#thinking about them thermo-regulated hugging

[welcoming-grey]

Phantom’s homeostasis working differently from both ghosts and humans because of his halfa status. So when he ended up in Gotham he wasn’t expecting to find another halfa who doesn't shiver when its cold or sweat when its too hot. They bonded over they're differences after the normal fight to death scenarios, and the 'I am a ghost!?' and ended up forming the ‘Weird Homeostasis Club’.

[george-fabian-weasley]

the mad hatter — g. w.(chapter 3)

Summary: You had found clear evidence that showed George as The Mad Hatter. And it had ruined you more than you thought.

Words: 2,771 words

Warnings: TW death, TW murder, TW poisoning, TW injuries, thriller, angst, fem!reader, husband!george, dad!george, serialkiller!george, sadism, bickering, mentions of sharp objects,

Disclaimer: I'm sorry for the 3 hours of delay, guys! My Internet wasn't working that well lately! Anyway, here's chapter 3! Prepare for some tissues, because this is pretty angsty. Reblogs and Comments are Highly Appreciated!

the mad hatter masterlist!

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“... Recorders?”

Inside the big drawer of George’s, were neatly placed recorders. You were confused, what the hell was he doing with these recorders in the first place?

Each of those recorders was labeled with initials you didn’t understand, along with them were numbers, six numbers underneath the letters. You reached for one, the top of the stack.

‘D. B.’

‘120121’

“DB…? What’s DB?” You muttered to yourself, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You tried to wreck your mind, thinking hard. There was a small voice in your mind, telling you the answer. Slowly it got louder and louder and louder until it’s the only thing you heard.

‘David Bush. 12th January 2021.’

The first victim of The Mad Hatter.

Without you knowing it, your fingers had grasped the recorder and pressed it to play. For the first few seconds, you only heard the static noises of the wheels inside the recorder turning.

“Date. 12th January. Subject. David Bush.”

It was George. This is his voice. But at the same time, it’s not. The voice you knew was gentle, understanding, and loving. This voice, however… was rough, deep and… and murderous.

George was breathing heavily on the tape as if he had exercised after a long while. You could hear him trying to regulate his breathings with the deep breaths he made. “I… I’ve stopped doing this for a while. It was a perfect shame that I did,” George huffed out a breath that you assumed a smile rose on his lips.

“Because I’ve forgotten how thrilling it was.”

It was an understatement; the fact that goosebumps ran up your spine heavily as you heard him. What… What was he talking about? What is the thrill? Please, please please, don’t let it be what’s in your mind. Please—

“Subject was held at knifepoint when I gave him those lovely macarons I bought from the newly opened bakery. Only I’ve put my own special ingredient in, just for him,” George’s voice cut your train of thoughts off. The way he held his words was delicate, like a piece of paper shaped into a knife kind of delicate. You could hear from his voice that he was smiling, he was smiling big.

You could imagine him at that moment, on the 12th of January, sitting in his workspace holding the recorder in his hand and let out all those words… purposely recorded.

“I’ve only tried my luck when I gave him those, and it seems my luck has not yet run out. Because a few moments later, he couldn’t breathe on his own. He couldn’t breathe, and as I watched him fight for a huff of air, excitement bubbles inside of me. The thrill, the nicotine of it all was, exhilarating. Addicting. I didn’t know why I stopped doing this in the first place.”

You felt like throwing up. He didn’t have to say what he was doing, or what was the special ingredient. Everything clicked in perfectly. Way too perfectly.

It’s him. George is The Mad Hatter.

You took a shaky deep breath, trying to digest everything. The Mad Hatter… was your own husband. The man that you have wed. The man that you have born a child with. The man that you’re in love with. You felt your heart ramming up your chest, the palpitations were fast and so unnatural, you felt like you would have a heart attack if it continued for a few minutes. You ran a hand through your hair, suddenly feeling chills on your body, it was cold in here.

“I did mess up though,” His words caused you to look up to the recorder. “I brought with me a thermos of tea, in case I was feeling cold. And I did, but I accidentally spilled some of them on his hands.”

“Thinking back about it, it wasn’t a mess up at all,” He started to chuckle, “Because as soon as it made contact with his hands, the subject let out this hoarse, strained scream. And it was… It was nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

“It was a masterpiece.”

You pressed the stop button on the recorder. You literally couldn’t bear to hear another word coming out of the recorder. Who is he? Who is your husband? Do you really know him? Or do you only know the front that he used in front of you for the past 7 years?

Your eyes snapped back to the content of the drawer. You rummaged through them all, the initials and the numbers. All of them aligned with the names of the victims and the dates they had been murdered.

David Bush. Peter Pettigrew. Severus Snape. Barty Crouch Jr. Spencer Gillard. Albus Dumbledore. Ralph Wilkins. Every single one of them, and their own recorders of confessions. All victims of The Mad Hatter. Victims of George Weasley.

And then you heard the front door open.

“We’re home!” Rafael’s cheerful voice had caught you off guard. You glanced at the watch on your wrist in haste, it was only 3:30 pm, they weren’t supposed to be back until 5. You felt fear running through your bones. What if George caught you snooping around? What if he's mad at you?

Wait. No. Why would you be scared? You’re not the murderer here, he is.

“Y/N, love? Are you home? We saw your shoes at the front of the house,” George’s voice, different from the one you had listened to in the recorder, had disgusted you in many ways you couldn't have imagined. You would've never thought his voice, which you loved so much before, could bring so much anger and hatred in you. But here we are.

Hearing him say your name, with love after, was he really honest? Or was he just lying, like he always does for the past 7 years? Hearing him saying it was repulsive, dirty, and full of hate.

He’s fooling with you. How dare he.

You stormed out of George’s workroom, surprising the two of them. “Mumma— '' Rafa's words were cut off when you grabbed his wrist, “Rafa, baby, I need you to be in your room for a minute alright? Mumma’s talking with Papa.”

“B-But— ” He was cut off again when you pushed him into his room and slammed the door shut. You could hear your son slamming his arms on the door, wailing to get out already.

George looked at you in confusion, “Darling, what— ” “Don’t call me darling. Or love, or honey or literally anything else!” You snapped, seething your next words, “It disgusts me.”

“What are you talking about?” George tried to get close to you, he tried to hold your hand but you shrugged it off harshly, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me.”

