#on writing w/ mel

[silverislander]

day 19: ambessa

there is nothing in the world that can prepare someone to see their only daughter unconscious in a hospital bed, hooked up to enough machines to make her look like an automaton. still, ambessa had been hoping it would affect her less.

a vote for peace. what good was peace in a city so ailing its own citizens would dare to do such a thing?

mels' hand is still so small in hers. so soft. no matter how many years pass, she will always think of her daughter's hands as the hands of a child, someone who had never taken to the sword no matter how hard she was pushed.

most of her is angry. the audacity of this person- whoever it had been- to think they could do this galls her. the failure of this city to protect its own territory speaks volumes of the failure of its leadership. she wants to be only angry, to wield that rage and find familiar comfort in it.

she is not, however, only angry. when the nurses came in to tend to mel, ambessa had made direct eye contact with each of them, silently daring them to comment on the redness of her eyes.

the years will never fully separate the tie between them: ambessa will always be mel's mother, and therefore mel will always be her daughter. where did she fall short? what lesson did she fail to teach, to let this happen to her? perhaps if she had been there- if she had taught mel better- if she had just never let her go in the first place-

but she had, and now here she is, letting herself become soft again.

ambessa could not have saved mel. the past is the past. what she can do now, though, is ensure that her lessons are burned into piltover's memory for someone to learn from, that power is never again abandoned in pursuit of a fool's goal like peace. she can ensure that whoever is responsible sees punishment the likes of which will deter any delusion of their strength for as long as this city still stands.

ambessa stands from the chair, kisses mel's forehead as if putting her to sleep again and steps out of her daughter's room into a war zone, where she finds herself much more comfortable.

[misstalwyn]

The first time I saw Chronos do the thing my brain immediately realized that it would be the most cool and meta way to promote the sequel if hades randomly got an update and all that it did was add the chance to see Melinöe get sent to time-out in the middle of Zag’s runs lol

[melanirana]

Got inflicted with da tummy aches.

Damn, I forgot how much that shit hurts and how miserable it make you feel.

[ruthiesrambles2]

Sharing clothes: re: the hospitality uniforms.

"Melanie?" Ruth begins, a little out breath.

None of the passengers she had passed on the way to the hospitality office would have seen anything amiss, a pleasant smile on her face and walking, never running, with purpose. The breathlessness the only sign thst Ruth had been rushing.

"What's the emergency? Tristan said-" she stopped as Melanie turned to face her. "Oh."

Melanie's face was serious as Ruth held back a laugh. Melanie's jacket lay discarded on the desk, evidently removed to assess the full damage of the large dark stain on an otherwise crisp white blouse.

"it's not funny, Ruth. This is my last shirt, laundry are days behind with uniforms and I was minding my own business when that - that - boy barrelled into me and sent my coffee flying! The next thing I know he's running out the door talking about how you'll know how to fix it and I -" Melanie let out a frustrated noise, "- I haven't got time for this!"

"Now Melanie, Tristan is a very nice young man and I'm sure he didn't -"

"Ruth!" Melanie gestured wildly at the still wet shirt that was now sticking to the skin below.

"Okay, okay!" Ruth conceded, marching to the drawers at the back of the room. "Let me think. Coffee... We need to blot it as much as we can. Draw out as much liquid as possible... Aha!"

With a triumphant smile she turned back to Melanie, holding out the large stack of napkins she had been searching for.

"The batch we recalled for the W being upside down. I guess we never got them restitched."

Melanie took one of the proffered pieces of cloth and dabbed at the large damp area on her chest.

"Be easier with it on a flat surface," Ruth mused. "And anyway, we'll need to run it under cold water next."

Melanie just stared in response.

"What? It'll be harder to get out if we leave it," Ruth offered.

"What am I supposed to wear in the meantime? I've got that meeting with the catering team about - oh god, and then Lilah Folger is expecting me to discuss LJ's birthday -"

Melanie's speech was rapid, verging into panicked. Ruth had seen her handle many a crisis, and felt a twinge of discomfort watching the unflappable head of hospitality, well, flapping.

