walk and be on his own, when he looked around and thought he saw you in the distance from the cliff he was on. He thought it'd be impossible but still presses on the side of his helmet to zoom in, so it was you. You had a different haircut, and hair color but he'd recognize you anywhere. He takes in the sight of you, now older and no longer the teenager he remembered. You were talking to someone, the other person stands up when you turn around to take off your dress and leave it on an arm-chair. He doesn't mean to but his breath hitches when he sees you in your swimwear, guess he didn't get over his crush like he thought. His expression under the mask changes when he sees who you were talking to, a guy, a very friendly guy who puts a hand on your hip and you kiss his cheek. What the fuck? Is the only thing he could think about. Until he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Are we losing time spying on girls on the beach now?" The scoff he lets out in response is almost inaudible under the electronic voice the helmet gave him.

"Fuck off, Wilson" He brushes off the hand on his shoulders and moves along, clearly you were not who he remembered. You moved on when he couldn't, he was holding onto a memory and a moment of his life he knew would never come back. He had to force himself to see what you really were right now, a threat to his plan not an old friend.

Knowing of your presence and your line of work, he instructed his men to run more frequent perimeter checks and be more wary of any breaches or intrusions. So, a few nights after he first saw you, you find yourself sneaking into his base. You were good, stealthy and well-trained, light on your feet and fast- with the addition of being able to stop time. You avoid all eyes, and hide in the dark using the lack of lights to your advantage. Of course the secret military base would have the least amount of lights outside of it to avoid attracting any attention. It was close enough to the city in case anything was needed but also far away enough to go unnoticed. Whoever was running this operation knew what they were doing. You climbed to the roof of the main building, where you thought was most likely to have an office, which would have papers or a computer that you could use to find out who they were. Quick fingers work on picking the lock of a door on the back of it but as soon as you open it you are stopped.

A gun is pressed to your temple and you thought "fuck", you almost made it in.

"Don't move an inch, sweetheart" The man next to you speaks, and then moves your hair with the muzzle "I remember you, no powers, make a move and I'll shoot you"

You weakly nod in response, how did you even get caught? You've been studying their shifts, their patterns, everything. He was not supposed to be here. You raise your hands, signaling defeat, a bullet to your head was one of the things you couldn't heal. He opens the door and pushes you in, it leads to a dark storage unit. With the gun still fixed on your head he walks behind you, telling you were to go. Until you made it to the main room, a few gasps and whispers from the men there are heard, shocked to see someone made it past through all the security measures. You could feel the uncountable amount of eyes on you, the attention making you uneasy- not that your life being threatened didn't make you feel uneasy enough. But if he had orders to kill on sight, you would've been dead by now so you may still have a chance of escaping.

"Someone call the Knight!" He shouts, getting somebody to bind your hands behind your back with a zip tie "this gun leaves her head and we're all fucked"

He was right, you'd go for him first. Maybe only for him and then flee, they wouldn't make a fuss over one casualty. You could still complete your mission. Then you see him walking towards you, a tall man, wearing a helmet- was it electronic? huh? You assume only the helmet is robotic because he moved like a real person, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing you've come across. A robot leading a secret militia, that's a funny story to tell. Everything from his posture to the way he walked and held himself made you think he looked like the boss of this place. His gloved hand holds your jaw and leans down, like he's getting a good look at you under the blue screen of his helmet. You debate for a second if it'd be a good idea to spit on it, you were already fucked there's no other way than down now.

"To think such a pretty face could take us all out before we noticed" You barely hear the whisper of the modulated voice. And you don't know why it angers you to the point all logic is thrown out the window and you decide to take it out on the --much taller than you-- guy in front of you. He acknowledged your strength, what you were capable of doing and called you pretty while he was at it too.

You headbutt him below his chin, figuring that might be a weak point in the helmet. Had he not worn that you would've gone straight for his forehead, it was his fault for putting himself so close to you. He stumbles a few steps back from you, and you could hear the "ohh"s and gasps from the men there. It feels good for about 5 seconds, then you start wondering why you haven't been shot yet. Wasn't the man who found you supposed to be a hit man or something like that? And you were also severely outnumbered, this could have been over a while ago. You hear a robotic chuckle, it probably didn't even hurt him, and then hes grabbing your arm tightly, pushing a gun to your side.

"Adorable" He mocks

"Fuck you" You whisper under your breath, still not ready to go without a fight.

"Party's over, go the fuck home" He screams , squeezing your arm so hard you'll think it will leave a bruise "I'll handle her myself"

He starts guiding you away and for a second you have trouble keeping up with his much longer steps. You huff in annoyance, sure that if you were to stop walking he could hold you up and drag you with how strong his grip was on you. You move quite a lot, you didn't expect the place to be so big, you even go up a set of stairs until he finally opens the door to what looks like an office-kind of. It doesn't look like the place gets much use, and the sole desk only has a few things scattered over it, you doubt any of them had any importance if he took you there. There wasn't even a computer on it and you noted the chair on the other side even had dust on it. What you didn't hear on your way out was the words exchanged between the men, which would definitely have let you guess who hid under the robot mask.

"They know each other?" One of the Knight's most trusted lieutenants asked.

"She's an old ex-girlfriend of his," He clarifies, remembering how you got away. "used to be a real pain in my ass once"

"He knew she was coming?"

Slade just shrugged and walked away, avoiding anymore questions. Of course the kid knew, that's why he had doubled the perimeters check, he wasn't stupid. But it wasn't until now that he put two and two together and realized you were who he was staring at the beach the other day.

He turns you to face the desk with your back to him and it makes you nervous. What was he going to do? You'll freeze him and escape if he tries anything weird, screw a cover. They already knew too much about you so it's not like your cover mattered much anyways. He takes out a knife, God knows from where, and to your surprise uses to cut off the zip tie around your wrists.

"Why are you freeing me?"

"Because I know you wont try anything funny" You recognize the now non-modulated voice, of course it's him. Who else would be running a militia like this? It almost makes you want to laugh, sure this is how you find each other after 5 years. You see the helmet dropped at the desk but you don't dare to turn and face him just yet. You had 5 years to think about everything, to make peace with every choice you took but you were still a little afraid to face him.

"This usual for you?" He asks when you keep quiet, you don't even look at him. He wants to say he's disappointed but he can't. He knows someone like you, pretty and perfect, won't dwell in the past like he does. "Getting caught?"

"No," you reply in a weak whisper "this is my first time actually"

"What about the time-"

"It was on purpose, I was ordered to let myself get captured" You cut him off, crossing your arms in front of yourself, as if trying to shield your body from something you were not quite sure what it was. This was one of the things that would be easier to tell him without looking at his face, not like you are not dying to stare at him and see if he's changed with the years.

"Of course," He scoffs, a gloved hand resting on your shoulder "you just happened to run into your kidnapped boyfriend, lucky me"

You blush despite the situation you were in, you never thought you'd live to see the day you heard Jason calling himself your boyfriend-even if he was using that tone. Even if he had an attitude like that, was he still pissed? even after all this time?

"Jason" You sigh, what now? You tell him about how you were ordered not to look for him any further? How you disobeyed and got yourself punished from insubordination? Though that is probably how you ended up with that suicide --let yourself be captured-- mission that led you to find him.

"What? Can't even look me in the eye?" He sighs too, ending the sentence by whispering your name. "You hate me now?"

"Don't ever say that" You quickly turn around to face him. Was he always this tall? And this huge? He's obviously gained a lot of muscle since the last time you saw him, and probably grew a few inches taller too. Do boys keep growing after they turn 18? Or did he always tower over you this much? You made yourself a mental note to look it up when it was safe. Yeah, you saw him moments ago, but he had the helmet on, you didn't know you were looking at Jason it was different.

He, obviously, still has the J scar on his face, and he looks even more rough than what you remembered. You still think he's handsome, though. And his eyes are just as pretty as you remembered. It feels like the world stopped on its axis when you look at him, your memory pales in comparison to the real thing. Even if his presence has changed, and he feels much more dangerous now, you still see the same boy who would sneak to your room to get his broken ribs fixed and cuddle you. You wanted to believe he was still in there, that all the trouble you went through to help him wasn't for nothing. He's staring at you too, he has been since you entered his view, but now he is not wearing the mask so you can see his eyes trained on you.

"I could never hate you" You wanted to reach for him, touch him, just to make sure it was real but you refrained from doing it. You didn't know if he'd be okay with it, you had to bring yourself back to earth and think about how much he could've changed in the past few years.

"There you are, looking prettier than the day I left you" He apparently has no problem grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks.

"Oh so your memory is intact" you push his hand away, his words reminding you that you were supposed to be mad at him.

"Come on, baby" He's trying to butter you up with the pet name, and you're ashamed to say it's working "You promised me some answers"

"Then ask" You tease, leaning backwards to the desk and resting your palms on it to support yourself.

"Why Marianne? Why Penny?" He asks, your legs were caged in between his not allowing you to leave as he towered over you. Hot, you thought against all logic and reason. You are not surprised to hear him say your new alias either, he must've done his research too.

"They're songs from the sixties" Your head tilted to the side with your gaze still fixed on him. You were just trying to update your memory of him, for future reference.

"The Beatles?"

"And Leonard Cohen, you should look him up." You suggest.

"Who's the guy with you?" You chuckle at the petty question.

"Jealous much? Don't worry about him, it's all make pretend"

"What about your family?" Jason questions, not letting you linger on the fact that he was in fact very jealous of the guy he thought to be your boyfriend.

"My parents died in the accident that gave me my powers... or at least that's what they told me." You sigh, ouch sensitive topic, but you had promised yourself to tell him everything he wanted to know because of the guilt that ate you up when you thought he was dead. You never saw their bodies or any confirmation that this was true. All you had to go from was their word, and they could've killed your parents to secure you as an asset for all you know. "It also gave me amnesia, so I don't remember much of that"

"And you don't have a missing sister?" He follows up, remembering what you told him all those years ago. That you were not interested in fighting crime like he was, you were sneaking out at night to try to find your missing sister. Something you wouldn't tell him much about, and he didn't pressure you into giving out more information because he thought it was a sensitive subject.

"I have a sister," you look down and to the side, as if hiding your face from him "she isn't missing. She's got a normal life and it'll stay like that"

"Is she why you didn't leave with me?" His hand gently guides your chin so you look up at him again, this time you grab his wrist to stop him. Yes , you wanted to say.

"Lose the gloves," You try to change the subject, now holding the most intense eye contact of your life "touch me seriously"

He's taken aback by your request. You wanted what? Him touching you? He's not sure if he should do it, ever since his time in Arkham he's been keeping to himself. Jason's pretty sure the last time he felt skin to skin contact was the last time he saw you, when he grazed your skin pulling your hair back.

"How do your powers work?" He asks, changing the subject too. You were just two people trying so hard to avoid the other to step on their emotional landmines. If one of you got too close the other would be quick to push them away, not allowing yourselves to fully open up despite promising to be honest. It almost makes you want to sigh in defeat, you were still holding his wrist so you put his hand on the desk behind you as close to your body as possible.