“Mumma! Let me out!!!” Rafael’s screams and wails had your husband’s attention, “Let him out of his room, Y/N,” he said seriously. You chuckled with no humor, “No, no. I’m not letting you near him again.” You narrowed your eyes at him, watching his furrowing his eyebrows.

“He’s my son!” George’s voice started to rise. You clenched your jaw, “He’s mine too! And I have the right to protect him from a serial killer!”

“You’re scaring him— wait what?” George looked at you with a frown. You shook your head as you scoffed, amused by his faux innocence, “You can’t fool me, George. Not anymore.”

“Papa! Papa, help me!” Rafael sobbed from the other side of the door. You watched as the hard look on George softened at the voice of your son. You were struggling as well, you have never heard him sounded so scared and terrified, and it was because of you.

But you had to protect him.

"Let him out, Y/N," George voiced out trembling. You took a shaky breath, "I will, as soon as I put you into cuffs. Turn around."

"What?" "I said turn around!"

"Rafa, baby, please hang on for a minute okay? Mumma's letting you out soon, can you stop crying for me?" You called out to your son. You heard the little sniffles, "Mumma, I'm scared…"

You heard your heart break into pieces, "I know baby, I'm so sorry, but just a little longer okay? Can you be a big boy for me?" You asked, and it was silent before Rafael let out a small, strained 'okay'.

"Y/N, please," George voiced out, "Let him out. He's scared out of his mind!" "I'm scared too, George! I'm scared too!" You cried out loud, feeling tears threatening to come out. You weren't sure if those were tears of fear or betrayal.

“Of what?!” “Of you.”

You walked towards him and pushed George to the wall, his back facing you. "Wha— hey!" he complained. "George Weasley," You spat out, gripping the handcuffs on your pockets and strained him with all your will to not let him move, "You're under arrest for the first-degree murder of 7 people. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

You purposely tightened the handcuffs, causing him to groan in pain. You neared your mouth to his ear, pushing his body against the wall harder.

"Teatime is over, you sick bastard."

"Mumma, why is Uncle Blaise here? And who are these people in our home?" Rafael asked you in your arms. You sighed as you laid down on the couch, hugging your son tight. "These people are going to check our home, baby. They're good people, don't worry." You sighed out, playing with his hair.

A moment later, George passed by the two of you as he was escorted by a few police officers out of your house. He was handcuffed. "Papa?" Rafael rose, calling his Papa. George looked up and saw him, and he smiled, "Papa's going to be fine, Rafa!"

"Are they going to hurt Papa? Where are they taking him?" Rafael turned to you, worry etched on his face. You strained a smile, an effort to comfort your son, "Papa will be safe, Rafa. I promise."

"Mumma promise that Papa will be fine? And he'll come back home to us?" His little voice asked, his little pinky finger lifted. You opened your mouth, and closed it back again; speechless. You knew George won't ever step his foot back in here. You wouldn't allow it.

But for the sake of your son's innocence, a fake promise is still a promise. So, hooking together your pinky with his, you whispered, "Pinky promise."

"Mumma's going to the bathroom, okay? Can you stay with Auntie Lav for me?" You asked, and Rafa obediently nodded. You smiled softly, kissing his forehead, "That's my good boy."

As you leave your son with Lavender, the smile on your lips vanishes instantly. You looked left to right, precious belongings of yours ransacked and searched by your fellow police officers for clues and evidence that George may have brought into the house.

Your home, destroyed because of your so-called loving husband.

It was overwhelming; watching your home, the place where you first moved in together, the place where you made love to your husband, the place where Rafa had his first walk on, the place where you called home for 7 years, ruined.

Your life is ruined.

You felt your chest constricting, igniting a sensation of pain inside of you, and you struggled to see, due to tears blocking your vision. You quickly went to the bathroom, slamming the door shut as you leaned your back on the wooden surface.

You placed your hand on your mouth, clasping it down tight, hoping it could muffle the pained sobs coming out of your lips. It was a breakdown you would never wish to happen to anyone else. Your knees felt weak, so you slid down and collapsed on the tiled floor, tears dropping with the soft sound of 'plop' each time.

You remembered the first time you had met George. He was tall and dashing, you met him in his shop he ran with his brother, Fred. He was friendly and kind, showing you around the shop for hours before you asked for his number. You felt a connection towards him that pulled you into him, and you thought he felt the same when he called you later that night.

Was that all a lie?

You remembered the first time you had your date, it was at a park and you held hands as you walked on the trails in the forest of autumn. There were dead leaves everywhere, and you had thought the brownish-red surroundings had made his orange hair pop out more. George was so beautiful during that date, as he smiled at you, as he kissed your forehead, as he kissed your lips with such tenderness.

Was that the truth?

You remembered the first time you had told him you loved him. You were in bed, cuddling in winter because the heater of his house broke down. He was listening to you talking about one of the cases of Izzy Einstein when you stopped and stared into his eyes. He said what's wrong and you said, nothing, it's just that I realized that I love you. He was silent for a while before a soft smile rested on his lips as he spoke, I love you too, my love.

All of those… Do those moments mean nothing to him?

Fuck those early times, because what about your marriage? He proposed! Your child? He wanted kids too! Your life together as a small happy family? He told you he was happy!

Was he lying the whole time? Did he even love Rafa? Did he even like this family he built together with you?

Did he even love you?

Thousands and thousands of questions ran through your head that you didn't even have time to process all. They were bombarding your mind non-stop. It had become so noisy in there, "Shut up," You sobbed, holding your head tightly with your hands. Tears running down your cheeks furiously as you shook your head, a weak attempt of shooing the thoughts away, "Shut up!" You cried again, whimpers coming out of your mouth as you failed to silence the noise in your head.

You felt so many things at once. You couldn't even name a quarter of them. Everything was happening so fast and it's… it's not fair for you. It's not fair for anyone.

Angry. Frustrated. Betrayed. Annoyed. Upset. Disappointed. Disgusted. Repulsed. Responsible. Heartbroken.

And those weren't even half of it. How you wish things wouldn't have changed. How you wished you would've never taken this case in the first place. How you wished you could have your small, happy family back.

How you wish you could turn back time, with the ignorance for the truth.