"Oh!" she interjected, cutting off Melanie's to do list. "I've got a - hang on -"

Ruth returned to the drawers, pulling open the one marked 'Misc. Supplies' in perfect script.

"I almost forgot this was here. It's probably a bit creased, but it's clean. I stashed one away for - well for this really. Only for me, obviously. It might come up a little big but I'm sure we can tuck it in..."

Now it was Ruth's turn to ramble, but she stopped as she saw Melanie's eyes widen in surprise at the shirt in her hands.

"Ruth, I could kiss you!" she exclaimed.

Ruth barely had time to register the blush rising to her cheeks before it rose again. She swallowed harshly as Melanie began to pull up her coffee stained shirt.

"I-" she spluttered, quickly turning away.

She fiddled with her W pin as she stared at the wall, her own pulse loud in her ears. She must have really been rushing around, she thought. Just not got her breath back...

"Come help me zip?" she heard Melanie ask over the roar of her heartbeat.

She swallowed again.

Slowly turning back, she saw Melanie unsuccessfully reaching for the zipper halfway down her spine, arms contorted. The shirt was a little big, but Ruth couldn't help but think it looked good. Not that Melanie ever looked bad in anything ever but...

Ruth shook herself back out of her head, stepping forwards as Melanie turned her back towards her.

Carefully reaching for the zipper, she pulled it up slowly, careful not to catch any skin.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, only she must have been too close when she did so, as the skin on Melanie's neck rose up in goosebumps.

"Thanks," Melanie said, uncharacteristically softly, as she turned back to Ruth.

Tucking the shirt tightly into her skirt, her eyes flicked up to the clock.

"I've got to go, is there any chance you could -" she gestured to the discarded shirt on the desk.

"I've got it. Don't worry."

Melanie smiled warmly, and Ruth felt that damn blush again. She handed Melanie her jacket.

"I'll swing by the laundry car too, and see if we can't do something about your uniform being expedited," she offered.

"I owe you one, Ruth," Melanie said genuinely, touching her hand to Ruth's arm for just a second.

And then she was out the door, leaving Ruth with the crumpled up shirt, and the blood rushing in her ears again.

[deltamel]

feeling sentimental tonight and reread is it casual now. i know it’s only been a few months since i posted my first fic but god it’s so easy to be hard on yourself as a writer! and just reading back through had me being like damn, i wrote this shit?? like this ain’t half bad!

reading something i wrote and haven’t revisited in a hot minute is so gratifying! i feel like i’m getting to experience a little part of my soul that i translated onto a page for the first time all over again. even reading some of my old writing from two years ago is both cringy and so sweet—it’s lovely to see how much a person can improve just through enjoying what they’re doing!!

i don’t know—maybe it’s silly!! the fic is by no means perfect at all, and even reading through i kept picking out grammar to change, clunky sentences, parts where the pacing stutters. but when the foundation of that all is someone who loves to write, and more importantly, who feels so giddy and proud reading it back? it makes it so much simpler to think errors are learning and noticing my mistakes is learning too.

anyway, wearing a stupid grin tonight after revisiting it so i wanted to share. i hope any other writers out there, my mutuals or not, can show themselves and their writing a bit of love tonight!! take it easy on yourselves in this world especially, please 🫂

[melnonny]

a while ago someone requested i draw runningwind but i lost the ask D: anyway. always thought he was a cool dude

[burninlovebutler]

Do you have a crush on anyone here? Like platonically?

honesty hour ask me anything! 💫

oh? crush? you mean every single one of my friends on here? 💀💀

i guess it’s only right to admit my crush to my wives:

-Faithy @cryingabtab my first wife, my goo goo muck 🥰💫

-Lion @succsessions lol my gamer boyfriend fiancé wife 🎮🦁💚

-Daisy @powerofelvis my peach booty wife 😏🍑

-Cici @lllsaslll my bestie zestie nocturnal twin wife 👯‍♀️��🏻🪩

-Em @elvisfatass my leo yeeyee partner 🤠💕

-Sam? @samfangirls ? idk i have some vague memory of getting hitched in vegas? 🎰🥂🤔🫣

ig some [platonic] crushes that might not know are @troubleinapinksuit @presleysdarling @sagesolsticewrites & @steph-speaks 🫣🫣💕💕💕

idk all the elvis bitches are hot what can i say 🤷🏻‍♀️

[relicsongmel]

Currently crying in the club on a Wednesday afternoon over this journal entry from my mom’s camera roll

[ivyglow]

It’s been forever, I miss hockeyblr and tumblr in general 🥺

[90stvqueen]

barbara howard/melissa schemmenti nc-17 prompt: sea barbara is different from land barbara

somebody write it pls

[an-organized-confusion]

Me: Dammit. Brain. Come ON. WRITE.

Mel (That Goth Chick; Dark/Main Creativity), after looking at more Remus fan art: How bout you draw iZ!Remus murderizing some Dead Enders?

Me: Yes, I'd love to but- *angrily gestures at giant pile of art/writing ideas that just keeps getting bigger.*

Mel, giggling: Oh, what's one more to the pile.

Prudence (The Nurse; basically an Analoceit fusion of fxns): Wow. Okay. This is a ticket to choice paralysis town.

Me: Aaand water is WET.

Liam, prancing into frame (The Hippie; Light Creativity): Don't forget to work on that Gymrat!Dukexiety drawing! Don't they make the cutest couple?

Mel, having a moment of realization and starts to whine some more: O-oh yeah... we had that Promethean!Patton thing to do. Religiosity is haaard...

Prudence: And you will be covering a very sensitive subject matter. You need to tread carefully on that one.

Me, scowling: PRUDENCE. THIS IS YOUR FAULT.

Prudence: Whatever do you mean? I'm just doing my job ensuring you've done your research. Psychology fascinates you on good day, anyways.

Me: Don't you dare use my special interests against me, man.

Prudence: I'm only trying to help.

Mel, eyeing Prudence: Yeah well, I'm just waiting on sOMEONE to digest the material so I can finish that thing.

[mikahorror]

A woman who managed to be imposing in a pink one piece pajama suit, one shoulder strap unfastened, stepped from the passenger seat. Nearly identical to Tatiana down to their dark brown skin. With one immediately noticable difference: streaks of white in her hair instead of their magic completely draining its color.

- A Game For Witches

[neomel]

Knuckles is Sonic's inverse in lifestyle and personality. Knuckles is alone, steadfast, isolated and on a one-track mind. Sonic loves making friends, is always on the move, surrounded by community and loves to crack jokes.

Metal is an attempt to replicate WHAT Sonic is without capturing WHO Sonic is; he is, in Sonic CD terms, the "Bad Future" Sonic. He has the same superficial look and powers as Sonic does, yet on every deeper level he's twisted and wrong. What makes Sonic great runs deeper than going fast, being powerful and being blue, and Metal's struggle through Heroes/IDW is failing to recognize the deeper reasons that make Sonic who he is

Shadow is like an amplified version of Sonic's core traits, sharing them on a surface level, yet different to an almost hostile degree in execution. Sonic fights humanity whenever it tries to harm nature; Shadow (in SA2) outright believes ALL of humanity is better off dead. Sonic is inexplicably fast and powerful as a marvel of nature; Shadow was CREATED to be a marvel of nature. Both Sonic and Shadow will do whatever they think is right, but Shadow extends that philosophy to borderline disregard for any other factors; and while both Sonic and Shadow are cocky and confident, they obviously express it in incredibly different ways.

Jet, not mentioned in the post above, is a similar idea to Shadow but on more of a satirical, caricature-type level than of a reimagining. Take everything that defines who Sonic is – Speed, cockiness, freedom, self-driven lifestyle – and imagine making the absolute worst of them. That's Jet; a boastful, prideful thief who does what he wants and gloats about how great he is.