"I control time to a certain degree, so when I heal you I just turn your body back to before it was injured," You explain "it wouldn't work on any disease your body was going to develop anyways, I can slow it down but your body will always progress to it"

"Like Alzheimer?" You nod "So when you stopped Deathstroke you...froze him in time?"

"Pretty much, yes"

"What about bullet wounds?"

"Can't do much if the bullet's still inside, I can only stop the bleeding so much"

"And what abou-"

"Jay" You cut him off with a plea.

And with the look you give him he decides to give it a shot, just for you. He roughly presses his lips to yours, to test if he'd be able to take it. It almost knocked the air out of your lungs, first he refused to take off his gloves to touch you and now he's kissing you like this.

"I want to..." He whispers, his hands holding your face to make sure you won't go anywhere. "I want to try"

"We can take it slow" You offer and he nods along, letting go of you to finally take off his gloves.

First he touches your face, taking in your soft skin and you let him. You've wanted to feel his hands on you for too long, he can touch you anywhere he wants for all you care. Then he moves them down to your waist, and pulls up your black shirt until it's not tucked in your pants and he can sneak under the clothing, your breath hitches but you allow it. The second he's kissing you again he's completely disregarding what you told him about going slow. If it wasn't for him holding you, your arms on which you were resting your weight would've given out.  

"Can I?" You barely manage to get away from him to ask, and he nods quickly before kissing you again.

Your arms go around his neck, just enough to push him closer to you but at the same time trying not to overwhelm him. What did slow mean again? He realizes how touch starved he is, that it's not that he didn't want to be touched at all, he wanted to be touched by someone he knew would never hurt him. He needed to know that said touch wasn't meant to harm him or didn't have any second intentions to do so. Jason understands, right in that moment, that he wanted you back as much as wanted revenge on Batman. He's lifting you up so you sit on the desk, a hand leaving your waist just to guide your legs to wrap around him. He starts to lift your shirt up, but you stop him. You couldn't bear the feeling of someone else's hands taking off your clothes, not again. It almost felt like you could hear her voice again, telling you all about how you were such a cute thing and you were lucky her and her homicidal maniac of a partner were looking out for you from other immates-- and staff members. Worst part was you knew deep down she wasn't lying about that. You desperately don't want to go back there, not now.

"I'm sorry-"you whisper, and he recognizes that tone and that look in your face. It's the same as his own "let me..."

He only hums in agreement and gives you some space so you can take your black shirt off. Your fingers curl trying to get a hold of the chest-plate of his armor when you drag him back to kiss you. You feel his warm hands on your waist again, lowering down and keeping you in place. There was no running away now, not that you wanted to. Jason was not letting go of you tonight, his hold staying the same as his kisses go from your lips to your neck, right over your pulse point. He guides your hand to where you could take the suit off, and you learn fast working on undoing buckles and belts to rid him of the unnecessary layer of metal right now.

"I missed you" he whispers against your neck, you were blushing now.

"I missed you too" You sigh, the chest armor dropping to the floor with a loud noise that almost makes both of you flinch.

You had your eyes closed up until that moment where he stopped. You caught him staring at the tattoo on your hip. They were numbers small enough not to draw attention to them, written in a way you could've passed it off as a date in case anyone asked but its real purpose was to serve to recognize you in case you died. That was if the tracker under your skin was taken out or your face was unrecognizable. It made you feel like branded livestock, as if you were just an object. You always avoid looking at it and he should do the same. Now it was your turn to grab his chin and lead his face to look at you. Jason wasn't the only one troubled in this relationship, you had your own issues too.

"Don't" you scold, setting a clear boundary. Which he respects, he won't ask about it and if you don't want him to stare he won't.

He evens you out by taking the black long-sleeved t-shirt he wore under the suit and you don't want to stare but good God... Your eyes rush from his abs back to his eyes and you catch him smirking, you let out a giggle at the thought of him teasing you for it. He was about to do the same to you, make you look up so you wouldn't pay attention to his scars but when he noticed they were your eyes looked he knew that's not what distracted you. It felt almost normal, like you were a normal girl and a normal guy about to hook up. Of course in the back of your head you knew it wasn't the case but you allowed yourself to cling into that sense of normalcy. He's grateful that you ignore his more visible scars, that you still see him as the guy you met in Gotham so long ago. He wants to think that in your eyes at least he wasn't a failure.

"I'm sorry," He whispers, both hands cupping your face tenderly as if he wasn't holding your entire skull in them "I get it now... why you couldn't tell me, and that I treated you like shit"

"Yeah, you were a bit of an asshole" You tease with a chuckle.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips and you almost paw at his wrists when you feel like he's pulling away from you. "Will you forgive me?"

"Jay-" You murmur, seeing the tears forming in his eyes, it's the softest voice he's ever heard "I already have"

*.*

His mouth only meets yours again for a few seconds before he pushes everything off the desk, dusty papers falling everywhere and all over the floor. He's pressed up against your core when he lays you down on your back. This is were he belongs, your legs wrapped around him as he plasters kisses all over your jaw, your neck and collarbone, just anywhere he could reach. How soft lips welcome him again and again, it's like a dream come true, and your warm skin against him which he can't get enough of. His hands are steady at your waist, making sure to keep you in place, yours busy themselves tugging at the short hair on the back of his neck.

"Jay" you moan, closing your eyes. Fuck, if he wanted to have you like this he could.

"My-my ro-room's over the-" He stutters, you've barely even touched the guy and he already felt like he was melting at your touch-you were making him soft and hard all at the right places. "over there"

"You wanna take me there?" You flirt with a pout and he nods with a weak uh-huh.

Soon he's dragging you up to pick you up, a giggle escapes your lips feeling his hands on your ass. You push away the thought of how much it was turning you on to be manhandled like this.Your hands slide down to his shoulders to steady yourself as he takes you to the well hidden room connected to this office. You don't get much time to appreciate the room decor--there isn't any-- before you are laying flat on your back again, this time against a mattress. He unties your boots so you can kick them off, then your pants come off with only a bit of help from him with dropping them to the floor and he takes a step back, getting a good look at you.

"I don't have any..." he hesitates, " 'm not really sleeping around here"

"You're not?" You tease, a feet reaching for him playfully and he catches your ankle to stop you rolling his eyes in the process, his gorgeous blue eyes. "I won't catch anything from you?"

"Fuck, no" Jason scoffs, as if he didn't test himself for every disease know to man when he got out of Arkham. Besides, like he said he wasn't sleeping around, he wasn't sleeping at all--in every sense of the word.

"It's okay"

"I won't catch anything from you?" He repeats the question, and you shake your head no with a smirk "not even a kid?"

"Don't worry about that," you blush, looking away "it won't happen"

He hums in acknowledgment as his hand slides down from your ankle to your knee, parting your legs so he can settle between them again. Your heart was racing at the feeling of his hand trailing higher up your thigh, until he pushed your underwear to the side. His eyes were fixed on you, watching every reaction you had to know what you liked. What made you feel better.

"Jay-" you moaned.

"Hm?" It was almost mocking how he hid his face on your neck plating wet kisses on your skin.

"Want you"

"Want me what?" He teases, and you can't take it anymore. You grab his face with both your hands to make him look at you again before kissing him.

"Want you to fuck me" The determination in your voice had him nodding and sliding off your underwear and his own remaining clothes.

He bites back whatever sound wanted to leave his lips when he slides inside you, he's too busy watching your mouth part in a gasp and your eyes shut. He takes it slow, letting you adjust-- and getting used to the overwhelming feeling of being so close to you. He's over you, he's surrounding you like he's the only thing that exists in this world. His heartbeat slows down, looking down at the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. Jason thinks that just like this he may as well eat you alive, at least that way there will be no more lies . That if he somehow managed to swallow you whole then he could know everything about you, the way you do about him. He's only pulled back to reality when he feels your hands at his shoulders, moving faster than what he could think he grabs your wrists to pin your hands over your head. His breath hitches and his heart skips a beat when your eyes meet again, only then he starts to move.

"I love you" he lets out after a few moments, letting go of your hands, his voice is low too low.

"I love you too" You nod, noticing the tears rolling down his cheeks and softly wiping them away with your thumbs.

He brushes it off, he's not ready for this-all of this intimacy. He doesn't stop though, he just moves away to stand upright, throwing your legs over his shoulders. You moan when you feel how much deeper he could go like this. He can't help himself around you, every wall he put up to distance himself from others disappear whenever you were around. It wouldn't matter how much you lied to him, or how much you hurt him, you took his heart and it would stay with you no refunds. I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm all yours, he wants to say but wouldn't bear the thought of you not saying the same so he'd keep it to himself.  

"What-what's wrong?" You ask in a whisper when his movement falters, your cheeks flushed. You are so close.

"Nothing, just keep taking me like that pretty girl" The nickname makes you go crazy, now? He used to call you that only because he knew how much it embarrassed you. Unlucky for you, he liked seeing you flustered.

" 'M close, Jay" you whine, and he lowers a hand right where you needed it, the added pressure throwing you over the edge.

The way you feel around him is enough to push him over the edge mere seconds later, coming undone with a string of whispers of your name, again and again like a prayer. His head falls on your chest as you both try to catch your breath. Him wrapping his arms around your waist, holding himself closer to you if that was even possible as you pressed kisses to the top of his head.

*.*

"Hey, Jay" You call out to him in a hoarse whisper "are you awake?"

You get no answer from his sleeping form next to you, at some point you decide to trace his figure with your fingers, as if it'd help you remember him when you leave. You start with his jaw, then to his neck and his shoulders, feeling the rough skin under your fingertips. He really ought to buy some moisturizer, you scoff to yourself. You press a kiss between his shoulder blades before working your way down his arm. Your eyes got a bit teary looking at his scars, the carved out H+J in heart, the long slashes, the burn scar over his right shoulder. He had been through so much and he was still alive and kicking, sleeping next to you. You wish you could've come for him sooner, you didn't blame him for hating Batman. Hell you even had a few run-ins of your own with him because of it. Batman's own grief be damned he was supposed to be the world's greatest detective looking for his partner , the teenager he got to join him and the kid he was meant to take care of . He wasn't supposed to replace him that easily, it made you feel like you were the only one who cared about Jason. All this suffering he went through... it could've been helped, he didn't have to endure that. Your mind wanders to what that psycho did to him, if it was even worse than what you were put through, if he begged him to finish the job, the sight of him covered in blood- his own blood, beaten and branded, his empty eyes when you first saw him and then the flash of hope when he saw you which quickly washed away when he realized that you were there too.