But you can't. Everything is bare now. Everything is exposed. Your husband on cuffs, your son scared out of his mind, your home ransacked, you broke down in the bathroom, what good did it bring;  solving this case for your family? Nothing.

Not even a promotion can heal the deep wound in this family. And it pained you that things will never be the same again without George.

Before you knew him as a serial killer, he was your husband. He was the father of your child. He was attentive, responsible, loving, caring, gentle, the perfect man for you. The perfect father for Rafa.

He was the love of your life. And he still is.

The tears coming out of your eyes were relentless, they won't stop coming out and you felt exhausted. Emotionally and mentally exhausted. You gasped for air as you cried, hearing the several knocks on the door from Blaise, "Y/N, open the door, please."

"Leave me alone, Blaise, please," You mustered out, with a weak voice. "Open this door, Y/N, " He said again, and you closed your eyes at his stubbornness.

"Blaise, please," You whimpered desperately, shakily taking in a breath, "Leave. I just want to be alone."

It was silent at the other side, and then a sigh, "I'm taking Rafa to my house. It's getting late and Lav wants to cook him something," He said and you unconsciously nodded, even though he couldn't see you, "... Thank you."

"... Take care, Y/N."

You silently scoffed at his goodbye, how could you? How could you take care of yourself? Your life is ruined. Your family is ruined. Everything, everything had gone into dust.

Everything.

TAGLIST:

@multifandom-but @sirenswhispers @lilac-skies-xd @obsessedunicorn24 @foggyturtleknightangel@evewithluv@softlyqoos @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lilypad-55449 @fiantomartell @hopemalfoyweasley @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @bucketandpotato@klausdatprettyboi @adoregin@littlechillies @phuvioqhile @sweetnspicysimp@wand3ringr0s3 @harrypotter289 @emptyporsche @tallyovie @the-unmanaged-mischief @missmulti @gcdricreads ​ @waffleweasley​ @amourtentiaa @lunalovecroft @loveboyhalo @lupinsclassroom @breadqueen95 @iwritesiriusly @weasleyclaw@sevsbitxh@freds-slut @acosmis-t @colorfulprofessornickelangel @vote4weasleys @anchoeritic@alluringshawn @cute-sidney@anna-banana-13​ @lostaurorax @emrysts @rosietoesy @lilgeorgie78 @prismarts @an2402lths

[nowritingonthewall]

Poe Dameron Headcanons: When you have to work night shifts

For the wonderfully amazing @starryeyedstories​

Hi Nova,

Here are some soft hcs about Modern!AU Poe trying to support his amazing significant other when they have to work night shifts. (They got a little long to submit as an Ask, so I hope that it is okay that I post them like this.) Thank you so much for being such a generous and incredibly talented writer and for bringing so much joy and love and positivity to tumblr!

- First of all, Poe would make sure that you get as much rest as you can during the day. The neighbours’ kids keep banging their football against the wall right next to your bedroom window? He spontaneously joins their game and cunningly redirects their football (or soccer) game to the other side of town. Your neighbours think that everyone in a one-mile radius should listen to their music while you try to sleep? Yepp, they only tried that once. You so much as think of doing any chores? He will start doing them for you before the thought has had enough time to form in your head. At one point, you even had to have a serious conversation with him about how he could not go and take your lectures at uni for you.

- If you still can’t rest, he will lay down with you to be your big spoon, hold you as close as physically possible, bury his face in your hair and mumble sweet nonsense until he can feel you relax. Even as you are drifting off, he will continue to caress you in the most soothingly and loving way.

- When it is time for you to get ready to work, he wakes you up as carefully as possible. He starts by gently brushing your hair out of your face and caressing your cheeks before leaving the softest and sweetest kisses all over your face. It always breaks his heart when he has to resort to cruel measures like simply taking away your blanket because you are running late. To make up for it, he will try to sneak in as many hugs as possible while you are getting ready for work.

- He will pack enough food for you to last the whole staff at your workplace for more than a week and prepares at least one large thermos flask of your favourite hot (or cool) beverage. He also makes sure that your rations are the perfect mixture of healthy/nutritious and all of your favourite snacks. Somehow, he always manages to smuggle at least one extra snack into the pocket of your work clothing.

- You will find little written notes everywhere. Sometimes they are so precious that they melt your heart, sometimes they make you wish for an immediate bathroom break, sometimes they simple state “I love you!”. 

- He will send you several of the most loving and encouraging text messages during the night (only after making sure that these do not disturb you or distract you from your work).

- If his own schedule and the regulations at your workplace allow it, he would totally surprise you by visiting you during your nightshifts whenever he can. Just so you don’t scold him for skipping a proper night’s sleep, he usually makes up excuses as to why he had to come and visit you. You didn’t pack enough food to last you through the night, he had to bring you your extra snugly cardigan because you forgot how cold it might get at night, he didn’t get enough cuddles during the day and he won’t be able to sleep until you help him fulfil his daily cuddle quota.

- He likes to play this little game where he tries to steal as many kisses and cuddles from you as he can without your boss and colleagues noticing. At the same time, he is extremely careful to not get you into trouble with your boss (which works most of the time).

- After your shift, he is waiting in the parking lot to pick you up and greets you with the warmest, comforting and most heartfelt hug imaginable and you just melt into his embrace. He only reluctantly pulls away when he is afraid that you might fall asleep in his arms right there and then.

- Depending on how you feel, he is either going to prepare your favourite breakfast or a relaxing bubbly bath for you (actually, he always has some kind of breakfast prepared, just in case). Breakfast tends to last all morning, since the whole thing is slightly prolonged by him not being able to stop hugging and cuddling and kissing you while you are sitting on his lap.

- If you do take a bath, he will insist on helping you to scrub your back and give you one of his famous massages that immediately relieve most of the tension in you. He listens to everything that you would like to get off your chest and only starts to speak when he feels like you need some words of comfort or encouragement. Sometimes, if you don’t feel like talking at all but still love to listen to that soothing voice of his, he just keeps rambling nonsense for you.

- If you are too tired for a bath, but still feel the need to have a quick shower, he is more than eager to help you. He actually loves giving you a proper scalp massage while washing your hair, even though he claims that he will never be able to “do that amazing thing you do to me when you play with my hair”. Sometimes, these after-work-showers just turn into a cuddle session until the water runs cold.