Surge then, finally, is someone who serves as the ideological opposite to Sonic, as opposed to opposite him in personality. The core to Sonic's ideals is that of freedom, both for himself and for others. It means that he will live however he sees fit and believes that anyone else has the right to that freedom; everyone has the right to live, and only if that freedom is used to oppress and hurt others will he act to stop them, yet rarely in a way that would inhibit said freedom. Surge on the other hand is someone who's yet to be capable of being truly free, first working as a tool under the brainwashing control of Dr. Starline who continues to haunt her to date, and then being forced to obey the orders of Clutch during Misadventures/Phantom Riders. She doesn't know what to do with her life, and she believes that those who have hurt her – Dr. Starline, Dr. Eggman and indeed Sonic himself – don't deserve the freedom to keep living either.

TL;DR: They're all twisted versions of Sonic in their own distinctly different ways which the original tweet fails to rly capture imo

[cowboyishbabe]

WAIT.. this supposed to be the last season???????

[pastel-peach-writes]

Hello! I adore your writing. Can I request a fic with female arcane characters when they have a touch starved gf? (Definitely asking for a friend ahah 😅)

RAHHH. ARCANE LADIES LETS GOOO. tbh, im not that in tune with Mel and Sevika as characters so they may be OOC. Thanks for requesting!

Arcane Ladies w/A Touch-Starved Reader | Headcanons

╰┈➤ PLOT: Headcanons of Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, and Sevika with a touch-starved lover and/or discovering said trait.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Lower Case Intended (Kinda?), Suggestive Themes (Mel/Sevika), Not Proofread, Short

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

JINX ᝰ๋࣭𝜗᭡

- In a romantic setting (or really any setting), Jinx is touch-starved herself.

- when taking hostages or messing with those in her way, she will often touch them such as stroking her nail along their jawline or grabbing their chin when they're hurt and on their last limb.

- now she does this not because she's a bit insane and wants to add salt to their wounds but because she's curious. "What would this feel like?" "What would happen if I do this?"

- Much like most things in her life, curiosity is the main thing that gets her into trouble

- in terms of touching, you're not exempt from her touching curiosity.

- she'll drag her nails along your spine. cup your cheek and chin, and squeeze you like the baby you are to her.

- it's not until you linger after a hug that she notices your touch-starved like her

– since that moment, she made a mental note to cuddle you, kiss you, or poke at you more

– even if you tell her to stop annoying you or that she should focus on her work and not mess with you, she'll continue to poke and hold you.

– why? well because you're smiling through your complaints and she can't get over that smile you try to hide when you let yourself melt in her touch

–––

VI ﾒ

– much like her sister, Vi is touch-starved herself.

– y'all saw how she acted with Caitlyn and when she reunited with Jinx. She was all OVER them. With you, she's the exact same

– With her, you're more reluctant with touch. You want to hug her, cuddle with her, cling onto her like the clingy thing you are but you're scared to.

– you didn't grow up in an environment where that was normalized so it was out of your comfort zone to go out and cling to someone.

– in the beginning of your relationship, Vi was touchy until she noticed you weren't super comfortable with it.

– when she noticed, she had a discussion with you. – "Hey, are you comfortable with me hugging you 'n stuff? I noticed you get kinda tense when I first hug you." She'll ask you on a random night in the living room. You were hesitant at first, wanting to immediately ease her insecurities and tell her everything was fine.

– But if you lied, even if the lie was more a half-truth, your initial reaction to her touch would be the same. Tense at first then ease seconds into the touch.

– So, because you couldn't do anything but bite the bud, you told her

– Since telling, Vi said she'll help you work on getting more comfortable with touch.

– She'll even tease you when she notices you're more hesitant than normal.

– "Oh, come on," she'll tease you with her arms squeezing around your torso and your cheeks smushing to another. "You know you love it! Ease up, Mufifn."

–––

CAITLYN ᯓ

- With Caitlyn, you literally CANNOT get off of her. Can't blame you though.

- 6' foot something to cling onto? YUM.

- Caitlyn didn't mind your touchiness. She assumed you were that way so she didn't think anything of it.