You have to push back the images of what was done to you too, before you feel like you're outside of your body again or that you lose your grip on reality, again. You would never admit it to him but after he left the safe house you were brought back to the headquarters and couldn't get out of bed for almost six months, nothing felt real, your own thoughts felt too slow, your body too heavy too move. A major depressive episode, that's what your superiors classified it as. You knew it wasn't losing him that triggered it, it was the added of weight you'd been caring on your shoulders for too long and the fact that now you had nothing in your life that you even liked. Normaly they would've force-fed antidepressants to whatever agent that went through what you did but you wouldn't let anyone get closer than 2 meters, freezing more than one poor medic or nurse that was sent to see you. Or when they got to you and you reversed the effects of it, just out of spite. Eventually they gave up and waited as not even threats to your sister phased you. "Kill her and see how it goes for you," you said on a rare day where you found yourself able to speak "you'll have nothing to keep me here"

"What are you doing?" You don't even register him asking. He turns to face you and he notices you crying, only then do you realize he's awake so you wipe your tears as fast as you can. It is good for nothing, he already knows you're crying.

"I'm sorry, 's not the best thing to wake up to, huh?" You chuckle trying to pass off your own wave of sadness that just hit you.

"What's wrong?" He insists, was it him that made you so upset?

"Nothing's wrong, Jason" You lie, and he can see right through it.

"No, come on... keep going" He's using that tone again, the one that has you weakening every resolve and your knees giving out just to give him whatever he asked for, that whiny and needy voice that was reserved just for you. He also takes your hand and pushes it to his chest, wanting you to take off from where you left. Instead you move your hand underneath his to hold it, fingers interlocked as you leave a soft kiss to his knuckles. The feel of your lips on his skin, his harsh and calloused skin that has only known violence, has him blushing.

"I have to leave," you state, finally breaking the bubble you two were in since he took you to his office "I'd empty this place asap if I were you"

He steals a look at the watch behind him, the hours he spent with you are still on a single digit, that's all he gets with you. You get up, looking for your clothes that had been discarded all over the room mere hours ago.

"Fine" he scoffs, sitting on the bed and crossing his arms over his chest. Acting all tough and annoyed as the wound of you leaving reopens. He knows you'll never change your ways, he should've known you were heartache from the moment he met you. Jason knew nothing had changed, he doesn't know why he was even sad about you not choosing to stay with him. "Will I ever see you again?"

There's a beat of silence, you have your back turned to him so he can't see what kind of face you're making but he can see how you're pulling your pants up your ass. "I hope so, that was..." you puff and fan yourself with a hand.

He grabs your wrist when you get closer to the bed looking for your shoes, a sigh of your name has your gaze softening as you look back at him. Your lips pull up in a smile, caressing his face and sitting on his lap over the sheets."Bludhaven, find me there when you're done with whatever this is"

He nods, a hand of his going to your nape. He's trying to make you stay a little longer, even if it's just for a few moments and you know it so you give his scared cheek a sweet kiss. Find me when you're done with whatever this is, he can do that. He can wait a few more weeks for you.

"Where-" he starts, but you're no longer there. He felt your weight on him just a moment ago and now you were gone, he didn't even see your eyes light up before you made your way out of the place. You were probably on your way back, lying through your teeth about what you've been up to. And to that he sighs, getting up to get dressed and thinks "I've got to get my shit together, haven't worked this much for nothing"

A/N: not to copy paste all of my author's notes but I referenced like 3 songs so if you notice lmk :D

[averlym]

don't wanna feel anything for anyone ever again

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

╰┈➤ i won’t sleep till you’re safe inside.

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Sister!Reader (platonic obviously)

Type: Fanfic - Fluff -> Angst

Word count: 8.5k (🫢🤯)

Warnings: NOT CANON-COMPLIANT! (I’ll make a list of everything that’s probably not canon but is for this fic) colour-coordinated dialogues to make it easier to understand who’s talking, starts out fluffy but evolves into angst, cussing, reader is desi, usage of Hindi (translations given, except for the Sheila Ki Jawani song), hahaha culturedumping & projection go hand in hand 😭

Some Goldenmodel (is that their official ship name??) too! (pls they’re literally so cute 🫠🫠)

A/N: Basically where Pavi loses his sister instead of Gayathri :D

The numbers at the top of every section indicate Pavitr and the reader’s age respectively (reader is older than Pavi) :)

Andddd the Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar hc continues 😁

Probably (Definitely) Non-Canon List:

-reader’s existence basically since she’s the daughter of Maya Aunty and Uncle Bhim (so she’s not technically his sister she’s his cousin but close enough!)

-I actually have NO idea how Pavi’s parents died or anything abt them so I’m basically making stuff up hehe

-Reader also gets the scholarship to Mumbattan that Pavitr got, but for a different subject

-kinda waffling on Bhim’s death since I’ve never actually read the comic where he died so idk much of anything

-Reader helps Pavi make his webshooters (kinda)

-Pav may be a teensy bit ooc I apologize for that

-there’s probably a lot more but none I can pinpoint specifically right now

(this is the song that Pav sings btw)

title inspo:

Will you call me to tell me you’re alright?

Cause I worry about you the whole night

Don’t repeat my mistakes

I won’t sleep till you’re safe inside

(Safe Inside, James Arthur)

——— ———

4 & 6.

“Didi!”

You stifled a giggle, peeking out from behind the tree you were hiding behind to see the tiny boy scrambling over rocks and protruding tree roots, his eyes squinted in concentration as he searched for you.

“Come out, come out wherever you- ai!” He cut himself off with a sharp squeal of surprise, stumbling backwards as you leaped out and bared your teeth like the demonic rakshasas that seem to lunge right off the pages of your mother’s - Pavitr’s aunt’s - mythology books.

“Not fair,” Pavitr complained, glaring up at you and crossing his arms. His nose scrunched at the injustice and you laughed, sticking your tongue out at him and ruffling his hair.

“Totally fair.”

“Nahin! Pura cheating! Didi, tum hamesha dhokha deti ho!” (No! Fully cheating! You always cheat!)

“Oy, Pavi, main kaise dhokha de rahi hai? What nonsense you’re talking.” (How am I cheating?)

“I’m telling Maya Aunty that you’re being mean to me.”

“Wait-”

“Arrey, both of you stop squabbling and come up here,” Maya Aunty’s voice carried down into the lawn from the veranda as she poked her head out of the kitchen. “I made gajar ka halwa. Come eat before Bhim gets back and finishes everything.”

Pavitr’s eyes lit up at the mention of the carrot dessert, all earlier frustrations forgotten for the moment. “Race you!” He turned and darted across the lawn, his hair bobbing as he kicked up clouds of dirt under his shoes.

“Pavi, how is this fair?!”

——— ———

6 & 8.

“Didi! Checkmate! I win!”

“Ai, Pavi, that’s not… chess doesn’t work like…” He turned to you with big, shining eyes, grinning from ear to ear because he thought he had won. You trailed off with a resigned sigh, not having the heart to tell him that he had just got his own king killed.

“Wow, Pavi, you’re getting so good at this! You’re a natural!” You ruffled his hair affectionately, despite his protests and attempts to fight you off.

“Y/N! Yahaan aao!” (Come here)

You immediately perked up, eyebrows drawing together as you heard your mother’s voice, only… something was off. She sounded like she was holding back tears, the beginnings of a raw sob lingering in her throat.

“Haan, Amma? Kya hua?” (Yes? What happened?) (Amma/Maa just means mother)

She sat hunched next to the balcony, a phone in her slack grip. Your father - Pavitr’s Uncle Bhim - knelt with his back to you, holding her and rubbing her shoulders comfortingly. Tears fell from her eyes and the only sounds that split the air were her jagged heaves between soft sniffles.

“Amma? Papa, what happened to Amma?” Unease twisted in your stomach, knitting your eyebrows closer together as you moved forward and grasped your mother’s hand.

Your father turned to look at you and you inhaled sharply.

That was the first time you had ever seen your father cry.

“Pavitr’s parents were involved in an accident,” He struggled to keep his tone even for you.

“An accident? You mean…”

“Yes, beta. They’re… they’re gone.”

Your breath hitched and you backed away slightly, steadying yourself against the wall behind you.

You didn’t know much about what happened - and it would probably stay like that since you were ‘too young to bother yourself with the worries of the adult world - but you knew one thing for sure.

This is going to break Pavi.

I can’t let that happen.

You heard soft patters of bare feet on the marble floors and looked up just as Pavitr’s dark hair disappeared to the side of the doorframe.

Not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down mid-speech, you got up and left without a word, patting your mother’s hand sympathetically on the way.

You found Pavitr sitting against the tree you used to play hide and seek around. He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his forehead on his kneecaps and raising his head when you approached. “What happened, Didi?”

You grasped at words that would help convey it, but to no avail. How could you tell a 6 year old - one who was essentially a brother to you now - that his parents had died?

You had two ways out.

…I should tell him.

“Pavi… Maya Aunty will explain, but… basically, you’re going to be spending a lot more time with us - with me. How does that sound?”

Pavitr grinned, his eyes shining - and of course he had to look like a trusting puppy. Of course it had to make you feel guilty the moment those words, a romanticized version of the truth, left your lips.

“That sounds awesome,” He said happily, half-turning to wrap his arms snugly around your waist in a hug. “We’ll have so much fun! You can finally teach me how to play kancha and lagori like you’ve been wanting to! Right, Didi?”

“…yeah. You’re right.” You leaned down to kiss the top of his head as he nestled comfortably against your side, the strands of hair tickling your chin as you rested your head on his. You felt tears starting to well up as the depth of the situation hit you at full force.

Kaayar. Coward.

——— ———

9 & 11.

“Didi!”

You looked up from your schoolwork as Pavitr burst into your room. “What’s going on?”

“Maya Aunty said there’s some sort of… scholarship? They said we have to go to Mumbattan!” Your eyes shot wide open and you pushed your chair back from your desk to follow him into the kitchen. What scholarship? Mumbattan?

Maya Aunty had told you both that she had submitted samples of your writing and a few of Pavitr’s blueprints for futuristic designs he had come up with for various robotics competitions, but… you never thought the entry would ever amount to anything.

“Amma, Papa, yeh sach hai? Did we get a scholarship to Mumbattan?” (Is this true?)

“Haan, beta.” Your mother looked slightly tired, weary - but ultimately happy. The happiest you had seen her in quite a while. Your father patted your head affectionately, a large smile on his face. “Well done, both of you. Mere champions.” (My champions)

The moment dissipated like it was never there in the first place when Maya Aunty’s eyebrows scrunched together with worry once more as she turned to Uncle Bhim. “Arrey, Bhim. Hum kaise kharch uthayenge? Mumbattan mei, woh kiraaya-” (How will we afford this? The rent in Mumbattan-)

The moment you heard those words, you let out a soft exhale and took Pavitr’s hand, gently tugging on it and leading him away from the ‘adult’ conversation. By now, you were almost conditioned to do your best to avoid conversations that always got your parents stressed out and sometimes led to frustrated breakdowns which simmered into tearful apologies and doubtful plans.