- More often than not, however, you are so exhausted that you fall asleep during the car ride home. If that is the case, he will take extra care to give you a smooth ride and silently curse every bump in the road.

- He will carry you up all the way to your flat (the neighbours are so used to this sight that they no longer stop to ask questions) and gently lays his precious cargo down on the bed. By now he has gotten really good at getting your shoes and your work clothing off of you without waking you up.

- When he has finally tugged you in, he is often torn between just letting you sleep in peace and joining you under the blankets to make up for not being able to have you right next to him all night. His urgent need to hold you close usually wins, though. While he still tries to figure out how to get closest to you without waking you up, you usually start to stir. No matter how exhausted you are, you will still sense his presence and snuggle up to him. As you bury your face in the crook of his neck (which is shaped as if it was custom made just for you), he will pull you even closer and press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, before placing his hand over yours, which has somehow come to rest on his chest right above his heart.  

- Then and only then will you be able to let yourself relax completely. Safe and sound in the welcoming warm and loving arms of your favourite person in the whole universe.

[desperauxtilling]

North (Jason/Nico)

Nico falls into Tartarus. Jason follows shortly thereafter.

xvi. ghosts

Nico’s words are careful, and the dosing of his trust and companionship even moreso. Jason feels grateful to witness it, even if it’s only this circumstance that brought them together. Except that it isn’t. There’s a history behind them, which he can’t totally grasp, but he’s starting to.

When the steam leaves his hands and there’s still white spots in his vision, but no more lightning, he dives to the ground and starts digging at what parts of Nico he can reach. His legs are the furthest back, sinking an entire foot below, but Jason focuses on unearthing his face first. When he digs him out and sits up him by his shoulders, he lets loose a great gasp and starts coughing up dirt and blood. Jason pats his back and rides out his retching with him, murmuring soft reassurances.

“I’ve got you, Nico,” he whispers, the mansion in his eyes, dirt in his mouth, and fire spilling from his ears. “It’s okay. I’m here, I’m here.”

He’s still wearing Nico’s jacket and remembers the thermos. He makes Nico drink the rest of it to help wash some of the dirt out from his lungs. He wipes off what he can, but much of it has fused with the blood previously staining his cheeks. He helps Nico to his feet and continues dusting him off. He’s quiet, shaky, but responsive enough to help ease some of Jason’s worry.

Head to toe, Nico is filthy. He looks Jason up and down and tries to smirk, regain some of his old self. “We match now,” he finally says, referring to the gunk that plagues them both.

Jason laughs and pulls him in for a hug, his entire body sagging in relief. Then he remembers himself and parts. Nico looks annoyed, maybe even disappointed. Jason can’t tell if it’s because he touched him or because he let go.  “Sorry, I know I grabbed you earlier, but I want to make sure it’s all right now. Can I touch you?”

Nico snorts and it devolves into another fit of coughing. He manages to get out, “As long as you’re trying to save my life, I’ll let it pass.” There’s something in his voice that makes Jason warm. Nico’s voice gets smaller, smaller, and Jason strains for every syllable, “Thank you. You… you don’t have to ask, you know. I… appreciate it. But at this point, you don’t need to ask.”

Something blossoms in Jason’s chest and he struggles to keep it there. He doesn’t want to let it fall from his tongue and scare himself, scare Nico. Now is not the time. He takes Nico into his arms, hoping his touch is strong enough to force the trauma from Nico’s mind and body for a little while. He drinks in Nico’s brown eyes for too long before they get going again.

He lets Jason carry him through the deadened meadow. They come down a slope to the edge of a cliff leading to a river far below. He feels invigorated, occasional pulses electricity as his high fades, but can hardly celebrate with Nico in such a shape. The water rushing below makes Jason feel heavy. He edges away from the cliff and takes a breath. “We’re at the river Archenon. It’s a long drop.” There’s an almost triumph in Nico’s voice that makes Jason pause. “We’re getting close. We’re getting really close.”

He looks to the other side of the canyon. “It’s pretty far.”

“The drop is farther.”

Jason feels a little more confident in using the wind in Tartarus, now. His shoulders tense and he holds Nico firm in his arms. “Right. Close your eyes, we’ll be across before you know it.”

Nico refuses to let his lids drop. “There’s no reason to close my eyes.” His arms, looped around Jason’s neck, tighten their hold. “I know you’ll get us across.”

The son of Jupiter takes a deep breath and a running start. He leaps across the canyon. He doesn’t focus on the river below them, hissing dark, inviting promises. He concentrates on the wind. He coaxes a breeze, gentle, supportive, to propel them across. Nico’s father is protecting him. And Jason can convince himself he doesn’t need his father, whether he’s protecting him or not. The gods are getting stronger, or their fathers care more about their sons than their diminishing strength (that thought shouldn’t make him smile so much but it does). He thinks of Piper and Leo. The rest of his friends on the Argo II. Reyna braving the Atlantic on her own. Thalia. The boy in his arms.

That alone is strength enough to help him reach the other side. His feet connect with solid, sharp rock, and relief washes over him. He feels confident that even if Nyx could assemble her forces again, they wouldn’t follow them across the Archenon. There are plenty of other minions to capture Jason and Nico. He keeps forging ahead under the sharp red glare of Tartarus. The air becomes hotter and heavier as they press on.

“You can set me down, now,” Nico’s weak request comes after a while.

Jason quickly sets him on the ground. “Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. His hair is shaggy under his fingers, he can actually grab a fistful of it. It’s quite past Camp Jupiter’s regulations at this point. “Uh, your jacket…”

“You can keep it for now. It looks good on you.” Jason hopes Tartarus’ redness is enough to hide the blush on his face. Nico doesn’t seem to notice. “Are you all right? Cold? Any traces of the curses left?”

“No. I’m doing much better.” Jason feels good as he can feel with all the wounds he’s accumulated over the course of their journey. He won’t trouble Nico with the guilt he feels for his imprisonment. He lets soft eyes fall on his friend. “How are you doing, Nico?”

His tone startles Nico. He doesn’t have to mention Akhlys, the mansion, because the way his bony shoulders stiffen lets Jason know he knowshe’s not talking about their encounter with Nyx. The threat on Hazel isn’t the only thing that has him so afraid. He looks caged, trapped among the weeds again.