- It wasn't until she met your family that she saw that your touchy side is something you keep hidden from your family, if not the world.

- You were so stiff around them, uncomfortable dare she say. You kept to yourself, restricted that pretty smile of yours, and you wouldn't let yourself ease into her touch.

- At home, she brought this up to you and you told her that being affectionate wasn't something your family did. To them, holding each other, hugging, expressing hellos and goodbyes with kisses was weird. Unfortunately for you, you're a naturally touchy person so you had to keep that part of you concealed.

- Caitlyn didn't like the thought of you hiding yourself from your blood kin. You didn't deserve that treatment so at home, after the event, Caitlyn went out of her way to be more touchy with you.

- she cradled your head when cuddling on the couch, gave you kisses on the cheek, and when she complimented you on something or congratulated you, she kissed the top of your head while giving you a polite squeeze.

– being super-duper-mushy-gushy-affectionate wasn't something she wasn't used to but she'll do anything for you. Plus, a couple extra kisses and squeezes haven't killed her yet.

–––

MEL౨ৎ

- You didn't care about touch all that much before your relationship with Mel. At the start of your relationship, you and Mel were younger so you had fewer responsibilities. All your free time, literally all of it, you guys spent with each other

- walking arm-in-arm while shopping, resting on each other on hot Summer days with your feet in a body of water, and mindlessly playing with each other's clothes or hair during late-night talks.

- but as she got busier, you saw her less, and seeing her less meant fewer touches.

- Mel wouldn't call herself touch-starved but starved for your touch.

– She'll miss your lingering touches on her fingers while you lay in bed, your lips on her back as you held each other, and your face in the crook of her neck.

– In a way, you both were touch-starved for each other. Maybe even a different word but this is a PG-13 space LMAO.

– at night, you would wrap your limbs around her tight and in the morning, you'd cling even tighter. What do you mean it's time for her to go already? She just got in bed!! (it's been 7 hours.)

– with Mel, your touch-starving-ness doesn't go unnoticed. In fact, whenever there's a time she notices you're more touchy than normal, she'll make it up to you

– And you never once complained about her way of making it up to you.

–––

SEVIKA ⚠︎

- oh lord, where do i start with this one, hm?

– One, Sevika loves the crap out of your touch-starved-ness. She won't admit this out loud but she thinks its the cutest thing in the world.

- She'll see you go in for a hug or maybe a wrap around her arm but then decide against it because of your own insecurities.

- Sometimes she'll take matters into her own hands and wrap her arm around you, pull you into her lap, or sneak a kiss on your cheek but other times she likes to make you suffer.

– "Mm, what was that?" she'll tease with a smirk on her lips. "Oh, did you want to hug me? Kiss me? Cling onto me or something?"

- Tbh, if you're with Sevika, you gotta be a little bit of a brat, right? right. So, you'll refuse the allegations she put on your name.

- That is until she pushes and pushes and boom. Like a perfectly boiled egg, your shell has been cracked and peeled, and the softness of your personality has been brought to light.

– with embarrassment plastered along your body and face, you'll do what you were too shy to before. (Cling, hug, kiss, etc).

- Sevika plays a big game but she loves it when you cling to her because just like you, she's a bit touch-starved too. The only touches she gets on a day-to-day basis are punches, kicks, etc.

- When you swallow your pride at home, you'll pull her down to your chest and hold her tight. She'll ask what's up but you'll just ignore her and she'll melt into your body like you intended.

WC: 1,229

[ode-to-melpomene]

hi hi mel!!! i love all your works and your writing is so wonderful ^^

was wondering if you could write something where one of the bat boys reaches the reader right before they’re about to get kidnapped by some criminals?? like maybe they’re publicly in a relationship w the batboy’s wayne identity n get targeted for that reason but one of the boys gets there js in the nick of time :)

thank u sm and have a great rest of ur day ^^

Love this prompt! Some of these are pre-kidnapping, some are mid-kidnapping. If anyone wants additional characters added, let me know! Hope you enjoy 💛

Daring Rescues

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x gn!reader, Dick Grayson x gn!reader, Jason Todd x gn!reader, Tim Drake x gn!reader Synopsis: Who comes to your aid when you find yourself in need of saving? Word Count: 2466 Warnings: Established relationship! Kidnapping, minor injuries, general mortal peril.