“Let’s go play kancha, Pavi. I’ll even let you start this time.”

You ran out onto the lawn with him, your hand holding onto his smaller one tightly as if you could protect him from all the harm and sadness and worry that the world had to offer.

——— ———

11 & 13.

“Didi!”

“Don’t didi me. You agreed to this, remember? You brought this upon yourself,” You said between giggles that got increasingly louder at how ridiculous he looked.

Maya Aunty and Bhim Uncle were both out buying groceries, and Pavitr was so bored that he accepted your challenge to see who could balance more than five stones on their forehead. And if he lost, you would get to do his hair and makeup.

That was why he was currently sitting in front of you, bright pink eyeshadow on both his eyelids and wearing the brightest red lipstick you could find. He winced in pain, loudly protesting every two seconds as you tried to put his wavy hair into a Dutch braid. He had let it grow out over the past few months, and at the rate he was going, if he left it for even a little while more it’d be longer than yours.

“You need a haircut, Pavi. I think you might be getting split ends…” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression of pure horror that crossed his face at your words, which quickly turned to annoyance. “Shut up, you’re just saying that because you’re jealous- ow!”

“Whoops.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did not.” You looped a rubber band onto the ends of the braid, finally finishing and tilting your head to critically examine your handiwork. “There, you’re all done.”

Pavitr glanced at his reflection in the compact mirror you offered him. “Wait, I don’t look that bad. I can pull this off pretty well, actually.”

“Sure you can, sweetie. Let’s do your nails now.”

“You’re the absolute worst.”

——— ———

12 & 14.

“Didi! Rise and shine!”

You groaned softly, turning over onto your side. “Get out.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet and definitely not a prime example of you being mean to your younger brother. Seriously though, we have to get going soon for school.” He expertly dodged the spare pillow you threw at him, deciding to kneel by your bedside and stare you in the eyes like some psychotic cat.

“Not everyone’s a morning person, Pavi. Besides, it’s 6 in the damn morning. Come back in another hour.”

Pavitr didn’t respond, just started humming a tune and tapping out a familiar beat on your bedside table, using two pencils from your desk’s mug of stationery as makeshift drumsticks.

“I know you want it but you’re never gonna get it, tere haath kabhi na aani…”

Your eyes shot open as you recognized the song. “No, Pavi, I swear to God-”

“Maane na maane koi duniya yeh saari, mere ishq ki hai deewani…” Stifling laughter, he backed out of range before you could smack some sense into him with another pillow.

“Pavitr! Stop!” You chucked a pillow at him, sitting up and staring at him in utter astonishment at his song choices.

“Kisi aur ki mujhko zaroorat kya, main toh khud se pyaar jataun! What’s my name, what’s my name, what’s my name…?”

“Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, if you don’t stop singing that song right now-” You lunged forward, trying to grab him and muffle the lyrics of the Bollywood song he was singing - granted, he wasn’t a terrible singer, and in fact he could sing in Hindi quite well, but out of every song he could’ve chosen… this? “By the way, you missed a few lines, but that’s not the point! Stop it!”

“My name is Sheila! Sheila ki jawani! I’m too sexy for you, mei tere hath na aani-”

Chaos ensued in the next few seconds. Pavitr, who had been running around your room doing whatever choreography he could remember from the scene with that particular song in the movie you had both watched, tripped on the fallen pillow and fell flat on his face.

You had been chasing him around and tripped over him, rolling over and landing beside him. Luckily, you managed to break your fall with your palms.

“How’d the ground taste, hmm?” You asked, offering a hand to help him up.

“You’re mean,” Pavitr complained, taking your hand and pulling himself up. You fixed his slightly ruffled hair, a little surprised at how soft it was. Was he already going through the phase of being obsessed with how he looked?

“Yeah, well. You’re in my room at 6 am singing one of the sluttiest Bollywood songs you know, so… you’ll live, buttercup.” You gave his head a rough pat, turning to reluctantly make your bed - might as well, since you were already awake - as he hovered over your shoulder with a grin.

“But hey, it did get you up, didn’t it?”

——— ———

13 & 15.

“Didi! Where are you? I need to tell you something!”

“…I don’t understand. What are you saying?” You felt so paralyzed that you didn’t even register your brother’s voice. Instead you stared at the person you thought was your boyfriend, dangerously quiet. The calm before the storm. He shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with his sleeve and clearing his throat.

“Um, I think we should break up. I’ve kind of been… seeing another girl. Shreya.”

You were careful to keep your expression neutral, crossing your arms to prevent you from worrying at your nails. “For how long?”

“Uh, I-”

“How. Long. It’s a simple question.”

“Five months.”

“Son of a bitch.” You kept your voice low, sweeping a hand towards the door. “The exit’s there. Leave.”

“Listen, I’m really-”

“Get out. I’m serious. Get the fuck out of here before I make you do so.”

He stopped and stared at you for a few seconds, realizing just how angry you were.

“Okay. Well, it was… good seeing you, I guess. I hope you-”

“Didi?”

This time you heard Pavitr call you, soft hesitancy in his voice that carried into the room from the other side of the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Pavi, I’m fine. You can come in.” You covered the cracks in the screens of overly pleasant tones that you layered over your voice so as to make sure he didn’t worry.

He quickly entered your room, and from the way he glared daggers at your now-ex-boyfriend you assumed he had heard everything - or at least, a large chunk of the conversation.

“Hey there, buddy.”

He had the nerve to smile and hold his knuckles out for a fist bump. Truth be told, you felt a sort of bitter satisfaction when Pavitr just glared up at him and didn’t bother lifting his hand to return it.

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

His eyes widened slightly and traveled from the harsh scowl fixed on Pavitr’s face to your dangerously calm demeanour.

“You heard him, didn’t you?”

“I… yeah. I’m going. See you around.”

You followed him with your eyes as he inched toward the door, shutting it behind him.

The moment he left, your unbothered façade cracked and splintered into pieces. You moved yourself to sit on your bed, slipping the covers over your legs. “Thank you,” You murmured to Pavitr, closing your eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. He came over to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Mat rouoh didi. Hum ek movie dekhenge?” (Don’t cry didi. Wanna watch a movie?)

“Haan, please. As long as it’s not Tees Maar Khan, I am not watching that again with you. I’ve had enough of that Sheila ki Jawani. Wait, Pavi, you said you wanted to tell me something?”

“…that’s not important right now, don’t worry about it.”

You didn’t notice him anxiously trying to peel off the edge of the blanket that was stubbornly sticking to the pads of fingers.

——— ———

A week later.

It had happened so suddenly. No one seemed to know anything.

Well, except the fact that your father had died somehow.

I know we fought a lot more in… in the end, but I love you. I always have and I always will, Papa. You made me who I am today, you taught me to know my own worth and accept no less. Believe me, I think about it every day. If you were here I’d tell you.

You wished you could say that out loud, to offer everyone present a window into your thoughts to prove you weren’t just an angsty teenager - or a family disappointment, which a few aunties seemed to believe by the way they were whispering and shooting overly sympathetic looks your way which were quickly followed up by hushed giggles.

But instead you kept your head down and used what little energy you could muster to give a nod of acknowledgement every time a distant relative - even ones you hadn’t seen since you were a baby - popped up in your face to console you.

“Where’s Pavitr? Did he come to the antyesti?” You jumped; you hadn’t noticed your mother hovering beside you until she laid a light hand on your shoulder. She seemed to move around like a spectre; dressed completely in a simple white salwaar kameez with a long white shawl wrapped around her in such a way that it obscured both her arms and her hair, along with part of her face.

“No, I don’t think so - at least, I haven’t seen him.” You looked over her shoulder at the priests starting to get everything prepared for the ceremony and searched the crowds of vaguely familiar people.

Where the hell is he?

Getting the priests to agree to Pavitr - who wasn’t exactly Bhim’s son but the closest thing to it - leading the rituals was hard enough. But then again, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice, did they? You couldn’t exactly do it - the rituals of an antyesti were to be performed by the eldest son. Or the priests themselves, if he couldn’t do it for any reason. Never a woman.

You and Maya Aunty weren’t allowed to do anything except watch and pray.

And now if Pavitr didn’t show up in time-

Thwip! Thwip!

You frowned and shook your head slightly, wondering what the source of that noise was. Oh, well, probably just a pesky mosquito buzzing in your ear.

“Didi, Maya Aunty, I am so, so sorry that I’m late. Did they start already?” You jumped again in surprise - what was it with people sneaking up behind you today? You took in Pavitr’s crisp white dhoti and neatly styled hair, and for a second you couldn’t decide whether to hug him or punch him in the face.

“I’ll tell you everything later, didi. Pinky promise,” Pavitr murmured to you, offering his pinky to you. You linked your little finger with his, looking into his eyes as concern bubbled up to mix with the hurricane of emotions already clamouring for attention in your brain.

He had horrible bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in a week. And when you gently squeezed his pinky, his breath hitched as if he was in pain and he drew his hand back after a few seconds. You blinked in confusion, getting a brief glimpse of painful-looking faint purple splotches all along his hand and the underside of his arm. They looked like bruises that had been poorly covered up by foundation that was almost three shades too light for his skin, but before you could say anything he turned to make his way through the crowd.

“Pavi-” You started to ask what was going on, what happened, what was wrong, but he just shook his head, angling his chin toward the priests waiting patiently for him.

“Badh mein, didi. Antyesti ke badh.” (Later. After the antyesti)

——— ———

After the ceremony.

“Pavitr Prabhakar, if you don’t tell me what’s going on-” You came face-to-face with one of your more distant aunties, who immediately lit up excitedly in a way that was probably not suited for a cremation ceremony as soon as she recognized you.

“Arrey, beta! You’ve grown so much! How old are you now? You still sing, no? Kya aapne college ke bare socha hain?” (Have you thought/started thinking about college?)

“Haha… hi, aunty… no, aunty… no, I haven’t thought about college yet… have you seen Pavitr anywhere? I need to find him and it’s really urgent but… oh, uh… yes, of course, I would love to catch up over chai sometime. Sure, we should plan that - oh, sorry, bye! Tell my mother that I’ve gone to look for Pavitr, okay? Thank you!”

Seizing the opportunity that presented itself in the form of another aunty who came waddling over to greet the first one, you squeezed through the crowd of people in sarees and dupattas, some milling about and some dispersing, all accompanied by the almost suffocating smell of jasmine. God, did everyone use the same horrible perfume?

Luckily for you, the antyesti was held fairly close to your house - on a large terrace that was only about a 15 minute walk away.

You got to the front door and fumbled with the set of keys in your pocket for a second, your fingers shaking slightly as the shock and grief began to set in. Adrenaline could only take you so far, it seemed.

“Pavi? Pavi, I’m home, where-”

You opened the door to your room and inhaled sharply at the sight that lay before you. Pavitr leaned against your bed, sitting on the floor with his knees hugged close to his chest, chin resting on his kneecaps. His eyes were squeezed shut, eyelashes fluttering as tears slipped out one after another from underneath them.