Jason understands, even from the single conversation he witnessed between Nico and Percy shortly after they rescued him. The resentment as well as the fondness that bound him to Percy. Trying to cope as a boy out of time. The reason Nico was split between the two camps, still trying to help him even when he was afraid and angry because of his feelings. The reason he was isolated, even then, and pushed everyone away. The same thing he was doing for Jason now. The reason he surrendered himself to Tartarus a second time.

Jason hesitates to touch Nico, even with permission, and settles for a gentle hand on his arm. He expects the son of Hades to flinch. But after he stiffens, eventually, he relaxes into the hold. “I know… that’s not how you wanted to tell me. Or anyone. Maybe you never wanted to say anything about it.”

“I didn’t.” His voice chokes and he hides glistening eyes under dark bangs. Jason knows the only reason he’s not running is because he can barely stand. “You weren’t supposed to know… No one was…”

He takes hold of both his shoulders, trying to meet Nico’s gaze. “I need you to know that I won’t hold this against you. No one will. I’m sorry it had to happen like this, but… myself and everyone else, they’ll back you up completely.”

“They won’t, because no one else is going to find out.” Everything that kept him together during the Nyx encounter shatters. His openness vanishes. He starts folding in on himself again, fill up on fear and regret. “I never wanted you to find out. Especially… not like this…” His words stutter over themselves, weak, and he goes limp in Jason’s hold. “You weren’t supposed to know. I was just a kid, I was impressionable, I was stupid—“

“You’re not stupid. It’s an important part of you. I’m not mad at you, Nico.” Desperation seeps into his voice. Nico can’t be blaming himself for this, he won’t allow it. “Please don’t be angry at yourself about this.”

“You weren’t--” A sad noise struggles to escape his lips, “You weren’t supposed to--”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“You--”

“I’m not leaving your side. This doesn’t change anything. At least, not in a bad way. You’re still you. You’re still my friend. Nothing can change that--not even the gods." Even Hera couldn't fully erase what he feels for the son of Hades. Nico gives up talking and simply falls forward, letting his head rest against Jason’s chest. His entire body shakes with effort not to cry. Jason wraps his arms around him. “And as long as you’ll let me, I’ll stay.”

“Gods, we’re going to die down here--” Nico croaks. “Oh gods, oh gods--I dragged you into this, I didn’t have to save him but I couldn’t let go, and I couldn’t stand it--I--” His body shakes harder. He starts hyperventilating. Jason holds him tighter, firmer, trying to soothe him. “I should have been able to stop the earth from swallowing us--the bones, I can--but I couldn’t, I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared, Jason… they want to kill you and Hazel and Percy and, and, and--”

“No one is going to die,” Jason murmurs in his hair. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Everything down here is hurting you just to hurt me,” Nico’s voice trembles, his hands tremble, gripping his coat fitted across Jason. “I’m hurting you. I’m going to be the death of you. And I can’t--”

“No, you’re not,” Jason snaps; he doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but it quiets Nico like he wanted. “I’m sorry, but you’re not. You won’t be. Not now, not ever. I followed you down here. Don’t blame yourself unless you blame me, too.”

One arm Nico clutches to his stomach, and the other hangs on Jason’s back. They stand there for a long time, breathing together, Jason slowing frantic Nico to a calmer state. Perhaps it’s that, or the knowledge that they can’t afford to stay this still any longer that brings an end to their embrace. At last, Nico pries himself away, looking pained. Jason is pained, too, when that warmth disappears. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We don’t,” he reluctantly agrees. “But I need you to know that there’s no reason to be angry at yourself for any of this. And… you aren’t in Tartarus because of it, you don’t deserve any of this--”

“I got it,” Nico snaps, cutting him off. But he sounds grateful. “Let’s just… Let’s get out of here already. Maybe after that...” He tries not to promise, tries not to meet Jason’s eyes, but he can’t help it. “Maybe we can actually sit down and talk.”

“I can get on board with that.”

Beyond them lies a great dark red landscape full of monsters. There must be thousands, more than thousands, milling about, ready to unleash hell upon the mortal world. To wreak Gaea’s vengeance. To kill them and everyone they care about. The winding rust paths lead to trails of red and blue streaking across the ground onto a violet, pulsing ground. It’s something alive, moving and beating.

“The heart of Tartarus,” Nico affirms Jason’s thoughts. “The Doors are close.”

“And the others?”

He purses his lips, caressing the inside of his left wrist. “They’re getting close, too.” He rubs his head and Jason notices how his hair curls at the ends. It’s not quite black but like his eyes, streaked with a rich, deep brown that contradicts his first assumption. A shade that mimics the kind of coffee he doesn’t like (he would always load it with cream and sugar, and Jason revels in this remembrance). His hair is nearly reaching his shoulders. His skin is fearfully pale but if he got some sun, Jason can see impressions of the freckles that would dot his nose and cheeks.

Even though Tartarus has beaten him down, ripped him apart and spat him back out, Nico seems to stand taller and braver than when he was first rescued. Beneath all the snark and coldness of his first impression, there’s a deep well of compassion and strength that Nico hides away underneath all his misery. He’s trying so hard not to care but he can’t help it. Jason’s heart pangs with affection.

Without really thinking, he reaches out and brushes some of his longer, curlier bangs behind his ear. Nico gives him a long, calculating stare. “Jason?”

“I meant what I said, Nico. I’ll say it as often as I need to until you believe me. What you did back there? It was incredibly brave, and you’re so strong… Not just then, but always. You always tease me about having a hero complex. But you’re more of a hero than I could ever hope to be.”

The son of Hades stands still a long time absorbing those words. “Don’t discredit yourself like that.” Nico catches his hand, fond. “Just when I was starting to think stupidity wasn’t the deciding factor in launching you down here after me.” Jason smiles.

The demigods trace veins of rotted red and blue leading them further into the pit. As Jason suspected, the actual ground beneath them pulses. And what he mistook for red smog was actually hordes of monsters. There had to be thousands lining up, forming rank, preparing to enter the mortal world and exact Gaea’s vengeance. They’re all headed toward a great, rocky wall--Jason is so relieved to see that this endless hellscape has an end--where a set of dark doors sits guarded by two giant figures. Titans.