Bruce Wayne:

Bruce knew better than to associate you with Batman. He had learned that lesson a hundred times over by now, how dangerous it was to associate the people he cared for with the cowl. But now wasn't the time to dwell on the blunder.

“Oracle, update,” he barked over the communication device. Bruce perched atop a balcony, staring down at the street below.

“Black SUV turning onto Carlton,” Barbera replied, the sound of her fingers furiously working over the keys of the Batcomputer meeting his ears. “The car is registered to a loan shark put away a few years ago. Suspected ties to Falcone.”

Bruce uttered a grunted mm in response, eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. His eyes scanned the road below. He caught the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance. “GCPD?”

“I’ve got them cutting off side roads. Headed your way now.”

He squared his shoulders and prepared himself to launch from the balcony, one hand braced on the ledge beneath him and the other on his belt. He cocked his head to the East and narrowed his eyes- yes, there. He watched the SUV turn the corner, skidding as it spun around the sharp turn and narrowly avoided oncoming traffic.

“Sixty-three miles an hour?” he guessed.

“Sixty-six. Sounds like you might be losing your touch.”

“Oracle,” Bruce warned. He scowled. That extra speed would change his entry angle.

“Sorry. Dropping in three-”

Bruce’s hand shot to his belt.

“Two-”

The end of the grappling hook shot out from the device in his hand and buried itself within the construction scaffolding across from him. He gave a single tug, then launched himself from the balcony-

“One-”

- And crashed feet first into the rear passenger window of the interior of the modified SUV, seats removed to provide more space in the back. Panicked shouts rang out as glass shards shattered across the interior. Bruce pulled his cape over the lower half of his face, preventing glass from cutting his skin as he hit the floor.

The vehicle swerved and he used the momentum to bring his elbow into collision with a man’s partially covered face, his jaw making a distressing crack at the impact. His other hand lashed out, grabbing the driver by his hair and slamming his face against the steering wheel. The driver’s nose crunched and blood sprayed against the vehicle’s dash.

Hands grasped at his suit and he drove his knee into the third assailant’s ribs, sending him stumbling backwards. Your muffled shriek filled the interior of the SUV as the vehicle swerved and momentarily rocked into the curb.

The driver’s hands gripped at Bruce’s wrist behind his head, his foot flooring the accelerator. Bruce let out a tsk as he lunged forward and looped his arm around the driver’s neck. The man’s shrill scream was quickly silenced as Bruce squeezed the man’s neck in the juncture of his elbow and bicep.

He pulled the man backwards and used his opposite hand to stabilize the chokehold. His freehand reached for the steering wheel, guiding the vehicle down the road. He just needed a moment-

The driver finally went limp in Bruce’s arms. He tugged, pulling the man from his seat and wedged a batarang against the brake, quickly bleeding off speed.

Muffled screams filled the room, followed by a grunt of pain. Familiar hands raked over Bruce’s belt. He gripped the wheel with one hand and turned his head just in time to see a zap of electricity come to life.

You dove towards the third kidnapper, barreling into him and driving the taser into the side of his neck. The man screamed, spasmed, and went limp.

You panted around the gag in your mouth, your hands chained together in front of you. You held the taser tightly in your hands, glaring down with a fiery expression.

When you turned your gaze on him, that fiery passion was replaced with a soft, mirthful glint in your eye. You gave him your best smile, despite the gag, and a cheesy thumbs up.

Bruce scowled, despite the way his heart skipped a beat.

Dick Grayson:

Why did you always have to rush into things?

Of course it was a set up. That was so obvious now that you had a split lip and blood trickling from your nose. It was a last ditch effort on the part of some petty criminals who wanted a piece of the Wayne wealth in exchange for Dick’s hapless partner.