“Pavi…? Oh, Pavi, mera chhoti bhai, kya hua? Kisi ne… tumhein chot pahunchaee?” (My little brother, what happened? Did… someone hurt you?) You scooted closer to Pavitr, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and drawing him into your side. He buried his face in your shoulder, tears soaking through the thin fabric of the kurta you were wearing.

“Shh. Sab theek ho jayega. Mujhe batao, Pavi. Kya hua?” (Everything’s okay. Tell me, what happened?)

“I’m Spider-Man.”

You blinked in surprise. Out of all the possible explanations he could have offered you, that was certainly not on your list. “Spider-Man? Matlab… the superhero?” (Matlab means meaning)

The hero had emerged only a week ago. Wearing an intricately patterned mask that left his wavy hair loose at the top, a blue-and-red spandex suit and blue dhoti pants on top of them, he was basically impossible to ignore. You had seen some key similarities between Spider-Man and Pav’s hair, but you had always just assumed it was related to how boys cut their hair like their idols sometimes.

“Chacha died because of Spider-Man. Because of me. He got caught in the crossfire and I couldn’t reach him in time and-” Pavitr’s words spilled together in a panicked haze, blurring each syllable and tripping over letters in an attempt to get them out before he could break again. (Chacha is another word for uncle)

You shifted to face him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Shaant ho jao. Main yahaan hoon. Main kaheen nahin ja raha hoon.” (Calm down. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere)

“I can’t-” His breath quickened as his whole body started to heave with dry sobs. “Please just… just listen to me. This is what I wanted to tell you last week. I’m Spider-Man.”

He mistook your silence as a sign of disbelief and carried on speaking, trying to convince you. “There were these bullies I was running from, and I tripped and fell into a tree hollow and there was this yogi who said he’d give me the powers of a spider to fight the evil in this world, and I didn’t know it would turn out like this so I accepted and-”

“I believe you.”

That caught him off guard. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes wide. “You do?”

“Of course. You think I haven’t noticed you sticking to everything? You almost ripped the couch’s upholstery clean off because you weren’t paying attention.” You gently swiped your thumb near the corner of his eye, wiping away the tear that was at risk of spilling out. “It’s okay, Pavi. Let’s.. talk about something else for the moment.”

As much as you wanted answers - how exactly had your father died? Which sick, twisted, psychotic ‘villain’ killed him? - you knew when to stop pushing Pavitr and now was definitely that time. Tears still shone in the corners of his brown eyes, not quite ready to fall but not small enough to be blinked away.

“Spiderwebs!”

“What?”

“You need spiderwebs, naa? So you can swing like a spider instead of leaping around and relying on sticking to whatever surface you can reach. Ooh, it’d be so cool if you could shoot them from your hands and lasso bad guys and when they fight back you go dishoom dishoom.” (dishoom is basically just a sound effect for beating someone up 😭 usually punching someone)

“… you mean webshooters?” Pavitr watched your emphatic display of just what dishoom dishoom meant to you with a mildly concerned look on his face before he took a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it out. It was filled with designs for some sort of gadget, the sharp, jagged pencil lines highlighting every feature and listing possible building processes.

“I’ve done some research and I’ve got everything, so I know how to make it. But I need something that can contract if I wrap a web around it… kind of like a yo-yo? But it also has to fit on my wrist so that it’s easy for me to angle where I want the web to go.” He absentmindedly tapped the pencil against the silver bangle you were wearing. The soft clinks gave you an idea and you quickly got up, going to your dresser and rummaging around in the drawers.

“Wait, I think I might have something that’ll work…”

Your fingers closed around what you were looking for and you fished it out. You held two large golden cuffs in your hands, but they weren’t regular heavy cuffs. The top and bottom were actually two separate pieces, joined together in the middle by a stretchy piece of white nylon that went all the way around.

Just looking at it made your heart ache a little as all the memories associated with the simple accessory came flooding back.

Your father had given it to you a few Diwalis ago, when you were throwing a tantrum about having to wear the large bangles to go to with the itchy salwar you had on - against your wishes, of course. But your mother warned you that her mother was a stickler for traditions and insisted on everyone wearing the most colourful ethnic wear you all had, including Pavi.

Your father had slid one of the cuffs onto your right wrist, laughing gently at your surprise look when you discovered how light they were, a stark contrast to the gold bangles that weighed down your other wrist.

“Compromise paaya, hain na?” (We’ve found a compromise, right?)

“Haan, papa.”

Now, more than eight years later, you held one of the last things you had left to keep your father’s memory alive.

And what better way to honour him than to use his kaadas to fight evil and protect the city?

“Use these.”

Pavitr looked up and immediately shook his head, gently pushing away your outstretched hands. “No, didi, I can’t- this is what Uncle gave you-”

“I know. He gave them to me as a gift. And now I’m passing them down to you. Please, Pavi. Take them.” You took his hands, pressing the kaadas into his palms and closing his fingers over them.

Something in your tone made him search your gaze for a few seconds before giving in and bringing the cuffs up to his eyes, testing out the nylon middle. “Wait, this is perfect. If I can just…”

He reached into the depths of one of your drawers and pulled out a small device that looked like it had some sort of fluid sloshing around in its… fuel container, maybe? You furrowed your brow in surprise. “Has that always been there? In my cupboard?”

“Well, yeah. Can’t have Maya Aunty accidentally pulling it out of mine, can we?” He gave you a grin. “Besides, you have so many things stuffed into that one drawer that it’s basically impossible to find.”

He attached the device to the inside of the cuff with a small click and slipped it onto his wrist.

Thwip! Thwip!

With two tiny flicks of his wrist, he had shot two webs to the ceiling and was now hanging upside down, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Well, this is working pretty well-”

Thud.

“Don’t you dare,” Pavitr warned you as he winced and rubbed the spot where he had fallen on his backside.

“I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not-”

You couldn’t help but burst into giggles at his mildly pathetic sad-puppy expression as he sat dejectedly on the floor after falling from the ceiling.

“So, uh… the web strength may need some work.”

“Everybody, this is Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, Mumbattan’s Spider-Man.” You pretend to speak into an imaginary microphone, gesturing animatedly towards Pav as he lay on the floor.

“Oh, sure, announce it to the whole world, why don’t you,” He grumbled, reluctantly pulling himself to his feet.

You gave him an overly sweet smile, leaning over to mess up his hair. “Never. I’m gonna take this secret with me to my grave.”

——— ———

14 & 16.

6 months really went by quickly.

6 months of monthly poojas to honour your deceased father. 6 months of Pavitr being Spider-Man. And also…

“Didi! Why isn’t my hair staying down?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because that bad guy threw you into an electricity tower? Pavi, why are you dressing up all of a sudden anyway?” You sat on the floor of your room as you skeptically watched him brush out his hair. He had insisted that your mirror was big enough and ‘had the best lighting’.

He stayed silent, though you could see him scrunch his nose a little in embarrassment. The realization hit you and you let out a loud - maybe overly dramatic - gasp.

“Oh my god! You have a date!”

“…maybe. So?”

“So that means I get to meet and terrorize them! You know, sibling stuff!”

Pavitr froze for a split second, a small smile starting to form in the corner of his mouth at the last part. Siblings. In all honesty, didn’t that word describe the bond you both shared almost perfectly? Siblings - not by blood, but by something so much bigger than either of you could’ve imagined.

“Absolutely not. Gayatri’s-”

“Gayatri? Is she Punjabi? Ooh, is she pretty? Is she really badass and cool and-”

“She’s a model,” Pavitr interrupted, smoothing down his hair and glaring at you. “And this isn’t my first date with her. Just for the record.”

“Wow, and she’s your age? Damn, Pavi, you managed to pull a model! I’m so proud of you right now.”

“I will strangle you if you don’t stop talking,” Pavitr grumbled, punching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not saying anything bad!”

“Sure you ar-” Pavitr stopped mid-sentence and stiffened, craning his neck and glancing out the window over his shoulder like a cat that had heard something strange. “Wait, someone’s here. Gotta go!”

He dashed into the bathroom and came out two seconds later, fully decked out in his spider suit and mask.

“Don’t get your ass kicked!” You called out as he nose-dived out the window.

“Ha, ha! Very funny!”

——— ———

10 minutes later.

“Pavitr, what the hell?!” You leaped backwards as a strange sort of alien materialized in your room for a split second before they disappeared into a black hole-like void, followed by a… Spider-Man? Not Pav. This one was taller and his suit was red and black, and oh God, was he bleeding from his armpits?

You were tempted to offer him a few cotton wipes and something to clean the wound but he disappeared in after the weird teleporting alien before you could ask.

Pavitr came crashing in through your window, landing on the floor and glancing around. “What? I thought they came here-”

“Really?! Now you show up? I’ve just had some sort of cow-man and a new Spider-Man teleport into my room through a pit and-” You stopped short as another Spider-Man landed on the floor. Except… Spider-Woman? She wore a suit in the shape of a white-and-black ballet leotard and had a hood with web designs on the inside.

“Pavitr, is… this Gayatri?” You tried to wrap your head around the fact that there were three different types of Spider-People and a cow on the wrong side of evolution who had just phased through your house. “Oh, hi, Gayatri, I’ve heard so much about you. Pavi thinks you’re really classy and cool and you’re the prettiest girl alive and-”

Pavitr webbed a pillow and swung it into your face before you could finish, temporarily shutting you up. “Didi, this… this isn’t Gayatri.” Despite his face being covered by his mask, you could tell from his tone that he was embarrassed out of his wits. “This is, uh… this is Gwen. She’s a Spider-Woman. Look, it’s hard to explain, but they’re all from different universes and I think the New Guy’s in love with Gwen, so we gotta go save their romance before it shatters. Bye!”

He leaped out the window again, followed by Gwen - who was stuttering and tripping over her words trying to form a plausible denial for his last statement.

Never a dull day in Mumbattan, I guess.

——— ———

5 minutes after that ordeal.

“Arrey, your chai is getting cold. Drink fast, no?”

“Haan, Amma. Ek second.” (One second) You moved away from where you were hovering near the window. As much as Pavitr reassured you that he was okay, that being Spider-Man was easy now - you still remembered having to disinfect wounds and ice bruises and watch him hiss and crinkle his face up in pain every time you wiped a tissue soaked in Dettol along his cuts.

Maybe those were only fairly harmless flesh wounds, but what kept you up at night was the worry that one day it might turn into something worse.

“I’m drinking it,” You said defensively and sat down as Maya Aunty lifted an eyebrow at you over her own mug. Just as you sat down the whole ground seemed to shake, a horrible din filling the air, screams and the sound of rubble falling mingling together in the cacophony.

“Oh, someone blew down Alchemax,” said Maya Aunty once the noise died down. With a small shake of her head, she casually returned to her chai as if this sort of thing happened almost every day.