One of the Titans wears dark blue armor and a helmet with ram horns curled into the side of it. Jason’s head begins to ache. A rush of dizziness washes over him and Nico steadies him when he starts slipping on the spongy ground. “Jason, what’s wrong?” Nico holds his head still and forces their gazes to meet. “Focus on me. You’re here in Tartarus. We’re close to the Doors. I’m here.”

He remembers standing on top of Mount Othrys, trembling with sword in hand beneath the Titan’s gaze. Every part of him screamed in terror to run. His comrades were fighting for their lives below him. All he could think of then was making sure no more harm came to them. He would stop the Titans’ destruction so Reyna could rest easy. So Gwen and Dakota wouldn’t be afraid.

So Nico would approach him with a battleworn smile and embrace.

“You’re coming back soon, right?”

Nico gave him a lopsided smile, throwing a pack over his shoulder. He hadn’t slept for several nights and it showed. Nico always looked tired, but he was never this frantic. He seemed scared but didn’t reveal any details. Jason didn’t know how he could help.

“Yeah. One of my friends has been missing a few days. I need to make sure everything’s okay. He probably just got lost in the woods or something.” He didn’t sound like he believed himself. It wasn’t the cold air alone that shook him so soundly.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jason affirmed, trying to lift his friend’s spirits. “And if anyone can bring him back, it’s you.” He gave Jason a weighted look of sadness and defeat. Then, to his surprise, Nico laughed. A soft thing, so fragile it made him wince.

“I sure hope so.” He readjusted the sword on his belt and sighed. “I’ll be back in a few days, barring errands from my father.”

“I’ll be counting,” Jason said, beaming at him. Nico’s head still drooped. He lifted Nico’s chin in his hand, gentle, coaxing him closer. “I’m sure everything’s okay. And if it’s not, it will be.”

He released a long, heavy sigh and relaxed, pressing his head to rest against Jason’s collarbone. His heart skipped a beat. “Thanks, Jay,” he finally mumbled into his shirt. Nico snaked his spindly arms around Jason’s waist and squeezed tight. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.”

“I’m already heartbroken,” Jason joked, but wasn’t really a joke anymore. He rested his head on top of Nico’s an inhaled the scent--it reminded him of a forest in winter, so quiet and beautiful. He drew back to look Nico in the eye, hands squarely on his shoulders. “A week.Tops. No surprises, but be prepared for the best birthday ever.”

Hazel recently let it slip that Nico hadn’t had a birthday celebration before. When he prodded Nico, the son of Pluto confirmed his suspicions. He hadn’t had time for a proper birthday in quite some time, since he’d spent the last few years toughing it out on his own.

“You’re on,” Nico hummed, offering a playful smirk that made Jason’s stomach fold in on itself. “I’ll see you then.”

He turned to go and Jason caught his wrist before he could disappear into shadow. Nico looked annoyed, but it faded into uncertainty when Jason drew him close. He didn’t know how to say he didn’t want Nico to leave. And a great fear swept over him like it always did when Nico left, that this time he was leaving for good, and Jason had only seconds left to admire him. It was foul in his mouth and heavy in his stomach and wouldn’t leave him alone. Nico took a hesitant step forward, battling his own fear and trying to find the words to ease both their suspicions.

Jason didn’t expect him to press a kiss to his cheek. Soft, sweet, small. Hours passed in the seconds it took for Nico’s lips to fall back from his reddening face. A long silence stretched between them. Jason bit his lip. A soft glow seemed to radiate around Nico, eyes full of fear and desire.

“What was that for?” Jason finally got out.

“It’s just an Italian custom,” he said quickly. Seeing how flustered he was made Jason feel better--not to mention that it was. Really cute. It was a look that Jason never wanted to forget. “It means goodbye. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Before phasing completely into shadow, Jason could see his wide smile reflected in the slightest tug on Nico’s lips.

Nico’s small hands cradle his lolling jaw. His mind refocuses and he finds himself stuck on Nico’s high cheekbones. They’re streaked with dry blood but they’re so sharp and even now he’s so incredibly alluring. He remembers the kiss on his cheek, burning against his skin.

He starts leaning in.

“Jason, are you with me?” The son of Hades is concerned, trying to push Jason upright and away from him.

He remembers himself. He remembers Piper, and gods, he’s ashamed it took that long. “Yeah.” He manages to regain his balance and stop falling all over Nico. “Yeah, sorry. I just…” He hides his reddening face in his hands. Jason chalks up his behavior to the desperation that Tartarus inspires and shuts it up in the back of his mind. But Reyna’s teasing glare rests in his mind’s eye. “How long was I out this time?”

“Just a minute. But you didn’t say anything, your eyes were blank, you just… shut down.” He sounds so scared and Jason curses himself. They’re heading into the heart of Tartarus and he can’t even keep his head in the present. He won’t abandon Nico to brave hell alone again.

“I didn’t mean to worry you. Let’s just keep going.”

They continue forward through Tartarus. Nico’s sword scrapes across the fleshy earth. Jason chooses his spear, using it for support when he feels a bout of dizziness come over him. He tries not to dwell on the past, he knows it will just draw him back in, but he can’t help it. So many important relationships and moments and people were taken from him.

He remembers his mind faraway during Nyx’s attack. His heart softens to Reyna. The relationship between them was so stilted, and now Jason had a better glimpse as to why. Why she was so hurt when he returned. He was the only one who knew she was gay. He was a haven, a source of trust. And all of that was wiped clean with a snap of Hera’s fingers. Reyna was left alone again. Jason was in a new relationship, no matter how unsure he was. There was nowhere to hide.

And his own sexuality—identity— erased.

He grits his teeth. Nico notices his stress and Jason just says, “I’m tired of the gods meddling in our lives.”

Nico moves a couple paces closer to Jason. “Agreed.”

He lets his brooding lie in favor of optimism. Seeing the Doors in the distance has given Jason a newfound sense of hope. With Nico at his side, there’s nothing they can’t overcome. They’ve faced so much already. Good or bad, the end is in sight. “We’re almost there. You’ve kept your promise.” Jason gives half a smile and expects some sarcastic comeback, not the scowl that mars his features into darkness.

“I said I would get you to the Doors and my word is good--but I didn’t promise anything. I don’t really do promises. I don’t make them, and don’t expect others to keep them.” He remembers the hushed exchange that Akhlys shared with him in the mansion and bites his lip. Nico’s words are careful, and the dosing of his trust and companionship even moreso. Jason feels grateful to witness it, even if it’s only this circumstance that brought them together. Except that it isn’t. There’s a history behind them, which he can’t totally grasp, but he’s starting to.