The masked goons cornered you in your own apartment, toying with you like cats stalking a mouse. One swung a pipe wrench and you skittered backwards, nearly bumping into the end table next to your couch. You really needed to move that when this was all over, and make sure the space was less cluttered so you wouldn’t get tripped up like this again-

A blade came slashing down, glinting in the waning sunlight that filled your apartment as it narrowly missed your face. Your curse was met by vicious laughter. With a snarl, you gripped the end table and hucked it at the figure holding the blade. 

Two of the goons jumped away from the end table as it flung towards them. You took the chance to dash to the kitchen, knocking over and tossing random items in your wake. As much as you appreciated the self defense training Dick had put you through, you didn’t trust yourself against their weapons. You took solace in knowing they weren’t here to kill you… but that didn’t mean they weren’t more than willing to rough you up.

You just needed to waste some time. So you threw a plate, a beautiful, arbor rimmed plate that had been a gift to you and Dick from Selina and Bruce (you suspected Selina stole them.) The assailants dodged the ceramic, so you snatched the detachable faucet and sprayed the nearest goon in the face with cold water. Too bad they were smart enough to wear masks.

And then you saw the balcony door slide open. It all happened so fast, a flash of black, blue, and silver darting into the space. Metal clashed with skin, a sickening thunk sounding as an escrima collided with an attacker’s skull. An angered shout tore through the air, only to be quickly silenced by a thud as the outspoken figure hit the floor.

It was over in a matter of moments. Three unconscious bodies on the floor, tucked out of sight behind your kitchen island, and a shadowed figure huffing agitated breaths through gritted teeth. Spots of blood on the escrima, on his face.

You blinked once, twice, clearing the fog from your vision. Nightwing- Dick loomed across from you. He tucked the escrimas behind his back and turned to face you, the scrunch in his brow covered by his mask.

“Are you alright?” you asked, voice barely above a tremble.

His expression softened immediately. He heaved a sigh and dashed around the kitchen island, sweeping you into his tight grasp. You wrapped your arms around him just as eagerly, pressing your face to the stretchy fabric of his suit.

“Should be asking you that, love.” Dick pulled away slightly, holding you at arms length. Though you couldn’t see his eyes through his mask, you knew he was carefully taking stock of your injuries.

“Just a few scrapes,” you said with a reassuring smile in spite of the way your swollen lip burned. “You should see the other guys.”

Dick barked out a laugh and pulled you flush against him once again, burying you in a tight embrace.

Jason Todd:

You should have called a cab.

Rain poured down on you, drenching you to the skin. Rain hadn’t been on the forecast today–you always made sure to check on days you chose to walk to-and-from work. When you had stepped out of the office building to find a slight drizzle dappling the sidewalk, you had thought nothing of it. Like many other Gothamites, you had assumed it was a passing spring weather.

Now the storm drains gurgled pitifully as water gushed into it. Your clothes were sodden, shoes waterlogged, mood dampened. You squelched down the sidewalk with a sour expression plastered across your features. The torrential downpour quieted your sentences, muffling your ears to the acute sound of footsteps following you from a distance.

You turned onto the next block and huffed, the wind now buffeting you face on. What a dreary, horrible day to be let off late from work. Jason would likely be on patrol by now, leaving you to sit alone in your shared apartment, reheating whatever he had left over from lunch. Maybe you could curl up in your bed and dive into that novel you had both been reading. That could make for a good conversation to wind him down from the emotional high of his patrol-

Foreign hands snatched you from your thoughts and dragged you into a dark alley, your scream muffled by a gloved palm.

You were slammed face first into a brick wall, the rough texture scraping your cheek. You bit back a snarl as the hands turned you around and smacked the back of your head against the hard stone. The chill edge of a blade was pressed to your throat and when your eyes readjusted to the sudden darkness and stinging pain in your head you were met with a masked figure. Great, because what you really needed after a long day was a mugging.