“What an idiot.” You glanced out the window, squinting into the distance and widening your eyes as your eyes snagged on a flash of vibrant fabric flying through the air, just barely visible through the pieces of flying rubble.

Oh, fuck, that’s my idiot.

——— ———

You figured the easiest and fastest way to get near Alchemax was to take the bus. After all, those bus drivers had basically decided long ago that they were above the rules of the traffic. They honestly didn’t give a damn about the speed limits and you respected that.

“Hi, Y/N!” You turned at your name, tilting your head curiously because you didn’t recognise the voice.

You found yourself looking at someone who looked oddly familiar, you just couldn’t place it - until you glanced briefly out the window and saw a Zomato billboard. Of course if had to be her, how else would she know your name?

“Oh, are you Gayatri? Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you from Pavi.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, and likewi-“

The bus swerved sharply and you, Gayatri and more than half of the people who weren’t holding onto the railings were slammed against the back window before the bus started to tilt forward. You blinked away stars for a few seconds as the wind was knocked out of you.

When you regained your vision you let out a yelp of surprise. Someone yelled “Fuck!” right next to you, followed by a string of unrepeatable Marathi cusswords - while also listing out gods and praying to them that they’d make it out alive - and you could understand why.

Some dumbass - or maybe a large piece of rubble - had ripped a hole in the middle of the fucking Mumbattan Bridge. The whole bus was falling right into that hole, and unfortunately the bus driver’s magical ability to fly straight over potholes seemed to have evaded him right now, judging by the fact that he was currently contributing to the chorus of terrified screams.

“Hold on!” Gayatri caught your forearm right as your grip on the flimsy side railing was loosening and pulled you up to latch onto the railing at the back. Good lord, was this girl strong. You decided right then and there that you definitely liked her.

You saw Pavitr stop mid-swing and turn around, his mask’s eyes widening as he saw both of you pounding relentlessly on the back bus window in the hopes that it would break in time.

He shot a web that stuck to the back of the bus, tipping it almost vertically as he held onto one of the bridge supports. His eyes narrowed with effort as he struggled to hold onto the deceptively delicate-looking silky tendrils.

You silently thanked whatever higher power existed for the time when Pavitr fell from the ceiling 6 months ago. If that hadn’t happened, you and the other people on this bus would’ve been flattened on the ground by now. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

Pavitr glanced behind him, his shoulders falling slightly in shock. The web holding onto the bus stretched and dipped, threatening to snap any second. He wrapped the silken web around the support, trying to bring it up.

You and Gayatri were just barely hanging on, your entire bodies dangling down with gravity as you held onto the railing for dear life.

Suddenly something changed. Another web attached itself to the bus and pulled you onto the bridge. Another Spider-Man, possibly?

You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as the bus levelled itself on solid ground again. Gayatri gave you a weak smile, grasping your hand and pulling you straight into the throng of people rushing to exit the bus.

The moment she stepped outside Pavitr wrapped her in a hug, eliciting a surprised squeak from Gayatri.

“Are you okay? I was so worried-” He realized his mistake mid-sentence, drawing back from her and patting her shoulders with both hands, unsure whether to cross his arms or rest them on his hips. “Uh, you seem like a nice young woman who I do not know…”

Gayatri chuckled softly and looked past him. “Papa!”

“Gayatri!”

She ran at him and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Seeing their bond warmed your heart but also made it ache slightly with the acceptance that that could never happen to you with your own father.

“Real smooth, Pavi,” You grinned at your brother, who grumbled something under his breath and closed the distance to crush you in a hug.

“Shush, didi. I just saved your ass.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did.” You ruffled his hair affectionately and pulled back, smiling at the growing shouts of ‘dhanyavadh, makhdi-bhaiya!’. (Thank you, Spider-Guy!)

“Amma’s going to kill you, by the way. She thinks you snuck out to go to some p-”

You let out a soft mmph as you collided with possibly the boniest person you had ever had the misfortune of bumping into. You were pretty sure you had just got stabbed in seven different places by various joints.

“Sorry, I didn’t-” You paused as you looked up, taking in spikes, a leather vest, pins, a guitar, and mask eyes which looked like running mascara.

“Holy shit, you’re really cool.”

The Spider-Man variant blinked in surprise and let out a laugh. “Why, thank you, poppet. I try. Pisses the fascists off so much that they call me Spider-Punk.”

You heard the twang of a well-known (almost infamous, at least in Mumbattan) accent and glanced at Pavitr. “He’s British,” He confirmed, giving Hobie a high-five.

“Well, I don’t care. He looks awesome.”

“Oi, Pav, I like this one.” He gave you an appreciative fist-bump, and you lifted your eyebrows at the sheer size difference between both of your hands.

“That’s my sister.”

“Makes sense. But you know I didn’t mean it like that. She seems cool is all.”

“Wait. If you’re British, can you do us a favour and steal back the Kohinoor? Please?”

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t make any promises. Fuckin’ Sweeney*, I doubt they even know where it’s kept.” (*Sweeney/Sweeney Todd - Cockney rhyming slang for Flying Squad [the police])

You nodded along politely with a smile like you actually understood even one word of that sentence. “Well, okay, in that case-”

You turned and almost burst out laughing. Pavitr looked like he was on the losing end of a staring contest, his hand almost engulfed in Inspector Singh’s much bigger one. Gayatri stood behind him, looking between them in awe. “I’ve never seen him so emotional.”

“Excellent job.”

Your bother just gave a nod, but knowing Pavitr he was internally over the moon and would hold that simple statement close to his heart, insisting that his girlfriend’s dad “loved him”.

“Man-like Miles, my guy!” Hobie grabbed the red and black Spider-Man - Miles’ - shoulders and shook him excitedly, punching him lightly as the people of Mumbattan started cheering.

You were about to join in when something happened. Well, not happened, really, but… something felt off somehow. You had read something once that said a person’s hair stands on end as a warning when lightning’s about to strike. You imagined that’d feel like you you were feeling right now. And you could hear whistling… was that sound just your ears being weird?

The cheers died down suddenly and you turned around too late. One of those portal-holes, slicing through the air like a deadly frisbee, slammed into you and knocked you inside in such a way that you got teleported straight off the side of the bridge. You scrabbled for the supports, but to no avail as you sailed right past them.

You heard Pavitr’s panicked yell, the sounds of confused and worried chatter bubbling among the ground, and the air rushing around in your ears as you free-fell.

You can’t save me, you realized as you saw Pavitr dive off the bridge, reaching out his wrist in preparation of shooting a web. You won’t get here in time. You focused on mouthing the next few words that came to your mind, because if you were going to die and leave your brother you would do so by reminding him that he was - and always would be - loved. Pavi, I’m sorry. I love you. I always will.

Your stomach dropped and your head spun - but by some mercy you didn’t feel the final impact.

——— ———

Pavitr’s POV.

“No, no no no- please, please no-”

Pavi, I’m sorry.

I love you.

Six words. Six words which shouldn’t be used in the same sentence. Those two sets separately, sure, but in very different scenarios.

Those would not be the last words you said to him. They couldn’t be.

Time seemed to slow down, making his movements sluggish and hazy. He stretched his wrist out till it ached, silk erupting from his - no, your - kaada. Come on, come on…

The silk shot toward you and for a second he thought it would reach in time.

Then he heard a crash and watched you fall straight through the flimsy tin roof of an abandoned warehouse. “No!”

He landed after you, shooting a web at a street lamp and pulling up to break the built-up momentum at the last second. Kicking down the warehouse door, he rushed over to your limp form, sprawled across a few empty crates in the dimly lit space.

“Nonono you have to stay with me, please don’t go, I can’t-” Pavitr swallowed hard as he picked you up and set you down with your back against the wall, holding up your jaw so your head didn’t fall forward. He snapped his fingers in front of your face two, three times - no response.

He could feel his vision starting to blur, heart practically causing an earthquake as he shakily put his finger to the pulse point on your neck.

Nothing.

“No,” He whispered into the still air, as if that would be able to revive someone who was so much more than just a cousin. You were his sister, his closest and most annoying friend, his anchor. You were supposed to be a constant in his life. If you were gone… what would go next?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, cradling your lifeless body in his arms. But after a little while Hobie dropped in through the hole in the ceiling, and Miles and Gwen came in through the door. He didn’t understand anything they were saying. Pavitr felt like he was underwater, the cold, murky silence filling his ears and bleeding into his brain.

Someone else, much bigger than him tried to drag him away. Someone wearing a beige police uniform and a turban. He kicked and fought, screaming at them that they didn’t understand, he couldn’t leave you, this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. That you were going to wake up soon. You were only unconscious, after all. You had to wake up sometime.

You had to, right?

Pavitr watched as you were placed on a stretcher, a white cloth laid over your body. He slumped in the hands of whoever was struggling to drag him away as all his hopes of you waking up splintered into a million pieces. Pieces that he would step on and trip over and they would cut his skin a billion times. Little tiny paper cuts. Paper cut after paper cut, till he bled out.

Through whatever shocked haze his brain was forcing itself into, he knew that something inside him had broken. Duct tape could fix it. Duct tape could fix anything. Was this metaphor for something? His brain really needed to slow down, he couldn’t keep up with what was and what wasn’t fixable with a single roll of duct tape.

He pictured his heart, the muscles and blood vessels torn clean through in the centre, forming a hole in the shape of you. Did it stop beating? It felt like it stopped beating. Was there a way to check if he was still alive? He hoped he was. Though there didn’t feel like much reason to be. Not anymore, at least.

Oh. Maya Aunty. Someone would have to tell Maya Aunty. No, he would have to tell Maya Aunty.

Two funerals in the span of 6 months. Two core members of the family gone.

Twin flames burning warm and bright, always lighting up the entire place with their own unique luminosities, until they couldn’t anymore. The wicks were extinguished and the candles melted into stumps before their time.

The Spot knew exactly what he was doing, Pavitr realized. Because he might as well have set fire to his entire home.

——— ———

15 & still 16.

Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar was many things.

He was Mumbattan’s Spider-Man. He was Maya Aunty’s nephew. He was Gayatri’s boyfriend. He honoured his dead parents with his last name. He carried the legacy of his dead uncle with his middle name alone.

Most of all, he carried the memory of his sister in every scar that he got that day.

Suddenly every moment you had spent with him seemed too little. Even just one of your hugs would take away some of the pain.

Keep them in your heart, they’re watching over you. Recall the memories you made with them.

What did that even mean in this case? You had gone too soon. Dead, cremated at 16. You weren’t even an adult. And what hurt the most was that everything - from your room to your belongings - was exactly how you left it.

It had been almost 3 months and he still hadn’t let anyone change anything in your room. The messy duvet could stay messy. And the pillow that was thrown at the foot of the bed had taken up permanent residence there.

The room smelled like vanilla and honeycomb. And it would stay that way for as long as he could help it. If someone rearranged anything, would that part of you disappear from this house? He didn’t want to find out.