“I promise I won’t make any,” Jason says, turning on his best praetor voice. It feels strange and cold to slip back into that persona but it makes Nico laugh so it’s more than worth it.

Tartarus is so red, so dark here, it hurts Jason’s eyes. Everytime he catches a glimpse of Krios looming in the distance, his head aches a little more and a little more comes back to him. Ghosts of his former life return to haunt him. Reyna’s favorite color. The cold sea washing over him after he slew the Trojan Sea Monster. Searching the library for hours trying to find that book Nico told him about and falling asleep reading poetry. Everyone’s shock when he refused to join the First Cohort in favor of the Fifth. Nico running off from Camp Jupiter and coming back more upset than when he left, throwing himself into Jason’s arms.

Nico gives him odd looks and Jason wards him off with a smile that isn’t convincing. His gaze falls to the surrounding hundreds of monsters ahead of them. The closer they get to the Titans, the more terror assaults Jason’s senses. The heat, the stench of Tartarus is so heavy here. The ground isn’t wet, but it squelches with each step of his sneakers. They’ve made it this far and the Doors are right there, so close it hurts.

He doesn’t know how they’ll get through them without the Death Mist. For now, the monsters don’t notice them, and he suspects that’s because his flesh stinks with the arai’s remains. They crouch down behind a large rock together and strategize.

They watch the Titans direct a group of monsters onto the elevator. They shrink to fit the human-sized doors and Krios jams his finger on the up button. He doesn’t release it. The Doors themselves are bound with thick black cord into the pulsing ground and sealed with black chains.

“They’re bound here so that they can’t teleport away,” Nico explains. “The Doors don’t stay in one place for long. If we can cut through those chains, and send it on one last journey, the Doors will reset.”

“Gaea and her monsters will lose their shortcut to the mortal world,” Jason finishes. Hope creeps in, filling him from the tips of his toes out the crown of his head. All they have to do is cut the Doors free and take the elevator back to the mortal world.

“There’s one problem.” Nico can’t meet Jason’s gaze. He stares at the throbbing ground and swallows a lump in his throat. His short-lived excitement fades back into anxiety. “To reset the Doors, someone has to hold the up button for the entire duration of one journey. Twelve minutes. Like Krios is doing now. Otherwise the journey won’t finish. The elevator will get stuck somewhere between Tartarus and the mortal world.” He shivers and draws further into himself. “One of us has to push the button so the other can meet the rest of the seven in the House of Hades.”

A bitter taste settles in his mouth. One of them has to stay behind. And from Nico’s shifting and direct reference to the prophecy, he already knows Nico is going to argue every point as to why Jason’s life is more valuable than his. “Easy,” he finally says, not trusting himself to get out more syllables than that. His mind races to figure out a solution. He can’t let Nico risk his life for him. He won’t, prophecy or not.

They’re a hundred feet from the Doors and Jason feels like he’s going to throw up. The Titans loom dozens of feet over their heads. The Doors seem mystical, a mirage, too human and too close for easy access.  “How are we even going to get to the Doors?”

Nico stares at those metal doors with a hunger in his eyes. “We need something to draw the Titans away so we can cut the chains to the doors. A distraction.”

“Which means drawing attention to ourselves in this monster-infested hellscape,” Jason finishes.

All the way back at the banks of the Cocytus, Nico said he would get Jason to the Doors. He knew from the beginning how the Doors worked and set out to bring Jason to the end. To spend this journey protecting him, taking care of him, saving him so he could save the world. He didn’t ask for anything in return. He didn’t let himself value his own life as he valued Jason’s, as much as he wanted to--Jason can see the way he gazes at the Doors, with undeniable want, a need so strong it stings in his chest to watch Nico deny himself. He’s given himself up to Jason. Before Jason could even remember why the name Nico di Angelo made his heart skip a beat.

Jason doesn’t know how give himself back.

“Do you remember when you said goodbye to me?” Jason asks him. He presses closer to Nico’s side. “When you went to look for Percy.”

The son of Hades doesn’t back away from the closeness, lifting his chin to stare Jason down. “Yes.”

Jason presses on, “I‘ve started to remember a lot more. I wish I didn’t have to remember it like this--with you hurt, stuck down here, but I remember it. I remember that you love fast food. You also really like fruit. Somehow, you make those two work together. I remember that your favorite color is green. I remember the way you look after we finish sparring. Sweaty and gross, but you’re smiling, like you could live on the battlefield. I remember the way you look at Hazel. What you gave up, what you give up, to protect her. To protect me.”

“You would do the same for me,” Nico replies easily. It’s not like the last time he said it. He doesn’t say Jason would do it for anyone and everyone; he says, knows, Jason would do it for him. He takes an interest in Jason’s tattoo, stroking the lines with his thumb one at a time. “You have done the same. You are doing the same.”

He’s so small and tired, leaning into Jason’s chest to breathe, struggling to hold onto the depressive reasoning he’s spent years drilling into his head. Jason doesn’t bring up the sacrifice of the Doors. Nothing good will come of confronting Nico right now, and it’s far too obvious. He just has to get Nico to see. If he could see him how Jason sees him, if he could understand his own selflessness, his goodness--

He’s startled when Nico takes his face in his hands, dark eyes searching his features hungrily, trying to commit every scar and scrap of skin to memory. He drinks in Jason like it’s the last time he’ll see him. And suddenly Jason is afraid, realizing it might be. They’re saying silent goodbyes all over again.

Nico breathes heavy in his face. “I’m getting you the hell out of here. I’m getting you back. To the prophecy, your sister, your friends. I’m keeping my word. You fly above the Titans and cut the chains on my count. Got it?”

Nico leans in to grab the thermos from Jason’s jacket pocket. He gets ready to stand from behind the rock. “No. Not without you.” He seizes Nico’s wrist desperately. “We’ll do this together. You stay behind me, stay in shadow. I’ll get us there.” Anything to stall the sacrifice they both know is coming.

After a long silence in lieu of the protest Jason expects, Nico squeezes his hand. “Lead on.”

[sillyshiro]

there, okay, better...