You fought viciously as the figures around you herded you down the back alley like a spitting, snarling animal. You stomped your heel on their feet, bit at their hands, kicked and flailed until you heard muffled requests for rope and chloroform. It wasn’t until you saw the van tucked away beside an industrial grade dumpster that you began caterwauling like an anguished banshee.

You were relieved by the sound of a familiar thump at the edge of the alleyway–you would recognize the sound of those heavy boots dropping anywhere, with how often you heard them on your fire escape. Your attackers slammed you against the van and you barked out a gleeful laugh at the sight. The attackers had a moment to turn their heads before Red Hood was descending on them with ferocity. You turned away, pressing your forehead to the van.

Screams, bones cracking, bodies hitting the ground. It was over quickly. When you turned to face him, his armored chest was heaving and he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. You knew better than to touch him when he was this high strung, so you settled for the safer option.

“Took you look enough,” you teased breathlessly, keeping your gaze one the way the red surface of his helmet snapped to face you instead of on the (you hoped) unconscious kidnappers. “I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to take care of this myself.”

The toe of Jason’s boot nudged an unconscious figure, a red and rapidly welting bite mark blossoming on the individual’s hand and wrist. “I don’t doubt you could’ve, but a little help never hurt.”

You cracked a smile, softening the hard lines of your expression in the hopes it would ease him. His shoulders relaxed at your placating gesture. You extended a hand, fingers spread in a silent offer.

“Walk me home?” you asked, more for his benefit than yours. Your heart still pounded in your chest, but the tightness eased when he interlaced his gloved fingers with yours.

Tim Drake:

Warehouses were such a cliché place to harbor an abductee. What happened to creativity? Tim crawled through an upper window of the dilapidated warehouse, some thirty feet above the ground. He stepped carefully across the rafters as he surveyed the scene.

There you were, a normal college student tied to a chair–well, normal if you ignore the fact that you were rumored to be in a relationship with the Timothy Drake-Wayne. He frowned at the sight of your arms twisted behind you and tied to the back of the chair. They had you situated in the center of the empty room with goons patrolling around you. His eyes sought a singular figure atop a pile of scrap, a rifle in hand. The figure searched the rafters–Tim would have to be careful to avoid him.

Tim stalked across the rafters, keeping to the shadows. He crept across one of the beams that bridged the center of the warehouse, ducking low and staying out of the light. His eyes were fixed on you-

Oh. You perked up, your head lifting and shoulders easing. You knew he was there somewhere, judging by the way your head turned slightly to scan the open room. You tilted your head, a flimsy gesture towards a second figure, patrolling near you with one hand tucked away in her coat. A hidden weapon? He bit back a smile at your clever aid.

Tim took another step, and something clanged. He looked below him, spotting a hook hanging from a long chain, the chain swinging under the beams subtle movements. He turned just in time to see the sniper swing his rifle in the direction of the sound-

You screamed.

The shrill shriek shook each of the assailants and all eyes turned to you. He exhaled a harsh breath of relief as you wailed and the masked figures moved in towards you. The sniper’s weapons whipped towards you and away from Tim.

Tim dropped. His landing was cushioned by the goon you had pointed out, knocking the figure to the ground. He used the momentum to carry himself into a roll, then launched to his feet and barrelled into the next unsuspecting kidnapper. This one was ready, his hands up in fists. Tim gave an opening and ducked as the man’s fist sailed past Tim. He gripped the attacker's arm and yanked, tossing him over Tim’s shoulder. The man landed with a thunk and Tim was quick to follow, extracting a pair of cuffs from his belt and linking the two fallen attackers together.

A shot rang out. It seemed the sniper wasn’t very good, considering Tim remained fully intact. His hands dipped to his belt again and withdrew a few batarangs. A quick volley knocked the sniper's mask askew and sent them stumbling down the rickety pile of scrap they stood upon. He used the opening to launch himself across the room, bo staff extending in hand. He swept the kidnapper’s legs, sending the figure tumbling down the pile.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked as he knelt to cuff and gag the attacker, kicking the rifle aside in the process.

“It got drafty,” you called back from where you sat tied in the center of the room. “Must’ve left the window open.”