Everything that made this room yours would stay there, it had to. The way you meticulously arranged every makeup and hair product by height, colour and serial order on your chest of drawers. The way your cupboards always smelled of cotton candy because of an essence diffuser your friend had given you.

Gayatri, Miles, Gwen and Hobie had all tried their best to help him, and Margo had even dropped in a few times and offered to play video games with him. And admittedly, he was in a much better frame of mind than how he was only a little while ago.

He sat on the floor, hugging his legs loosely to his chest and clutching a mug of chai in one hand. Pavitr couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to; the altogether lack of the owner of this room made the silence even more oppressive and suffocating.

He stretched his legs out slowly, refusing to let his mind wander. Focus on the wallpaper. Focus on the sound of traffic. Focus on the chai. Focus on anything except the posters, the pillows, the way that it felt like time itself was holding its breath inside this room.

Pavitr’s leg brushed something hidden underneath the rug in front of him. Frowning slightly in confusion, he leaned forward to peer underneath the fuzzy square of fabric - finding nothing but a small notebook and a pen.

He pulled it out and, upon recognizing it, drew in a surprised inhale. The leather-bound cover was dusty and worn out. The label that read Bhim Prabhakar in neatly printed handwriting had been scratched out, jagged words cutting across the paper like tiny knife strokes. His heart squeezed when he read the word written in the second handwriting.

Y/N.

Of course he remembered this book, how could he not? On days when you had noticed he felt sad, you tore out two lined pages of paper and made him write down what was bothering him in a letter.

“Here, Pavi. Write it to anyone you want, and fill it out with everything bad that happened today. You don’t have to send it to them, don’t worry. I’ll even do it with you.”

He still remembered the first time he had done that activity with you. You both sat back-to-back, scribbling down all the ‘yucky feelings’, as you had put it once. Pavitr had finished his letter and surprised you by addressing it to you, twisting around to hand you the folded piece of paper.

You hadn’t addressed your letter yet, so you wrote his name on the top in big block letters.

To: Pavitr Prabhakar.

Because it was a very official document, you had explained solemnly.

And when you took a look at how he had mentioned you, you had lunged forward and trapped him in a bone-crushing hug.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

He felt tears well up slightly as he recalled the amount of times he went and wordlessly sat at the edge of your bed, pointing to the leather journal. And you would pull out two pages, hand him a pen, and sit back-to-back on the floor. Every time, without fail.

Pavitr opened the book, running a hand along the pages of handwritten letters that were unevenly glued or stapled in. Some were tearing at the edges, others had chai-stains or ink splotches.

He carefully pulled out a page - only one this time - and picked up a pen from the mug of stationery on your bedside table.

Pausing to think for a second, he tested the pen on the bottom of the page. Then moved the tip to the first line.

Dear Y/N,

Pavitr stopped and narrowed his eyes at that. It felt strange, almost alien for some reason. A foreign word on these pages.

He tapped his pen on the page as he got an idea. He scratched out the two words he had written, addressing it to someone with a different yet more familiar title, at least to him.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

I know very little about the antyesti process so if anything’s wrong don’t hesitate to correct me! <3

Glossary:

Antyesti - Antyesti literally means "last sacrifice" or "final auspicious ceremony", and refers to the funeral rites for the dead in Hinduism, which usually involves cremation of the body. This rite of passage is the last samskara in a series of traditional life cycle samskaras that start from conception in Hindu tradition.

Saree/Sari - A saree is a garment consisting of a length of cotton or silk elaborately draped around the body, traditionally worn by women from South Asia. It is usually worn with a blouse that exposes part of the midriff, but blouse styles can vary.

Dupatta - A length of material worn arranged in one or two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez or a kurta, worn by women from South Asia. (Srry guys u have to look up those two definitions if ur curious,, it’s better to see how it looks rather than read a description anyway)

Kancha - Kancha is played by using marbles. It is popular in small Indian cities and villages, among small boys only as a gully sport. It is rarely played by girls. The participant has to hit the marble kept in a circle. If he hits the target properly, he wins. The winner gets the kancha (maybe kanche is the plural form? idk) of the other participant boys.

Lagori/Pithoo/Seven Stones - Lagori is a traditional game from the Indian subcontinent. It involves a pile of stones and a ball.

A member of one team (the seekers) throws a ball at a pile of stones to knock them over. The seekers then try to restore the pile of stones while staying safe from the opposing team's (the hitters’) throws. The hitters' objective is to hit the seekers with the ball before they can reconstruct the stone pile. If the ball touches a seeker, that seeker is out and the team which the seeker came from continues, without the seeker. A seeker can always safeguard themselves by touching an opposite team member before the ball hits the seeker.

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @vhstown

[enigmaticcattic]

Heyyyyy Jonathan Ohnn/Spot x Reader side of Tumblrrrrr

...

Why have I yet to see any drabbles/fics of Spot being a domestic househusband while Reader is out at work because he can't go outside??????

[a-little-unsteddie]

Admiring the Ocean

I promise this is fluffier than the last thing I posted. Kinda. It gets there, in the end. Enjoy!

———

Eddie was never what anyone would consider a ‘quiet kid’. He did everything so loudly — so himself — and without reservation. It’s one of the things that Wayne insisted he loved most about him. He didn’t hold back, ever, and Wayne thought that kind of being, that kind of loving, was beautiful.

Unfortunately, the world would not agree with Wayne Munson, because Eddie was only eight when he first started getting into Dungeons and Dragons. Someone at school had lent him a guidebook, and he had taken it home to read. Occasionally, when he read something particularly intriguing, he would turn to his dad and repeat exactly what he learned. At first, he got patient smiles and nods. Then his dad would roll his eyes before turning to listen. Eventually, he would audibly scoff as Eddie required his attention. This would lead to his dad eventually growling out, “For god’s sake boy, shut the fuck up before I make you.”

That would be the first time that Eddie learned that sometimes he was too loud.

It wouldn’t be the last time.

Eddie was ten when he came home to tell his dad about his crush. He was ten when he learned that he should be quiet about that part of himself. He was ten when he was almost killed for loving a boy. He was ten when he left to live with his Uncle Wayne. He was ten when he decided he wouldn’t talk anymore. He was too loud.

It didn’t last, however. It lasted about as long as his uncle found out he decided to stop talking. It lasted maybe two hours. And then his uncle was telling him that there was nothing wrong with him. That the way he loved was magnificent, so completely and irrevocably perfect. It would take longer for Eddie to believe it. To embrace it.

Even then, though. Eddie decided he would love boys quietly. From a distance. He knew it was dangerous for him to love openly. So he didn’t. He made every other part of himself so loud it drowned out anything else. No one noticed the quiet yearning Eddie felt. He hid it from everyone.

Well.

He tried to hide it from everyone.

But Wayne must have known, must have been told, must have somehow seen, because he took Eddie close one day and whispered into his ear gentle reassurances.

“I know. I know, it’s okay. It’s okay to love boys, y’hear me?” Wayne had gruffly spoken, firm but quiet. “I know it’s scary, but it is okay. You are allowed to love boys. I love you. You are mine, y’hear me, boy? My son. And you can love whoever you want.”

Eddie still hid it. He just hid it with Wayne, letting his uncle hear about whoever he liked. He couldn’t help it, really. But other than that, he was quiet. He never showed signs in public. He was still loud, but he used it as a cover. He used it as a shield. Threw himself into being so wholly and unequivocally himself so that he could watch, yearn, admire from afar. Used his speeches at lunch to give himself a chance to look at whatever pretty boy had captured his attention.

Eddie loved pretty boys.

He did so quietly, observing from afar, content to love them from his mind, doing nothing to show for it besides the occasional longing look. He never expected any of them to love him back, how could he? Loving them was never about getting loved in return — no one expected a sunset to watch them back. He was happy doing what he was doing.

And no boy was as pretty as Steve Harrington.

Loving Steve Harrington wasn’t something that Eddie had expected. It had happened suddenly, without a warning. Eddie had been unaware of the fact in one moment, one breath, and in the next one, Eddie knew he would love Steve Harrington until he died, probably. He also knew he would do so silently. The one thing about himself he would ever do quietly. He watched as Steve healed and became more himself, admiring the way that he had been building muscle strength. He watched the gentle happiness return to Steve, how it radiated from inside of him and brightened the entire room. He was breathtaking. Still, Eddie loved without expectation. Without planning to tell anyone. Other than Wayne. Wayne heard it all.

Heard about the way Eddie is certain he could create constellations if he concentrated hard enough on the moles and freckles dotted across his skin. He heard of the way Steve’s laugh brings a smile to anyone who’s around to hear, the noise so gentle and fond it’s impossible to ignore. The way that Eddie is convinced that Steve was art, a sculpture carved from stone, appearing soft and forgiving, but actually sharper than he lets on.

Except.

Eddie got comfortable. When Eddie got comfortable, his self preservation goes down, apparently. Eddie and Steve were hanging out, and Steve was looking at Eddie curiously, searching for something. Eddie wasn’t scared of what he was looking for — at first. Then, the longer Steve looked at him, eyes growing ever fonder, Eddie realized what Steve was looking for. Maybe not what he was looking for, exactly, but what Steve had found. Eddie was terrified of whatever it could be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, looking at Eddie in soft confusion. Not accusatory, just curious. Worried, maybe. It soothed Eddie enough to just start talking.

“I learned from a young age that sometimes I love things too loudly,” Eddie started, unsure where he was going until the words were spilling out, “But I still loved so much. Everything. Dungeons and dragons, art, theatre, math on a good day. I just didn’t know how to be quiet about anything I admired. And well, some people didn’t like that, so they tried to shut me up.” Here, Eddie paused for a second as he contemplated something. “I guess, in a way, they won. Because I stopped loving boys out loud, but god, do I love them. Especially pretty ones, like you. But I learned that just because I can’t be loud about it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. So I did it from a distance. Never straying too close. It’s a bit like loving the stars, y’know. Or how a sailor loves the sea,” he paused, smiling softly, “in the way photographers love a sunset. With my entire being and no expectations to be admired, to be loved, back. You don’t look at the ocean and expect it to look back at you.” He ended his ramble, trailing off and feeling his cheeks heating up. He said a bit mire than he meant to. Well, he supposed, he was never really meant to love quietly.

Eddie opened his eyes when a hand touched his cheek, not realizing he closed them. His eyes met Steve’s, who was looking back at him so softly, so lovingly, that Eddie was struck with the absurd thought that this is what it must feel like to be admired, to be loved by the ocean in return.

[generalsdiary]

comfort isn’t Sunday’s thing.

he is like a match, he needs to burn

and burn out till the wooden wick turns black and ashen.