Lance gets hypothermia and Keith cries because he thinks it’s his fault ;w; | for @voltronwhumpweek2017 ♡ | platonic Keith/Lance | [ Ao3 link ]

“Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

Keith holds the sealing beam to the last panel, Lance offers a weak thumbs-up. They’ve been on repairs for hours, Hunk gives an exhausted wave from the communication spires as Pidge fixes the alignment.

“You’re done too?” Lance mumbles into his helmet, he drifts to Keith’s left in empty space.

“Yep, all good,” Pidge says cheerily, Hunk’s roger that! echoing in unison.

“Good timing, guys,” calls Shiro, he’s only just managed to get the hatch reopened. “Let’s wrap this up.”

Lance’s jetpack doesn’t propel him quite as swiftly as usual, and Keith pretends to give the castle a last inspection so that Lance can catch up.

“You ‘right?” Shiro says gently, catches Lance by the waist as he nearly misses the hatch completely. Lance blinks at him, not quite registering the question, and it isn’t until Shiro guides him inside the ship that he nods.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Lance stumbles as he adjusts to the gravity, the blue helmet slips from his grasp as he tries to take it off.

“Hey,” Keith mutters, he ventures a hand to the back of Lance’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Lance turns to him, confused.

“Uh, not much,” he tries, offers a half-smile. “Nothing balanced or coordinated, at least.”

“Lance, let me see your jetpack,” Shiro says after a moment, and something in Keith’s chest feels hollow and uncertain, some vital point he’s missed. Shiro steps closer, calm, keeps one hand steadied at Lance’s arm as he inspects the paladin’s armor. Lance leans into Shiro’s grip, quiet and shaky.

“Okay. It’s okay,” Shiro says reassuringly, but he doesn’t move his hand from Lance’s arm. “Pidge, Hunk, could you guys grab some blankets? As many as you can, just bring them back here. Keith, if you could-”

Lance sinks forward, Shiro quickly scooping both his arms around the smaller paladin’s chest to hold him up. Keith is at Lance’s side a second later, he doesn’t even remember sprinting.

“What’s wrong?” blurts Keith, his voice hoarse and strangled and not at all like his own. Lance’s breathing is shallow, his whole body twitching.

“The jetpacks are next to the suit’s thermo-sensors,” Shiro explains in a low voice, leans down to keep eye-contact with Lance as he unclips Lance’s armor. “It looks like the explosion might’ve damaged Lance’s temperature regulator.”

Keith’s mouth feels dry, a prickling sense of panic clawing at his windpipe.

“So what, he just spent two hours in open space… without…”

Keith’s knuckles are white, his fingers caged on the now-loosened front of Lance’s suit. Lance’s violent shivering is all the more obvious through his undershirt.

“Hey,” Lance croaks, something unclouding in his gaze. He glances at his chest, manages a crooked smile. “If only these were different circumstances,” he finishes, nods wryly at Keith’s hands.

Keith glares back at him, fiercer and fiercer for every passing second. Shiro tries to catch Lance’s attention, without success.

“You know… because... you’re taking off my…” Lance tries to clarify, he twitches an eyebrow and waits for Keith to get annoyed, or laugh, or both.

Keith’s arms drop limply by his sides, his head spinning and his stomach falling, the room feels uncomfortably bright.

And then Keith bursts into tears.

“Oh oh, okay that was not one of my best jokes,” Lance says hurriedly, his hands are suddenly patting Keith’s shoulders, then clumsily rubbing his back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was only trying to be like, hey, if this is what it takes for Keith to, um, oh shit-”

Keith makes a guttural sounding sob, his cheeks are soaked and his breath heavy, he needs to rein it in and that’s about the last thing that he cares about right now.

He was the one outside with Lance.

And he didn’t notice a single thing.

“No no-no please don’t-” Lance scrambles out of the rest of the suit, Shiro barely has to help. Keith feels both Lance’s arms wrap tight around his neck, he presses Keith’s face into his shoulder, Keith spluttering wetly as his inhale catches in his throat.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Lance babbles, he doesn’t let go as Keith’s shoulders jerk forcefully, worse every time he tries to apologise. Keith’s making a mess on Lance’s shirt, his arms won’t even lift to hug him back.

“Hey… hey,” Lance whispers, his voice sounds huskier too. When Keith only cries harder Lance pulls gently back, dips his knees so he can look at him.

“Hey,” Lance says softly, his eyebrows tipping in relief when Keith manages to nod. “It wasn’t your fault- no listen to me, honestly I didn’t even realise, if you can believe I was concentrating that hard-”

“Of course I can believe you-!” Keith wails, and Lance holds up both palms, it’s nowhere near funny but his mouth hitches up at the corners.

“I’m just saying,” Lance murmurs, both hands on Keith’s shoulders. “That this isn’t on you. It isn’t on anyone. So, like… stop trying to take the credit?”

He gives a tentative grin, and in spite of everything, Keith almost smiles.

“Okay, phew, I thought I was going to have to explain that one too-” Lance breathes out, and before Keith can gather his bearings, he gently reaches his sleeve and wipes below Keith’s nose.

“Oops, hold still… there, okay, better,” says Lance, he laughs as Keith’s expression falls in horror.

Lance winks.

“Still hot.”

“Lance, we need to get you warmed up,” Shiro offers after a second, not unkindly. Keith has no idea how long the others have been standing there with the blankets. “Rest and warm liquids, and we’ll need to keep an eye on you, alright?”

“I’ll stay,” Keith says through a sniffle, he has no plans to leave Lance’s side until he’s recovered.

“Yeah, but then who’s going to keep an eye on Keith?” Pidge teases, Keith’s well aware he probably looks worse than Lance.

The comment makes him feel better all the same.

“I think I can manage it,” Hunk chimes in, brims to a smile as Lance laughs.

“Okay, so then I’ll keep an eye on Hunk,” Pidge continues, “and that means Shiro, you’ll have to keep an eye on me-”

Shiro can’t keep a straight face either as the team slowly helps Lance to his room.

Later, when Keith and Lance are the only ones still awake after the film, Keith lets his head rest on Lance’s pillow.

“Things can just… change so fast,” Keith mutters, closes his eyes as Lance tucks into his chest.

“Yeah,” says Lance, quiet, he listens to Keith’s heartbeat. “Yeah.”