The head of the Oak family. …Former head of the Oak family. “what a joke…” he dryly chuckles. his wrists and ankles shaded red from the shackles and chains they held him in. the cold metal against his soft skin was still fresh in his mind, chaining a Halovian… an angel in chains- so much like the archangel Lucifer- except Lucifer was never a bad guy, nor is Sunday- that’s what he believes at least. or was Sunday more like Icarus, he got too close to the sun- touched the hand of a god, of an Aeon. this ‘freedom’, if he can even call it that, given by Jade- it will surely be short-lived, like a firefly in the summer, burning out his life. what deal did Robin make with that woman? he should find her, he needs to see his sister. make sure that she is okay. behind his heavy eyelids, Sunday recalls how she caught him, held him… silently murmured prayers fall from his lips in hopes that she is okay. he would forsake anyone, anything, even himself- his pride and beliefs and fall on the ground to pray to any Aeon if it meant his sister would be safe. his step is heavy, silenced by the carpet in the empty hotel room. the door clicks as it closes, and he chuckles once again, a self-deprecating laughter. “I failed. At… everything. I couldn’t protect her, I couldn’t give everyone a happy life in the dreamworld- I couldn’t-“ Sunday’s words get stuck in his throat, choking on them, feeling the flower petals bloom inside his throat- constricting his breathing and making his mouth dry. his gaze raises to the ceiling, is he seeking a remnant of Ena?... no… Sunday is regretting his failure. “I was never enough. I didn’t do well... enough.”

gold sun-like eyes fill with hot tears that slowly tread down his cheeks and he falls to his knees. he softly shakes his head and stands back up, “no… no.” Sunday, even in his fall from the sky, he doesn’t allow himself to tread so lowly that he’d weep on the floor. instead, he walks further into the room, which, in his gaze looks distorted, in the same way the world looks when one’s eyes are full of tears threatening to overflow. Sunday’s eyes were now dry, his hands calm without a tremor as he slowly took off his jacket, and another one… and his shirt. the wings usually wrapped around his waist relax and sit behind him, long, light, never seen by another. the gloves come off his hands and he continues until he stands without any restrictions. troubled mind with troubled eyes focused on the clothes laid out on the bed. why are his clothes the only thing he can control right now? Sunday turns his back to the bed, frustration washing over his body. “What’s next… what is it that I can do next? Where… where would I even go?” Sunday’s voice turns to soft mumbles while his back remains straight and shoulders square, even after everything he holds himself up high, elegant, and firm. as if he is always observed by a silent shadow of his past that judges his every move. with a heavy step, he walks into the bathroom and towards the bathtub. a sour sight. the wound’s still fresh. he sits in the normal bathtub, the water filling it slowly, his head hangs over the edge and he sighs. the match has burnt out. the hot water brings him no comfort. Sunday’s mind is on a short pause, a mere breather full of regret and knives pressing against the hill of his throat, as he struggles to swallow the mistakes, the failures, and thoughts of what he could have done differently. mere moments later his head raises again, the vulnerability in them gone, the tundra cold in them once more while he organizes the information in his head and creates a new plan for moving forward. it is all chaos, his mind like books that fell off the shelves, shredded paper flying around with crossed out writing on them, the furniture thrown, flipped over- his mind palace a mess. Sunday made this mess and now he must sit in it. him, a follower of the order.

“… but chaos… is a ladder.”

[torasplanet]

Out of curiosity, what would Dabi do if reader didn’t forgive him and moved on instead of giving him another chance? 👀👀👀👀

ok let’s be honest, dabi is his own downfall. he is his worst enemy. and he ruins shit for himself just like he ruined this relationship.

in dabis mind, you can’t just not forgive him. i mean, he’s your everything and you can’t leave.

but when you left and he was proven wrong, he lost his shit. i mean at first he didn’t believe it, he kept calling you and showing up at your door saying that you didn’t mean it and you know you’ll come back or apologizing profusely just wanting to be with you.

nobody could tell him anything to make him understand that you didn’t want to be with him. but eventually he knew. when he showed up at your apartment and saw you all cuddled up with hawks of all people and it seemed like you were happy.

he hated it, don’t get him wrong but he felt bad, for you. you clearly didn’t want him anymore and you were happy with hawks. so with the little bit of humanity he has left, he let you be. now he did beat the shit out of hawks but he left you alone.

dabi will never get over you though. you saw a part of him that nobody ever did, you saw touya. and he will forever sulk at the thought of you leave knowing he caused it.

[atagarock]

Quick color theory practice ;;

succ it explodoboi

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

@jegulus-microfic | march 21 support | words: 976

hiiii so i had the worst fucking time at work lately and i felt like i needed to disappear and wondered why i was a public enemy number 1. so to make myself feel better i wrote this (yes, you guessed- james is me; reg is my therapist 🤠). do i feel better? not really. do i hope someone else with similar feelings will find comfort in this? absolutely.

tw: anxiety, self hatred, everyone is mean

James lay on the carpet and looked up at the fluorescent stars on the ceiling. He was having a shitty day; he started it with a huge smile on his face, but as he walked into the coffee shop he always passed on his way to work, the barista looked at him like he had just killed their pet. Maybe they're having a bad day, he thought.

So he ordered his coffee, waited until the order was ready, and watched the barista. They served another customer with a radiant smile on their faces. Well, maybe they just don't like me.

The thought made him lose his spark a little, but as he grabbed the paper cup and left with a cheery see you tomorrow, he plastered that bright smile back on his face.

It hasn’t stayed there for a long time. While waiting for the light to turn green, he looked at the girl holding her mother's hand and winked at her. The woman at her side must have read it wrong, because she frowned at him and led the girl as far away from him as the other people would let them. Yeah, she didn’t get it right; I was just trying to be friendly, not creepy.

As the day went by, there were similar situations waiting for him at every corner: his boss walked to the break room while James was making tea and gave him a nasty look; his colleagues didn't say a word to him all day, apart from polite greetings. James needed help with some paperwork and asked Carolina from accounting about it. She just huffed and took the papers with an eye roll.

He didn’t get it—what was he doing wrong? He was nice as ever, smiling at everyone and trying not to get in anyone’s way, yet still, each person with whom he interacted that day seemed to hate him.

Even Sirius seemed angry with him when, after being asked if he wanted to come over and watch today’s game, the long-haired man replied i can’t.

By 4:00, when he finished work, there was a purple spot on his hand where he was pinching himself to get his mind off of the whole everyone-hates-me thing. He walked out of the building, saying his goodbyes with a small smile and sad eyes that no one seemed to notice. He walked the five blocks from work to his flat, looking down, deep in thought.

What did I do? Are they mad at me for taking that sick leave last week? I didn’t even know they needed my help so much; I shouldn’t have done that. Was I rude to that barista the last time I went there? And Sirius? He’s never like this; I had to muck something up.

The spiral went on and on until James realised he was at the entrance to the building he lived in. And now he’s here, lying on the floor, looking at the stars he and Regulus put up there so long ago. James wondered if his boyfriend would also be mad at him.

He didn’t know how much time has passed before he heard a key turning and the door creaking. He still lay on the carpet when Regulus shouted, “Hi, baby! How was your day?”

“Good, I guess,” James replied robotically. As the younger man walked into the room, he heard a sigh and quick steps, and suddenly Regulus was looking down at him with a face James couldn’t exactly read from this perspective. “Am I a bad person, Reggie?”

His boyfriend crouched next to him, putting his fingers in James’ hair. That was the first thing today that didn’t make him feel like a piece of garbage.

“Que s'est-il passé chéri?” James has heard this question so many times for the last six years that he didn’t need translation, so he just started rumbling about everything that happened and everything he felt.

The longer he talked, the harder it was to hold back the tears in his eyes. When the first rolled down his cheek, Regulus laid down next to him, taking his face into his hand and caressing it gently with a thumb.

“You’re not a bad person, mon rayon de soleil,” Reg whispered to James, looking straight into his eyes with so much adoration and honesty that it made him cry harder.

They stayed on the floor, with James crying quietly and Regulus cradling his face. It took another eternity for the older man to calm down, but when he finally did, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Regulus stood up, extending his hand to help James up and putting his arm around the other’s waist for support. James felt sour after so much time spent in one position, so it actually was easier to walk like this.

Regulus sat him down on a couch and went to the kitchen to make them tea and pasta al pesto. Moments later, he was back at James side. They ate in peaceful silence, yet James' brain was still racing. Regulus must’ve noticed it, because he put their dishes on the coffee table and pulled James to his chest.

“Baby, you could start a cult,” he started into the crown of James’ head, “and you would still be better than anyone else. Even if you did something wrong, you would immediately try to fix it, and this is not a bad-person trait. You did nothing to piss all those people off; it was just an unlucky coincidence. They all had a bad day today, and apparently instead of dealing with it in a mature way, they decided to act like a bunch of kids. It’s not your fault. You’re not a bad person,” Regulus repeated the words like a thousand times.

James still had his doubts.

But James felt better.

translation: Que s'est-il passé chéri? -> What happened, darling?

[crow-aeris]

Just Now: Eldritch Horror Monster recieves cuddles? (1272 words)

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Eldritch Tim Drake, Feral Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Sad Tim Drake, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Older Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Older Sibling Jason Todd, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Meta Tim Drake, Kinda, Tim Drake Whump, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, No Batcest | Batfamily Incest (DCU)

Series: Part 2 of Local Eldritch Horror Monster Just Wants Hugs…

Summary: Eldritch Horror! Tim Drake has a flashback, almost kills Dick, and gets cuddles afterward!

[kamomie]

Hot take:

No egg is the most misunderstood egg.

All the eggs have sides to their personality and trauma that are only seen by their closest family and friends.

I get grey hairs every time I see Leo and Tallulah being described as the most misunderstood eggs.

Let me ask, how many on the island truly know Ramon? Chayanne? Dapper? Pomme? Richarlyson?

Answer: Their parents and ~2-3 of their aunts/uncles. Exactly like Leo and Tallulah.

A note specifically on Leo:

If your proof of Leo being misunderstood is q!aypierre and q!bad saying she would enjoy being away from q!foolish, I have news for you; they weren't being serious. Q!bad knows perfectly well how close Leo and q!foosh are, and seeing people constantly downplaying q!bad's relationship with Leo in specific is honestly sad. Yes, Leo now prefers to be taken care of by q!roier because that's her brother, and he speaks Spanish. But way before he was there? Q!bad was her babysitter. Q!max babysat her twice, I think? But other than that? For months, if Leo needed a babysitter, it was q!bad. He knows her. She knows him. She used to help q!bad troll q!foolish. When q!forever came clean about what he did to Leo, q!bad drew his weapon, getting ready to kill. She used to wake up for him as well. And she still occasionally does. Q!bad sang his most precious lullaby to her, "You are my sunshine," with personalised lyrics:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away. The other night dear, when that whale hurt you, I was very, very upset. But thankfully dear, you are still here, so i’m not as upset as I was. Oh don't worry Leonarda, your papa Foolish and I will keep you safe. So will Vegetta and everyone else, we won’t let anything happen to you.”

Don't sit there and tell me q!bad doesn't know Leo.